Much Like Suffocating
2
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Much Like Suffocating
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WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS:
instead of just reading it? (Insert
standard disclaimer here: I don’t own Vegeta,
Goku, (any other characters mentioned herein) or the show they came from DBZ
DBGT or just plain DB.)
ALL RIGHTY. *rubs hands
together and looks up terms for the list of warnings: *
already screaming. You can read
it. I swear It’ll be chocked full of
lemony goodness. LEMONS (Not talking
about the fruit here, either. I’m
talking about the sex ones; although how did it come to be a ‘lemon’
anyway?) Homosexuality (er…duh.)
Gasp): bondage, shady professions, and
graphic descriptions. (Hopefully
graphic anywho.) Also, dirty language
btlebtlessly.
As always I strive to keep folk in character even when they are not
‘themselves’ in the canon-sense. If
you’re reading this and you’re like they are so not in character, give it a
chappie or two and see if you still think that.
I tried very hard not to write this.
bunny (the plot bunny) until it went away.
And you see how far that got me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****
Sometimes,
when he didn’t try, he could remember things.
Nothing important—nothing important enough for him to really think about
anyway. But little things.
brushed his finger over space in the back of his mouth and felt endlendless
waves of warmth going through him; as he stared at the shaking customer with
its strange dark hair slicked back away from its face, with its odd green eyes
and its timidity, he had to wonder if he didn’t remember this somehow.
Licked
his lips and sat up. Watched the
stranger shake. Felt sorry for it,
deeply sorry and very annoyed that it was obviously so disgusted with him.
Slo
it
it—yes, it was a male, but he would always think of these faceless morons as
it—steadied itself. Looked at him.
like they were, the green was out of place.
There was a flash of black, a blink and the eyes were green—they were
always green, Vegeta. He shrugged it
away.
Felt
another one of things revisit him.
Something familiar. Clothe, an
emblem. A memory of something, but he
had no memories and didn’t care.
Scooted off the bed. Felt the
sway of his hips, felt that there should have been something else, should have
been a tail—sometimes he thought he was crazy.
And
it moved toward the door, stared at him like it was drowning, like it was the
one that had been used. Curled its
fists into tight balls and then crossed the room to where he stood, pulled his
hand away from his mouth again and just stared at his finger.
himself.
Idiot.
And
this apparently did not satisfy it.
Confused it, even. Because it
released him and then crinkled its eyebrows.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
As
was often the case, Vegeta didn’t care about this faceless thing and
shrugged. “You are who you are,” he
said. Pulled his hand away again, felt
strength in those fingers, but it wasn’t used on him. So he wasn’t worried.
Nobody hurt him, despite what Freiza said, because he was a favorite of
the icy one. Of Lord Freiza.
“Right.”
sleeve slipped up onto its forearm and revealed thick bands of dark skin on its
wrists. Scars.
Apparently it was also very self-conscious because it yanked the sleeves
back down and stared at him, glared at him as if challenging him to say
something of it.
But
honestly, what could he—the one who was most often on display in the lobby,
naked and oil-covered—say about a scarred wrist? What right did he have to say a single thing?
this faceless it before him was nothing.
“I’ll
be back,” it promised him. Like he
cared.
A
careless wave with the hand that wasn’t in his mouth, and the thing turned,
headed out. He watched it go and the
emblem rose into his mind again.
Something important, certainly, important to someone else.
known anything but this world.
(That
wasn’t quite right was it?)
He
had always been here, the prized jewel of Freiza’s collection, the one that
everyone saw but nobody touched, nobody but those that paid extremely well or
impressed.
(But
there was something before, wasn’t there?
You don’t honestly think you woke up seventeen years old, do you?)
Others,
they were traded around. Used by
whoever had the cash to pay for them, and those that were rebellious were
beaten. Vegeta did not suffer from that
crisis. Freiza always said with a smirk
that he didn’t se, se, but he had never been beaten. Never been used with any force.
(You’re
lying again. Look at you, lying all the
time.)
He
stood there, in the middle of the room.
Let fin finger drift out of his mouth, felt a strange quietness over
come him, turned and looked at the bed.
Sniffed the air and realized that whatever scent faceless one had left
behind had been its own doing. Realized
only now that he had done nothing to satisfy it. That it, in fact, had satisfied him. Not only that, but it had made sure Freiza would never find this
out, had covered up that act by producing a smell to satisfy the Lord.
There
was a strange sense that this, this way that the faceless one had served him,
was the way it should be. A sense that
it was wrong for him to be here. Which
was foolish because he belonged absolutely here. Where else would take him?
(And
that tail you should have? Do all
things here have a tail?)
Lord
Freiza had a tail. His closest friends
had tails. They were icejins, and they
all had tails. Of course there were
things with tails, it was foolish to even suppose that other way.
(Right.)
He
ground his teeth together and then shook it off, pressed his finger tip against
the space near the back of his mouth and shivered when the hot flashes ran
through his body. Yes, that was
good. Do not question, do not
worry. This is way things are, the way
they must be. The only way they would
ever be.
(But
you recognized that faceless one, didn’t you?)
~~~***
He
kept his composure until he made it out of Freiza’s ‘house’ and managed to at
least keep walking, up right, until he got to the turn off.
felt the gag reflex go beyond his ability to control it, and everything he had
eaten came back up. He closed his eyes,
trembled under the weight of his own memories, and that little robed figure was
there again.
“Oh,
that’s disgusting.” Handed him a
washcloth—wet and cool—and he sucked on it to get the foul taste out of his
mouth. Kept his hand against the side
of the building—a bar if he remembered right, which meant it was more than used
to getting puked on—until he could stand again, and then tossed the rag to the
ground and walked away. The little
robed one followed him, made him look like he was some sort of visiting
nobility (which was the desired effect) until they reached the inn he was
staying in. A seeming immaculate
establishment on the outside, a rather drab place on the inside, but it was run
by a family of mutes, so he trusted they wouldn’t say anything about what he
did with his free time.
He
made it up the stairs, and once there stripped off the robe, off the red
outfit, pulled on a pair of pants and stared at his arms.
That
was the cost of freedom.
He
shook that away. Looked at the short,
bald figure that was shaking his head at him.
“Geez, Goku, I thought you said you could handle it.”
“I
did handle it,” he said. Scratched at
his hair—hated the way it was weighted down with a whole pig’s worth of fat—and
it stood up again, straight up, parted over one side of his head and jutted out
in big black spikes. He blinked, lifted
the lens out of his eyes and put them back into the little case that kept them
the right color and softness. Blinked
his eyes—black as his hair—and sat on the bed.
“Nobody saw me but you, Krillin.”
“Yeah,”
Krillin said, shrugged the cloak of and dropped it on top of the other clothes,
“Me seeing it was bad enough. We’re on
an important mission. This is the only
chance we got.”
He
looked at his friend. Knew that he was
saying the truth. Knew what Bardock—his
father—had said because he had been there when it was said.
the mission, and thought then—as he thought now—that he could handle it.
Because
that man, that man with the perfect-bronzed skin and the shiny hair, that man
was the Prince of Saiyans. The heir to
the royal throne. Without him their
whole world would forfeit. Because
without the royal blood, there was no sanctity and everything that hadn’t
fallen to chaos would. The King was
dying. Only Bardock—his trusted
General—knew this. Only Bardock knew
where the Prince was, and only Bardock knew about this mission to save the
Prince. Only Bardock and himself, that
is. And Krillin, but Krillin was not a
Saiyan and thus did not count.
“Are
you really going to be able to go back there, Goku?” Krillin asked, “I mean,
Bardock had to tell me that… You
know… That’s where he found you.”
He
closed his eyes, felt horror pass through him.
Thought of Freedom. Thought that
of all the people he knew, he was the only one that truly understood what
freedom was, because he was the only one he knew that had had it taken from
him. Kidnapped as a child off a
transport, he had seen his mother die, had been picked by the grand ‘Lord
Freiza’ himself to serve in his stupid ‘house’ where people came to use him for
whatever perverse pleasure they wished.
His
virginity had been sold to the highest bidder.
His tale had been ripped off by the highest bidder.
that made him want more and more. A
simple little device that had been embedded in the inside of his thigh and as
long as he touched it, he was happy.
Like
a fucking drug. He forgot it all.
device he was happy.
(But
you knew. Knew something was wrong.)
Bardock
found him. His own father.
debauchery to him. And when the thing,
that disgusting maggoty thing had left him in that room with his father, he
could not possibly have realized what would happen. Because Bardock had simply sat in a chair and closed his
eyes. Hummed, and done nothing.
what he was called then—to the bed, strapped his hands over his head with
leather buckles. Left him there, and
went back to his chair. Closed his
stupid eyes and hummed.
He
hated that humming.
When
he stood again, it was with a knife.
And he dug the device out of his thigh with a professional flick of his
wrist. Moved back to the fucking chair,
fucking hummed as he—as Goku—howled.
Screamed and tore at the binding that held him. Jerked and screamed and fought for his freedom.
There
had been pain in life, this Goku knew, but before that moment he could remember
nothing that felt so awful. The impact
of what his life had been for so many years, the physical pain of withdrawal,
the burning need to rip his own skin off.
The tightened bonds on his wrists…
And
the blood that came when he had rubbed all the skin off his wrists.
Bardock
had saved him. Clothed him in something
simple, bound his hands behind him still where he could not hurt himself and
carried him out of the house without so much as a guard to stop him.
moments—when freedom got to hard to bear—that he really wished he had never
been saved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***
Oh,
don’t worry. I can’t maintain the
horrid angst for that much longer.
Remember my signature is the angst/humor combo.
Vegeta:
Hn. As long as I am still a prince.
Goku: I feel
so violated.
Vegeta:
YOU?! I’m Freiza’s FAVORITE.
Gk:
Yeah…but… My dad saw me naked.
Vegeta: I’m
sure he’s much more disturbed than you.
Gk: HEY!
Setharo07:
Yeah.
it would be better to write it*
Ginia:
Hmmm…
Thankies
for reviewing. Of course there’s
more. (And you know this because I
already told you.)
Macha:
Okay.
Jaygoose:
Don’t
be worried. If I think its too much of
a hassle I’ll just end one of the stories.
*mwhahahaha!*
Webtester 04:
Uh…about
a year and a half ago when I was last ‘clocked’ my typing speed was 55
wpm. I’m not entirely sure if that is
still accurate or not.
Prisma Kakkerra:
*dishes
out fresh chapter * And I’m half
finished with tomorrow’s chappie! So no
worries there.
Getarian:
My
thoughts exactly. Everything you
said. *sighs *
Uh,
actually (in direct conflict with the ‘real’ world) Kakarot is the name that
Freiza gave Goku while he was under his employment. I’ll justify this (hopefully.)
And if it doesn’t come through in the writing, let me know and I’ll just
explain it the old fashion ‘author’s notes’ way.
Poor
‘Geta. It will be horrible for him if
Goku manages to succeed in his plan.
*pets the oblivious *naked* prince.*