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Calefaction	By : Broten Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with any of the creators or producers of DB, DBZ, DBGT, etc., and make no profit off of this fan-based work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
Author’s Notation + Disclaimer: I would like to think that it is abundantly clear that this is an Alternate Universe (AU) fanfiction. The characters, therefore, have grown under a different set of circumstances than in canon. In imagining this environment, I as the writer am burdened with the task of constructing believable examples of what character X would be like given the variables of A, B, and C. I repeat, the characters will stray from their canon portrayal, because anything less would be unsettling and give pause. Taking all of this into consideration, I must again state that I hold no claims to DB/Z/GT or any of its creators. This is solely a non-profit piece of creative fantasy. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

            “Agh!” Vegeta hoarsely breathed when a weighty elbow settled over his diaphragm. A smooth, dark voice murmured just over his earlobe. The prince attempted to swat away the low-class offender, but found himself too adequately restrained. What had happened to his supposedly limitless stores of power and energy? Booted feet dug into sand and loose gravel, preparing again to try and knock the younger man from his prostrate form. Again, Vegeta did not, could not succeed.

            Kakarot seemed utterly unfazed by the prince’s endeavors of escape. In truth, though he was the stronger challenger, he nonetheless trembled. The smell of the blood of a man he’d beat into submission and still held captive inebriated him more than the softly beckoning rays of moonlight, or was it some combination of those? Perhaps it was the compound of the pheromones, the blood, the moon. . .Truthfully, it made no difference. A shaking hand reached regardless for the other’s velvety tail. His prince drew in a sharp lungful of air. The not-quite squeeze was both a promise and a threat.

            A word died in Vegeta’s mouth. Kakarot’s sharp ears picked it up this time, the guttural sound from deep in the throat cut off by the tongue against the roof of the mouth; it was an ‘L’. Kakarot chuckled to himself and nuzzled against his prize’s neck. How adorable that the older man was intentionally keeping himself from calling Kakarot a low-class soldier again.

            The prince panted once, twice, and then swallowed. “W-what are you doing? What. . .do you think you’re. . .doing?”

            More aware of the situation now as his senses returned to him, Kakarot rose above the supine body and smirked down at the mess he’d made of the royal’s face. His head stooped only momentarily to lap up a trail of blood from the corner of the prince’s mouth.

            “Look at you,” Kakarot softly spoke. “You look everything like your father, but nothing at all like him. How’d you manage to keep the secret all these years? I can see it plain as day all over your face. How did I never see this before? I guess they do hide you away. . .”

            The body beneath the lower warrior tensed and a new fire filled his prey. Vegeta snarled and snapped at the arm closest to his face. “Whatever secrets I have, you cur, relate not to myself but to the Empire and its military operations. Too much for your infinitesimally diminutive brain to comprehend.”

            Kakarot laughed, but cracked one of the prince’s restrained arms into an unnatural position. While the older man stifled gravelly expletives in his chest, Kakarot stroked his face. That arm was worse than useless, for the time being. “You know, there’ve been a lot of rumors floating around about why you got this age and haven’t yet made a body yours. Heh. Who’da thought it’s ‘cause your body’s s’posed to belong?”

            Perhaps it was the smirk, perhaps it was the casual, confident shift of language, but Vegeta’s eyes widened in recognition. “Fucking. . .you’re his rotten fucking offspring, aren’t you? I mean, you all look the same to me, but. . .”

            Shoulders back, Kakarot set his jaw and looked up at the moon for just a flicker of a second.

            Vegeta laughed. “That’s what all of this is about? You’ve restrained the prince and now we’re to wait for him and his cadre of rag-tag brigands? You think he stands a chance against the divine right my father has to the throne? Father would never negotiate over me, boy. Give it up, already.”

            Kakarot growled, his hand constricting over the royal’s tail.

            “This has nothing to do with Bardock, Prince Vegeta.”

            “So you acknowledge that he is your sire?”

            “Absolutely. I’m very proud of my father’s name. And what he’s done.”

            In spite of his prone position, Vegeta smirked. “Ignorant, ill-bred troglodyte. This is why I give the orders and you carry them out.”

            With a hollow snarl, Kakarot bent the tip of the prince’s tail against the joint, just the way he’d once seen his father do to his older brother. One of his knees pressed into the hard gut of the prince and Kakarot lowered his face until he was breathing the salt of the skin on Vegeta’s face. Gasping in the aftermath of his pain, Vegeta literally could not speak any further objections. Kakarot watched the way the smaller man’s chest and mouth moved as he desperately inhaled.

            Kakarot licked his lips, then Vegeta’s.

            “I guess this is why they never let your mum out of the palace,” he whispered. “Or why you’ve never been seen with a fertile-bodied male. Guess they didn’t want anyone drawing comparisons. It’s why they always put you in those weird clothes and armor. Make you look bigger. You feel so tiny underneath me, prince. . .”

            “Get off me!” Vegeta squirmed now. “I’ve had enough of this empty discussion about petty soldier’s gossip. It’s not a real fight when you’ve—“

            “Already won?” Kakarot grinned against a smooth, warm throat, just barely nipping the salty skin. He quaked and groaned deep within the confines of his ribcage, a low and pure sound, the timbre unique to its owner, a rumbling purr following, a thick tail twitching in the air behind them. Kakarot pressed his lips to the spot still slightly wet with his saliva and felt a hastening pulse and a panicky gulp.

            The heat seemed to engulf them, in those still and tense moments. Vegeta could hardly even draw a breath into his exhausted, bruised lungs. For the first time in his life, true panic released a flood of adrenaline and cortisol throughout his figure. The arcane reverberation connected to his body via the one above brought each and every nerve ending to a glorified state of paralysis and anticipation. He found himself actually unable to move against his captor. A soft little laugh tore through the muggy summer air.

            “You can’t even keep your legs together, ‘Geta. You can’t move away from me, can you? Couldn’t stand to. Don’t think I don’t feel that,” Kakarot rolled his hips against the prince’s erection, eliciting a near-silent gasp. The swift removal of informal armor and finely-spun undercovering revealed a compact, silken chest flushed with a deep, shamed red.

            “Say it.” It was a command, and not a softly-spoken one. Vegeta gawked at the audacity.

            “Who the hell do you think you are?” He still had his pride. Still had a modicum of dignity to hide behind, though it was quickly dissipating along with the sweat that evaporated from his hide. It was true that he could not will his knees to join, although with the other now settled between them, it would be a pointless attempt.

            Kakarot rose just enough for a broad and practice hand to come between them. The prince jumped at the exquisitely painful grip, unable now to quell the confused moan.

            “Say it, Vegeta. Say that you want me to. I don’t want to have to take it from you. Look how much your body wants it. Since when has a selfish little prick like you ever denied himself anything?”

            This time, surprisingly, it was the prince who growled. Incensed, Vegeta almost allowed a sob of outrage and bitter sorrow to wrack his form.

            “You know nothing of sacrifice or self-denial, you worthless excuse of a foot-soldier. The only reason you’re still alive is because Bardock took all of the sons that meant anything to him, were useful to him, and it would’ve been too much of a challenge to drum up all of the illegitimate specks of DNA he’s got floating around this union. But I’ll promise you two things, my insubordinate. One, you were probably not even named by him, probably given whatever meaningless title by a commander to have something to put down for your death record. Two, I will murder you. In cold blood, I will slowly drain the life force from your very being. This I promise to you. You may take what is your right, but I would never ingratiate myself, never lower myself so far as to ask the unclaimed spawn of the greatest traitor this Empire has ever known to fuck me.”

            Kakarot watched him with no expression, drinking in the aggression, restraining thrashing limbs, feeling his blood pressure rise. When at last the petty prince stopped speaking, Kakarot lunged his head downward, teeth clamping down on a corded neck. Clothes were ripped away at the bare necessity for contact, blessed contact that almost made Kakarot believe in the star gods and the moon gods and the gods at the center of the suns. He snarled and growled and tore delicate, refined flesh with sharp canines, final warnings to submit. Even with the rough and tearing penetration, Kakarot’s teeth never left the prince’s neat flesh.
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Calefaction