Kings, Tyrants, and Demons

Author’s Note:

My deepest apologies about the wait. I was in the process of moving to another city (bye bye Grotty Notty and hello Newcastle!) and its taken me some time to sort out things here and get my computer set up and what not. Sadly, I don’t have the net hooked up in my house as of yet, so I have to walk half an hour to use public computers to do any sort of updating…ugh.

Thank you so much for all of the feedback in regards to the author’s request. Your comments were much appreciated and very helpful in making a decision as to where to let this fic fly. *bows* The continued support from my readers has kept me going on this story and has provided kindling for my creative juices. My deepest gratitude.

I am working on the next chapter, however, I am in the last week of finishing my dissertation so that’s getting first priority. This is simply an aside in case I don’t update as soon as I would like.

Now enough of my prattle and on with the chapter.


(note) Now beta’d by the Lovely Pixelgoddess.

Chapter Nine: A Strange New World


The delicious suction around his cock increased as he pistoned his hips in a warm, wet, and welcoming mouth.

“Take it,” he panted, “I want to come down your throat.”

A grunt of approval and a sharp canine scraping across his length had him spurting within moments.

The prince threw back his head and growled. He felt nails drag along his backside as his thighs quivered with the last of his release. Purring in satisfaction he allowed himself to slowly slip from immensely talented lips.

Smirking, he turned and sauntered away, seemingly forgetting the kneeling figure behind him. He was halfway across the room before he was met with retaliation.

He felt the ki behind him spike and let out a bark of laughter when he was tackled to the ground.

“Ungrateful bastard,” a voice sniped over his left shoulder while his wrists were restrained in an iron-grip.

“Impatient pup,” he countered with a lazy smile.

The Saiyan chuckled when he was forced flat upon the ground, his nose barely an inch from the polished floor. In a rare display of helpfulness he drew his legs beneath him raising himself in the most primitive of offerings.

It was accepted.

But before he could feel the searing intrusion of his lover’s length a high pitched buzzing filled the air. The room and all in it retreated back into the realm of dreams, leaving him staring mournfully at the ceiling of his cramped quarters.

His chest closed in on him and his eyes burned traitorously. However, he refused to give in to his constant companion of despair. So with little more than a sigh Vegeta sat up in bed and retrieved the annoying device that had awoken him. It was while he was switching the alarm off he took notice of the sticky mess tangled around his waist.

Growling in self-disgust he threw the soiled sheets to the ground and incinerated them with a weak blast. Wet dreams at his age: disgraceful! Three nights in a row as well; what was wrong with him? Though he had to admit these nighttime recollections of ecstasy were much more welcome than the heart-wrenching dreams that left him a shaking, tearful wreck.

Cursing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. There were more important things to consider. Goten’s maiden supply run was today. He was eager to see how the young man would fare considering the amount of preparation the teen had undergone in the last few days.

Vegeta was pleasantly surprised at the dedication the youth exhibited. Alas, he was not like Trunks, but then again, few were. Where the lavender haired youth could sit down and recite from heart damn near everything said to him only seconds after hearing it, Goten had to spend hours in study. The son of his enemy was simply not blessed with a natural talent in this area. Even so, every time the elite fired questions at him over details of the upcoming mission he was always met with an answer, most of the time one which was correct.

Goten certainly had burned the midnight oil, pouring over the P.A.C. as if it were one of his beloved, if insipid, video games. Moreover, he constantly checked his notes from the many sessions they had on politics and protocol. And he asked so many questions, some of which Vegeta was not prepared to answer yet; those about the Planet Trade.

He knew his reluctance to speak about the empire was foolish. After all, he did say that he would provide an in-depth history of his former life. It was not shame that froze his tongue, rather an uncertainty of where to start. He shook the thought for the time being, knowing he would have to deal with it soon. He had told Goten to focus on planet “gobbledygook,” as the boy termed it, stating he would give history lessons only after the demi-Saiyan’s mission.

After he had prepared himself for the day he found Goten on the main deck with a rather sorry looking piece of paper in his hands. The teen took notice of him and hurriedly put down the scrap and stood straight. Vegeta’s eyes swept over him quickly and after a heavy pause gave a short nod.

Goten’s shoulders eased slightly when given that small token of approval. He had spent an hour making sure he was ‘presentable’. His unruly, but quite fashionable—in his opinion—hair had been cut the night before; with much howling on his end and malicious laughter at the elite’s. Today, after a good scrub, it was meticulously swept back from his clean shaven face in a tidy and simple style tapering at the nape of his neck.

Earlier this morning he had packed away what little clothing he had brought with him from Earth. Now, he wore what he learned was standard issue clothing for those of a warrior humanoid class. His legs were clad in coffee colored trousers that clung to his skin made from a stretchy material that allowed free movement. A similar top of the same material and hue hugged his chest and arms while a dark linen vest covered his shoulders to hang open at mid-thigh.

He didn’t think it suited him.

In fact, the only part of his ensemble he cared for was the sturdy mid-calf boots that looked as if they’d be at home in a garrison or a midnight rave. But cool footwear was a small consolation for the otherwise hideous attire.

He gave his unflattering opinion about it a few days ago when initially confronted with the tasteless outfit. Vegeta explained, rather coolly, the color and cut of a uniform gave an immediate indication of rank and trade. The unbecoming dun-color was common among merchants and the tight-fitted style was a frequent choice amongst fighters throughout the galaxy. Despite this information, Goten still could not help feeling like a reject from Star Wars.

On a happier note he discovered the Saiyan Prince was like-wised clothed. It didn’t suit him either. Regardless of his valiant efforts, he could not hide the small smirk that pulled at his lips.

The prince frowned.

“What are you grinning at?” he snarled.

“Nothing,” the teen wisely answered quickly wiping the smile from his face.

Vegeta scowled at him but said nothing more, striding past him to bend over the control panel.

“Twenty minutes until landing,” he announced. He then looked over his shoulder and grinned evilly at him. “Are you prepared?”

“I think so.”

“Think?”

“I know so.”

“Good. We’ll see as much, won’t we?”

As if on cue, a small green light flicked on the console, followed by a repetitive beeping; they were being hailed.

The cruel humor left the elder man’s face to be replaced with gravity.

“You’re on.”

Goten took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He moved to take the older man’s place at the console and pressed the communications button.

“Yes?” he asked sharply.

A small voice responded.

“Why are you here?”

The child-like pitch would have startled the teen if he had not spent a good amount of time listening to voice files stored on the P.A.C.

“We seek amicable trade with your clan.”

“You want to land?”

Goten’s brows drew down. How in the hell else were they supposed to trade? He looked at Vegeta who simply smiled unhelpfully. Goten shot him a mildly petulant look before answering.

“Yes.”

There was static on the other side as the voice temporarily signed off. After a couple of minutes it came back.

“You bring us things?” it asked hopefully.

The prince gave him a pointed look. Goten knew he was going to have to word his request carefully.

“I bring items that may interest you,” he affirmed in a steady voice, “let us land and we will show them to you. If you find you like them we will give them to you if,” he stressed, “you give us some things we like in turn.” He was sure he could have said it better but from what he had read you practically had to spell things out with these creatures.

The voice did not sound as friendly this time.

“You want our things?” it asked loudly. “What things?”

Goten smiled, confident he knew how to handle this. “Nothing of much worth,” he replied, “fuel for our ship. From our readings you have a lot of it, most of which you don’t seem to be using.”

“You don’t want our glimies?”

The teen looked at the older man in confusion. The prince shook his head indicating he had no clue what they were on about.

“No, just the fuel.”

“But our glimies are best!!” the high pitched voice shrieked. “All outlanders like our glimies!”

It was here Goten assumed ‘glimies’ were ore. However, this revelation did him little good, as it looked as if he had deeply offended the native on the other end. If the dark look Vegeta was burning him with was any indication he had better move quickly to rectify the situation.

“Of course they do!” Goten pacified, “The entire galaxy knows of how great your, er, glimies are. What we have to offer is not worthy of such a wonderful prize.” Goten frowned when he caught the elite rolling his eyes angrily but kept speaking nonetheless,
“All we ask for is worthless outlander fuel that is stored on your planet.”

“Our glimies are good?”

“Yes,” Goten assured.

“But you don’t want?”

“Not at this time.”

“Just stinky outlander water for ships?”

The teen paused assuming this was fuel but did not want to repeat his mistake, he glanced at the other Saiyan. Vegeta nodded still looking rather displeased.

“Yes.”

The voice on the other end clicked. “What you give us?” It finally asked.

The teen breathed a sigh of relief and listed possible trade items that he hoped would spark the interests of the being on the other line.

Luck shined on him and he was quickly given leave to land. Worryingly, that had been the easy part. Now he had to come face to face with these creatures and barter. But before he could fret any further a sharp voice came from behind.

“Don’t be a kiss-ass, Goten!” Vegeta snapped as the ship descended, “These beasts will walk all over you if you don’t communicate your superiority. You’re going to have to lay it on thick now, after your toadying over their ‘glimies,’” he mocked.

“Well what in the hell was I supposed to do?” the teen complained. “It’s obvious I offended them, I was just taking care of damage control.”

“Damage control, yes, but don’t lick their asses.” He paused in mid-flay as a gloomy look passed the younger warrior’s face. “It’s ok,” he relented rubbing the bridge of his nose, “You did fine, just overdid it a bit with the worth of the ore.” The ship shuddered as they touched ground. He glanced at the door that would open to the outside world in a matter of seconds. “Chin up, child, and whatever you do, you must keep in mind…and attitude,” he emphasize, “that you are doing them a favor by gracing their wretched little planet with your presence. Understand?”

Goten nodded, his spirits lifted after the prince softened his tone. Brushing imaginary wrinkles out of his clothing he held his head high and tried to make himself look as austere and high handed as possible. He advanced towards the door and, after taking a deep breath, pushed the release button.

The doors slid apart to reveal a dusty rust-colored planet. About a dozen or so of the inhabitants crowded around the ship. The teen resisted the urge to scan the horizon. Instead, his eyes fixed on one of the strange creatures that had decided to shuffle towards him. His mouth settled in a hard line and he descended the gang plank, the older Saiyan moving to take his place in the doorway taking care to keep his tail out of sight.

“Are you the leader?” Goten asked the figure in front of him flatly when he stepped foot on the ground. He instantly noticed the increased gravity but did not flinch under its weight.

The swaying furred inhabitant did not cease its advance until it was only six inches from the young man. It took a lot of will power on the demi-Saiyan’s behalf not to take a step back to regain his personal space.

“No,” a squeaky voice emitted from the triangular head, “I deal with outlanders.”

Before Goten could respond the grey swooping neck bent down and the featureless head passed slowly over his chest. The teen allowed it but made sure to narrow his eyes in displeasure.

“Who are you?” the being asked leaning on its back legs and raising its head to supposedly peer at the older and more imposing looking man in the doorway.

“Merchants,” Goten replied shortly, refusing to elaborate.

The native made a strange noise, apparently not appeased by the answer. It swept its head over the youth a second time.

In this instance however the demi-Saiyan spiked his ki once in warning, creating a small electrical shock to the smaller creature. It backpedaled on its spindly bent legs immediately following a sharp *pop* and the smell of singed hair.

The tiniest of approving smiles tugged at the elite’s lips but Goten didn’t see it. He was completely focused on the native in front of him.

“I do not have time for this,” he said coldly, “do you want to trade or not?”

The furred local stood still for a moment, obviously shocked. Finally, it wheeled on its ungainly legs and trundled away.

“Come with me…and bring the things!”

Goten sneered—an expression he had borrowed from his ship mate—but followed the shorter quadruped without a word.

He was a bit upset to notice that Vegeta wasn’t also coming along, but he supposed someone had to stay behind to guard the ship.

He was led into a ramshackle warehouse where barrel upon barrel of fuel pots were stacked neatly upon each other.

The grey creature turned.

“Show me,” it demanded.

Raising a brow, in what he hoped was an imperious manner, Goten decapsulated a spread of bits and bobs from the ship that in his mind were absolutely worthless.

Apparently, the inhabitants of the small planet were of a much different mindset. They swarmed over the various items with delight.

“Wait!” The demi-Saiyan bellowed, sending a small blast in the center of the group, causing more noise than damage.

The locals scurried and Goten noticed with a bit of dark amusement they were now regarding him with fear instead of disregard. That is, if their quivering torsos were any sign to go by.

“Yes, sir?” the childish voice queried, its head bent sideways.

A triumphant grin turned the youth’s lips; now he was getting somewhere.

“My fuel.”

“Oh yes.” The creature twisted its head in an odd angle and instantly the other locals scampered towards the barrels.

“Five,” it said softly.

“Ten,” Goten corrected.

“Six…seven?”

The demi-Saiyan pinned the creature with an unyielding icy stare.

“Eight?”

“Acceptable.”

The triangular head dipped, perhaps in relief, and soon after eight barrels made their way to the Perlumian Hopper. Goten marched behind, thrilled to find the older man still standing in the doorway, a pleased look on his face.