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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much	By : sefiru Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 12528 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ and I make no money ... only lemonade.

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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much

By Sefiru

Pairing: G/V

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: D/s, Yaoi

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonball Z and I make no money, only lemonade.

Summary: this story is based on the scene from the anime where Future Trunks takes the Z fighters to meet Goku when he returns to Earth. Much to my delight, it’s also one of the episodes featuring the infamous pink shirt. I’m not going to try to duplicate the dialogue, though, because I saw the episode in French (don’t ask). What if Goku’s journey home had turned out a little differently? And what if Vegeta has something to hide?

This story was originally written for DarkSerapha’s Canon to Fanon challenge. It is currently a one-shot; I may expand it at a future date, but I do not plan to update it regularly at this point. You may notice some similarities to the Pure Evil series; yes, it is intentional.

My next post in this section will be the April Fools special, on April 1st.

***

I can’t decide what is more embarrassing about this situation: being caught flat-footed by Frieza, being beaten to the kill (again) by a Super Saiyan (again), or this hideous outfit that the woman conned me into wearing. I’m a Saiyan warrior! I wear my own colors or nothing at all – not pink. Certainly not a pink office drone’s shirt with BAD MAN stenciled across the back and mustard yellow trousers. Where does the woman even find these things? I need my armor, especially now that a Super Saiyan has appeared.

     I stand away from the Z fighters as they crowd around the stranger; the one good thing about him is that he distracts them from this infuriating costume. How dare he reach Super Saiyan before me? For any fighter to be stronger than me is … intolerable. How dare he even exist? A tailless, pale haired half-blood, fighting with a weapon – and so obviously from my own line. It’s trivial to deduce that he’s a time traveler, I am not as slow on the uptake as these humans. And on top of everything else, he’s a terrible liar. Will I truly sink so low? I’d slit my throat with a rusty nail before admitting I share blood with that.

     Where is Kakarott? I have waited three years on this miserable mudball for my chance to destroy him. The last sight I had of him was as a Super Saiyan, the golden hair and green eyes that should have been mine. The look that he gave me was a threat and a promise: your ass belongs to me, Vegeta. Then the power of the Dragonballs whisked me away, and as the crowning humiliation, I felt relief at my escape. Even here, even months later he plagues me, in dreams and nightmares that leave me trembling and wet. You will pay for my shame with your life, Kakarott …

       As if in answer, a ki source flickers into my awareness. I turn my head to the sky; he streaks across my sensing range in mere seconds, and the Z fighters leap to their feet one by one as they detect him. His space capsule becomes visible, braking hard in the last moments before slamming into the ground behind a hill. The humans rush towards it; I start to follow and – gaah! Not in these clothes! I will not be embarrassed further. I tear off the ludicrous garments and burn them to ash, which leaves me in a white t-shirt and blue shorts. It will do.

      I reach the rim of the impact crater just as the capsule’s hatch cracks open. A hand hooks over the edge. And then he climbs out. Oh. Hell. No. I gape in stunned disbelief; Kakarott is dressed like a Saiyan. I am the only one here who knows his garb for what it is; it’s roughly similar to his previous outfit. But now the orange at his shoulders shades smoothly to deep red where it disappears into his boots, and the boots are crafted from royal-blue lizard skin. The silver cuffs at his wrists are a gift that a grandfather would give to a young warrior … his tail has grown back. The tail completes the Saiyan – he looks like a god that stepped down to earth. Why must Kakarott surpass me at every turn?

      The look in his eyes has also changed. No longer the wide-eyed, childish befuddlement, nor the narrowed rage of battle. This is a sharp, clear gaze, an unnerving gaze. “Hi, everyone,” he calls out.

      “You’ve changed, Goku,” Krillin blurts. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

      “I grew up a little while I was gone,” Kakarott says. He bounds out of the crater to embrace his son. “Gohan, how are you doing?” While he greets his gaggle of friends, I count up the years in my head. He’s the right age; he’s hit his second maturation period. In most Saiyans that would mean that that they’ve tempered the aggression of the first maturation. Kakarott seems to have skipped straight from childhood to maturity. That … could make things difficult.

        “I want to talk to Vegeta. In private.” Those too-keen eyes are looking straight at me; I feel a bizarre impulse to turn and run. I squelch it and say, “Whatever.”

        Kakarott just nods and walks off. My future son breaks in, “But Goku, I have to speak to you, it’s very important.”

        “Is it urgent today? This week?”

        “Well, no.”

        “Then it can wait a bit. Vegeta?” I growl under my breath but follow him as he rises into the air. Whatever he intends, it will go better without spectators.

***

      Kakarott leads me to a wooded valley, far enough from civilization that we won’t have any interruptions. We land; he walks away from me for a few steps, pauses, then turns to face me. As if waiting for something. This is the perfect opportunity – I should pounce on him before he raises his ki – should move now – I stand frozen in place. He smiles slightly and steps towards me. What’s going on? Why can’t I attack?

      “Vegeta. Relax,” he says. In the Saiyan tongue.

      This detail makes a welcome distraction. “You found a teacher.”

      “Yes.” He’s right in front of me now, hands on my shoulders. I should reach up, slap them away … “A hidden Saiyan monastery. The monks taught me all about our people.” He hooks my ankles out from under me and lowers me onto the grass, pinning me down with his body weight. To my dismay, I feel my body warm.

      “Kakarott, what did you do to me?”

      “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t need to.” He looks into my eyes, dead serious. “I know what you are, Vegeta.”

      A creeping horror beyond words rises up from my stomach. I want to struggle – I think I want to struggle, but my body will not obey me. I do not fear death, no threat should be able to stop me. Where is my anger? Always my anger has been a shield against the world, but Kakarott’s touch has stolen it away from me. My mind whirls in confusion; how did he know? Nobody, not even Raditz and Nappa, had ever guessed.

      In Saiyans, there are dominant males and submissive males, though subs are by far the more common of the two. I was taught that the division ran along class lines; that is an outright lie. I knew, since I was very young, though I did not even think it in the privacy of my mind. And now, here I am, pinned by Kakarott without any resistance; my body is already slick where it should not be, preparing itself for him. I shudder with revulsion. Is this how I end? A toy for anyone strong enough to take me? If Frieza or Zarbon had ever found out … how did Kakarott know?

     “Relax, Vegeta,” Kakarott says again. “I’m not going to hurt you. Will you trust me?”

     Craving seizes me, and suddenly I do want to. How I want to. To cast off the tangles of propriety and rank, to let go of my defenses and let someone else take charge. No! It must be a trick; weakness is always exploited, I know this in my bones. I want to, but … “I can’t.” It comes out in a small voice, a child’s voice.

      “I know,” Kakarott answers. “I will have to earn your trust.”

      “You’re not giving up, are you.”

      “No way.” He brushes the edge of my jaw with his thumb. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first saw you, Vegeta. The way you talk, the way you fight. And after Frieza, I saw how you looked at me and I knew I could have you. No, I’ll never let you go.”

      I let my head fall back on the grass and shut my eyes. Kakarott’s power I could hope to fight against; his stubbornness, not a chance. I’m doomed.

     He speaks again. “So I’m asking you, Vegeta: will you be mine?”

      I crack an eye open. “What, you have to ask permission now?” I almost manage a proper sneer.

      His eyes burn into mine. I can see the personality that lay dormant under his childish exterior; I can see the willpower he’s gained from holding himself in check for so long. “I don’t want to be endured. I don’t want to be tolerated. I want you to give yourself to me, freely and completely. I won’t be happy with anything else.”

      The words ignite something deep in my body; a torrent of heat floods over me, and I harden against him. With the passion comes understanding so sharp it is painful: Of course Kakarott wants me willing. I grunt. He is content in his power; he has nothing to prove to me. I whine. His strength is not something to fear ... “Aaaaaaaaauuuuuuugh!”

       I open my eyes, panting for breath. Kakarott looks neither disturbed or offended at my screaming in his face. “Feel better?”

       “Yes.” My choice is made; I grab the front of his shirt with one hand. “Show me.”

       He smiles. “Thank you, Vegeta.” He bends his head down and licks the side of my neck. Warmth flows across my skin in his wake; my body uncoils one fiber at a time, muscles I’ve forgotten I have loosening under his touch. I begin to see how strange this is going to be. Kakarott is chewing on my throat, and it makes me relax. Reason and logic crumble out from under me, and I feel nothing but pleasure. Kakarott’s hands slide under my shirt and I press into his touch, groaning. His expression is one I’ve seen many times: he is celebrating the power he has over me, though he uses no pain. He has captured me, and will have his way with me. In a reasonable universe, I would be in deep trouble right now.

      Kakarott’s hands leave me for a moment. I lie in a boneless pile, barely noticing when he peels my clothes off. The feelings that have been my constant companions – anger, hate, suspicion – all have drained out of me, leaving my heart as clear and empty as a blank page. What will he write there? I have already seen how his ways are different from Frieza’s. From the ways that have become mine as well. This thought keeps the crawling fear at bay; whatever he does, it will not be what I expect.

      “Vegeta,” his voice calls me out of my musing. He’s standing over me, feet planted on either side of my knees. “Vegeta, watch me.” His hand goes to the knot of his sash and – oh, Kami. His sash unfurls and flutters to the ground. The orange gi top follows it. Then the blue undershirt. If I’m going to run, now would be the time … My gaze lingers on his wrists as he removes his silver cuffs. Strong wrists. Fighter’s wrists. He lifts one foot and pulls the boot off, then the other. Both hands go to his waistband and he strips off his pants with a flourish. That leaves him only in his bulging loincloth, the same fiery shade as his outer costume. Whoever made him that outfit paid attention to detail … his hand does something at the base of his tail, and the undergarment just falls off him.

       He’s huge, or at least it seems that way. I’ve carefully avoided any basis for comparison. I have time to notice my mouth is watering, along with other parts, before he lies on top of me again. The touch of so much skin against mine is almost too much for me to comprehend, yet every contact makes me crave more.

       “You’ve never done this before, have you?” Kakarott muses.

       “Hn.” He’s met the company I kept, it shouldn’t be surprising. “Get on with it, Kakarott.”

       “Saying that will only make me go slower, you know.” True to his words, his movements drop to a snail’s pace. I growl and squirm, trying to get him to move faster, but naturally it doesn’t work. Kakarott says into my ear, “Beg me, Vegeta.”

       Oh hell no. Oh hell yes. My face darkens with embarrassment; at the same time my belly flutters with lust. I can hear from the tremor in his voice that he’s just as aroused as I am, but he will hold himself back until I beg. Such strength – the strength of the Legendary. Engulfing me, overwhelming me, touching but not harming me. He starts sucking on my earlobe, which makes it difficult for me to think. His fingers run down my spine to my tail scar and do something there, a spark of ki; suddenly the spot erupts into a new growth. He’s restored my tail to me! And he takes advantage of it at once, wrapping his hand around it and stroking from base out to tip. The rest of the universe fades away for a moment. He strokes again; I whimper deep in my throat. My whole body trembles; my eyes refuse to focus. “Kakarott …” So there it is. He’s accomplished something that Frieza never could. “Kakarott, do something!”

       “I am doing something.” Stroke.

       “Please, Kakarott!”

       He chuckles in my ear, a sound of triumph. One of his fingers tests my hole, and finds it dripping with natural moisture. He positions himself, slowly pushes in – I scream for the second time today, this time in sheer pleasure. Kakarott’s form looms above me; he holds my hips against him and starts to thrust. My voice trails off into gasping moans, my mind unable to process anything beyond raw animal sensation. I lose all sense of time. And then – something bursts within me, sending waves of burning ecstasy coursing through my flesh. Blind and deaf, I writhe wildly in Kakarott’s grip.

      The passion eventually ebbs and I look up at Kakarott, who is in the throes of his own climax; I can feel his shaft pulsing inside me. He stills, slides out of me, then lays down on the grass at my side. I’m splattered all over my chest and stomach with … my seed? … and he leans over to lick it off me. I feel strange, warm and drowsy … comfortable. It’s been so long since I felt comfortable that I’ve almost forgotten the word. “Is it always like that?”

       “Pretty much.” Kakarott’s tongue skims over my navel. “Was that really your first orgasm ever?”

       “Yeah.” I have ruthlessly suppressed my desires all my life; it was never safe to so much as think about it. Until today. If I’d known what I was missing, I doubt I could have done it. I lie silent while Kakarott finishes licking me clean, then curls up around me with his arms and legs tangled in mine.

       “You don’t have to make a big deal about this in front of the others,” he says.

       “Is … that what you want?” I’m oddly disappointed.

       “What I want,” he growls, “is to lead you around in a collar, leash and a leather loincloth. But I don’t think you can handle that.”

       The mental image makes me blush, both from embarrassment and from interest. “Is that a dare?”

       “Uh-huh. You want that collar, you’ll have to earn it.” I can hardly imagine what tests earning a collar from Kakarott might entail; for all I despised Frieza and his actions, I don’t know any other way. And yet, I have faith in Kakarott. He took me through this leap into the unknown, and I landed on my feet. Or rather, on my back. Now that I’ve seen the other side, I have no wish to return to the way I lived before. Yet a grown man’s mind, of whatever species, does not change in a single day…

        “I will be here,” he murmurs. “To help you remember.” He knows.

***

Nappa: Lord Vegeta, have you tried not being a submissive?

Vegeta: Die! *Fzap*

I don’t know why I’m so convinced that Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much. His thing about weakness reminds me a lot of those Definitely Not Gay fundamentalists …
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much