Prince's Pawn
by Barbara Sheridan     More by this Writer
Basically, my vision of a short time after teen Trunks' arrival/ announcement of the future androids (in the days when everyone is getting ready to start training). Featuring Vegeta in all his arrogant glory.
Image by 'Milk Land' from the book 'Ripple'

Prince's Pawn
Disclaimers: Characters not my creation I'm just manipulating them to suit my own wicked thoughts.

PRINCE'S PAWN

By Barbara Sheridan

Silence hung like a shroud over the outbuilding on the grounds of Capsule Corp.

Yamcha tried not to look at the clock high on the wall in the mirrored exercise studio. He'd kept track of too many sleepless nights lately and wasn't in the mood to count off even more restless hours. Instead, he popped a cd into the portable player and cranked it to the highest volume. A soothing, almost sultry tune flowed from the speakers and filled the room, surrounding him, seeping into his pores. He needed to relax and forget the stupid thing he'd done. The time had come and gone. His impulsive act was over, and he was a little relieved that nothing had come of it.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths then began the slow rhythmic exercise routine he'd learned from an old girlfriend. The tenseness filling his limbs lessened ever so slightly, and he continued to concentrate on the music, let the steady beat drum in his head, lift his arms and legs, loosen them, comfort his unquiet soul.

"Isn't this lovely, the impressive Z Fighter doing tai chi like an old man-or is it a little girl?"

The gravely voice caught Yamcha off-guard, and he lost balance. He lunged forward, gripping the wooden ballet bar that circled the room.

"Did I scare you?" Vegeta asked. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his massive chest.

His massive, sweaty, bare chest.

A smirk quirked his mouth.

Yamcha felt himself grow hard and was thankful for the loose-fitting gi he wore. He was equally thankful to see Vegeta in his own favorite late night training outfit--black sneakers and spandex shorts that accentuated the noticeable bulge between the Saiyan's legs.

Forcing his curious eyes away, Yamcha focused on his own face in the mirror before him and began the exercises again, conscious that Vegeta watched.

"Well?" Vegeta asked impatiently after a time.

Yamcha's pulse quickened as that incredible voice echoed in his ears. "Well what?" he asked, glancing at the Saiyan's reflection.

The low growl that was Vegeta's reply made Yamcha's heartbeat quicken and his erection twitch.

"Don't play with me, ningen," Vegeta said, pushing himself away from the door. He flicked off the cd player and approached the younger man. "You know what I mean."

"I don't," Yamcha said, ordering himself to remain calm and to turn and face the prince.

Scowling, Vegeta stepped closer still, too close for Yamcha's comfort. He could see the sheen of perspiration glistening on Vegeta's powerful shoulder muscles, could smell the other man's masculine scent.

"I've heard so many things and I lie awake at night wondering..."

Yamcha swallowed at the sound of his written words being repeated. "You lie awake wondering what?" he asked lightly, averting his eyes, running his hand through his hair.

Vegeta grabbed Yamcha's chin in his strong grip, his eyes glittered dangerously. "Bulma and her parents won't be here this weekend. I'm alone to do exactly what I want to whom I want, weakling. You'd be wise to remember that."

Yamcha's heart hammered as Vegeta turned to leave. The Saiyan's low chuckle told him that the heat he felt in his face was indeed a silly blush. And though embarrassed, he refused to submit to the humiliation, was afraid to speculate on what might follow.

He tried to resume the tai chi to no avail. He'd never relax, not now. Closing his eyes he remembered the feel of Vegeta's strong hand gripping his chin, and he wondered what it would have felt like to have the sullen warrior kiss him. Desire unlike any he'd ever felt burned deep inside him, and he ordered himself to stop dwelling on it.

Vegeta's scent was thick in the air, his forceful presence lingering on. He had to get out of here before he exploded.

Securing the studio, Yamcha strolled the Capsule Corp. grounds, trying to calm himself. Surely he was overreacting. So what if Vegeta had gotten the note he'd impulsively shoved beneath his door. Did it matter that he'd figured out who'd written it? Vegeta was used to intimidating people, surely that's what he'd done tonight. He had no plans to do anything else. No, he'd ignore the whole thing for the sole purpose of making him crazy, speculating on what might happen.

Breathing a quiet sigh, Yamcha stopped walking once he reached a shadowed corner of the compound. He couldn't get much crazier than he was now,. His mind raced as he wondered if the stories he'd heard were true, the stories of what Saiyan warriors did to those captured in battle. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, Yamcha loosened the drawstring of his pants. He slid his hand inside, squeezed his tight aching balls, rubbed his rock hard shaft, ran his fingertip along the wet slit. He groaned then began to stroke himself. The pleasure built fast, and his body tingled in anticipation as he imagined that glorious body of the Saiyan prince.

Yamcha cried out when the hand seized his wrist.

"Enough. You'll come when I say you can come."

Yamcha whimpered as the pressure increased on his wrist, staying his hand that needed to keep going. Vegeta pressed close, his own erection hard against the side of Yamcha's thigh.

The younger man's knees grew weak, his balls ached for release. "It hurts."

Vegeta chuckled. "Good." He arched his hips forward. He grinned when he felt the shudder pass through Yamcha.

The pleading of Yamcha's dark eyes was ignored, and it seemed an eternity until the throbbing stopped and longer still until Vegeta let him go.

"I expect you to draw my bath and have a suitable breakfast prepared within the hour."

He slid his fingers around Yamcha's shaft and squeezed, smirking when the groan escaped Yamcha's lips. "You'll come when I say you can come, ningen. If I say you can come..."

The Saiyan disappeared into the darkness as mysteriously as he'd arrived, and Yamcha shivered despite the warmth of the atmosphere around him. He sucked in air, needing to ease the tightness in his throat. Slowly he forced himself to think straight.

Fuck the arrogant Saiyan. He wasn't some lowly "servant woman". He wasn't about to be Vegeta's maid. And he'd make himself come when and how he pleased.

His thigh burned. He felt a phantom impression of Vegeta's hard cock pressing against his leg.

And damn it all he found himself wondering what it looked like.

What it felt like.

What it tasted like.

Taking a deep breath and suppressing the impulse to masturbate to the delicious images flooding his mind, Yamcha headed inside towards the wing where Vegeta was staying.

*****

"Took you long enough," Vegeta's voice called from the depths of the darkened suite.

Yamcha bit his tongue then instinctively reached for the light switch located near the door the same as with his own rooms. He slid the switch, bringing up just enough light to see. Why was he here? Why in the name of Kami was he doing this crazy thing?

"Get in here now or leave," Vegeta ordered.

The raspy voice thrilling him even as the words grated on his pride. Yamcha swallowed, then entered. Vegeta stood in the bedroom near the door to the bathroom. He stood as always, arms across his chest, feet apart, read to launch into an attack without warning. The ouji was without a doubt the most incredible looking man he'd ever seen. Crazy thing was, he'd never been attracted to men, and had a tough enough time around women. He couldn't understand why the sight of Vegeta thrilled him.

As if reading his mind, the Saiyan stepped forward, that smirk of superiority adorning his face. Yamcha felt like a display in the Downtown department store as Vegeta circled him, looking. The ouji's index finger skimmed across him here and there. He clamped his eyes shut, unable to bear the sweet torture of that fingertip stroking his scarred cheek, trailing down the portion of his chest visible through the loosened top of his gi.

"So you want to know what happens to a Saiyan prisoner do you?" Vegeta asked coming to stand in front of him.

Yamcha looked at him, but said nothing until a slap to the face made him cry out.

"What the fuck did you do that for--"

Another slap silenced him. "Prisoners don't speak, don't dare to look directly at their superior. Lower your eyes. Now."

Pain seared his face, shot all the way to the bone, and he clenched his teeth to keep the agony in check.

Then, Vegeta stunned Yamcha by placing brushing his lips across the welt on his cheek.

"How careless of me. You're not a battled hardened warrior are you? You're just a little boy pretending."

Yamcha bit his tongue .He wanted to spit out a caustic reply but guessed that was what Vegeta expected. He remained silent as the ouji circled him once more like a predator surveying his intended kill.

"Yes, you're just a frightened little boy inside wanting to be protected." Vegeta chuckled. "I saw that expression in your eyes the day Frieza and his father approached. You looked about ready to piss your pants, and I still can't figure out why you joined us." Vegeta stopped circling. "Well, ningen. Why did you go?"

"I've fought before. I couldn't stay behind."

Vegeta laughed. "Is that what you tell yourself, baka? Good for you, then." He stepped closer, his muscled thigh pressing Yamcha's. He gripped the other man's chin as he had earlier and jerked his head up so that their eyes met. "You've had your moments, I'll grant you that, but you don't have a true warrior's heart, do you?"

"No."

The word came out as a shameful whisper and Yamcha felt tears trying to form in his eyes. He blinked them away. Vegeta laughed and the grating sound made him want to cry completely. With a sharp grunt, Vegeta released his hold. Yamcha instinctively cast his gaze down.

"You learn quickly, baka. That's a point in your favor," Vegeta said, his hand skimming Yamcha's body here and there as he circled yet again. "Fill the bath."

Part of Yamcha's spirit demanded that he take a stand but he couldn't. He didn't really understand why, but he knew he was outclassed and let instinct guide him into surrendering his will to the victor. He filled the tub with steaming water, arranged a thick mat on the floor and placed a large, fluffy towel on the small counter nearby.

Vegeta was in the doorway. "Good enough?" Yamcha asked, glancing up for just a moment.

"Undress me."

The words hit dead center like a dull punch and Yamcha looked up at the smirking face of the Saiyan prince.

"Hurry, baka. If the water gets cold you'll be sorry."

Pulse pounding, his balls aching, Yamcha followed the order. He bent down on one knee and untied Vegeta's shoes and pulled them off with his socks. It was torture but he restrained himself from running his tingling hands along the other man's thick calves and thighs. He grunted when Vegeta grabbed a handful of his hair.

"The water cools. Finish it."

Yamcha sucked a deep breath into his tight chest and griped the waistband of Vegeta's shorts. He groaned inwardly as he peeled them slowly and revealed pubic hair.

Vegeta laughed and grabbed Yamcha's hair again, pressing his face to his crotch. "You know you want it, but you can't have it."

Yamcha shuddered, inhaling the sweaty musky scent. His balls twitched as the feel of the Saiyan's thick cock pressing against him, taunting him. Vegeta let him go and he jerked back, struggling for air, fighting to keep his hands on the waistband of the shorts. He ordered his tongue not to try and seek out what he so wanted. He peeled the shorts off completely, refused to stare at the other man's half erection. He stood then stepped towards the door. Vegeta's hands grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Did I say you could leave, ningen?"

"N-no."

"Bathe me."

Yamcha could barely stifle the groan rising in his throat and he felt his knees shake harder than they had the first time he'd touched a woman. He took a deep breath as he heard the gentle sloshing of water when Vegeta stepped into the tub. And he forced himself to go through with it.

He focused on the bar of creamy soap and the thick washcloth on the ledge of the tub as he approached.

"Take your shirt off."

"Huh?"

Vegeta splashed water into his face. "You heard me, baka. Do it."

Yamcha took off the top of his gi and tossed it aside. He felt droplets of cold sweat form on his back and he knelt beside the tub, dipped the washcloth in and rubbed the bar of soap to form a rich later. Steadying his trembling hand with as much ki as he could muster, he rubbed it over Vegeta's broad back and shoulders and was relieved when the Saiyan settled back in the tub, eyes closed. He studied the proud face for just a moment and felt the desire stir within him.

Soaping the cloth again he smoothed it over Vegeta's chest, aching inside as it skimmed the hard little nipples. He slid his hand down and washed the prince's legs, afraid to do much else. He cried out when Vegeta's and grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head around.

"What's wrong, ningen? Afraid to touch my cock?"

"I-I-"

Vegeta laughed and forced him away, knocking him off balance so that he fell backward.

"Don't move."

Yamcha stayed in the uncomfortable position as Vegeta stood in the tub, rubbing the bar of soap in his hands. He began to soap himself, tugging his erection to it's full incredible length and thickness. All Yamcha could do was stare, wishing very much that the hands were his. He watched Vegeta masturbate for what seemed an eternity the motions slowly quickening. Vegeta stared straight at him, grinning, as he pumped his hand harder while he used the other to massage his balls.

Yamcha cried out when Vegeta's semen hit him in a series of rapid spurts.. It stung his cheek, blasted his chest, dripped over his flushing skin like a trail of molten lava.

And he loved every second of it.

His own hand instinctively moved towards his straining cock.

"Do it and die, ningen," Vegeta barked as the last of the orgasm washed over him. He rinsed himself, then stepped out of the tub, standing so that he straddled the still prone Yamcha.

Yamcha couldn't help but look up. Vegeta was still hard and it was co close, so beautiful, jutting out at him, water and the last of the come dripping from its thick tip. His own pants were nearly soaked from the water dripping from Vegeta but he didn't care. He stayed stock still, a part of him hoping, craving, dying to be given permission to have that in his hands, his mouth. Anywhere. Everywhere.

"Dry me."

Yamcha closed his eyes a moment to contain his disappointment. Silently he moved from his position and took the towel He dried Vegeta with firm touches, wanting, needing to do so much more. He was kneeling at the ouji's feet, reverently wiping them with the edge of the towel when Vegeta reached down and stroked his cheek, tilted his face up with a uncharacteristically gentle touch.

"Prepare the meal."

Yamcha stood, about to use the damp towel to clean himself.

"Don't," Vegeta barked. "I marked you as my property. It stays until I tell you otherwise."

Yamcha nodded, cast down his eyes, and headed towards the suite's kitchen..

He struggled with humiliation and desire, defeat and sweet victory as he set out to prepare everything he could find: bacon and eggs, sausage and toast, juice and tea, rice and fresh fruit.

He was hardly aware that he offered Vegeta a bow and a reverent "For you, my ouji" upon his entrance. He was barely conscious that he rushed to pull the chair away from the table. His mind remained a blank as Vegeta began to devour the food. All he could do was watch with fascination, his body tense with both hunger and need, his skin tight with the dried remnants of the prince's ejaculation.

He stifled yet another groan of commingled craving and shame. What had gotten into him? Weak little Bulma had refused to knuckle under to the Saiyan in the weeks he'd been here, so why in the hell did he – a trained fighter, captain of is own destiny, find it so easy to give in and do the arrogant bastard's biding?

"I marked you as my property."

Maybe that was it. The possession, the sense of belonging. He'd been on his own and alone in the world for as long as he could remember and it was tiring, sometimes frightening.

"Yamcha."

Yamcha's head shot up at the subdued sound of his name. He stared in amazement as Vegeta held out a perfect shining apple to him. "Eat. Your stomach is louder than that bakayaro Kakarot's."

Yamcha took the apple and ate it quickly as Vegeta finished his own meal. Finally, Vegeta stood and stretched, the sleeves of his loose robe sliding down, the front parting just enough to reveal his nakedness beneath.

Yamcha concentrated on the apple, forcing his eyes to the floor. He threw the core away then began to clear the mountain of dishes, conscious all the while that Vegeta stood leaning against the counter watching him.

"So now you know, ningen," Vegeta said at last. "Now you know what we do to the conquered. We show them their place as our inferiors and make them serve us.'

Yamcha closed his eyes, bit back the shame and continued to wash the last of the plates. He stiffened when he felt Vegeta come up behind him. "After we use them, we kill them."

Yamcha shuddered. Vegeta chuckled.

"But now and again, some are privileged," he whispered, his strong hands, circling Yamcha's waist. "Some are...enticing, desirable. Those, we allow to live among us, fight by our side, knowing they will never desert us, never betray us..."

Shuddering again, Yamcha felt his fear replaced by a consuming lust. He was as hard as a rock. Wetness seeped from the tip of his cock when Vegeta bit his shoulder, slid his hand down to offer one languid stroke. He gripped the edge of the sink to steady his quaking legs as Vegeta loosened the drawstring of his pants and made them fall. He groaned half in pain, half in pleasure when the prince's fingers rubbed over him, smeared the wetness then lifted to his lips.

"Lick it. Taste how bad you want me to posses you."

Hesitantly he took hold of the thick wrist and touched the tip of his tongue to Vegeta's fingers. He licked slowly up and down, daring to draw the fingers in and out of his mouth.

Vegeta chuckled as he shed his robe. He pressed against Yamcha, and chuckled again when his pet trembled. He pulled his hand away, dried it against Yamcha' s hair. "Kneel and kiss it," he ordered in a raspy whisper.

Yamcha knelt, his body more tense than before an important fight. The blood pounded in his ears, his skin stung with built up stress. He knelt, hands resting on his thighs, fingers dying to touch himself to ease the burning need. He stared at the object of his desire, watched the clear fluid forming at the tip. He leaned forward and kissed it gently, sucking the salty wetness to his lips, savoring it like a condemned man savors his last meal.

He slumped when Vegeta pulled away. His own breathing was hard, his body ready to explode. And he almost wished that the Saiyan would kill him if only to end the torment ripping him apart.

"Look at me."

Yamcha looked up. Vegeta was standing near the table. With a sweep of his hand he knocked the empty juice pitcher and place mats and salt and pepper shakers to the floor. He left the butter dish in place.

"Who is your master, ningen? Who do you desire to serve?"

"You."

The word came out on its own and yet he was relieved that it had. Vegeta commanded him to approach with an incline of his head and he did.

"Lay, feet up."

Yamcha did as told, the table top cold against his heated flesh. Vegeta gripped his ankles, spread his legs, pulled him closer to the edge. He dipped his fingers into the softened butter and traced outlines over Yamcha's skin around the spots where his semen had dried. "You're mine. You should be honored."

"Yes."

Yamcha bit his lip when Vegeta shoved his finger into his rear. The initial shock wore off quickly when Vegeta coated his fingers again and probed once more, a little slower.

"You know what's going to happen."

"Yes."

"You want it."

"I need it," Yamcha whispered, daring to look into the ouji's eyes. There was hunger there but was not afraid. He didn't care if the Saiyan tore him to shreds. He just wanted it over. He needed to be released from this torture that gripped his balls.

Vegeta chuckled. "Your honesty has saved you much pain, ningen." He smeared a dollop of butter on himself and pressed forward, the tip resting against Yamcha's tight opening. "Don't fight it."

Yamcha jumped when he was invaded, then gasped when Vegeta quickly withdrew.

"Ssshh," Vegeta said, easing his hips forward, withdrawing again. He coated himself one more time.

Yamcha braced for the tearing pain that didn't come. It was sore but bearable and became incredible as Vegeta remained still a moment, letting his unused flesh adjust. Vegeta mumbled something he couldn't make out and then began, quickly building up to a steady rhythm.

Yamcha groaned and gripped the table sides as Vegeta held his hips, slid him almost off the table. He took him hard and it was wonderful.. He almost didn't hear the long awaited command when it came.

"Touch it, come with me."

Yamcha groaned, jerking his shaft.

"Just keep it off me," Vegeta growled as he thrust quicker, reaching his peak.

Yamcha closed his eyes, closed both hands over his spasming cock as the passion exploded at last.

Vegeta was breathing hard. He grinned and stroked Yamcha's cheeks as he slowly withdrew. "Better than the onna." He stepped away and put on his robe. "Clean yourself then rest in my room. You're mine this weekend.'

Yamcha nodded. "Arigato", he whispered.

The End.

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