Fire and Ice
by Hentai Institute     More by this Writer
Ever wonder what Frieza's side of the story would be? Here it is. Very, very, very good.

Written by Angelus
Graphic Violence Rape Abusive

He is never at peace. Even when he sleeps he is tormented by merciless little demons that cause him to jerk and snarl at dream images only he can see. Demons I created. Evil that I have nurtured.

With a mumbled curse, he tosses the sheet off his torso, the soft white material coming to rest in gentle waves across his muscled waist. It is obvious that he is restless. But he is always this way when he returns to me-fiery, ardent, and bursting with youthful rage and passion. I should know. I made him this way.

I openly admire his developing figure as I walk silently toward the bed, and I can see that it is as I thought, had hoped; the boy is clad in nothing save the thin, revealing bedclothes. It is a continued marvel to me, for he keeps his room so cold, so uninviting, and yet he never seems to suffer for it. Then again, that’s why I enjoy him so. His skin constantly burns with a feverish heat. A torrid heat that I just love to wrap around me.

I lick my lips as I allow him to sleep-just a little longer, just time enough to kindle my own inner fire, stroking it, encouraging it, building it to a brilliant blaze to match his own Saiyan passion.

He moans in his uneasy slumber, powerful, slender fingers clutching at his pillow like a child. I am gripped by sudden laughter; it’s like he can sense my presence. I wonder if it is I that haunt his dreams.

He growls softly as I approach, tail lashing outward once in instinctual defiance before curling protectively around his waist. It has always amused me that he has been able to sense me; his Saiyan heritage serves him well. Though perhaps the eight, grueling years under my control have given him a subconscious sixth sense that enables him to identify that which I have taught him to fear most. A grin pulls at the corner of my lips as I watch his agitated slumber. Two months away from me have done that little appendage some good. I’m glad to see that it has returned to its former, agile state. It will make him that much more fun to play with. To punish.

Luminescent light from the three moons bathes his features in cool, crimson shadow, defining the small nose, the angular jaw, the high, royal brow. It dyes his wild, brunette hair a traitorous scarlet hue, adding to the dark, scorching beauty that I love. It should be a sin to be so lovely. But I make it a point to surround myself in attractive men-

This time I do laugh, a breathless chuckle. Alas, my poor Zarbon. Vegeta, my pet, you were on your mission far too long, and Zarbon’s species lacks that exquisite Saiyan quality that you seem to possess. Each night that I indulge in your sweet physique you leave a stronger man for it, making the next taste even more gratifying. You should thank me. Oh, but I do know how you love to fight, little monkey. The anticipation of his actions-I shake my head. He is so predictable-the knowledge of what is to come cascades over my skin in a blistering shower of hot desire and I sigh heavily, lowering myself to sit lightly on the edge of the bed. Contrary to my actions, I did adore his fated race. I have yet to come by a more fierce and proud culture that reveled in destruction as much as myself. It’s almost a pity I had to destroy them.

Well, most of them. I did keep their little prince for myself.

Ah, he’s awake now. His senses have heightened since last I drank of his youthful body, his power level increased dramatically. I wonder what manner of creature is responsible for his newfound strength. My spy informed me that the planet was relatively simple to overcome. My lips tighten in carefully controlled annoyance as I contemplate the report that I received upon their arrival. I was hardly impressed by my little monkey’s foolish decision. He dared defy my direct order to return , to prolong his mission by two entire months and irritate me further by bypassing his immediate duty to me in favour of his own bed!

He will live to regret that blatant insolence. I see I must again teach my little prince his place.

He is doing an excellent job of pretending to sleep, his breath having never faltered. Still, I know he is aware of me. His involuntary struggles have ceased and his body is beautifully tense under my intent gaze. Ironic, he knows that his silence does him no good, buys him very little time, only lengthening what we both see as inevitable. I am, however, almost proud of his exquisite survival instincts. It was I, after all, that trained him, honed and harnessed that incredible Saiyan fury, required that he use them daily to prove himself worthy to even exist. My punishments were incentive enough for the boy to learn at a marvelously accelerated rate. Someday he will rise to replace Zarbon; both men have come to understand this and it has bred a glorious hatred between them that I exploit shamelessly.

But all thoughts of Zarbon are dispelled as I watch my pet’s fruitless attempt to avoid me. He turns, as though still in sleep, to face away from me. No, his movement has attracted my attention, rather than diverted it. I smirk down at his small form. Poor little monkey, we have danced this number numerous times. You can’t stop until the music ends. And like you, that is something I can always control.

“Vegeta…” his breath hitches and his body is deathly still as I lean forward, toward him on the bed. He is reluctant to face me-he knows that I am displeased with him, that I have every right to be furious with his lack of respect. His back is arched, his body curled inward on itself, tail twitching with the expectation of remembered pain. I trace the scars that mar the perfect skin of his shoulder blades with an idle fingernail; though they carry the memory of a lesson over five years in the past, they drip with the crimson tint of the moonlight, creating the remarkable illusion of wounds newly torn.

I am surprised that he chooses to keep this deliberate submissive posture. Perhaps he has accepted his place. I frown. I want him to fight, want him to think he has a chance before I send all of his pitifully weak endeavors, along with his infallible pride crashing to the uncaring floor. But he does not move.

Narrowing my eyes, I apply pressure to my nail, watching with distinct satisfaction as his blood wells in bright, vibrant droplets that snake down the curve of his spine. Again, not a sound. Not a word. Motionless.

My hand moves to his tail in a moment of aggravated fury, but my ready fingers pause above the furry appendage, watching as the downy fur bristles, sensing the heat from my open palm. A Saiyan weakness. How pathetic.

He has enraged me now and the ache to punish him burns fiercely in my chest. Insolent child. Arrogant bastard. Do you not realize that I own you?

I will make him pay in the most humiliating of ways.

Though he knows it’s coming, he still starts at my touch, the gentleness of a caress that he does not expect throwing him into a confused whirlwind. I can feel the fragility of his bones beneath my hand. So easily crushed.

My fingertips trace the ridges of his sculpted chest, passing over his nipples, hardened already due to the bitter temperature that he keeps the room. My feathery ministrations make him even more tense and I chuckle as I draw his body to rest back against me. He never knows how to react when I’m gentle, when I don’t begin with pain.

I revel in that frustrated confusion that is so apparent on his face. I don’t even need the moonlight to see that his sharp brow is drawn together in a thick V over the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve been bad, my pet,” I murmur in his ear, laughing as his deep breath is released in an angry hiss. “I told you to return and you ignored my command. You made me send Dodoria to fetch you back, little monkey. Do you know how that makes me look?” My hand has found its way to his neck and as my fingers wrap around his throat, I pull him forcefully onto his back. My lips are inches from his own and I drink in the sight of his wide, black eyes.

“You just don’t understand, do you, little orphan? I define your worth. I will always be stronger, more powerful-you cannot escape me, chibi Ouji. I am your prince. Always remember that. You bow to me.” He does not move, but the hatred in the depths of his obsidian eyes is more than apparent. I feel the vibration of his growl beneath my fingers and I grant him a wicked smile.

“So…my little prince wants to fight me, ne?” He blanches at the words, his skin becoming even paler in the red light of the moons. I know that he recognizes the perverse pleasure I obtain at the prospect of his resistance and the conflict it creates in his eyes is incredible.

His instinct tells him to fight me, but his reason wonders if docility would be the better course of action. These are steps in the dance that he is unused to, played to a song that has become all to familiar.

My hand relaxes against his collar, even as the boy does not and it is with severe loathing that he thrusts the words from his thin, silken lips.

“I bow to no one, Frieza. Least of all you.”

I want to kill him, his words burning an imprint in my brain. The impertinent whelp! Oh, I will make certain that you live to swallow every single grating word.

All other nights have been filled with the agony of his screams, and I know that pain will not achieve the objective that I have in mind. I will do the very thing that will make him not only detest me, but despise himself. I’m going to make my little prince enjoy this.

His chest heaves in indignation as I trail my hand down his abdomen.

“Really, Vegeta,” I croon, following the light path of brown down to his flaccid organ. He shudders violently as I begin to stroke. It is rare that I occupy myself with pleasuring him and it unnerves him. He is lost, looking for all the world like the fifteen-year-old boy that he is. Muscles ripple as he grasps the sheets at his sides and he gnashes his teeth, desperately fighting against the sensations that slash through his system. He hates himself for being mortal, for not being able to stop my pleasurable onslaught, and in that first ambiguous moment he knows my intention.

Despite all his best efforts, my pet becomes hard in my hand, the satin shaft growing in length. He’s developed considerably in the past year, and I notice this as I torture him.

“You really should be nicer to me, little monkey.” He snarls furiously, battling, his body pitting itself against his mind.

“I hate you,” he sneers, pulling his hips back into the bed and away from my groping hand. I laugh, igniting his fervent Saiyan rage; I can see the blazing fire in his ebony eyes, feel the unnatural heat radiating off his small figure. I delight in the battle he engages with himself as I continue my torment, but I begin to tire of his stubborn silence. I want to hear him scream, and moan, to whimper.

I want to hear the mighty Saiyan no Ouji beg.

Holding tightly to his throbbing member, my hand fondles him, striking a faster paced rhythm against the opposition of his narrow hips. His cheeks begin to flush a stunning shade of pink that melts fluidly with the waning scarlet of the swollen moons. His teeth are clenched so hard his jaw shakes and I know that I’m looming over him like a famished animal. Working him this way has awoken something primal within myself and I am becoming increasingly aroused at his mounting passion.

His breath rushes out in a gasp and his back arches upward against me. The quiet is demolished as suddenly he’s cursing me in languages even I don’t understand, his swearing interrupted only by the moans that I rip from his throat as I pull and massage at his painfully stiff erection.

I chuckle, dodging as he snaps at my face, enraging him further and relentlessly feeding his frustration.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, little Ouji?” The boy tosses his head, growling furiously. Ah, my Saiyan. I know if I press him hard enough his instincts will reward my effort. I always make it a point to know everything about those in my employment. There is no Saiyan secret that has not been revealed to me. I draw upon that knowledge as I grip his quivering tail in my clawed fist.

He cries out with a frenzied abandon, his body finally surrendering to my constant coaxing.

My own control is checked as I watch him emerge from his pleasurable haze, his black eyes avoiding mine, shame painted obscenely on his youthful features. I dip two fingers into the result of his brutal passion that lies spread on his chest and bring it to his lips. His dark eyes snap to meet my own red ones and I can read the mortified wrath and-

Yes. Fear.

Finally he knows that I control him. I own him.

I press them between his soft lips, filling his unwilling mouth. His nostrils flare as he fights to breathe. The sight of him prone beneath me, weak and gagged thickens my arousal. I know he does not dare to bite me. I know what blood does to a Saiyan lust.

Suddenly my eyes narrow. He never answered my question.

I remove my fingers from his mouth and he trembles from the aftermath of his unwanted orgasm.

“Little monkey. You are enjoying yourself. Aren’t you.” This is not a question. He knows what I want him to say. Come, chibi. Admit. Submit.

His expression hardens as I lay my hand on his smooth thigh. He doesn’t understand. Not yet.

My nails against his sensitive inner thigh, however, prove to be extremely persuasive and I am forced to wait only a moment before his panicking voice betrays him.

“Yes!”

Muscle and sinew give way like paper beneath my dagger-edged claws and I am finally granted the hoarse, agonizing scream that consummates all of our nights together.

It triggers a powerful, orgasmic wave to rip through my body and I shiver with lust and desire for the insolent Saiyan brat that I have come to punish.

He’s panting hard against the pain and as I crawl between his parted thighs, I can feel the hot, slick blood that oozes from his fresh wounds. The liquid is like a brilliant spark against the fire of his skin, coating my own body, warming my own cold flesh. He fights not to cringe when our bodies come in contact, his pride and aching state making his position painfully clear to even his arrogant mind.

“You should have obeyed me, Vegeta.” My lips brush his ear and he shivers, trying with all his power to disappear into the bed. “You know you deserve my punishment.” I am usually not one to bite, but I forgo this insignificant factor as I sink my teeth into the corded muscle at the base of his neck in a purely Saiyan mark of possession. He knows this act is in defiance of all my previous actions, and it only takes the boy a moment to realize what I’ve done.

“You’re mine, little orphan. Understand that?”

The shock in his dark eyes is greater than I anticipated. He doesn’t think I know what I’ve done. Poor monkey. I always know what I do. Always.

I don’t have a sexual desire for blood, but I know that my Saiyan does. I have seen this trait when he fights, discovered it some time ago when I first took him into my bed. Threading my fingers into his soft, raven hair, I jerk his head back, holding him taut and still as I ravage his mouth with my tongue. His body spasms as he tastes his own life’s blood and I bask in the glow of his instinctual need. As I draw back, his angry eyes are slitted with undisguised fury. But then he unconsciously licks his lips and the taste of his blood is renewed, and he shudders deliciously.

Bottomless eyes close tightly in embarrassment and shame as I run my splayed fingers down his spread body. His thighs are smeared with the sticky russet consequence of his first punishment, the gouges deep and severe, but no longer bleeding. The metallic scent is as oppressive as his silence and already I can see the effects it is having on him.

“Ah, Vegeta. You have so much to learn about control,” I taunt as my hand coils once more around his sex, commanding it to harden with swift, firm strokes. He hates me. I see it magnified in his eyes as they push open, see it in the way he grits his teeth against any form of movement, any indication that he is enjoying my chill touch. My ice to his intense fire. It is a battle for supremacy that I am destined to remain victorious in.

He seems resigned to his fate, his nails raking at the sheets in helpless frustration. I don’t expect his furious gaze to lock onto mine as I drawn him closer to his second climax. I certainly never thought he would actually dredge up the nerve to speak.

He’s growling, canines bared as he forces his hips to still completely.

“Fuck. You.” I arch a brow, amused, really. This is more entertaining than I imagined.

And then he does it.

As he bites off the last syllable of his declaration, he raises his head and the bastard spits in my face.

All I can see is red.

It is somehow interesting that my vision has gone completely crimson in a room already washed with red light and that I am able to distinguish the difference. As my eyes narrow, I see the clever tact that he has taken. He expects me to beat him senseless, allowing him to escape in the depths of unconsciousness. Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this that easily, brat.

The wetness on my face has trickled down to my neck and with a grunt of distaste, I use the back of my hand to wipe it off.

Oh, you’re in for it, boy. I underestimated your stupidity. How silly of me.

It will never happen again.

He watches me, body tense, but expression impassive, foolishly thinking he knows what to expect from me.

“Stupid little monkey.” Uncertainty flickers deep within his eyes and I smile, clasping his shaft more securely in my hand. For a moment, his seemingly calm façade is torn and his defiance, along with the colour in his cheeks, drains away.

Sitting on one slashed thigh, I continue to pump him toward completion. I laugh as I look down; he seems almost betrayed by my response. I’m not playing the game by his rules anymore and my spoiled prince doesn’t know what to do about it.

I can all but taste his irrational fear as I reposition myself above him, and for a moment he forgets himself, forgets that he is a prince, that he is a proud Saiyan, and scrambles backward, away from me. As though he ever had a chance.

My regal warrior has receded back into the scared little boy that hides behind him. My chibi Ouji can handle the pain, but this kind of dominance bruises and breaks more than skin. The conflict in his eyes is even greater than that which I have created, the instinct to flee overwhelming the need to fight. My nails dig mercilessly into the back of his knee as I drag him back, kicking and squirming, biting and snapping. The composed Saiyan no Ouji has released the animal within and it fights as his chosen champion.

But to no avail.

He’s writhing in the throes of total mindless panic as I pin him effectively beneath my slightly larger build. He’s so small for a boy his age; I cover him easily, laughing in the face of his pathetic resistance.

His eyes are squeezed shut and his head shakes dizzyingly from side to side, like wishing hard enough could make it all go away.

Reality check, boy.

I thrust his legs apart with some difficulty. His frenzied state lends him strength and I use the wounds on his thighs to my advantage. Blood rushes over my fingers as I reopen the gashes, splattering onto the bed, red on white. Like fire and ice.

His continuous movement against my body has ensured my readiness and with a sadistic, condescending smirk, I bury myself in the tight, youthful heat of my twisting pet.

His breath chokes in his throat, black eyes dilating, biting through his lip as he grasps one last shred of dignity and refuses to scream.

That’s alright. I can be patient.

“Hmmm. Such a good, tight little fuck, aren’t you, my pet?” I accentuate my words with a full and painful buck of my hips. Something in my voice seems to snap him out of his stupor and he glares at me in unadulterated hatred, a glimpse of my Saiyan prince. And then his stony countenance crumbles as I begin to thrust and his obsidian eyes crystallize with hot, scalding tears.

You wanted pain, little prince. Allow me to oblige you.

But I still bypass his rules-this is not going to play out as it has so many times in the past. I will not just take my pleasure and leave him. I need to make him FEEL his punishment. He will never dare to go against me when I’m through with him.

The next time he contemplates disobeying me, he will relive this moment. Over and over again. I love to feed his nightmares. I am the monster under…in his bed.

Angling carefully, I begin a heated assault on his prostate.

His black eyes go white as I allow him to experience a pleasure unlike anything else in his young life. His face tells me that he doesn’t understand my inconsistencies.

And then he gets it, as the tears collecting in his eyes sprinkle down his flushing cheeks.

The humiliation of it all must make him want to kill himself. Not only am I forcing him to like this, I keep him on his back, watching his facial expressions flicker between pleasure and loathing, anger and hate. I know by this time not all of it is directed at me.

I groan. Damn, the boy is tight. Maintaining this steady rhythm is a test of my own control. I have always adored the sensation of being purged in his Saiyan heat and I grant myself a moment of blissful reprise, soaking up the delightful benefits of his young body.

There is more blood as his nails dig into his tender palms. I find it highly ironic that he insists on not touching me, rather than fighting me with his fists, his nails, his teeth. I suppose he sees the ultimate futility of it.

I quicken my pace, my hand caressing him again. He can’t help but respond; his body cannot deny what his mind insists is not real-I will not fade away or disappear. In the morning he with have acquired new scars that will forever remind him of his subservience to me.

I’ve shattered his proud, stern visage and he fumbles desperately with the pathetic pieces, struggling to uphold a semblance of dignity. But I’ve been careful to destroy each and every tediously crafted barrier between the arrogant warrior prince and the small, weeping boy that is threatening to reveal himself. He vies for control within himself and it is amusing to watch his mental play for dominance.

Suddenly, his Saiyan passion is unleashed. Something within him seems to snap and his hips begin to rise to meet my own, knees bent for better purchase. He has traded his tears for righteous anger and I laugh to hear him swearing at me again. But the truth of his traitorous movement remains apparent to both of us. He growls savagely, the last display of his defiance toward me.

He is screaming in rage, words half-spoken, cursing me in the names of deities I know he doesn’t even believe in. But I suppose that’s not really the point, is it?

His figure tenses under the influence of his wrath, and that wonderful heat sears my conquering organ. My cold skin absorbs his warmth and my moans begin to rival his angry words.

All the colourful phrases are sucked painfully down his throat as he is caught in the spider web of his pleasure. His body jerks as he releases, clamping down on my sex-my vision is flooded with brilliant white flashes and as he collapses and draws his next breath, my own is released in a low, passionate moan.

I welcome my satisfaction, spiking it with sporadic thrusts into his limp, now unresponsive form.

In time, my sight clears and my breathing returns to normal. I look down with a smirk, expecting to see my prince crushed and broken as I have various times in the past.

Only to find that his fiery onyx eyes are cold and unreadable.

Cold and unfeeling. Like black ice.

Nothing. His dark eyes are black, impenetrable voids that swallow his emotions and reflect nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He meets my eyes without hesitation. Still, I see only masked emptiness.

“Are you finished?” I am so surprised to hear him speak that it takes my brain a moment for his sharp words to register. I pull back in shock, slipping out of his abused body. I wonder for a moment if I have heard him correctly, but I know that no amount of second-guessing will change what he has said.

He has never defied me so blatantly, never intentionally provoked my wrath so obviously, never…

“What did you say to me, boy?” He does not flinch at my warning tone, but holds my eyes.

“Did I stutter, Frieza?” My name is spoken with such venomous distaste. Did I imagine his tears, his screams? I begin to quiver with poorly suppressed fury.

“What’s the matter? Is it something I said?” Is he mocking me?! How DARE he!

My muscles are cinched so tight I begin to shake. Does he wish to die?

There is no sarcasm, no taunting, nothing – in the black mirror of his eyes I see only my reflection.

Without another thought, I have raised my hand and watch in sadistic glee as my pet is thrown from the bed, landing against the wall with a sickening thud.

I am beside him in the next instant, his fragile tail wrapped around my hand. I pull, crushing the sensitive appendage. The snap and pop of the small, interlocking bones cause me to squeeze more violently, grinding them between my unforgiving fingers.

His back is arched painfully, nails scraping audibly against the floor as he bares his teeth, sweat prickling his furrowed brow.

“Apologize, you impertinent little monkey!” I yank vindictively at his brown tail and I hear something rip and tear. He sways precariously on his hands and knees, falling forward on his elbows. Dammit, if I give him too much more he’ll pass out! I curse fluently as I realize what he’s done, what he’s set into motion. I release his tail with a flurry of obscenities. The mangled limb is hardly recognizable as such as it drops limply to the floor. I cannot believe that he has thought to best me. Oh, he will pay. The little bastard may not live to see another moonrise.

I shove his face into the floor with my foot planted firmly on the nape of his neck.

“Weak little monkey. You are nothing compared to me! Your foolish delusions only worsen your predicament, Vegeta.” I think perhaps I have gone too far in my fury, for he is unnaturally still on the ground at my feet. Removing my foot, I step backward in furious contemplation.

I need time to think of a proper punishment. I don’t understand why my tactics have proved fallible. He has never made me go to such lengths-

I watch, somewhat amazed as my Saiyan begins to stir, still not a sound uttered from his lips. He regains his hands and pushes himself to his feet with agonizing slowness, grimacing only once as his useless tail bumps against his shredded thigh.

And then he’s standing before he, as straight as he’s able, one hand braced against the wall. Turning his face to the right, I see the black and blue result of my uncontrolled anger. He bends his head slightly and spits a stream of dull red blood to the floor.

His hair is on fire as he stands silhouetted by the unholy moonlight. I can hardly believe his audacity as his lips curl into an exhausted shadow of his usual smirk.

His words are whispered, but I hear them all too clearly.

“I…win…”

Silence.

I don’t make a sound and his laboured breathing is secondary to the rushing in my ears. This is the first time he has managed to stun me with his unpredictability.

But shock is a simple emotion that is easily bled into rage.

“You BASTARD! Do you think this is a game? I could kill you!” My words barely escape my grinding teeth, my hands and face are contorted with irrepressible rage.

Then it dawns on me as I take in his infuriating stance. Of course he sees this as a game, a challenge. He’s just like me. Just like I crafted him to be.

He challenged me to lose control and I unwittingly accepted his bait.

My enraged features are the last thing his black eyes behold before I send him to his knees with a single blow. His pride does him no good against my superior strength, and thus with a soft moan, he embraces the security of unconsciousness.

The desire to kill him is still strong as I reach down and gather his slight body unceremoniously in my arms. I drop him onto the bed, arranging his limbs in a semblance of normality. His features are finally lax and peaceful and I cross my arms, studying his uncommon countenance.

This is unacceptable behavior from my pet. I still cannot believe that he taunted me so deliberately to lose control. Or even more that I did.

Taking a deep breath, I settle back into my familiar composure. This is merely a minor set back in our routine. I will find a way to punish him effectively. And he will bow before me.

I am his prince.

I sit quietly at the foot of the bed, watching him as his breathing deepens and evens out; before long he is in the clutches of another dream that torments him and sends him twisting and groaning in the midst of his own private hell.

I allow him to sleep, to regain a fraction of his strength. I need to time to concoct a punishment truly worthy of my insolent Saiyan no Ouji. I simply will not tolerate such disrespect from my pet.

And so, in the dimming crimson light of a trinity of moons, I wait for him to wake.

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