Welcome to Boxer & Rice

We have fought many times before now. I do not know what it is that makes this time different – perhaps because it has been so long since his mate died, or perhaps because it has been so long since … my mate died. Bulma; beautiful, clever, infuriating Bulma, who hunted me with such dedication that it was almost frightening. I gave in to her as I have always done to those who are stronger, whether it be physical or some other strength, eventually I always yield. She was a gentle one though, perhaps all females are. She never hurt me and … she let me be happy. Kami, I miss her, why did death have to take her? She was so young… humans die so young.

Whatever it is, why ever it is, when he beat me, as he always does, he finally decided to take his rights in me. I do not understand why he has not done so before, except maybe that he did not want to upset Bulma. I was hers after all and he is very considerate with his friends. Though since… why has he waited so long since? I do not understand. I do not think I want to.

I am pinned to the ground, his warm, strong body covering mine and I see a look in his eyes that has not been there before, or perhaps it has and he has hidden it from me. He wants me, wants to be inside me as all those who are stronger have been inside me. But it is not quite the same as the look all the others gave me; I cannot tell what the difference is, but it is there. So subtle, and I have never seen it before, not in a male. It is like how Bulma used to look at me… but it cannot be the same. They are not the same.

He touches me, softly, running his free hand down my side as his other holds my wrists in a firm yet gentle grip. He doesn't have to be gentle; I have been trained to accept this since I was a child. Besides, it is his right to have me, I am the weaker, less worthy of the two of us; I am not allowed to complain. But he seems intent on being gentle, soft – as though he expects me to run. I will not. I know the consequences of fighting this and I … I cannot face them again.

I lower my eyes, not wanting to see the lust in his face that I have seen in others; somehow it seems wrong for his open, happy features to have such an expression. He caresses me, running his hand down my thigh now, and then he reaches under my shirt, trailing his fingers against my skin and slowly releasing my hands. I allow my arms to fall to my sides, knowing better than to attempt to participate. I almost wince, remembering the punishments I received for doing so before, but catch myself just in time – it would not do to make him have to beat me before he has even truly started.

He kisses me, smoothing his tongue over my lips, and I open up for him, allow him to plunder me. He is taking such care, I almost wonder whether he intends to make me enjoy it and then punish me afterwards for doing so. It has happened like that before, and I do not doubt will happen again, and for a second I feel fear but then I remember his sense of smell, as keen as my own, and I focus only on the moment, pushing the thoughts of future punishment to the back of my mind. Frieza never liked to see fear when he bedded me; only obedience and submission, and I do not doubt that Kakkarrot is the same.

For a second he looks at me, his dark eyes questioning and then he seems to make a decision. He removes my shirt, so gently. Kami, why does he have to be so gentle? Does he wish to torment me, force me into disobedience? No, no, please, Kakkarrot, please… he touches the base of my tail and the world turns white. I made no sound, thank all the fates. But… why? Why Kakkarrot? Take your pleasure, it is your right, but leave me be.

He does not, slowly taking his time, as though he means to seduce me, as though he needs to. I almost laugh but restrain myself. Now is not the time, to give in to hysteric mirth… it is never the time. He draws me onto his lap, slowly thrusting into me, and I gasp…It does not hurt. It has never… it has always hurt before. What has he done to me? What is he doing?

He caresses me, kissing my neck and suckling my nipples, while slowly thrusting. He is holding back, waiting for… what? What does he want that I have not done? I do not know, I do not understand. What does he want?! Please Kakkarrot, I do not understand, I do not understand… I am sorry… please?

He continues and … my world has become centred on pleasure and confusion, and I can no longer contain the former. I clasp my hands over my mouth, knowing I must not make sound, it is wrong for me to… Kakkarrot? Why did he take my hands away? Does he want me to tell my pleasure to the entire world, I who should not even feel it? No, I must be silent; it is not my right to detract from his fulfilment. But… it is so difficult… please; let me cover my mouth, please? Kakkarrot! I… The universe goes white, lights explode behind my eyes and I scream out in ecstasy. My hands grip his shoulders, I hold him… oh Gods I hold him. My fear escalates, my breath tight in my lungs… oh Gods, what have I done?

He climaxes inside me just a second later, and I tremble in his arms, waiting for the punishment he will surely mete out as soon as he recovers. I cannot hide my trepidation, and refuse to look at him, hanging my head like a dog who knows it has done wrong. My attitude will surely anger him further, but I do not want him to see the feeling of betrayal in my eyes, the hurt that one I almost loved… almost needed, should do this to me. He made me betray myself and now I do not know how to… if only he had just taken his pleasure and then left me, all would be normal. Why did he do this? Does he truly think me that pathetic, that I need to be taught who is master and who is slave? He beat me, so he owns me, I know this, I do not need to have it demonstrated.

He holds me, cradling my like a precious, fragile treasure. He… he does not… why is he not angry? I did wrong, I took pleasure and… I made noise, I was selfish, I was bad. I do not understand, is this some new punishment…?

He lifts my head and kisses me, his lips as soft as rose petals against mine. Then he turns me in his lap, wrapping his arms around me and rocking gently. He nuzzles my hair, breathing softly, and then starts trailing butterfly kisses over my ear. I cannot control the moan that escaped my mouth, and I almost cringe knowing that it will earn me further punishment.
"You are so beautiful Vegeta. Like a pearl hidden in an oyster shell."
Beautiful? No, no, only the strong and the good are beautiful and I am neither. I am… twisted, wrong. If I was good, obedient, I suppose I could be called 'pleasant'. Or pretty, if Frieza was pleased with me he would sometimes call me pretty. I want to shake my head, deny what Kakkarrot has said but… it is wrong to contradict, wrong to deny what the master says. Perhaps I am being even more disobedient by thinking such things? I should tell him so he can punish me but… I am too afraid.

In my fear I have stiffened, become as inflexible as a statue and this worries him I think. He continues rocking and he strokes me, purring softly, until I manage to force myself to relax. Slowly I push my emotions to the back of my mind, where they will not interfere with my thoughts, and I look at my memories of what has happened. I put it together with what is happening now and… He is not angry, he went out of his way to give me pleasure, he was gentle… maybe… maybe he wanted me to enjoy it. Maybe to him I am not just an animal to be bedded and discarded? I ignore my instinctive, terrified denial of that conclusion – Kakkarrot has never hurt me, not in any way that counts, maybe he never intended to.

He continues to rock me, attempting to comfort me, to hold at bay my fears even though he it seems as though does not understand what they are. He was not and has never been one of Frieza's men, he probably … he probably does not understand. I decide to take a chance, looking up at him nervously. I lift my trembling hand and touch his cheek, searching his eyes for anger or disgust. There is none, just a gentle patience. I hold it there, waiting for him to hit me, to do or say something that tells me where I stand, that tells me to go back to being a slave. For a few seconds he does nothing, then he turns his face, keeping his eyes locked to mine, and kisses my palm.

I cannot help it. I smile and start to cry at the same time, holding on to him as though he is the only shelter in the storm, sobbing silently in to his shoulder. He holds me and he is not angry. He is not angry. I cannot stop weeping but he doesn't seem to mind; he murmurs softly, rubbing his hand gently down my back and I relax completely for the first time since Bulma died. The world slowly fades from my awareness, until all that I feel is his warmth, all that I hear is his voice. And soon that too fades.