Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

Author's Note : Dedicated to chibi_vegeta of Saiyajin Secrets – as much for his patience as for his talent. This was promised a long time ago, and has been very slow in the writing. Apologies, and I hope you enjoy – it was an experiment of sorts, one that I'm not entirely sure was successful. Enjoy, or not, as it strikes your fancy.

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His eyelashes curl so sweetly against his cheeks, so long and silky. It is a wonder to me how no one else ever notices the softness of him; even when he swears and fights, like a feral dog brought to bay, I can see it. So proud my Prince is, so regal and so strong, and yet so very, very vulnerable. He would try to kill me if I said that out loud, and if he ever knew that I came to watch him sleep… Heh. He looks as sweet as a child, and is about as naïve when it comes to relationships. If I think back on how long it took Bulma to show him that she wanted him… almost a year before he had the slightest clue that anything was going on, and another four months before she got him into her bed. Poor, innocent Vejiita – you had no idea what you were getting into when you accepted her offer of a place to stay, did you?

She tried to cage you… I could have told her that it wouldn’t work. To leash my Ouji is not impossible, but it is cruel beyond words. I have seen the scars he bears, the marks evidence of more torture than I think I could have survived. Some of them are so deep and ragged that they are obviously legacies of some vicious battle, but others are too straight, too precise… He has been tortured many times over I think, and I know he has been starved – he eats much too desperately, snatching at any food put before him as though he expects it to be taken away. Perhaps he does. I have not missed the wary looks he throws at me, the careful way he keeps as far out of my reach as possible without giving offence. His stance is always defensive, and his speech follows suit – I think Piccolo has also noticed that my Prince attacks only because he expects to be attacked.

I won’t allow that, not anymore; there will be no cause for him to watch us all so suspiciously, no fear of taunts or mockery. I don’t think I could stand it now. Not since I started this habit of watching him as he slept. I didn’t know… I didn’t think he would cry in his sleep. His sobs are silent, the tears flowing from his eyes each night as though never-ending. The little true sleep he gains is always ended before dawn, and I have often had to leave abruptly as he starts awake, his face terrified, anguished. Tonight is one of the few times I have ever seen him calm, curled up into a little ball, with his tail tucked so carefully between his legs and his hands drawn up to his mouth. He looks so much like a small child, huddled in on himself for comfort – or a cat coiled up and around itself.

He often puts me in mind of a feline, with his grace and agility. When he is relaxed – which is not often, and never when he has even a hint that another is watching – he walks with a loose-limbed poise, alert but elegant in a way I have seen no other emulate. I suppose his son comes close, but he is nothing compared to my Ouji. That same grace is apparent when we spar, unless I come too close and touch him too much. Even after all this time with Bulma, he still does not like to touch; it makes him tense and angry, as though he expects pain and prepares to give it in return. At least, in these last years, I have seen that spark of madness grow dim and faint in his eyes – it is still there, but each day it fades a little more, and one day I am sure it will die completely.

The sun is coming up now, but he does not stir. Too tired, I think, from our last bout and from the late night. Sometimes I frustrate him so badly that he cannot sleep until bare hours before dawn, taunting him when we spar and then using my own unique abilities to continue it after he thinks I have left, tripping him up and pulling things from his hands so that he thinks he has gone clumsy. It makes him incredibly frustrated and tires him out enough that he sometimes manages a good night’s sleep. For a while I used to talk to him too, and disappear each time he turned around, but I stopped that the day he tried to kill himself. He took a knife to his wrists, slashing them deeply, and I had to think up a very good excuse to suddenly appear on Bulma’s doorstep and rush up to his room. He kept on saying he heard voices, and the last time he heard them he killed everyone around him. Those dark eyes of his were wild and panicked, and he begged me to kill him before he hurt anyone he cared for. I have never felt so guilty in my life.

I think that was when Bulma first actually started looking at him as a person and not just a convenient sex partner. A few months after that I found out that they did not sleep together anymore, because they were too good as friends. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not, that this wild, ethereal Prince of mine was free. It wasn’t as though I could do anything about it – Chichi and I were still working on our marriage, trying to stay together after my long absences and her erratic behaviour. It took us a while to admit defeat and separate, but that is exactly what led to me being here, watching him sleep. He’s available. So am I. I think it’s about time that I pointed that out to him – subtly of course.

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

I swear that idiot is getting too much amusement out of this. Bad enough that he now makes it a habit to taunt me every time we spar, but today he ruffled my hair! As though I was some foolish cub or a weak female! I am not in a good mood. Yesterday was – as the woman puts it – ‘one of those days’ where everything I did went wrong. I swear I fell down more times than when I was learning how to walk! And the number of things I dropped… feh. If I didn’t know better I’d say someone pulled them from my hands. It is happening far too much of late, this continuous lack of coordination… in many ways it is exhausting.

At least I slept well. One of my few good nights, though how the hell I managed to get to bed without mishap, after the day I had, I have no idea. No nightmares, no dreams and thank whatever remnants of my Gods that may still exist, no crying. I did not know that I did that until the woman asked me why I cried at night. It was humiliating to realise I wept like a newborn babe in my sleep! As though crying will help anything. A good punch in Kakkarrot’s ribs would be much more effective, if only the bastard would hold still!

I hate to admit this, even to myself, but not only is that empty-headed moron stronger than me, he’s also faster. So much faster that I swear sometimes it doesn’t look as though he has even moved… I hate when he does that! If you’re going to bloody well put the effort in to get close to me, then you should follow through – not just pull my hair! He’s been doing this for weeks; one time he even covered my eyes and said ‘Guess who?’ As though I couldn’t figure it out – we were the only ones there for God’s sake. Sometimes I just want to pound him into the ground… What the hell?!

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

He’s been responding exactly as I want him to these last few weeks. He won’t admit it, even to himself, but I think he’s blushed more in the last month than he has in the entire decade before. He’s so cute when he blushes… Oops! I didn’t mean to do that! Although I think this is the first time I have been so close to him as he turns that interesting shade of red… I think I’ve aroused him. Heh, now this has possibilities – although I did not intend to move quite so fast… But those lips of his are so tempting, especially when he’s pouting. So soft. So irresistible.

I think I’ve shocked him now. First rubbing against his groin like a cat in heat, and then kissing the living daylights out of him. My poor Prince, I believe I’ve thrown you completely off balance. Ah, so silky sweet, so tender to my touch.
See how you arch my Vejiita? Can you hear your own voice in your ears, a pretty, kittenish mewing that simply begs me to continue?

Oh no, don’t wake up to what I’m doing little one, don’t remember your pride and arrogance now – even if you try to struggle I will have you back under me, and I have no wish to force this. That’s it, be calm my darling. Oh, do not look at me so warily, dark eyes from under those dark lashes. I’m not going to hurt you…

Whatever it is he sees in my eyes, it is obviously not reassuring, for he tenses and begins to fight me, clawing and kicking, bucking so hard in an attempt to get away that he inadvertently arouses me.

What does he expect, when he rubs against me so wantonly? Ah, now he notices. Silly pretty, did you think I’d let you go, when it is so obvious you need this more than I?

I will leave you heaving on the ground, satiated and content, curled up to me as you are meant to be. My Prince, my Vejiita. Possessiveness, it seems, is a trait I hold only when it comes to him. Chichi did not ever provoke this sort of jealous claiming in me that he does, nor the overwhelming urge to protect, to pleasure… I will have him screaming in bliss before the next hour has struck.

It seems he has forgotten his rage now, his eyes searching mine with an almost desperate intensity. Fists clenched tightly around my upper arms loosen and move, one to cup my cheek and the other to press against my chest, lifting me slightly as he shifts underneath me. Somehow we come to be sitting up, his legs straddling my hips, cushioned on my lap and facing me, still with that searching look upon his face. I hold him firmly about the waist, stroking softly at the pliant flesh, watching as he shivers and arches into even that slight touch. His breath hitches, little panting gasps escaping him in a song of need that I cannot help but answer. This time he is expecting the kiss, and his reception of me, though tentative, is sweet. Hesitant – I do not think he has ever kissed a man before, and something tells me that he was never the initiator in his relationship with Bulma. Sweet, precious Ouji, I do not think it ever occurs to you that I am neither so fragile nor so fickle as Bulma; this ride will turn wild when you remember how little you like to give me control.

Power and passion, an addiction that grows on me whenever I feel his touch. The only one to rival me, the only one to force me to new heights. He has no idea how difficult it is to keep always one step ahead and make it seem effortless, to watch him leap from strength to strength and know he has yet more potential. I force him far beyond his limits, making him grow into his abilities far faster than he otherwise might. I do not think my Ouji realises that one day he will outdo me, too focused on the now and forgetting that elites take far longer to develop than the lower classes. And, for all my strength, I am born out of the lower classes, and have some of their flaws. Too quick development with a lower potential, not nearly so stable as my Prince should be… will be. He will regain all he lost under Frieza’s vicious care, if I have to challenge him forever.

But for now there is no contest of strength or skill. He has no idea what I have planned for him, his carefully concealed bewilderment quite evident to me for all his efforts. Even the idea of relations with men has never crossed his mind, too focused on his training and on adapting to this strange world of mine to ever notice that he is the object of desire for many. How naïve my sweet one is, how innocent. All he knows is the clean mercy of death, the beauty of blood on his fists and fire in his heart; sex is merely something others do, or he does at another’s bequest, to get her children. Sweet darling, he has no idea why I’m doing this.

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

He touched me. He touched me! And it feels almost like those times Bulma touched me there, heat and a want I have no idea how to control. Bastard, get off me, I do not want this! Let me go! I hate you, I hate you! Stop! Ahhh, God-damned bastard, why won’t you… Oh Gods. I can hear myself mewling like some foolish pup, arching into him as he kisses me so sweetly, so…No! Let me go! Damn you, when I am stronger I will get you back for this. Holding me down as though I’m some captive prize… what do you want with me? Why won’t you just stop this?

His eyes tell me of his lust, but I am no plaything for his pleasure. I will not let this happen! Yet no matter what I do, how hard I fight him, how many times I kick and claw at him, he doesn’t budge, and I find my movements arouse me more than they accomplish my goal. I can feel my face heating under his knowing gaze, feel his hardness press against me, and it is all I can do not to whimper, to plead with him. To do what I cannot tell, whether it be to stop or continue this finely wrought torture… I think I want more… It has been so long, and after this foolish match I find I burn and I cannot fight anymore. As soon as I still he relaxes his hold slightly. I do not think he even notices how his hands rub gently, soothingly against my sides, as though to calm me. No one has ever done that before… Bulma clung to me as we coupled, in desperate intensity, but she never just held me… I find I like it, but I do not understand his reasons for this. Why, Kakkarrot, why? Why pick on me for this? Why not another, someone closer to you, friendlier… kinder?

His eyes speak volumes to my searching gaze, possessiveness and hunger and a strange sort of tenderness – similar to how Bulma used to look when Trunks suckled upon her breast.

Is that how he always sees me? As someone to cherish?

It is a strange thing to see oneself reflected in another’s eyes, without the scars you know lie on your soul. Why me, Kakkarrot? Why me, with me hands stained with the blood of a hundred planets and my nagging insanity, just waiting to rise up and kill again? What have I done to gain your regard, your lust? Why soil yourself by touching me?

Ah! Now I understand. Want. His eyes are filled with want as well as that other, strange mixture of things I do not understand. Lust and desire and… possessiveness?

How long will you keep me, once you are sated and content? How quickly will you move on to another’s bed, disrupt another’s life?

Such a fickle monster, Kakkarrot – even that harpy of yours finally gave up on constancy from you, so what makes you think you can convince me that you will stay, with the power of your eyes alone? But I can cope with lust, much better than with its gentler cousin. Want me then, Kakkarrot, desire me. I know I want you, want to touch and be touched so badly… it is hard, to know only pain from tactile contact, and then be taught pleasure just to have the abundance offered snatched away. She did not mean to be cruel, taking me to her bed and then finding that she could not use me so after that incident with the knife. It was not such a terrible thing – I have done worse to myself and suffered no permanent harm. And it is nothing compared to what was done to me… Though I have yet to understand your guilt over it. It is not as though you did anything… Did you?

Pah! Enough debate. You want my body, and that I can give you. Take it. Show me how it is between male and male. And when you are tired of me, of what passes for my company, I will have no regrets. Just to touch for a moment… Touch me, hold me. I want… Gods, I want… Why so gentle Kakkarrot? I have capitulated, so why so slow? I do not understand… Such soft hands, so large, so strong and yet… even as he removes my clothes he is gentle, tender… I like this, crave this feather-light torture far more than the heavier petting of my last lover. I find I cannot help myself, turning my face into his palm, resting my head there as though to give him everything that is me. Thank the Gods he does not understand and would not accept even if he did…

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

He is surprisingly docile beneath my touch, all the fight seeming to drain from his body in a sudden wave, his lithe form pliant beneath mine. I touch him, stroking a smooth cheek, just to see the contrast between his dark skin and my own lighter shade, just to feel his silken perfection against my own coarse roughness. The turn of his head, the resting of his cheek in my palm… I did not expect it, but it is certainly welcomed. His dark lashes close over those ebony eyes, and all of a sudden this pleasant warmth becomes a heat I cannot resist. To taste, to touch this exquisite perfection that is my Prince; it is heaven, abundant and beautiful and so very, very precious. His scent inside me, bitter chocolate and biting cinnamon, his skin against my own, slick and hot… Addiction incarnate my Ouji. I will never, can never let you go.

Taste, touch, scent and sound… so much I want to experience of him, so much energy and vivacity he just… exudes without effort. He is my greatest temptation, so beautiful, so sinfully delicious. Heh. Comparing my Prince to food seems brilliantly appropriate, particularly as he is laid out before me like some rare and exotic dish. His skin ripples beneath my hands, muscles writhing as he tries to choke back a whimper. Already he glistens, lust and desire seeming to run rampant in him and I have barely started my delights. By the time I reach his toes, he is tense and wanting, hot beneath my fingertips, fire on my tongue. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed his delicate feet, so small and elegant, a perfect arch as he points his toes under my gentle urging.

It is almost impossible to stop teasing him, he responds so perfectly. Such a sweet one, so easy to bring to the brink, so easy to please; I don’t think he quite realises how much his reactions delight me, and at the moment I don’t think he cares. He burns too hot now to even think of ceasing this, his desire distracting that fine mind from pride and anger till even his resentment of me is buried beneath his lust. He fights it, of course he fights it, too wary and too suspicious of me – of anyone stronger than him – that he cannot help but resist. I can see the moment he gives in, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure so intense he cannot help but cry out. But not yet, I will not let him feel release yet.

As I gentle my touch on his skin, soothing the fire in him, I swear he gives me an almost accusing look. Such a sweet one, too often has he been denied, too often has he seen his dreams snatched from his grasp; the hopes of a child fading to the terrible madness of an adult who desired two things above all else. But Frieza is dead and I brought him back from his own eternal rest, and now he has nothing left to cling to. What else is there for one whose entire being is still fixated on his frozen Lord? What can he do but fight in the day and cry at night, unable to escape his memories? It must be hell to have perfect recall, to remember everything that has happened in your life, all the pain and fear. So little love, so little care has been lavished on my Prince that I find I want to wrap him in a feather comforter and never let the world touch him again. But to cage him, even so gently… I do not think he could bear it and remain sane. So instead I will show him pleasure.

His eyes flash, and that is all the warning I have as he bucks his hips upwards, pressing against my own erection in imperial command. His expression seems to say that since I have started I had better finish this, now. What penalties would I incur, were I to delay but a moment longer? I will not risk it, not for the moment. Instead I lean down and kiss him, plunging into his warm mouth to taste and savour. His groaning is drowned out by my own, his pleading movements matched by my body’s own actions. We are equal, perfectly balanced against each other for just one moment, and for that second I am reminded of fusion, of the flawless melding of minds so that my strength and his skill are married perfectly to each other. I want that again, want to feel him as close to me as physically possible. It is a yearning that I have never felt before, a need to claim, to be claimed, to match the only one capable of challenging me. I need an equal who will not look at me with awe or pity. I… need him.

The realisation does not shock me, not as it once may have done, that I want him forever, to be mine, locked safely away in my heart where he can never be hurt again. It has been growing on me, this want, and now it bursts out in a raging torrent, making my movements swift and hurried. He sees it, I think, but is not afraid of the beast I have let loose; he almost seems to welcome it, responding to my fervour with a passion of his own. The movements of this dance are unfamiliar to him, his responses to me bordering on the hesitant. It does not matter, is of no consequence to our pleasure except in that I must be the one to lead for the moment. I do not doubt there will come a time when he is the one who takes control; it is his nature to rebel against any restriction, perhaps a remnant of his behaviour with Frieza. He burned too hot for the Ice Lord, and I am glad of it, for his fire is what attracted me to him.

So hot beneath my fingertips, so sweet upon my tongue; my Vejiita is a feast of sensory delights, an irresistible temptation. I cannot stop from kissing him, exploring a warm, slick mouth even as I slip my first finger into him, soothing him as he pulls away. A second and a third and I am certain he is more than ready now, my fingers brushing against a place deep inside him, making him arch in pleasure, his chest brushing against my own, as his face is twisted into something both carnal and divine. He is hard and undoubtedly aching, his voice bearing testament to his strained control, and I no longer have the heart to deny him for even a moment longer. I think he is startled when I flip him over and slip into him, setting up a lazy rhythm. The idea that one male can be inside another, even after all my careful preparation, seems not to have occurred to him. Ah, but he is made for this, so hot and tight, so responsive beneath me; I thought the first time would be easier for him face down, his back to me, and it appears that I was right… His moans are intoxicating…

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

Bastard! He is too good at teasing me, finds it too easy to smile into my eyes as his fingers dance upon my flesh. His amusement is thick in my nostrils, his lust just as evident in his eyes, so why in hell must he taste and touch for so long, as though I was some virgin female who must be made to relax and sigh in simpering pleasure. But… he is too good at this, and what few protestations make it to my lips are always easily extinguished by his kisses. I swear he has a fascination with my mouth that is overmatched only by the one he has with my feet! Or my hands… or the rest of me… Gods of my forefathers, where in hell did he learn this?

It is enough! It is more than enough – he has brought me almost to the brink too many times and now I just want to… I don’t know what I want to do, but he obviously has some plan or other and he’d better put it into practice soon or I’ll kill him! Burning fire heats my veins, and I cannot help but thrust my hips up to meet his; I know my eyes are angry, demanding, and I know that any other would rather that I be soft and pliant, but I lost those qualities long ago, if I even had them. He holds off too much, and I grow impatient for the ending of this. Whether he leaves or remains once it is finished… I do not think I care any longer, just so long as he…! It hurts, and that pain is so incongruous that I pull away, not expecting to have him coo at me like a mother would her child, not expecting the gentle touches as he moves his finger inside me, touching something that sends electricity soaring through my body. I have never felt a thing like this, a feeling of being full and yet wanting more… there must be more…

Once again he reminds of his speed, fast beyond anything that I have ever attained flipping me over to lie face down upon the grass. But even in this change of positions he does not let up, nor does he increase this lazy pace. His touches are still slow and gentle, still firing my blood so that when he first invades me I cannot say that there is any pain. He moves so cautiously, is so tender and solicitous that for a moment I want to hit him, but my position prevents it and I ache too much, desire completion too much to interrupt his movements. The care he takes over me warms a place deep inside, where even passion has not reached before, and somehow it feeds this frenzy, urging it to greater strength.

I am wrapped around in heat, writhing like some weak female beneath him, almost completely surrendering and yet there is still a part of me that wants to fight, to deny this burning. The earth is cool beneath my skin, and Kakkarrot’s movements strike a place that burns so hot… He is too strong to fight, and too skilled to deny and I… I want this, want this passion that is as much about fighting as it is about lust. The cries that escape me are hardly muted at all now, all my efforts at stifling them in vain. His skin on mine, his muscles enveloping me, shielding me… I have not felt so safe since I turned five. And I have never felt this… hunger for another, not like this, not so overpowering that I think I would do literally anything to make certain he continues. He smells of musk and dominance, and something so strong and centered that I have no doubt it will remain until the end of time itself. Care is there as well, a need as great as my own, and that hint of steel I only catch when there is a true threat. All it does is feed my yearning, and I know I must look nigh on possessed as I search for some sort of center in this storm. There is something in me that must be satisfied, something so deeply buried in me that even in my times with the woman I felt only the edge of it.

I think he hears it in my voice, my wordless cries finally moving him to move more quickly, his flesh inside mine thrusting faster and more furiously. Restrained strength above and the knowledge that there is no need for control, no need to be careful, for there is no one here I can kill by accident – I cannot even kill the bastard on purpose! But after today… I do not think I will ever wish to… He cherishes me, this is obvious, and he is one of the few that have never mocked me; neither my station nor my race. He has denied us, fought us, he has even destroyed what little of me there was left, but he has never mocked. It is something I have found I can depend on, even when his friends make clear that they despise me, even when they jeer. Kakkarrot does not find my life something to belittle, and that is oddly liberating. Even now, as he restrains me with his body, caresses my neck in fierce little bites of need… I feel free. Freedom from all control, nothing here that can be hurt by my letting go, no one to witness or to mock… I cannot stop my voice, hearing it ring out loudly even as the sky shatters above me. It is beautiful…

* * * * * * * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * *

He grows more frenzied as I speed up, fingers clutching at the ground, tearing up grass and earth heedlessly. In a distant part of my mind I take note of the action, thinking that I would have to make sure that no damage had occurred to my sweet one, no breaking of the skin to pain him later on. For all his stoicism, his reactions to my touch give testament that he is as sensitive in body as he is in soul; pretend all you like, my Prince, there is nothing I will not eventually ferret out of wherever you hide it. But for now… for now I delight in his pleasure even as I am taken up by my own. He cries out beneath me, becoming rigid and tense. A slender back arches up, and he convulses for long moments before collapsing gently to the ground. I am not yet satisfied, but his movements speed me there, my body reacting to his in an effect as inevitable as time. The world greys out for a moment, and I know in that same distant part of me that my body has stiffened, my fingers digging into his lithe hips.

It is his panting breaths that I hear first, my eyes still closed in remembered ecstasy. I grow aware that I am crushing him, my heavier frame enveloping his own muscular physique; I do not think he notices, and if he did I do not think he’d care, but I notice and I care. I will make it my concern to tend to him even as he ignores his own desires, his own needs. Mine. My Ouji, my sweet, darling, vicious, feral warrior. Too perfect, too impulsive, his only flaw his arrogance, his greatest virtue his pride. I do not think that many notice the difference; all they see is the former, and mistake it for the latter. But it is his pride that allowed him to survive his time with Frieza, his pride that forces him to better himself. The other quality… it works to move him to rashness, to make him too confident. The other side of the coin, where too much pride becomes a poison.

It is no wonder that he has fallen into that trap, for he has never had any other support but his pride. He depends entirely on himself for his confidence, but still tries to validate his existence to us, to those around him, in a paradoxical display of strength. Each time he sees my friends, he tries to show them how worthy he is of acceptance, how much better he is than before. And each time… how often do they want him to fail? How much does he hear of their complaints and insults? Their resentment burns him, beginning the cycle anew, so that he pushes himself harder, retreats from our lives even further, until all that remains is him and his goal. He does not even realise it…Such a cold and sterile world you live in, my Vejiita, so hard and isolated a place.

I know that I cannot make it warm for him overnight. I cannot change his defensiveness, show him how much he is admired, melt the arrogance to reveal the pride beneath; not so soon, not so easily as a simple roll in the hay. But slowly, moment by moment and day by day, perhaps I can return a little of the shimmering wonder to his world that he lost so long ago. So I will stay, even if he tries to make me leave, even if he screams out his everyday insults – meant as much for himself as for me – and vows that he will kill me. He is too precious to give up on, too hurt to help himself and I… I am fascinated by what few glimpses I have had of what lies beneath the hate and rage. If I try hard enough, for long enough… Perhaps one day, he will not cry in his sleep.