Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

I fucking hate him. Let's be clear about that. I. Hate. Him.

Last year I did a stupid thing, and he took every advantage of it. It's the kind of thing I've been trying to encourage in him for years, a very saiyajin ruthlessness. How ironic that when he finally showed his colors, I was the victim. If I could have killed him for it, I would have. After he was done with me, to cap everything off, to put the boot down on the back of my neck and extinguish any remnants of my pride, he said something I'll never forgive him for.

"Trust me, Vejiita. I understand now. I'll look after you from now on. Whenever you need me again, I'll be there."

Bastard. Fucking bastard.

And what's worse, he's been true to his word. The great hero, the loyal vassal, whatever he wants to play, looking after his prince. He's giving me cures to things I don't suffer from, and doing it all for my benefit!

I've never actually lost to him in battle. It's hard to remember that sometimes – he doesn't have the graciousness to acknowledge his gods-damned defeats. Never has had.

This morning I found the leaf on my pillow. He always leaves a sign, something natural, like a stone or a leaf or a feather from some filthy bird, and always it's some place close to me, someplace he had access to while I slept. The message is simple enough, and twofold. He whispered it into my ear that first time. Nature will take its course, he had said. And: I can take you anytime I want.

The first time I found one of his tokens, I considered killing his wife and family. He lives with them still, raising his youngest brats, slowly weaning his eldest back onto the path of the warrior, and being cared for by that woman. She loves him, and he's somewhat fond of her, and she knows by now what's needed for the care and feeding of a saiyajin and his brood. She gave him a last child, an infant girl, though from what I'm told she was old enough that her breeding cycle was supposed to be over. I wonder if she's figured out yet how much longer his lifespan is than her own.

He's happily ensconced over there, in that house, and I am here with the onna and my two children, who are growing like the small saiyajins they are. I know that the onna has figured out what Kakarot's woman never will; our children are far more genetically saiyajin than human, their outer characteristics notwithstanding. I've seen it, and the fear in the onna's eyes when she watches the boy and his sister spar. I saw it the first time I forced my daughter to train, to learn the ways of the warrior she was born to be. Bura bled and snarled, going on the attack, while I laughed, out of joy and to provoke her further, and all the time I could see the onna's blue eyes go cold with recognition. Her baby girl, the one she encouraged to be as brainless and silly as all the rest of the ningens her age, was a saiyajin. A saiyajin princess, to be exact. Life's just a bitch that way.

I would be happy, I suppose, happier than I've had any right to expect for most of my life, but I'm not wired that way. Breeding and heritage and the lessons of a long, hard life have made me what I am. I know that the next attack is coming from somewhere. There is no permanent peace. The universe isn't like that. There's always an enemy somewhere, an enemy who might be stronger, who might be smarter, who might have an edge I would lose if I didn't keep up my training. Nothing about life on this planet has taught me any different.

There was peace for a long time after Buu, and it wore on my nerves. The enemies had always gotten worse each time. The longer I had to wait for the next enemy to show itself, the more confident I became in my own abilities, and the more certain that whatever it was would surpass them in some way.

They don't understand that. My 'family' doesn't get it. Even Trunks, who has grown up facing struggles only somewhat less traumatic than my own, has been lulled into the sleep of peace. I forced him and his sister to train, and I always will.

Even though the next enemy has already arrived and there's nothing that they or anyone else can do to help me fight him.

I always fight, every time. I fight, and I lose. I think about that now, as I pull my gloves off and begin to undress for the shower. I always lose. It doesn't matter as much as it used to. What matters is that I fight.

I look at myself in the mirror, at a body sculpted by years of training and combat. It's a trim, muscled body, brawny and yet lean where it should be. My tail is long and the fur glossy and thick. I seem to be at the peak of health and prowess. There are scars on my body, the smooth skin interrupted here and there by the puckers of wounds long ago healed, before the days of senzu and miraculous Nameks.

The tanks had healed, but never as cleanly as I would have liked. There had been rumors on the bases that Furiza had had all the tanks adjusted to leave scarring, so that he could see, at a glance, who was allowing their enemies to score on them. It wasn't a system that even made much sense, but we had all believed it. After a few years of battling to keep his hair cut short, Radditz had let it all grow back again after a malfunction had caused his pod to crash, leaving him with scars all down his back. Furiza had tolerated neither inefficiency nor weakness, imaginary or not.

The thought of showing weakness still enrages and disgusts me.

I run a hand over the scars now, wondering if I should be able to remember when and how I got each one. I can't. I wonder if that's a mark of cowardice.

I step into the shower and turn it up to full heat. I can barely feel it, otherwise. The onna complains about my water use occasionally, but I don't know why. She's rich, a fucking uncrowned queen on this gods-damned backwater planet, and she's worried about the water bill. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It will be tonight. It's not even a full moon night. It's been a long time since the last time, a small, tranquil eternity. I don't know why he stayed away. I don't know why he chooses these times. The mystery of it is his way of gaining control over me, as is the memento he leaves me. The stupid fucker thinks he can break me.

He does, he does break me...

NO. I won't think about that. I won't spend the rest of this damned day thinking like that. There was enough of it earlier, when I was alone, training in the gravity room. I can't seem to control my own mind once the warning hits my pillow. The fucker must know it, too. I can already imagine his laughter.

I towel off and go out on the balcony of my bedroom. The onna doesn't understand why I insist on my own quarters. I don't know what to tell her, if she doesn't get it by now. I don't love her. I have never loved her, but she is a good mother, and kind, and I don't mean her any harm. She wants what she can't have, insane reassurances that the phantoms in her head are real, and I couldn't even begin to offer her that, even if I understood what to do.

She doesn't much care for me going outside naked, either, but I definitely don't understand that, and I'm not going to begin trying now. I finish drying off while looking at the end of a perfect summer day. The insects are humming in the trees, the sky is that shade of blue that artists can never reproduce, and there's still a sultry heat in the air. It doesn't oppress me. It's a weak reflection of Vegetasei.

The sun is dipping towards the horizon. I look out over perfectly manicured ground to the wildness that surrounds us on all sides, and breathe in the last few tastes of freedom.

It won't happen here. The gods only know how that mind of his works, but he always finds some other place for it, picturesque or charming or simply fucking bizarre. It's the latter ones that frighten me the most. I don't understand him, or why he does these things to me.

If it was just cruelty, I could understand that...

I used to go looking for him each time I woke up and found his token waiting for me. I used to take the fight to him. It never once did me any good. He would heal me up and take me home, and when the sun fell he'd come looking for me just the same. I'm not a stupid man. Eventually even I had had enough of that.

Even though the humiliation burns in me like fire. He controls everything up until the moment we fight.

I go and shrug on a training suit. I've lived in this soft, stretchy material most of my life, and it feels like my own skin. Or rather, it does usually. Now I can feel it shift with every movement, making my whole body tingle. Damn it. Damn him.

It's time to go. The sun is getting low and the time is short. When he comes for me I will fight him with everything I have, and I would rather not destroy my children's home in the process.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror one last time. The pride of the saiyajin race, and yet I can't stop this, can't stop him. All I can do is fight, and so I will.

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

I fly aimlessly but at high speed, tearing up the landscape behind me. There has been some sort of commotion among the ningens about the damage these flights cause. They are afraid, and that suits me. It enrages the onna, though, and that's a bonus. She's never so attractive as when she's threatening me. She's not at all capable of hurting me, but she absolutely means every word. It's endearing.

I put aside thoughts of the onna and my family. They don't know about these times when Kakarot comes looking for me. I have never explained myself to them; a prince need never explain himself. They are used to my leaving unexpectedly. It is how I am.

They will never know about this.

I concentrate on speed, putting the miles behind me. The sun dips low and lower, as the planet turns faster than I fly. Through experience I know that he waits at his house until the sun sets; I could fly into the morning and he would still come for me as soon as night falls at his home. It's not the light that deters him from coming earlier or later. It's his word. That first time he told me he would look for me at sunset, wherever I was, and he has stuck to that ever since.

That first time... I had no idea what he meant to do. Gods help me, I thought he wanted to spar with me. I was so annoyed with him. I never guessed.

Miles behind me, the sun disappears from the east district. He appears ahead of me, his arms crossed, his mouth curved up in that smirk he came away from our fusion with. It's mine, part of me, and I suppose I must have something of his, but I don't know what.

The hair on my tail ripples in apprehension, and I rewrap it a bit tighter, willing it to stop betraying me.

"Hello, Vejiita," he says, and just the dark, pleased tone in his voice is enough to send a shiver down my back.

So we begin. Again.

I swear on my worthless soul I'll never go quietly.

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

It's dark. Not the simple darkness of a star-filled night, which holds few mysteries to my saiyajin eyes, but true darkness. I cannot see.

The blindness itself doesn't frighten me. I know what he's done. I taught it to him myself once, trying to show the baka how much he doesn't know about combat. I should have known that those dark eyes were taking everything in, and that his sharp brain was learning it all. I used to think he was stupid. I still call him a moron. But I know better.

I should have figured out from the beginning that he simply chooses to see things his own way and to act as he will, without the constraints of pride and the burden of expectations. He simply doesn't care about things that would drive me insane.

He cares about me, though. Oh, yes. With me he is very deliberate.

I'm no longer injured. He must have given me the senzu already, making me swallow it before I woke up. He does that sometimes.

His scent is old here, faded. It's been awhile since he was here. Of course. He did his damage and left me to wake up, to orient myself. I know how the dance goes, but I can't seem to keep myself from following the steps.

"Kakarot!" It's both for effect and to get some impression of the space I'm in. Pride demands some harsh declaration. My ears listen to the sound my voice makes as it spans the room. It is a room. I'm sure of that. But the reverberations are odd.

It's warm in this room, and the whole thing – the wall I'm up against and the floor I'm kneeling on – are vibrating gently, subtly. Someone else might have missed it, but I have spent so much of my life on space ships that it registers immediately.

I lean back against the smooth wall. It's made of some smooth glassy material, not cold enough for metal, but too smooth for anything organic. In my current state, I can get no purchase on it.

In my current state, the chains I heard gently sliding and clinking as I moved are like a death sentence. Except he won't let me die.

He's taken my ki away.

The first time it happened, I thought I was dying. When I understood what he'd done, I wished for death.

I know the rest of what's happened, and it angers me unspeakably. And it frightens me. Just one more thing I'll never forgive him for.

He has a name for it, something inane that I don't understand. "Belling the cat." I think that was it. I may be able to speak this pathetic language, but that doesn't mean I understand all the nuances. He prattles about bells and felines. What it really means is that he's done things to me while I was unconscious that I would have fought to my last breath if I'd been awake.

I...

He stripped my clothing off after the fight and bathed me, washing off blood and sweat. Undoubtedly he bathed himself as well. I know better than to visualize it, but I can't keep myself from it entirely, and my stomach knots. He would have been gentle and utterly invasive, everything I cannot stand in him, as well as thorough. No doubt he dried us with his ki. Then he brought us here and...

He...

Enough! I won't be weak!

The ki suppression unit is an amazingly small thing, just a couple of fingerspans wide and a little bit longer. It's been snapped into the steel and leather collar around my neck. It uses my ki against itself somehow, reflecting it back. At low levels of ki use, it simply cancels everything out. I have only natural strength. At higher levels, it causes pain beyond anything I've ever experienced.

I tried to kill myself through it once by ascending to super saiyajin. I knew the ascension was beyond me, but I had hoped that the feedback through the collar would kill me. Unfortunately for me, I recovered consciousness a little while later, and everything, everything was begun again. I haven't tried that again since.

I suppose you could say that he's taming me. Slowly, in fits and starts, but surely. You could say that, but not survive saying it. I still have my pride.

Yet the mighty prince of saiyajins is collared, and there is a loop at the back, and to that is fixed a chain, which seems to be attached to something above me. I pull on it, of course, but I can't break it free, just as I can't get the collar off. I knew that before I ever tried, but there's an etiquette to these things. I can't let the vague possibility of structural flaws go. The useless gods know that he's too thorough for any mistakes.

There are thick manacles around my wrists and ankles, made out of something similar to the armor I used to wear, except that I cannot stretch it from the inside and free myself. Around my tail, at the base, is another such manacle, and though I suppose I might slip it off, it would hurt a great deal, pulling out the fur as it went. I would do that anyway, except that it is attached, as always, to the slim steel chains that form a sort of harness around my waist, connecting to a small leather harness snapped around my manhood. From there they run between my legs, and up the divide of my ass. The little web of chains keeps the tail ring in place, and the tail ring keeps the chains in place. The small links are entirely beyond my strength to break. All of it is.

All five manacles sport some sort of ring for attaching further restraints. I crouch in the darkness, and know that I should be grateful in some sick, half-assed way that I can crouch at all. I've woken up spread-eagled before, unable to cover and reclaim any fraction of my body.

My skin has been oiled. I cannot express the emotions that simple fact brings me. Perhaps he brought me here first and tied me down in case I woke up in the midst of it, as I did once. Perhaps not. It's entirely veiled from me. Everything but the certainty that his careful, patient hands have stroked every inch of my skin, spreading faintly fragrant oil over it. I feel loose, and I know that's the result of clever fingers working at my muscles.

He's touched me everywhere. My tail has been oiled. I can tell that by the delicious way the fur shifts as I move it restlessly. Far more invasive than that is this other sensation, this slick, sliding feeling where there should be hardly any feeling at all.

I cannot suppress the groan of horror as I realize he's prepared my body for him.

I am manacled, chained, and groomed like a pet, and yet I know that he never considers me so lightly. All of this is orchestrated to evoke certain emotions, certain reactions from me, and I cannot help myself. He is already playing me like a finely-tuned instrument.

My body tingles as I sit there in darkness, only the feelings of touch left to bring me the tale of what has been. Everywhere he has touched me, and that means everywhere I can be touched, seems to know it, and to remember those touches.

I have been violated with gentle, cherishing hands and careful, considerate restraints.

I want to weep. I want to kill him. I want my own death. All of these at one time. Anything to end this terrible waiting with something other than what I know will follow it.

I crouch on the floor. My tail keeps trying to coil over my genitals in an instinctive gesture of protection. I find that I have to wrap it around my waist with my hands and hold it there. I cannot bear the thought of soft, oily fur brushing over my cock. Already I am too sensitive there. Already.

I didn't hear him! Oh, gods...

A strong hand touches the side of my neck, and fingers press just so, touching places that unlock my vision. I taught it to him. I can't believe I was ever so unwary of him.

It's still dark, but then there's a hideous star of light overhead, the thin rays crossing the ceiling in a curve from a central point. My eyes adjust slowly, and they water as the star grows and grows, the rays gaining width and filling the room with subtle light. It clearly is a room now, but I don't register the details of it yet.

With horror, I look up at the open sky.

Kakarot stands near me, smiling. For a second he puts on that wide-eyed angel face he's so fond of, and then it's gone. I won't see it again anytime soon. What's left is sharp and calculating and full of such a possessive pleasure in me that I can barely make myself keep his gaze. His smirk is full of the pride of ownership.

The ceiling finishes opening, the wedge-shaped sections folding away into only the shallowest of rims around an entirely transparent dome. We are encompassed by it, protected by the winds that buffet what is clearly the top of a building, one of the tall ones in the city. Traffic passes by above and below us, weaving around the even taller buildings that loom over this one. We are secluded, protected, yet obviously exposed to any of the thousands of curious eyes passing by or behind the endless windows of the towers around us.

I feel the sting of true tears in my eyes, and I force them shut. How can he do this to me?

With a single glance, anyone can see me here, naked and bound at his feet.

The room is meant for entertaining, obviously. Only a star-like pattern of thin metal beams overhead spoils the view. The access is from below, through a door in the lushly carpeted floor. There are couches here, an entertainment system, no doubt, and an island full of the necessities for food and drink.

I am crouching on the floor, my collar chained to one of the metal beams. He has prepared me for his pleasures. This is not the first time. I want him dead with an intensity that should shatter the very fabric of this planet, much less the high-rise building we're perched atop. I wish he was ignorant of this as he kneels down in front of me and cups my chin in a hand that suddenly seems insanely strong. I know he's not.

I bite him hard as he kisses me, trying to draw blood from his tongue and lips, but of course I can't. Of course he only draws back for a moment to smile into my eyes before plundering my mouth again. I want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. Even the worst parts of my youth were better than this, I think, and I don't know if it's true or not.

I was once the spoils of a bet between Furiza and Zarbon, and I spent a month of my adolescence in the latter's bed, fucked at his pleasure, which was often. It was rape; no question of it. And because of that, it didn't engage me, didn't require anything of me, stirred up nothing but hate and rage.

But Kakkarot... I want, more than anything, to be impervious to him. But my stupid traitor mouth... Why do I always kiss him back? Why?

He makes me stand up, and I hit him, punching him in the crotch as hard as I can. He doesn't even flinch, but he does clip the manacles at my wrists together behind my back. That gentle smile on his face never falters.

He caresses me, feels of my flesh slowly and carefully, enjoying himself. He tells me how beautiful I am as he runs his large warm hands across my chest, down my waist and along my flanks. I hate being touched, I hate it: I fucking loathe it, not only now, but all the time. But he doesn't stop until I try to escape, kicking him in the face as I go. Even then he only snags my collar-chain and pulls me back, adjusting it so that the chain's attached to the beam overhead. Now I can't go anywhere at all, and he fucking loves it, the bastard.

I feel eyes on me. From everywhere. He's done everything he's wanted with me so far, up here, where anyone at all can look. The scum of this planet can go by and witness the humiliation of the prince of saiyajins at their leisure. The feeling of exposure makes me burn. I bare sharp teeth at him.

"Why here?" I snarl. The other question, the simpler "Why?" is one he'll answer, too, but I don't want to hear his answers to that one any more. And it sounds so weak, like I'm a victim.

"Because you're so beautiful like this," he says with a gentle smirk. "I want to share my prince."

He kisses my neck, nibbling, suckling, as if we were lovers.

The feel of his mouth on my skin shames me. Gods, why does he have to be so gentle? I hate him, and my body is betraying me again, as it always does. As it always does.

I shudder under his touch, but he knows better. He presses a thigh up between my legs, forcing them apart, and puts the most delicious pressure just there...

"Don't you dare touch me," I growl, my voice breathless even so.

"You need it, Vejiita. I can feel you in my head, all the time," he murmurs, his mouth still busy against my flesh. "I can feel it when you're tied up in knots. It's so hard to be this powerful, to be able to crush the whole damned planet, and not to ever be able to let your control slip, not even for a moment."

He switches to the other side of my throat, placing soft damp kisses along the hollow beneath my jaw. "You need to be able to let go some times. Everybody does, but especially you..."

"Chaining me up and fucking me is supposed to make me feel better?" I spit, feeling a kind of horrible excitement in my chest. And elsewhere. Both make it hard to breathe, now. He's licking me under my collar, and I knee him in the crotch, but of course it doesn't hurt him in the slightest.

His eyes are full of amusement when he looks at me again -- amusement and lust.

"Yes." He says. "And it does. I know it does. We have no equals, Vejiita. Sometimes it's good to have all your choices taken away."

I curse him, I spit, and I struggle, and he doesn't seem bothered by any of it. He just adjusts to the situation and then goes on, enjoying himself, running those hands all over my body. He strokes my tail until I nearly purr, despite myself. He knows exactly what he's doing, and his hands are so fucking clever... I arch into his touch, only realizing it after I've done it. My face burns.

He steps away from me. He's still wearing clothing, simple black things, jeans, a t-shirt, and boots. There's a silver-studded leather belt around those narrow hips. Everything clings to him, accentuates the results of a lifetime of training and hard work. That smirk... has anyone else ever seen it?

He just watches me, looking me over, watching my reactions. I'm breathing harder than I'd like; he always takes my control away. Always goads me beyond the boundaries I've set. Drives me mad with rage or envy. Infuriates me with his mercy.

"I hope someone will stop to appreciate the show you're about to give them," he says, gesturing to the transparent dome around us. With the light inside and the darkness outside, the curved surface was full of reflections of me, of him, of the few furnishings. I can't see past the confusion of reflected images to the outside. There could have been a thousand people out there, watching avidly, witnessing the prince of all saiyajins in all his bound glory. Naked and chained, before...him.

I don't have the words to express my horror.

It's always the same way with him, pushing me too far and then soothing me, rewarding me for what he's done to me. I'm not stupid, and I've played this game before, with victims even less willing than I; I know how this is done. I recognize the psychology of it. That still doesn't keep me from wanting him now, from wanting the reward for feeling so horribly exposed.

I hate myself for being so weak. Pride will not allow this, not this!

He crosses his arms and pulls the shirt off over his head, watching me all the time.

Of course he's magnificent. He lets his tail play over his chest, displaying his body for me, making dusky nipples peak. The jeans ride low on his hips. He strokes his chest lightly with the fingers of one hand and lets them trail down his sculpted belly and across the prominent evidence of his arousal. It's apparent that he likes that, because he does it again, and again. Light, teasing touches, and my mouth has gone completely dry.

Is this meant to be reward or punishment?

Kakarot is confronting me with the simple fact of my attraction to him, of the lust that's already wracking my bound body. My tail thrashes in agitation, and the chains shift, the cool metal moving sensuously against my body. My cock hardens at the feel of it. I struggle somewhat against my manacles, but I don't know why. Surely it wasn't just to feel my captivity more?

My shameless cock throbs. Now those light chains, and the rings around my cock and my tail, are a subtle torment, moving against my bare skin every time I move, reminding me, as if I needed it, of how bound and exposed I am.

Kakarot reaches down and pulls something out of his boot. I tense and glare, suspicious. Sometimes he brings things with him. Special things. Just for me.

It's a knife. A small and elegant one, with a blade that catches the low light and glitters. He shows it to me, and I can't help admiring it absently before shifting my eyes back to his.

"Like it? Bulma made it for me. She did a lot of work on it. Special alloy, machine-forged, with an edge that will split even our skin. I told her it was a present for her, and you know I never lie," he said, his voice low. He winks at me and smirks.

I suppress a shudder. Damn him for making me feel this.

He holds an arm out, palm up, exposing the pale and more delicate flesh of that side. He is bronzed with sun but paler than I am, and I can see the blue-ish veins beneath his skin.

He draws the blade slowly down his arm, and I can see his skin part in front of it like the ocean parting before the bow of a ship. Red-black blood, so much darker than a ningen's, spills slowly out. He hasn't cut deep; his intent isn't to maim, but to feel, and to taste. He laps it up, licking his flesh clean with slow strokes of his pink tongue. His eyes are locked with mine the entire time, as if he was making me watch this.

The blood scent is intoxicating. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stir. It makes the pelt of my tail rise. He knows it. His own tail lashes behind him. My own moves with it, despite the fact that every movement makes the ring around my cock jump.

"Mmmmnn... Taste?" he offers sardonically, holding his wrist out for me. The slice in his skin has already sealed itself, testament to the saiyajin blood it released, but he has left some for me.

My tongue pushes at my teeth. I want it. At that moment, I want nothing more than to lick the sweet dark blood from his warm flesh.

I can't. I clench my jaw and turn my head away. I can't still my tail, though. One more example of how my own body betrays me with him.

"Well, then," he says darkly. "I'll just have to taste you."

The blade goes between his teeth and he lightly strokes my face with both hands, his fingertips whispering along my cheekbones and down to my jaw. He turns my head until I'm looking at him again, and watches me with his fathomless eyes.

Then he presses his fingertips hard into the nerve centers at the hinges of my jaw, underneath the delicate flesh behind my ear, and the pain is so bad that I stumble backwards, away from him. But I don't have that much slack in my chain, and suddenly my collar jerks me forward again, almost sending me to my knees before I choke and struggle upwards. Where I'm caught, as I've never been before in my life.

He has my jaw in one hand, with the thumb trapping my tongue against my own bottom teeth. I bite down, but of course it's like trying to bite my own tongue off, and I can't do it. I'm not ready to do that.

What happens next, as I stare wide-eyed at him, takes only a split second. My eyes catch the flash of light as the knife descends, and then there is pain in my tongue. The bastard slit my tongue! I don't think it's deep, but blood fills my mouth as I stare at him in shock.

Then his mouth is on mine, tasting, teasing, drinking me. He licks at my wounded tongue greedily, then captures and sucks at in. The purr rising from his chest reverberates through my whole body. There is no possible way to resist this. His scent, the taste... I kiss him. I open my mouth and welcome the plundering of it. Our tongues writhe and duel, and slow streams of blood roll down our chins to stain our throats dark crimson.

I have never been kissed like this before in my life. I've never wanted anything more.

Then he stands away from me, smirking, leaving me panting and sick with my own desire.

The gleam in his eyes is feral as he unclips the chain from the beam over our heads. My stomach churns with lust and resentment as I realize that this is truly it. Now it begins in earnest, and I am even closer to my humiliation.

I try not to go. The chain is attached to my collar, though, and when he jerks it over his shoulder, not even looking at me anymore, I have to go, stumbling as he pulls me off balance.

He sits down on one of the couches, sinking into the plush cushions, and pulls me into his lap. I'm stiff and unwilling, but it doesn't matter to him. He simply manipulates my body until I'm where he wants me, astride him. He's taller than I am, and we're face to face this way. I flex my thighs, trying to keep my cock away from the heat of his body, and trying not to feel his answering erection.

Kakarot licks at the base of my throat, slowly clearing the blood away. The gentle rasp of his tongue makes the thickened fur of my oiled tail lift, the added weight making me feel each strand of fur move. He unclips the chain, letting it fall with a heavy clinking sound somewhere behind me. He doesn't need it, after all, to control me. He leaves the collar on, though, and fingers it gently. The look on his handsome face is affectionate, and why not? I'm a perfect pet.

He fondles me, running his hands over my body, and stroking my tail. We haven't had those back for more than a couple of years. I had given up hope of ever seeing mine again when it reappeared. I had wanted to gloat, but Kakarot had gotten his own back as well, just as his eldest spawn had. There was no explanation, though I suspect someone made a wish. I don't know if it matters. All I know is that his hands on my tail are deft and confident, moving through the oiled fur with a skill that makes me tremble.

Control. My thighs are shaking from the effort of holding myself away from him, and he notices. Firmly, he makes me seat myself fully in his lap, holding my hips and pushing me down. I bite my lip hard enough to make the blood flow again at the sensation of heat matching heat.

He notices and laughs, licking this blood away too. He's so fucking saiyajin like this.

I feel so... odd, so owned. My breathing is quick and ragged. I'm afraid of him now, as I have been all along, as I have been since the moment I saw his token on my pillow. It's a gift, that warning. And an instrument of torture, bringing the turmoil of my body and mind to the forefront all day, until the saiyajin himself came for me.

And I want to fuck him senseless.

He plays with my body, and I throw my head back, trying to think of something, anything else. All I can see are the silver-shiny reflections all around us. I can make out the faint movement of lights around us, but there's no way of knowing if anyone sees us.

His hands slip around and begin kneading my ass.

I've never known any other saiyajin's touch. Not like this. I've never questioned how or when he gained such fine carnal knowledge. Perhaps it's his instincts guiding him in this, as they do in battle.

His fine, thick tail comes up and begins playing with my own, twining around the base and then sliding slowly down to the tip before going back to start it again.

He...when I was unconscious, I know those fingers were in me, loosening my tight, protective muscles, invading me, leaving the gift of slickness behind. He never wants to hurt me when he fucks me. He plays with me there now, teasing me open, but he's not preparing me. He's simply invading me, making certain that I understand I have no defenses against him.

I want... I want...

Kakarot licks and nibbles at my chest, at the sensitive nipples there. I writhe against him, against my will, pulling at the manacles. He bites and sucks.

He pulls me close to him, and whispers in my ear. "In a little while, I'm going to make you suck my cock, sweet prince. But I think you need more right now. I think you need to be fucked, beautiful ouji, fucked until you beg for it. I think you need to let go. Let everything go, Vejiita. Here and now, there's only you and me."

I go cold. The hair on my tail bushes out, and there's a burning in my throat and eyes. I won't shed a tear, not this time. I won't cry. But, oh sweet gods, let me be asleep right now, in my own lonely bed, not here, and not now.

His hands are on me, in me. I feel like I've gone numb. He scoops me up and lays me on the couch, and the floodgates holding back my voice are let go. I curse him in every language I've ever known. He seems to pay no mind as he strips out of the rest of his clothing.

And I don't move. Gods know I should. I should make the last effort to get away from him. I should carry on the fight to the last second. I always have in the past. I assumed I always would.

The knife is right there, where he carelessly left it on the arm of the couch. If I could just get to it somehow, surely it could stop even his heart.

But I'm tired, and he never hurts me. He never brings me anything but pleasure, or demands anything but surrender.

Beyond surrender, he never asks for anything at all.

Why is that so hard?

Because I'm a prince? A saiyajin? Me? I've adapted before. This isn't Zarbon. It's only Kakarot, who hasn't ever meant me any harm, damn his perfect soul. I know that well enough. We were fused, once. We were one. I know things about him I doubt anyone else knows. My loathing and hatred of him have only been a reflex for the past several years. He and I both know it.

Humiliation burns in my gut now as I stare up at my distorted reflection in the dome. And yet... I notice, as if I needed further proof of how fucked-up I am, that the royal cock is still hard. My body has its own agenda. My body responds to his scent and to the simple sight of him like he's everything I've ever wanted.

Pride burns in me. I've a million good, solid reasons to be proud, beyond the fact that I was practically bred for it. It's served me badly and well over my life. It kept me alive under Furiza – if I'd broken, he would've tossed me away like trash. Pride won't help me now. It's a fickle mistress. It makes me deny everything up until the last moment.

Why can't I just accept this as a fling, a kink, a few moments of recreation in a very long life-span? After all, in a few decades, the women we're with will be gone, and then there will only be each other.

Because he is Kakarot. Because I am Vejiita.

I'm still not fighting back. What will he do when I fail to make the symbolic gestures of resistance? After all, that's all my fighting has been since the token hit my pillow this morning. Gestures. Ritual objections. Because it always comes down to the moment facing me even now, and to the rift between my body and my mind.

I'm not a coward. There are harsh truths to face here. He's pulling the black fabric of his jeans down, uncovering thick, sinewy thighs, and his face is all lust and curiosity. I'm not fighting him, even though my legs and tail are free. In another few moments, he will lay those hands on me again. He'll kiss me and taste me and use his tail to drive me insane. And then he'll take me. Maybe here, or on the floor, or on my knees, or on my back. Once he's mounted me, pleasure will rob me of everything I have left.

If there was any doubt before, it won't be rape by then. Oh, definitely not. I will beg him for release, for more, for it to be harder or faster or more intense, for him to do everything he's ever wanted to me. I will surrender. And later, when lust moves us again, I will submit myself enthusiastically to his every desire. Finally, we'll move beyond that, to the part that hurts me the most afterwards. But I can't think of that now.

Gods, why...?

He kneels on the floor and then pulls me into his arms. Even now I don't fight. I want to, but my body simply won't. The lines are down between my aggression and hatred and my body. He settles me in his lap, astride his thighs, and nibbles my throat. I know what's going to happen, and yet I lie limply against him, feeling his heat soak into my chilled body.

He is so gentle now, more than he has ever been. You would think we were old lovers. And I suppose, in some sense, we are. Certainly he knows my body like one. His kisses are perfectly placed in all the places that I like the most. He nips and suckles and licks at my flesh. His hands glide over my skin, kneading tense muscles, exploring me, seeking to arouse me. Nails leave burning paths behind.

Strong fingers carefully stroke my tail, stopping well before the sensation reaches the intensity of pain. I had deliberately damaged the nerves in my first tail, to keep it from being a weakness for me; after all, its erogenous properties weren't ever likely to be needed, with so few saiyajins left, so it was no loss to me. This tail has never suffered such treatment, though. What enemy could exploit it? It is no weakness, save now, in the hands of my captor. I cannot help but writhe against him as the sensations arc through me.

His eyes have that sleepy, avid look that desire brings him. I know him. He's as genuine in this as in everything else in his life. I am the one who masks himself.

He trails his fingertips down my sides while the tip of his tail slides up my spine. His fingers reverse themselves, running upwards again and down my arms. He plays with my manacles a little, just to remind me.

Abruptly my rage connects, and I shove myself up with my legs. My balance is bad and he catches hold of my tail, and in an eyeblink I've been whirled around. I fall to my knees. I try to crawl away, but the pain in my tail is cruel, even though he let go right away. It's hard to focus on anything, and he's there almost immediately, his warm hands circling my waist.

He pulls me back so that I'm in his lap but facing away from him. He soothes me, murmuring small sounds as he pets my tail, making me remember more than pain from it. He kisses the back of my neck around the collar and plays with my nipples again, tickling and pinching them. His own tail slips around my softening cock and coaxes it back to hardness. He wraps me in his heat.

I moan, the first unwilling sound I've made all this time, not in pleasure, but at the fact that I still want him. I don't want him. I can't. Can I?

He rubs his cock up against the slick cleft of my ass, making promises, and I close my eyes.

He captures me and chains me and fucks me until he's done with me. That's the way of it. I am the prince of saiyajins, and I have my pride. Pride that kept me from completely whoring myself to Babidi when I went majin. Pride that sustains my life. But when he unclips my manacles this time, I don't fight him, even though he takes his time about refastening them so that my arms are in front of me. I don't fight him when he eases us forward so that I must support my weight on my captive arms. He stops a moment, preparing himself.

For a moment I am simply there, exposed, as his weight lifts away from me, resting my head on my fists. A million people might be watching this. Someone must be, surely. I find that I haven't lost all sense of humiliation yet. I haven't sunk quite low enough.

"Please... don't."

It doesn't even sound like me.

I can almost see the affectionate smile on his face as he leans forward to kiss that sensitive place at the base of my tail. I've seen that smile before. It always means the same thing.

He slides his thick, warm cock into my ass slowly, trying not to hurt me. It aches, but it doesn't hurt. Not really. It's the simple fact of penetration, of invasion that makes me groan. Slow, tender movements, gentle thrusts, and then that thick hardness is entirely sheathed inside me.

He pauses for a moment, so that we can both feel the significance of what has happened, so that my body can adjust to him. And it will. I wish that it would hurt, that he'd tear me and leave me bloody, so that I can save myself from what's coming. I wish I had more control. But that's what this is about, isn't it? He wants me to give up everything with him, where it's safe. The fight, the chains, the rituals of enforcing my submission, are all meant to lead me to the next moment.

His movements are slow, but full, as with each slick stroke he nearly abandons my body before reclaiming it. He's skillful, and the very fact of invasion makes my cock jump. He's huge inside me. It hardly takes him any time at all to find my sweet spot.

Pleasure. Oh, gods... Everything unravels as the warm waves of pleasure roll over me. Pleasure he has gone to such elaborate lengths to bring me.

I...

How does he do this to me?

As he desired, something seems to collapse in my head. He has pushed me hard this time, farther beyond my limits than before. And my surrender is my reward.

I moan and thrust my hips backward, wanting more. Somewhere I can hear my pride screaming, but I don't care. I let it go. I let all of the shit in my head go. Nothing matters except that here and now Kakarot is lazily fucking me, slowly still, ramming in and slowly withdrawing as he waits for me to tell him what he wants to hear.

I won't. I...

"...more..."

The whisper is all I can manage, but it doesn't matter. He could hardly fail to hear me.

He kisses me between my shoulder blades. "Anything for you," he says softly. "Anything."

He shoves into me harder, and it's good, it's so very, very good. I want it that way. I want him to fill me up. I want to be taken. I want all of him.

Faster. Harder. More. I cry out, I scream his name, I moan like a bitch. I don't care. His shaft strokes me just so, and his tail is sliding gently up and down my cock, brushing it with the coarse guard hairs and the softest down underneath.

"So beautiful," he murmurs.

He rakes his nails lightly down my back, then takes firm hold of my hips. He stops, buried in me, and breathes deep. His tail stops fondling my cock. Everything is still.

Except for me. I'm on fire. I want this, I want him. Why isn't that enough? But it isn't. When he has me, sometimes he tests me. Why? Do I ever do anything in half-measures? Do I ever hold back anything?

I try to move, to take control of the pleasure, but he won't let me. His hands keep my hips as still as stone. I shove backwards almost frantically, but I don't move a fraction of an inch. The delicious tension he's built up in my body doesn't dissipate. It stays coiled up inside me, throbbing and burning and demanding release.

Time stretches, and he's still hard and promising inside me, and I'm aching. I loop my own tail under my body to grab my cock, but his tail captures mine, and I can't free it.

I control nothing.

I moan, trying to entice him, but he's unmoved. I crane my head back to stare pleadingly at him. Dear gods, he's handsome, flushed with pleasure and conquest, his black eyes crinkling at the edges as he watches me hungrily, waiting.

It's simple enough.

All I have to do is beg.

For the first time, it's not hard. For the first time, he doesn't have to coax it out of me, telling me I'm safe with him, and that he'll do anything to please me, as long as I tell him.

"Please, Kakarot..." I purr, wondering how and when it became so easy. "Take me, rape me, fuck me hard, do whatever you want to me. Please..."

"Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

It is. I realize that whatever he does, he'll bring me pleasure. He never fails.

"Yes."

"Why?"

I could scream about wanting to come, but it's not the real reason. "I trust you," I gasp.

"No more tests," he says fondly, and begins moving within me again. I nearly sob with relief.

He's true to his word. He's powerful and strong, and he makes me feel it. He thrusts into me just right, hard enough to be punishing, stroking me, touching me, making me writhe with pleasure. I could cry just with the pleasure of it.

All my limbs are shaking. My body burns with the heat he's kindled in me. I cry out, losing myself in the sensations. Fire builds in my belly, and I tremble harder, my tail looping his waist to keep him close, to keep him inside me. My teeth clenched, I arch my back, offering myself. The carpeting tears under my fingers, even as weakened as I am. I rest my head on my bound wrists and close my eyes, thinking only of the sensations overwhelming me, and of the feel of his body against and within mine.

Kakarot. Always magnificent, and beautiful in his lust. Always reliable, always loyal to his prince, ready to bring me to this whenever I need it.

I gasp and call out his name as I am overcome suddenly, soaking his tail as I come harder than I ever have in my life. I almost collapse, but his grip on me is unrelenting, and I shudder helplessly as he pounds into me a few more times before his fingers bruise me and his tail wraps me and he finds release within me.

There is something... satisfying about feeling him finish inside me.

I don't ponder it. We are past my breaking point, and as he withdraws and stretches out beside me on the floor, I turn my head into his chest and breathe in the scent of sex and sweat and Kakarot. I am oddly content, despite everything. I let my eyes close and listen to our breathing. His arm slips around my waist and his tail loosely wraps the base of my own. We are quiet together for a long time.

He strokes my back and kisses my cheek. Then he draws back to look in my eyes. I just look at him, not fighting, not defying him. He dips his head to kiss me and I instantly kiss him back, without even thinking about it. We are past the point where I feel any need to carry on the fight. He gives me pleasure; I give him pleasure. It's all right.

He tugs at the manacles lightly with one finger. "Do you still need these?" he asks gently. It's a raw and open question, just waiting to ignite my rage again, but I consider it. Do I? Do I need to be restrained like that?

"No," I say, smilingly oddly. I feel peaceful. This is the first time I've said that and meant it in the same way he's asked it. At first I used to curse him. Then I would tell him yes, because I did need them, needed to feel captive to feel free. I don't think it matters anymore.

I've accepted it. I've made my submission and been rewarded for it.

He smiles likes sunshine and thumbs the locks. When the manacles are off, he licks the flesh that was hidden underneath them.

He fingers my collar and looks into my eyes. That won't be coming off. One day, one day it will. That's his ultimate goal. He looks for the day when I will accept all this without any need for the ritual that precedes it. He doesn't ultimately want me submissive; he wants me open, relaxed, free. One day all he'll have to do is touch me, and I'll turn around and remember I want him.

Right now his dominance wraps me like a warm blanket on a cold night.

For the first time, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. I can now. It doesn't hurt me at all. I kiss him like he should always be kissed, passionately and gently and well. He only breaks it off to laugh, his eyes full of happiness. He presses his body against mine, and I am reminded suddenly that we are naked together, our sweat-streaked bodies intertwined.

I feel his need recover itself with the press of my thigh, and, indeed, I need him too.

We pass the next few hours beneath the open dome. After a time, he shuts off the light so that we can see the bustle of the city around us. It's beautiful, but not as beautiful as he is.

True to his word, he sits back on the couch and pulls my head down, guiding his cock into my mouth, running his fingers through my hair. I'm obedient. I kneel before him and pleasure him. I like it, the carnal delights of it, and the way a simple twist of my tongue can bring him such ecstasy. He takes such care to see to my pleasures. It's only right that I do the same for him.

Flesh presses flesh and is tasted and is filled. He takes me in every way that pleases him. We don't need words. I find feral delight simply at the feeling of skin against skin.

I lick at the base of his tail, tasting musk, and stroke his length lightly at the same time, watching as his muscles ripple and his back arches. His eyes close, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks, and I want him the way he has already had me.

It's alright. He's won his victory. I could take advantage here, hurting him and calling it carelessness. But I don't want to. I haven't any urge to hurt him now, and I ready him carefully. When I mount him I'm slow, and though he hisses as I enter him, it's more from pleasure than pain. This ride is slow and then hard, just as he likes it, and he screams my name when he comes.

We are so good together, a symphony of saiyajin lust and pleasure.

But it doesn't last.

Dawn is inevitable, and when it arrives, we are done.

I lay exhausted and truly sated in his arms as the darkness pales and the grey ugliness of the city manifests around us. He strokes my hair, looking off into the distance. We are quiet together, and the stirring life of the city rises around us as a dull roar.

I stroke his back with my tail and wind it around his shoulder. I feel peaceful now, far more at ease than I've felt for the longest time. Since the last time we were like this, in fact. He holds me closer, and I breathe his scent in. He smells like sweat and sex and me, and he should smell like that more often, really. I smirk at the thought and he sees it and laughs.

There are soft kisses now, and he tickles me, trying to make me laugh. Damn him, he wins at this, too. I nip him and he slaps my ass. He likes being dominating. It suits him, even though it's not what he ultimately wants.

He plans to wear me down, bit by bit, giving me these times of playfulness and sex and free emotion, until I don't really need them anymore. He came away from Vejitto with an intimate knowledge of the damage inside me, the scars left by Furiza and Zarbon and a lifetime alone. It's not his nature to see something wrong and not try to fix it. He can't just sit back and let me go on like that.

He's always right, the bastard. I'm too much the warrior to accept his help any other way.

He sits up, drawing me with him. He kisses me tenderly. It's time.

I sigh and lean forward into his embrace. I'm bone tired, all my hard, nervous energy warn away.

"I love you, Vejiita. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I murmur against his throat. "I know it."

We don't say anything else. His fingers will soon find the pressure points in my neck and send me into sleep. He'll tell Bulma we sparred all night, and she won't ask any questions when I sleep through the rest of this day and the night that follows. She's grateful to Goku for wearing me out. It puts me in such a great mood, she says. I suppose she's right about that.

And the part I hate the most, the part that hurts me the most now, is that when I wake up I'll hate him for this. I'll despise him in the same loud, superficial way I always have, until the next time it all grows too much for me.

Until the next time he sets me free.

One final kiss. Our mouths together, our bodies together, our souls together.

Darkness.



~the end~