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Warm breath whirlpools around my ear then ghosts, zephyr-like, across my cheek. Legs entangled with mine, arms looped possessively around my waist, a face buried in my hair. The sheets are curled around our bodies protectively, drawn up to his chest and covering me to the neck. I am still; the possessed must not awaken the possessor. Though I know, I know that he will not harm me, still… he will not.

The affirmation circles round and round in my head as I keep very, very still. His arms shift and my breath catches in my throat. He will not harm me. I know this. He stirs again and stretches against my body, his muscles tightening and rippling beneath his smooth skin, his power leashed only by his slumber.

When he brought us here I do not know – I must have slept. I wince, knowing the punishment for sleeping before I am told… but… I… My thoughts are tangled, I do not understand. He did not hit me when I touched him without permission, he was… gentle. I breathe deeply, my eyes closed, trying to calm myself. I must not disturb him. But there is something, at the edge of my mind, something I should remember, something… different.

I keep my breath even, though I cannot keep it calm – perhaps he will not notice? Please, Kakkarrot, do not notice. He shifts again and pulls me in more tightly to his body, but he is still so gentle. I… am not used to this, not from… Bulma used to do this. But they are not the same…

He wraps himself around me, and I feel his breath coming deeper, his muscles twitching with greater awareness; he will awaken soon. I swallow, my mouth thick with a fear I know I must repress, reviewing all that I have done since I wakened – I have not disturbed him have I? I did not mean to, I tried to be quiet…

I do not know the exact instant that he wakens, but it cannot be long after that he turns my body to face him. I wait, my patience so deeply ingrained that I often forget my childish impulsiveness. It often displeased those who used me if I pre-empted them, and I learnt quickly not to. He strokes my face, his own set in an expression of wonder and… I do not know this one, I think I have seen it before but…

He smiles gently, and leans down to kiss me; I am pliant beneath him, and my mouth opens for his almost without direction. 'No' is an alien word, one whose use I do not, cannot understand. He withdraws, looking at me quizzically, his head cocked to one side in that almost childish way of his. I often wonder whether he deliberately created that foolish image to confuse his opponents or whether it simply came about by accident – he is not as stupid as he looks and acts and that, in itself, intimidates me. If I could outwit him then perhaps this will not be so bad…

I remember what happened before and try to force the unworthy thought from my mind, but it will not go. I should not think so of him, I should not think so of anyone stronger. It is wrong.

He strokes my cheek again and kisses my forehead gently, oh so gently. I do not know how to respond – I remember Bulma teaching me and for a second I almost… That would have hurt; I cannot, must not take the initiative. I know this. I must remember it. I swallow, my throat dry and tight but I know that he will not sense fear, only nerves. He will not mind nerves, will he?

"Vegeta."

I turn my eyes to him, avoiding his face and gaze and instead staring fixedly at his broad chest. He is so strong, stronger than Frieza was. He cups my chin in his hand, lifting my head and trying to force my gaze upwards; I do not know whether to comply or not – to look into his eyes is forbidden, to disobey even more so.

I look.

I almost cry out in relief – he is not angry. He is still not angry. It is always so hard to tell when they have just woken up; their muscles are too relaxed to give any clues and I am often facing away. I stifle the sound in time; to disturb his peace would not be a good thing. Still I hold his gaze, hoping he does not see in mine anything that will irritate him. His face grows concerned and I fight the urge to cringe… Frieza used to be 'concerned' sometimes.

"Vegeta, I won't hurt you, remember?"

As though his words open a locked chest within my mind I remember. Almost immediately my body relaxes and tears spring to my eyes but I will not cry. I have already soaked his shoulder once before and I do not wish to try his patience. Another light touch to my face and then he takes a deep breath, worried about something. A snake coils in my gut – if the one who owns me is worried then it is never a good thing for me.

"Vegeta, I want to do something… I … I want to scan your mind. Deep scan. Vegeta, is that all right with you?"

I blink, unable to contain my shock. Why did he ask me? I am his; he can do with me as he pleases. Then my thoughts turn to when he first took his rights in me, and I recall his gentleness; he strived always to prevent hurt to me and to pleasure me. He does not think of me as his slave, he is not one of Frieza's lackeys; he does not understand that thought-path. He asked me because he believes that I have a choice. I do not, cannot tell him that disobedience is impossible to me, so I only nod although my nervousness somehow converts itself into fear.

He nuzzles my hair, purring softly, deep in his throat, as though to reassure me. He does not need to do this… he will anyway. I must remember this, I must get used to it.

His mind brushes mine and I open all my shields. He wants to see all, and I have been trained not to deny him. He takes care, walking the tattered halls of my mind softly, making sure not to break anything. I cringe deep within myself at the cluttered, ragged place that he sees and wish it were more ordered and serene; more as it should be. But my rebelliousness still clings on in places and my stubbornness haunts shadowed corners. I do not want him to see… but what I want does not matter. I wait, patiently kneeling in the centre of my mind.

He reaches me soon, and gasps, drawing me up to my feet and into his embrace. Clothes form around my body, obedient to his command – he does not wish to see me naked, so he will not. Perhaps my form displeases him, but he is not angry.

"Vegeta, can you show me… can you show me what made you like this?"

I was right – my mind displeases him, but it has been a long time since any mentat was brought in to correct my faults and I am too weak to do so on my own. He pulls me in tighter, wrapping his arms around my entire body – it is at times like this that I realise how large he really is; somehow he downplays it most of the time.

"No Vegeta, no. I'm not angry with you. And you're not weak. Now show me, show me what broke you."

His request unleashes a flood of images from where I had locked them away; some so old they are faded in all but the most terrifying parts, others more recent. None since I was brought to Chikyuu, none from before I was sent to Frieza. Many are of the changeling, many too of his favoured followers although none of Zarbon – he never played with me. I still wonder why. I cannot bear to watch, although I cannot block out my own terrified screams reaching out to me from the past. My head is buried in his chest, my hands futilely covering my ears. My mind seeks to tear me, rip me into small pieces and throw me out of myself in a blazing whirlwind of ice; I start to scream and cannot stop. Kakkarrot, forgive me, I cannot stop!

He holds me; steady against the tempest that rages within me and slowly he draws me out of it, bringing me back to consciousness. I hear someone screaming hoarsely, and feel pain shooting through my body; every nerve is an inferno, every iota of my being begs for its own destruction. Another voice rumbles soothingly from behind the wall of fire and slowly, so slowly, the pain and terror fades until I am aware of myself again.

It is his voice that has called me back, as his mind drove away the slashing winds of my own mind. I feel relief – I am not dead; I am not mad, trapped in my own thoughts with that shrieking beast that I know to be myself. Then I feel shame – I forced him out before he was ready to go, imposed my wishes on his. Gods, I attacked him, as though I had the right, as though I could force him to accept my wishes. This time I cannot suppress my fear, nor can I stop myself from cringing, my breath choking in my lungs.

But where I expect a cold fist, where there should be punishment in return for my provocation, there is only a gentle hand stroking me, a soft voice telling me that all will be all right, that it's gone now, it was in the past and cannot hurt me anymore. My body trembles and my throat tightens. I will not cry, he has borne enough of my tears…

No matter how I try to stop them, my eyes water and a warm liquid trails down my cheeks. I sob, a harsh, grating sound that burns my throat and causes me to whimper. No noise; I must make no noise. He holds me, his body curled protectively around mine, and rocks me, softly, slowly, lulling the tears out of me until I am spent, resting against his broad frame and taking comfort in his nearness.

Once again he is not angry and once again I cannot believe it. I lift my head, daring to hope that the normal repercussions will again be stayed. Nothing happens, and I lift my hand to his cheek, touching him for the first time this day. He nuzzles at my palm, his eyes warm and worried. I close my own, and nuzzle his chest in return. I feel safe. How does he do that? Make me feel as though I am wrapped in a cocoon of spider's silk, hidden from the world, impervious to hurt?

Enveloped in this safe mesh I dare one more foray into the depths of my own mind, quickly peeking into corners that I have not dared tread in… how long? I cannot remember. I see my stubbornness, my curiosity, my old tendency to walk my own path, hiding in the shadows and I call them forth. I know that I must have all that they can give me if I am to walk this way again with Kakkarrot.

I open my eyes once more, gazing up into his gentle face and dare, as I have not dared in years. I reach up my hand and wrap it around the base of his neck, pulling his head down. I pause, the old habits, the training I cannot yet break free of still holding me enchained, but I have started and I must go one. My lips meet his in a chaste kiss; he quickly turns it less so. We break apart, and I am sure the uncertainty in my eyes must be plain. He smiles at me, kissing the tip of my nose. I eye him warily – he has not harmed me, he will not harm me. I know this. He pulls me in closer to his body, tucks my head under his chin, and whispers, a butterfly's shimmer of sound,

"Sweet kisses from a sweet Prince."

I blush, though I had thought myself beyond blushing, blood heating my skin and my ears burning. I am not sweet… but it feels good to hear him say it. I wonder how I can earn myself more soothing compliments and then I realise how great a balm they are. For one of the tiles in the halls of my mind has lost its cracks and weathering, and returned to a wholeness I can barely remember from my infancy. For the first time I feel hope as well as comfort and I stretch my body alongside his, slipping into a hazy trance as though slipping into a woodland pool.