The Submission of a Prince

by Metallover130

Submitting was something Vegeta would never do. I do not own DBZ.

He'd never intended to submit; at least, that's what he told himself. Vegeta had gotten very good at lying over the years, even to himself, and he would have been lying if he thought for a second that he hadn't wanted it to happen as badly as he did.

It had been in the imitation Time Chamber that Vegeta had so shamefully given himself up to Son Goku, thrown himself at the mercy of that noble, half-witted, ever-smiling saiyan, who for some unfathomable reason fate had tied him to, in what appeared to be permanence. And Vegeta would have been a liar still to have claimed he didn't want things any other way. Goku had been his most perfect rival from the day he set foot on Earth so many years ago, and neither he nor Goku seemed to want any different.

They sparred at 100G, their usual setting, jumping up into the air to come crashing back down, landing punishing blows to the other without hesitation. They'd been doing this longer than they cared to admit, and pulling punches was a thing of the past. When Vegeta struck Goku beneath the jaw he did so with full-strength, and when Goku replied with a foot to the other's gut it was just as forceful, if not more, since Goku had managed to maintain a level just above Vegeta's, and that was another faucet of their friendship (for Vegeta could call it nothing less, not anymore) that the Prince would never change. There had been a time when his very purpose for living had been to surpass Kakarrot, to grind his smug face into the dirt, and while that fantasy still could bring a smile to his face he no longer dwelled on it. Son Goku would, now and forever, always be stronger than him. It was something—with an unimaginable amount of will—that Vegeta had accepted, in his mind and in his heart.

"You call that a kick, Kakarrot?" he jeered, flipping backwards to hover gracefully, crossing his arms and smirking. "You kick like a girl! C'mon, hit me like you really mean it." He charged Goku and expectedly he missed, Goku weaving easily out of the way.

"Aw, I always mean it," he said grinning, floating just out of Vegeta's reach, and all the Prince's punches were just out of range of breaking Goku's teeth. He dodged with a whisper of cloth, and caught Vegeta's hand in his own. In the second before he tugged it back and landed a spectacular upper-cut to Goku's cheek Vegeta had time to think how steady the younger man's hands were, hard and warm, with innumerable calluses that made his skin rough to the touch.

Why the hell am I pondering such trivialities? he cursed mentally, getting out of the way of a flurry of straights before they could send him flying. He couldn't dodge the multiple kicks to the ribs though, and when he felt one strong bone go with a snap he flew to the ground, collapsing on his knees when he was close enough to fall without hurting himself further.

"Vegeta!" Goku cried, at his side in an instant, one hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? You told me to kick like I meant it, but I forget myself and—"

"Oh, quick your fawning," Vegeta snapped, standing slowly, nursing his injured side loosely. "It's just a broken rib, don't have a panic attack over it. If memory serves I've done much worse to you, and you survived." To bring up their first vicious fight was the quickest way to shut Goku up, and Vegeta had wanted to bother him a little, at least to pay him back for his cracked bone. It hurt, hurt like hell in fact, but he'd sustained injuries so much worse it barely registered. It only hurt at all because the gravity was so high and all his bones felt like they were made of lead, and that one rib was pointing down, 100G tugging on it persistently. Vegeta noticed Goku was watching him carefully for any signs of faltering, his eyes alert, posture tense. It was the same way he looked during a battle, but now all those actions were tinged with retch-inducing concern, and it made Vegeta angry—and something else, an emotion that sent endorphins flooding through his blood. Was he . . . was he happy that Goku looked so worried over such a trifle as his well-being? It couldn't be.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he shouted, flailing his free arm angrily toward the kitchen-esque set-up on the other side of the dome. "If you're that bothered by my condition, bring me a damn senzu why don't you? Make yourself useful!" Goku gave him a mysteriously pained look, and fetched the satchel of senzu beans they'd brought along. So far they'd eaten three; Goku took out one of the last four and held it out to Vegeta, who snatched it from him, devouring it in one bite.

The bone sealed with a crackling hiss, and Vegeta gasped—as he always did—at the disturbing feeling of his body moving inside him. No matter how many times he went through the process, while it got easier, it never got any less weird, that sudden but welcome rush of life and energy into his weary or beaten body. Testing himself, he bent this way and that, flexing and stretching. There was no pain, nothing at all, and the senzu had further restored the strength he'd already wasted in the past thirty-six and a half hours leaving him refreshed.

"Alright Kakarrot, let's go again, shall we?" He fell into his familiar stance, but Goku just stood there.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm not really in the mood anymore." Vegeta balked, and with a growl launched himself at Goku, landing a good solid blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and tossing him almost up to the ceiling. Vegeta had pulled the punch (he didn't want to use up all their senzu) but he let Goku have it. They'd barely started, what was he thinking, quitting now? He was hoping that punch would get Goku back into the right frame of mind, and after he came rocketing back, slamming his fists into the arms Vegeta raised in defense it was obvious the Prince had succeeded.

They sparred for another four hours, Goku tiring ahead of Vegeta. He finally called a stop to it, telling Vegeta he could carry on by himself but he was going to have something to eat before hitting the sack. Two days without stopping wasn't too much, but it was certainly enough, and Goku retreated to the homestead side of the Chamber, throwing himself down on the couch with a fwap! and yawning dramatically.

Lazy fool, Vegeta scoffed, and he kept at it for a while longer, expending the remainder of the energy the senzu had given him. When it was gone and once again he was a tired, aching, sweaty mess he joined Goku, who was already eating his way through an army's worth of food. Wordlessly Vegeta fell in with him—loathe as he generally was to admit it, his appetite was on par with Goku's, who was infamous for clearing out entire houses of their pantry's contents. It was a characteristic of all saiyans, especially after training so hard, what with all the calories that had to be replaced.

They ate without talking (how could they, with their mouths stuffed?), only the sound of their chewing and clinking dishes filling the silence. Twice Goku burped and each one earned him a scornful look from Vegeta, which was quickly replaced with one of surprise when he burped, and Goku laughed so hard tea sprayed out his nose.

"That's disgusting," Vegeta vented, but his face was red and Goku was still chortling, even as he wiped his face with his sleeve. After contemplating gutting Kakarrot with a spoon and deciding against it Vegeta rose from his chair, depositing his (rather large) stack of dishes into the washer, which cleaned anything inside it in about twelve seconds, though you still had to take care of whatever it was yourself. While he was stacking dishes back in their proper places Goku brought his to be cleaned and successfully broke three plates and a glass.

"Whoops," he said.

"How you qualify for savior of the universe, I'll never know." Still, he was smirking a bit, and he had to turn away to keep Goku from seeing his amusement, or the sliver of embarrassment that had crept on him—for a splint moment the expression on Goku's face as the plates shattered had made Vegeta's own face swell with blessedly brief affection. Him, Vegeta, former Most-Evil-Bastard, had felt honest to kami affection for his idiotic companion, and his boyish clumsiness.

I must be more tired than I thought. He opted to go shower before he did something else stupid—or, kami forbid, human—and shed his training clothes until he wore nothing but his black under-armor. Goku came in minutes later, tugging off his weighted clothes, throwing them wherever as he tromped to the bed he'd claimed early on. It looked like it belonged to a slob, which in truth it did, and he leapt upon it eagerly, snuggling the wrinkled blankets like a pleased child. Vegeta observed him out the corner of his eye while he headed for the bathroom. He'd learned quite a bit about Kakarrot by living with him in such a homey setting. He'd learned that Goku always went to the bathroom right after he woke up, that he snored horribly in his sleep (and talked in it, the lunatic), was mind-bendingly flexible when he limbered up before a match, and had the second-largest vocabulary of obscenities he'd ever heard, his being the first. He had also become very accustomed to the various reactions Goku had, such as his penchant for laughing at how serious and stern Vegeta could be, or the way he always merrily greeted every new day.

Now Vegeta had the maddening urge to test how Goku would react if he began to undress, right there in front of him. His body was no mystery to Kakarrot—they were both men, after all, even an idiot like Goku could figure out there was little physical difference between them—but when any part of his clothing came off in Goku's presence it was usually because it had been blown off by an opponent's energy blast or torn away by himself when it turned to tatters. Now though, what would the world hero Son Goku do if he took hold of his under-armor at the shoulder and slowly began to pull it down? What if he were to saunter over to Son Goku, take his face in his hands and press their mouths together, ravish that morally upright fool with his tongue, mount him, screw him senseless into that messy bed with all he had until Goku screamed his—

Vegeta was suddenly painfully aware that he had a throbbing erection. His face bloomed with color, and he fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He felt rather than heard Goku get up and stare at the door in puzzlement, and he prayed the fool wouldn't ask him what was the matter, because he was certain if he got any closer and his voice was audible then he'd lose control and do something he'd seriously regret. Luckily Kakarrot said nothing. He just stared at the door a little longer, then rolled over on his pillow and gave the door his back.

The saiyan prince heaved a soft sigh of relief, and yet felt a strange sense of vague disappointment. His lust at that moment was burning hot, and he'd almost wanted an irrational excuse to throw Goku down and have his way with him. No, that wasn't quite right, either. While his natural wild side, the saiyan side, wanted Goku on his knees panting like a bitch in heat his other side, the newer side that only since his relationship with Goku had developed, the more "princely" part of him wanted to be the one giving in.

Give in? he thought, shuddering. Giving in was a luxury for the weak and the love-sick, and he was definitely not weak, and he was not love-sick. Sick, maybe, honestly nauseated, but not love-sick. He affirmed stoically that if he were ever to know love he'd end himself immediately—but lust was an entirely separate matter. Why couldn't he give in to that? What was wrong with it? Vegeta had gone his entire life never giving in, not to Freeza or Kiwi or even Kakarrot. He was a saiyan of royal blood, surrendering was an option he didn't get. In a way it depressed him. He'd had to carry every burden since his childhood without aid, always expected to be able to bear the weight alone, never receiving help from anyone, not even his parents when they'd still lived.

The temptation to bare himself to Goku came again, stronger than before, but it symbolized something else now, something not of the flesh. How would Son Goku, savior of the Earth, react when Prince Vegeta came to him, completely stripped of all his masks, as emotionally naked as a skeleton without its skin? What would his face look like if Vegeta got on his hands and begged redemption from the only other person on the entire planet who still considered him worth a damn, who had not forsaken him as scum, who still looked at him like he was a . . . like he was a prince?

I'm going out of my mind, he thought, holding a hand over his eyes. I've gone insane, that's the only logical explanation for all this madness. Between his legs his interest throbbed otherwise, and he was so horny it was becoming painful.

He shed his under-armor, freeing himself from it, and he stepped under the heavy spray of hot water. Vegeta groaned, and stroked himself languidly, pressing his forehead to the wall while his other hand steadied him on the tap. It was impossible not to imagine Goku while he pleasured himself, and as he came, biting his lower lip to contain his cry of completion, he had a sudden epiphany, the realization of why it was he put up with Goku and unwittingly clung to him so desperately.

Goku was one of the last saiyans, the last of a dying breed. He, Vegeta, and Gohan currently racked up to the unimpressive number of three. Three saiyans were all that remained of one of the mightiest races of all time, and Vegeta was the last, and final, ruler of them. What was a prince without his subjects, without his kingdom? Planet Vegeta, the home he'd been named for was long gone, courtesy of Freeza, so he had no kingdom to rule. All he had was . . . was Goku.

Vegeta ran his hands through his hair, his groan this time of frustration rather than desire. The only being left in the world who knew Vegeta to be superior (to think him superior) was Son, that dim-witted goody-two-shoes simpleton. That dim-witted goody-two-shoes simpleton that apparently he wanted very badly to fuck mercilessly, and whom he felt some sort of lasting obligation to (he wouldn't call it affection, he just wouldn't).

"My god I've fallen, and hard," he murmured aloud, turning off the water and striding naked to find a towel. His normally spiked-up hair was soaked, and it hung around his face in sopping lumps that dripped steady streams of water down his back and chest. He dried that first, then rubbed himself down, pausing briefly to touch the place at the base of his spine where his tail had once been. It had grown back as he knew it would, and for some reason he'd only torn it off again. It was the least saiyan thing he'd ever done, and it wasn't until now that he really understood why—he was a saiyan of Earth now, for better or for worse, and with no moon and no race, what was the point?

Clean and no longer stinking of day old sweat Vegeta put a fresh under-armor on. He'd worn them for as long as he could remember, he saw no reason to change that at this point. They were comfortable, easy to move in and what with his demeanor, what did anyone expect him to wear? All black suited him.

He left the foggy bathroom and crawled into his bed exhausted, ready to sleep but not wanting to dream. He was afraid of what his subconscious might show him.

"Vegeta?" came Goku's voice from the other bed. It startled Vegeta—he'd been so preoccupied he hadn't sensed that Kakarrot was still awake.

"What?" he asked, keeping his voice annoyed through sheer force. He did not want Goku to hear how troubled he really was, not now, when he felt so shaken to the core. "What do you want, Kakarrot?"

"Well, we've been in here four months by my count, and we haven't really talked very much. I mean, the moment we wake up all we do is eat, and after that we train, then we eat some more and then we go to bed. I don't think we've had a conversation lasting more than five minutes since we got here."

"Talking is not beneficial to our training," Vegeta said with conviction that surprised even him. He didn't want to talk to Goku, not now, not later. All of a sudden it felt that agreeing to spar with him for a year had been a very poor judgement call, but then again his feelings had been so much clearer just four months ago.

"I know that, but . . . it just feels like we ought to say more to each other, doesn't it? Instead of 'Is that your best shot?' and 'Pass the sauce', right?"

Kakarrot, you don't have any idea the things I want to say to you. "You're nothing but an open book Kakarrot, you obviously want to ask me something or you wouldn't have stayed up or waited for me, now ask your damn question so I can go to sleep!" Barking back a heated reply made Vegeta feel more an ease, on steadier ground. It made him feel like himself. But then Goku said something that turned that steady ground beneath him to gravel on a slope.

"Vegeta, do you ever regret all the people you've killed?"

His feelings on his past—whatever the topic—was one of the last things he'd ever have expected Goku to actually bring up directly to him. He'd always figured it the sort of whispered gossip the "Z" warriors would chat about in hushed voices when they knew he wasn't around. He didn't blame them, he'd intended to kill most of them if Nappa hadn't all that time ago, and those intentions had never really faded, not until their mutual hatred of Freeza, and even then he'd been turning over the idea in his mind. Once again it was Goku who had faith in him, kept him around when all others shunned him. It likely because of this that Vegeta found—despite his exemplary skill—that he could not lie to him, even if he wanted to, and by the kami did he want to.

"No," he said quietly, staring up at the dark ceiling, unable to look at Goku while he began what could only end in his inevitable confession of everything he'd worked so hard to never speak of. "Not all of them. There were some that deserved their fates."

"How long?" Goku demanded, and though he said it as a muttered question is resounded with barely constrained fury. "How long did you do it for? What you did for Freeza?"

"Since I was a boy. I hate having even to think back on it. That filth raised me, after he had destroyed our planet, leading me to believe, all that time, he'd rescued me." His hands clenched in the sheets, and he grit his teeth until his jaw ached.

"Why didn't you ever fight back? I know your pride pretty well by now. You should have rebelled!"

"And gone where, Kakarrot?!" he yelled, his temper breaking. He'd wanted Goku to be his confessional, not his interrogator. "I was a weak child, whose entire race had been wiped out in a night! What would you have had me do?! There was no one there! I was alone, dammit!" The sound of his own voice, massive and powerful in the small space of the room jolted Vegeta like he'd been physically struck, and he shook, hiding his shameful face in the pillow. Goku remained unaffected, though the harshness had gone out of him completely. He had sat up and was facing Vegeta now, with a look of compassionate understanding. It was a pitying look, and had Vegeta opened his eyes to see it he might have tried to kill Goku for humiliating him so—or maybe he would have gone to him, and hid himself away from the world in his arms.

Sweet lord I'm pathetic. Maybe I ought to put myself out of my misery.

"What happened to you? What did they do to you?"

"I told you, they raised me," he said, now quiet and withdrawn. His tone had gone placid and lifeless. "As a saiyan the love for battle has always been present, but Freeza implanted within me a love for blood as well. I was too young to know any different, to understand what I was becoming, and by the time I did I no longer cared. I had already become, it was too late for me." He paused to take a deep, shuddery breath. "It wasn't what I wanted. It never was. It was simply the life I had been given, and it was that life or no life at all. You're too soft Kakarrot, to have ever once contemplated making me an ally. You had no idea what I was."

"You were evil," Goku said plainly, with no cruel or hateful inflection that someone else might have stressed. "But now you're aren't. I knew back then what you were . . . just like how I know what you are now." He got up off his bed, and strode cautiously to where Vegeta lay. Even beaten, broken and bloody he had never looked as vulnerable as he did now, so helpless, a word Goku would have never associated with Vegeta.

"How could you possibly know?" Vegeta spat, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth again. Still he refused to open his eyes, even after Goku sat down on the bed, his weight tipping Vegeta in his direction.

"Hey," he mumbled, leaning over the other saiyan, his shadow falling across Vegeta's chest, to make him even blacker in the dark. "Why won't you look at me?"

Because then you'll see it, all that I am, and I can't ever let that happen. It would ruin me, and I'm already nothing. What more can you do to me?

"Kakarrot, please," he said, practically begging. "Please don't ask me to. I don't know . . . I don't know what will happen." He hadn't said please since his death at Freeza's hands; it struck him not the least bit ironic that the one he was saying it to was once again Son.

"It's okay," Goku told him, and he carefully leaned over Vegeta, until their faces almost touched. "Open your eyes, Vegeta." And he did: there was something in the way his words washed over him that made it okay, something that said it was alright for him to let go, to drop his burden, to rely on someone else instead of having to carry all of it inside alone.

When their eyes met, the effect was instantaneous; the complete and total transfer of knowledge, emotion, and memory from one to the other. In the space of a minute (which felt to them like an eternity) both came to know the other as intimately as they ever could hope to, all their sins, all their virtues. They saw each other as children, struggling their separate struggles, as of yet ignorant to the other's existence. They saw one another during their early battles, all their battles since then, and their thoughts on the battles to come. Memories reversed, switched sides, grew bright and then faded, the tinges of emotion clinging and remaining after the images were gone, and it was Vegeta who broke eye contact finally, tearing his gaze away to stare fixedly at the wall. Above him Goku sat back, panting shallowly, as if he had just run a long distance.

"What . . . what the hell . . . was that?" Vegeta gasped, his chest rising and falling while he sucked in air. The entire time their eyes had been locked neither had breathed. Any longer and they might have suffocated.

"Something I learned from Kami-sama," Goku said after a moment, still taking time to breathe. "It's a Namekian thing, I guess. He told me it would be intense, but, whoa . . ." He raised a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes, and it was trembling terribly. Silence fell between them, Goku not knowing what to say and Vegeta not wanting to open his mouth for fear what might come out. He was puzzling over the things he'd seen, de-threading everything, feeling by feeling. Goku was as honest and simple in his head as he was out loud, and his emotions towards Vegeta were as unabashed and open as he had been, since the day they'd met.

Goku loved him. He wasn't in love with him, but what he felt for the saiyan prince was nothing short of the word. It was pure, full, and worst of all it was warm, like the first ray of sunlight after sitting in the cold dark. That was what Goku was to Vegeta—the ray of sunny what-have-you, who somehow managed to drag him out of his secluded hell into the day. Just like walking from a dim room into a lighted one the introduction stung, but he'd adjusted eventually, and here they were in the dark again: but things felt warmer than they ever had.

"Kakarrot," he murmured just as Goku had been about to climb off the mattress. Goku didn't reply to his name but he did focus his eyes on Vegeta, who had returned his to the faint silhouette of his companion. It took him several seconds to build the courage to speak, and when he did his voice sounded muted to him, the volume turned way down. "What did you think . . . of what you saw? You said you knew me; were you surprised?" Goku said nothing, and Vegeta's heart sank. Only he and a few survivors of Freeza's army knew the full history of all his misdeeds; there had been a reason he'd never spoken on it to the others, not after how little they trusted him in the beginning, and how little still. They already thought him evil and twisted, it wouldn't help him to throw "monster" into the mix now.

It was Goku most of all that kept him from ever telling the tales of his youth. It was back to the Reactions Game again—how would Son Goku's face look when he came to truly know what Vegeta had once passed as himself? Something like this, apparently, Vegeta thought, sitting up on his elbows to observe Kakarrot as best he could without candles or electric lighting. In the dark he was nothing more than a culmination of shapes, blocky and undefined. It took him longer than it should have to locate Goku's eyes, and to his infinite dismay the other saiyan wasn't looking at him anymore. He was doing what Vegeta had done, stare at the wall with no expression. Son didn't look infuriated or depressed or even revolted. He just looked.

Vegeta opened his mouth, but Goku shut it for him when he finally responded to Vegeta's half-sarcastic question.

"I figured it was something like that," he said, and it occurred to Vegeta with a flinch that Goku was not talking to him, nor addressing the matter of his murderous past. The look in his eyes was something of anger and deep misery, and again Vegeta found that neither were directed specifically at him. They were just the emotions he was feeling at whatever he had seen in Vegeta's mind.

"What?"

Goku didn't say a word; instead he resumed his position over Vegeta, a hand on either side of his waist. They were eye to eye, but thankfully there was no Namekian mind-technique this time. Goku's face was as serious as it had been when he'd killed Freeza, and Vegeta felt ice in his belly, creeping its way up to his chest. Somehow—he didn't know how—he knew that it was Freeza he was thinking off, even if he was looking at him. When Goku breathed their proximity was so near he felt his breath on his face, wet and spicy-smelling, as he'd never brushed his teeth after their meal. For a crazy second Vegeta thought his breath had to smell the same, and then he thought nothing at all, because Goku was closer to him than ever, climbing atop him, his knees entrapping Vegeta's legs beneath the covers.

"Kakarrot?!"

"It wasn't your fault," Goku said mysteriously.

"What the hell are you blathering about now?" Vegeta bit, but the venom in his voice was gone, stolen far away. He pleaded with whatever god that might still listen to him that Goku wouldn't pick up on how flustered he was, or how anxious, because predicably this was the time his body chose to betray him. It mutinied him not for fatigue, hunger, or even death: it sacrificed him to lust. Goku's whole body was over him now, and with Vegeta supporting himself on his elbows and Goku pressing closer their chests were touching, clothes brushing slightly, black and orange and blue meeting.

"What you were, it wasn't your fault," Goku said, and somehow he'd gotten even closer. Vegeta knew he could lift either arm or leg and effortlessly knock Goku into next month, but he stayed still, waiting, as Goku continued. "What they did, those horrible things," he growled, and from their distance he felt the reverberations through their shirts. That feral sound, so primitive, so dangerous, only served to excite Vegeta more. Between his thighs his trapped manhood protested its casing, surging with blood and pulsing irritably. Vegeta tried to ignore it, and focused on what Goku was saying to him.

"They were things, and it was horrible," he agreed. "But the past is the past, and it's best to leave it that way. I can sense the pity in you Kakarrot, and thought it suits you it's best if you purge it now. Feeling bad for scum like me will only get you killed."

"Oh, shut up," Goku said with an exasperated sigh, and kissed Vegeta full on the mouth.

At first the prince was too struck to even form thought. He tastes like curry was the first thing Vegeta's haywired brain transmitted, followed by What did I tell him about doing things like he means them?! He grabbed a fistful of Goku's hair and pushed them together, raising his hips the needed inch to rub their groins together. He wasn't totally shocked to discover that Son was in just as compromising a situation as he, and their urging lengths grating pleasingly.

"You never told me—" Goku began, when they pushed apart.

"You never asked," Vegeta smirked.

"So all this time?"

"Yes. The shower and I have become very familiar." Goku opened his mouth to say something else, so Vegeta cut him off by using his free hand to fondle Son's hard ass, and his muscles twitched and jumped under his rough fingers. Predictably Goku was speechless, and he lay on Vegeta fully, writhing and moaning softly into Vegeta's ear while the older groped him and grinded his front.

"V-Vegeta," he gasped, panting short puffs of hot air onto Vegeta's neck while beginning to match the gyrating rhythm of the pelvis below him. Vegeta didn't respond, he was too lost in the sensation. Obviously Goku would know now, what with the mind-swap thing they'd just done, but Vegeta had had little to no sexual activity his entire life. He'd spent most of his years training, fighting, and killing—there was no time for sex, and no one to have it with. He preferred saiyans because that's what he was, and his options traced as far as Nappa and Radditz. Abstinence was most definitely the lesser of three evils. There was no way he'd ever say it out loud, but in all truth he was a virgin, and whatever he was about to do with Goku (for they'd passed the point of no return by now, surely) would be his only ever experience.

"Kakarrot," he hissed through grit teeth, "wait, not like this . . ." Abruptly he ceased his ministrations, and Goku blinked at him, anxious and frustrated.

"What?"

"You . . . I want you . . . to . . . to take me." He forced out each syllable, never at odds with himself. Above him Goku's eyes got a little wider. He leaned in close to make sure he was seeing whether or not Vegeta was pulling one over on him; there was naught but desire in his eyes—desire, and . . . could it be? Submission, murky and hateful, but at the same instance longed for and needed. To submit was the one thing Vegeta would never do, and now it was more important than anything.

"Are you sure?" Goku asked, peering down at Vegeta, still scouring his face for any signs of doubt. There were some, but they were fading fast, and by the time Vegeta gave a jerky, curt nod of assent they were gone.

"I've already made a fool of myself, why not finish it?" A grin spilt his face, and he fisted his hand in Goku's hair again, dragging their lips into one. "Hurry up, Kakarrot," he taunted, half-joking, half-serious. "Hurry up and fuck me, and really do me like you mean it."

Goku was lost for words for a second or two, and then his grin rivaled Vegeta's. "I always mean it," he chuckled.

--

The room had gone quiet, silence punctuated only by sounds. There were no words, not anymore. Vegeta and Goku communicated now strictly by touch, and by that standard there was an awful lot of chatting going on. One of Vegeta's hands was still fisted in Goku's hair, the other on his back, digging little trails of scored flesh. Goku's hands were like-wise busy, one supporting him off the bed and the other was memorizing every detail of the older saiyans body. His rough palms stroked Vegeta's stomach, his chest, his face, his legs, any part he could reach.

They weren't all the way, not yet. Goku sensed Vegeta's confliction and held it off for as long as he dared, distracting him other ways. His free hand massaged the tip of Vegeta's engorged member, and this earned him sounds from Vegeta's throat that he didn't think he'd had it in him to make. He experimented, sucking the junction of his neck, rubbing the strange texture of his nipples, licking the jut of his pelvic bone, testing Vegeta all over to see what made him react the most.

The Reaction Game, Vegeta thought again, as he let fly a deep groan brought on by Goku biting down hard on one of his already swollen buds. He was practically chewing it for kami's sake, and Vegeta didn't like how much he liked that feeling, or how much it made him want to moan. Now who's the bitch in heat? his own subconscious mocked him. He ignored it, letting himself melt into the uncomparable pleasure, sensations he'd never thought he'd feel, least of all with Son Goku of all people. Some part of him was trying to remind him that Goku had a wife and child, but that was unimportant as of now, and would be until their erotic act was over.

He felt a wet and urgent hand between his buttocks, pressing hard to enter. He relaxed a little, allowed their entry, gasped at it, then reveled in it. Above him Goku was breathing just as hard as he was, as if tending to another brought him equivalent satisfaction. The pressure of his manhood was obvious on Vegeta's stomach, and deciding he wasn't engaged enough Vegeta took his hands off Goku, and replaced them on another part of him, taking up a more active role.

Goku's reaction was perfect. He apparently hadn't expected something like a compassionate act from Vegeta (if a hand-job counted as compassionate), and he sighed softly, faltering in his own actions for a moment to peer at the saiyan prince under him. Again, not a word passed between them. Vegeta stroked him slow and hard—the same way he might have killed him—and was pleased to find he enjoyed the faces Goku made as he was brought a little closer to climax. The flush of his cheeks, the sweat on his skin, the panting stickiness on his lips: it was marvelous.

With a quick roll of his hips to jerk Goku back to reality, Vegeta continued his mission, and Goku continued his. The two digits inside him turned to three, and they flexed and stretched, until Vegeta thought he could no longer stand it. All of him was overloading.

"Oh, just get on with it!" he cried, breaking the stillness of the rest of the chamber. Goku jumped in surprise, and then uttered a low, breathy laugh, leaning down to kiss the line of Vegeta's collarbone. Vegeta wanted to smack him for having anything to laugh at that very second, but instead he used his hand's primary location to get Goku moving. Son yelped in the dark, throwing Vegeta a rather annoyed look, but the sparkle of amusement was still there, and he readied himself once Vegeta had let go.

Their eyes met again. Goku opened his mouth to say something, something that probably would have ruined it and left Vegeta unsated forever, so the prince just shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to hear it. Goku pressed his lips together into a thin line of concern, but in the end went along with what Vegeta wanted. Lifting the older saiyan's thighs and tossing his legs over his shoulders, Goku touched the tip of himself to Vegeta, waiting. Again a curt nod was the signal, and both had time to wonder what else was being initiated right then other than sex, but then the time for pondering was over and Goku was inside him, buried to the hilt in a single thrust, filling him up to the brim.

"Vegeta, you feel so good," Goku whispered, already setting a pace, not bothering to wait for Vegeta to adjust. The prince spasmed underneath him, the pain the first thing he knew, tearing him inside like a red hot metal pole, scalding him, burning him, and even if it was briefly agony it was also a cleansing feeling, and Vegeta, for the first time, surrendered to it. He opened himself wide, let Goku take him, take him hard, until the pain was all-encompassing, and then the pain began to fade away just as the memories had, and in its wake like the lingering emotion there was a tingle of good, a thread of delectation that made his hips buck and his back arch. He feared he might fly right off the bed but Goku held him down, literally pinning him, like a butterfly to a showcase with a great steel needle. Goku's thrusts make Vegeta think of a sewing machine and he was tempted to laugh himself, for having such a thought during a situation like sex, and thankfully his urge to chuckle was carried away with his exhales of air that he made whenever Goku struck just a certain place in him, just the right way.

"Merciful kami," Vegeta gasped, his hands going to Goku's back where they took up their old pastime of scoring long rivulets into his skin. Goku growled in that feral way of his, hissing through his teeth, and Vegeta growled right back, meeting Kakarrot's thrusts. At one point Vegeta was sure he bit Goku, burying his teeth into one perfect shoulder until he could taste the other saiyan's blood, and of Goku screaming his name—just as he'd wished—when he finally came, his hips freezing in place before they twitched angrily, his hot cum jetting into Vegeta, hidden away as evidence unseen.

Vegeta's own orgasm came moments later, while Goku was still enjoying his. His cum splashed on his stomach and Goku's chest, though neither took notice, not until the haze of pleasure had cleared like smoke from a battlefield, and they were all that was left standing.

Like the blind they groped, until the found each other. Goku pulled out of his older comrade and fell down beside him, a smile on his goofy face. The typical pleased male.

Vegeta, on the other hand, looked very different. His face was still flushed and sweaty, but there was other moisture; he was crying, soundlessly, and without even being aware. Burdenless, he thought joyously, this is what it feel like to be free.