The prompt:
Shota Vegeta gets the sex ed talk from Frieza. Bonus points if Frieza doesn't entirely understand saiyan biology and thinks they have tentacles or are seahorses or something.
The fill:
In the bubble of existence in the nothing of hyperspace there contained a ship.
In this ship contained a room outfitted with the finest technology that had existed there sat the strongest being in this galaxy, in several galaxies.
In this being's small pink hands rested a glass of wine in the right, and in the left a rectangle of curved white and steel from a planet he'd would soon have destroyed.
In this rectangle there contained words scrawling across a white screen, its light poured out.
The being cleared its throat.
"Now, Vegeta, stop tearing at the curtains and come here. You see, when you monkeys get old enough to reach mating age, you, literally, little prince, (stop pulling down the chandelier) may find someone similar enough to your species (you know, that got destroyed). And you may discover her brain addled enough, perhaps drunk as well, and willing to mate with you.
"Now lets see what is says in this instruction pad. Oh yes. She will deposit up to fifteen hundred eggs in your pouch. Oh. Now I have your attention."
Vegeta continued to pull the heavy metal and glass device downward, but slower. His dead little eyes narrowed.
"You see, if you want your species to continue on (heavens know why considering how weak and pathetic they were) you must mate with a creature compatible. Now let's see, this mate of your will deposit its eggs, and in nine to forty five days you will hatch them."
The Saiyan's much too deep voice echoed through the room, scratchy and nearly painful. "What?"
"But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. You see, there is a dance that must be done beforehand. Oh. So civilized. I didn't expect such from your species. How Zarbon would love this."
Vegeta shuddered. His tiny hands finally left the chandelier.
"It may last several days. You may change color. How odd. How fun."
"What?"
"Tails will be gripped, yes, yes, you monkeys and your tails. Then you will pump water through your trunk and the egg pouch. The pouch will have expanded to display how empty it is. Not unlike your head when one of my lieutenants gets through with beating you, yes?"
The small boy was looking horrified down towards his stomach.
"An ovipositor will be put into this pouch, eggs deposited in time for the First Meal, you get fat as Dedoria while she gets as skinny as when Zarbon is feeling self-conscious about his weight, and there we go.
"Oh yes. And this mate leaves you. Leaves you there pregnant and vulnerable with her eggs. Leave you to die like your father did.
"Interesting." The pink-skinned Changling pressed a button on the rectangular device to make the words go away. "Well. I do believe I've filled my role as your 'father' figure for the day. Let's see, oh yes, don't fight with Nappa and tear out another ear of his. It's so hard to regrow those in the lab. Perhaps tomorrow we'll throw around a ball made of Pigskinig skin?
"I'll leave you to rest."
Freiza turned off the light before the door panel slid shut and left the room blanketed in darkness.
Vegeta didn't move. He didn't move for a long time.
Eventually, he curled up on the bed, legs lifting to touch his chest. His trunk.
In the years coming he would almost forget the attempts Freiza had made at 'bonding' until he was forced to entertain his own child, and learned just how hard throwing balls made of skin was. Until he learned just how humiliating pretending to have a sophisticated tea party with someone who barely reached your waist. Until he had to teach his own real offspring not to lick things and had to keep them wearing clothes in public. Until the day that he and his mate walked in on the children playing with wrapping one another in Christmas lights and yelling crude curses, giggling, imitating something that apparently all their children's parents did, and a mortified Bulma forced him to talk to them all, all the children, even the ones that weren't his own.
He would almost forget all about this conversation.
And he would never learn of why Freiza ended up destroying a planet that specialized in technology and information, one that came close to discovering such backwater galaxies as Andromeda, Triangulum and even more backwater, depressing places. He wouldn't have cared either.
Freiza's black lips rose in a smile once he was alone in his own room. The chandelier here definitely did not droop. None of the curtains bared burn marks, and the walls were whole.
The device in his hands had proved quite handy. All those databases full of knowledge on all those species. Yet not one on Saiyans.
"Why leave it empty?" He asked himself. "Who better to fill in an entry on Saiyan mating than the one to make sure they never will procreate again?
"Hmm.
"What does that mean, 'citation needed'?
"I don't need a damn source. How dare they question me?"
In the glowing ring of fire that burned the very atmosphere of the planet away, there contained a ship.
In this ship contained a squashed man with very long wild hair and furious black eyes.
In these eyes contained a gleam of vengeance.
He held the crude speaker only recently outfitted in his older model pod to his mouth, lips curved.
"Why yes, Vegeta, Prince Vegeta, there are other species similar to our own."
A grunt through the static. "Huh."
Years, it had been years since he'd followed Vegeta's command. His duty, Raditz had believed. As a weaker creature, he bowed to the strong. To his Prince.
But everyone had a breaking point.
It started with a simple request.
"I want a democracy."
"...what?"
"I want to vote. I want a say!" Burns still covered his arms from their last misadventure, when Vegeta had insisted on fighting that tailed, horned beast on his own, and let it let out a breathe of fire. Right onto Raditz. The pain only made him grow angrier.
Nappa's voice cut in. "Hey, now—"
"You WANT A VOTE! YOU WANT A VOTE? Let's vote right now!" Vegeta's voice was a snarl. "I vote to kill you right now."
"I vote that we vote on this late."
"I vote that we rebel against his jackass and rise up! Against him! And Freiza!"
"Shut up!" Both the other Saiyans were yelling back, unsure even now that the Changling had or hadn't put any tiny speakers of his own into their pods.
Vegeta's voice was rising to cut through the shriek of static. "You want a vote?"
"Yes."
"I vote that we don't have a vote."
Nappa was chirping in with a pathetic, "I agree."
"Outvoted!"
"Damn you both." He needed allies. He needed another Saiyan here to help him. One that would vote and nod to go along with whatever he wanted. His own Nappa.
The wounds had healed in time, but he hadn't forgotten that day.
Now the time had come for his revenge. "There are plenty of species that we can procreate with."
"That's disgusting. How can you say such a proud race as we can lay with any weak beast?"
"Now Vegeta. If we're so awesome, then we should be able to sleep and knock up anyone. Our genes are strong enough to overcome any weak obstacles."
"That makes sense." Nappa threw in.
"I was not aware of that," Vegeta allowed.
"Oh yeah. We're a very fertile race. You didn't know that?"
"Of course I did! I was just not aware of procreation with other species was possible."
"Really?"
"And…"His voice lowered. "The eggs."
"Eggs?"
"I could go for some eggs right now."
"I meant," the prince growled. "About eggs going into. Pouches."
"What pouch?"
Raditz had no idea what they were talking about. He remembered his own talk with his father, Bardock days before he'd sent his son to some planet on word of Freiza. How his father had looked at him flatly and told him that woman were insane beasts to be avoided at all cost, with their crazy lies, and he had a suspicious that whatshisname Karrothead wasn't even his, but oh, don't mention this to your mother, this is just Man Talk. Please don't mention this to your mother, please. And maybe the old scarred Saiyan had been drinking fermented ortk milk again.
Maybe he'd left out the part about pouches? "Oh. That pouch?"
"So there is a pouch?"
"Sure there is."
"I think so."
"And the dancing?"
"You've never heard the Saiyan mating ritual dance?"
"Was that what that was?" Nappa wondered aloud. "All the stomping?
"And the squirming?"
Vegeta was silent, and through vacuum of space, you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning.
Raditz leaned back an inch in satisfaction. His own seeds had been planted. And they would grow into the pouches of Vegeta's brain (what the hell had been talking about anyway?) and would grow to only hurt the other Saiyan.
For the meantime though, he would search out for other Saiyans.
Then he would never be outvoted.
In a large grassy backyard of a huge yellow domed house there sat a ship.
In this ship that contained the best gravity equipment that could be created by Capsule Corp there stood a man and woman.
In the woman there held a child just beginning to cause her stomach to swell, and her hormones to go insane, and in the man a queasy stomach holding a bleeding ulcer that caused his spit to turn red.
She began screaming at him a second before he began to do the same towards her.
"You jackass!"
"I'm a Saiyan elite, the strongest being on this planet! I don't need your bullshit!"
"Oh, like you haven't put me through hell!"
"You don't know what hell is. Not yet. But I'll make certain that you will!"
"Try it! Just try it!"
The expression on his face drove her crazy, that homicidal hard look on a face that already was known for its carelessness.
Just like how Vegeta had gotten this passionate look on his face when she had made scrambled eggs for him. Just throwing her onto the table and saying over and over again that he would not dance, he would not. She had been more concerned with the silverware digging into her back and the bottle of ketchup still in her hands to pay much attention. So only later as she picked up bent spoons and forks and wiped up the ketchup that had squirted around the room did she realize exactly what he'd said.
Why he wept after coming too quickly on her stomach, while she had just meant to yell at him a little, and ended up comforting him instead. Him sobbing and asking her not to stick a ovibator (a vibrator? Jeez, Vegeta) into his trunk, that he would not dance, and to not leave him, to never leave him. Bulma could only hold him, and pet his ridiculous hair, and agree never to leave. Perhaps it had been his way of proposing?
With the sad dripping eyes, Bulma didn't think she could have said no. It was even more effective than Krillin's hurt puppy stare since it was so unexpected. She had only touched his hair, and after a few moments, he was flipping her onto his back and telling her to not touch his pouch.
He looked so very human. Appeared to be fully human, especially since his tail was gone and left only a tiny circular scar at the base of his spine. But what pouch? Where was this pouch?
Was that all a communication error? A translation problem? Was that a sexual term in his culture?
She wasn't sure whether to get him a book on biology, or make sure he stayed far away from such information. When she'd found out she'd been pregnant, Bulma had read everything under the sun about child birth and forced others to read the pamphlets, the books, the magazines. Yamcha had literally thrown up reading one of the books that had come complete with diagrams and pictures and a movie, then vowed to never look at women the same way again. It was not unlike what she'd wanted when they'd broken up, but she definitely didn't want him looking queasy, looking knowing when staring at her in her maternity wear.
It had all been so new, besides being with Vegeta and his assorted weirdness and quirks. The life growing inside her, day by day, curled up and depending on his mother for everything, making stretch marks appear and possibly ruining her bladder. So tiny, and as her mother reminded her, blameless.
Though Vegeta didn't feel that way, entirely freaking out when hearing that a baby was on the way. Falling to his knees and clutching his head, screaming, ki raising around him, the linoleum of the kitchen shaking beneath her feet. Her, watching her only hope of safety, Yamcha, crawl out a window and fly far far away. Even for someone who had never gone farther in the martial arts field than hitting Master Roshi, she could feel his power level rising.
"This is your fault!"
"You decided not to use protection!"
"How could you do this to me! I should have known not to accept that egg, delicious or not."
"What? What? Oh my god, what?"
"It was my downfall."
"What are you saying? That you can control you little swimmers like that? Aim them? Like missiles in a video game?"
"Now it's all over. My life is forfeit. I was not even given another chance to defeat Kakarotte."
"Oh, I won't even ask you for child support."
"I suppose I need to see one of your Earth doctors now?"
"If you want."
"I must plan and begin preparation."
"Of course. That's very important. Don't forget the classes. And the equipment we need to buy."
He spoke mostly to himself, aloud. "I only have a few weeks. If that. Then the color change might start, the widening of the belly. And the eggs will soon come forth."
"Vegeta. Vegeta? Vegeta? You're scaring me." Oh god, what if this is what happened when someone carried a Saiyan baby? She hadn't spoken with Chi-Chi (she'd been busy, alright, and it wasn't like the other woman had reached out to her) when she'd been pregnant with Gohan. Who knows what horrible side effect might be caused? What was that about stomach enlarging, changing color? Would she turn as blue as her hair?
"I must prepare."
Her knees felt weak. "You go do that. I'm going to head to the doctor's office."
Then he trudged out, chin on his chest, pausing when pealing open the door to throw out, "Oh, and you've gained weight, woman."
Only months later when Bulma grew larger and the only thing of his to increase was the size of his shoulders and arms, when she grabbed that swollen stomach and cursed that the baby was coming, did Vegeta finally understand. His shock and relief were so great that the Saiyan leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, eyes closed to the sight of Bulma and her mother calling for help. Savoring the truth. Not him that was pregnant, but the woman. His smile was a slow sickly thing. The woman. Not him. Who could have known.
"Vegeta! Vegeta!
"Would you stop standing there and help me!
"Pick me up, you stupid bastard! This is your kid too!"
Then he was forced to learn the true terrible truth of where Saiyan and human babies came from. The blood flow and placenta and shrieking of the woman. Nearly vomiting over and over again at the carnage. Screaming back at Bulma, both wordless, from the pain of it all. The gleam of the stirrups. The afterbirth. Having to cut the umbilical cords, like a birthing machine that should have been there instead of him.
For the result of the screaming red thing shoved into his unresponsive arms, it's scowling face nothing humanoid. The misshapen head with it's horrifying curl of lilac that had no right being on a Saiyan. He'd soon pushed it into Bulma, glad to be away from it.
It. His son. The son that would soon grow to be a Super Saiyan and would be found wrapping holiday lights around the other brats before letting them do the same to him with a happy smile. "Now call me Queen."
"Nu-uh. I get to be Queen."
"Can I hit you with the ping pong paddle now?"
Whom Vegeta would have sit down besides Kakarrot and harpy's son and the baldy and machine's daughter, and look down on their round pink-cheeked faces, watch them fidget and hit one another, and explain what they'd been doing was wrong. To tell them about procreation, just as Freiza had done for him. And Raditz, that hairy bastard, and spineless Nappa. And his woman.
But he would do it right.
"Now, brats, stop kicking each other and come here."