"Vegeta."

His lips were soft as he pressed them against my clammy skin, cold from the chill that had struck that night on my new home, this odd planet Earth where I now reside with my newest lover; everything new, I noticed dreamily—so odd and foreign to me, though had my life ever been anything I could call comforting? Again I would realize distantly that I had become so used to that other touch—that of my master—and this new friend I had used his hands differently. He spoke differently—addressing me as a companion and an equal, truthfully equal, not the falsified kind that Frieza wanted to establish after that night I thought of now. To Kakarot, I was just as much in charge of how things worked in our relationship, and though I should have appreciated this, I was left feeling so distraught, empty, craving something more—as if I actually wanted him to take control of me and put me in my place. Was I craving humiliation, the relentless whip, those commands given endlessly? Craving is the right word here because of course it's not something I like—rather something I now, after years of becoming accustomed to it in Frieza's care, seem to have trouble faring without.

I fight Kakarot, hoping he will push back.

Grunting, I used my naked hands to push him away from me, where he had been groping my exposed crotch with his own hands, moist and strong, the opposite of my other lovers, which were cool and delicate but strong and commanding—the hands of a leader. Kakarot's where clumsy, inexperienced, yet somehow possessing such an odd sense of confidence—as if he were so sure of his skills and strength that he would just wing whatever he was doing and it would turn out okay—and it always did. My new lover, like my old, always got what he wanted, but I made it a point to make him work for it—to make him make me, to make him push me into obedience, to make him act more like…Frieza…isn't that what I want?

"Screw you, Goku," I said softly, slowly making my way out of his arms and over to the window, where I noticed my reflection in the light of a lamppost cast outside. There it was snowing lightly but Kakarot still insisted on keeping the window open, wanting me to gain warmth from his arms, and himself from me. I was cold and I had fought him for a while about this, arguing that with my immune system weakened after several failed lab experiments by Bulma's father, who was determined to study Saiyan anatomy but had done more successfully in infecting me with a strong Earth virus by accident. It was the last time I would ever give in and allow myself to be studied, no matter how my lover pushed me into it, arguing that he himself could not do it because he had been exposed to this planet much longer than I. I did, but the last incident left me feeling angry and bitter, and I was much feistier than I had been before, especially when it came to moronic ideas my lover insisted on executing, like leaving the window open in such extreme cold. But he had wrestled me gently into bed as he had me locked in a kiss, and he wrapped us in a blanket so I couldn't move an inch. I let him snuggle against me, dozing for a while after a long day of training, but when I woke I was even more agitated and insisted upon getting up.

Inwardly, I was probably hoping he would have refused—maybe taken me first, or ordered me to pleasure him, or maybe simply commanded that I hush and lay still as my master had oh so long ago. But he was not that type of person; Kakarot was playful and intent on teasing, but if he knew I was truly upset or irritated he would not put up a fight and would give into me. Another part of me probably liked this control—but again, it was just so different from what I had lived, and what I had come to like because my old lover had made our interactions so…pleasurable, no matter how I was harmed or humiliated…

The idea that I actually could have liked our relationship was one that made me quiver in shame—made me want to hide my head, curl into a tight ball in the corner and hope my father or mother (all the saiyans, actually) weren't watching, couldn't hear my thoughts. But my master told me over and over they couldn't hear me—they were long gone, and after our special night together my lover promised to make the two of us immortal so we could be together for the rest of eternity, so that our love would never be lost as the Saiyans and their planet had been. And I remember how that had been one of those moments when I had really cared for Frieza—simply the idea that he would want to keep me with him for eternity—and I remember actually leaning in and kissing him, passionately, initiating what he almost always had. He was surprised, but he quickly resumed dominance and within a few moments I had felt myself filled again, for the third time that night. And the worst? I had enjoyed it—thoroughly, grunting and moaning as I was taken again and again, several times after the third. I had thrust with him, spreading my legs to give my master better entrance, begging him softly to go deeper and harder and to push me into the bliss only he could give me. But what was more—I had told him how I loved him as I nodded off that night—I had professed my love to him, openly, so truthfully, again and again and begged him never to leave me. I cried until he kissed my eyes enough to dry them and to placate me, he tugged on my tail until I was asleep.

The next morning, I woke snuggled against him, and saw that he was still asleep; carefully so as not to wake him, I squirmed out of his arms and tail and waddled out of bed, still in pain from the night before, my legs sticky with my congealed blood and the results of our pleasure. I ran away, not taking time to soak in the regin tank, or even to clean the fluids from my body—simply, I ran into my pod and pulled on a suit of mine from when I was much younger, which was tight on me. Especially snug in the groin area because of growth in my torso (not to mention, as Frieza often told me while purring, I had become very well endowed), it squeezed my abused genitals so thoroughly it hurt to shift even slightly, much less walk or battle, but I didn't care—I had to get out, because that night I had made those ideas, so dreadful to me but so realistic, finally, truthfully, appear before my eyes. I saw them—what I had become, the moment I woke up and remembered the previous night. I came here, where I now reside with Kakarot—to get away from Frieza, because it was true; I liked our relationship…actually, I loved it—loved him.

And there is something very disturbing to me which I wouldn't really recognize until I came face to face with my master once again after our long, painful separation—I needed him, more than I needed anyone else. I needed my master after our special night together so long ago, so long that it seems like a dream, a distant yet vivid memory. I knew that what he planned to do that night would truly make me his, yet I didn't know how much—how much I would ache when the two of us were apart, when he wasn't there for me to touch and to be held by and whose voice was a constant comfort to me. Like a sap, I had fallen in love—maybe forced, maybe because of what he had done, but I did it, too. I was a part of our bonding, and even though it would be so much easier and less shameful to blame everything on him, I can't deny the truth—I bit him, too, and I did it willingly, longingly, wanting to be close to my master as he had made himself close to me when he sunk his sharp teeth into my neck and fed upon my blood. And from that moment on, I would find no greater pleasure than to be near him—and no greater pain than to be separated; that was why I had to return to him after my defeat on Earth (which I truthfully believe was caused by my distraction back "home", the one I missed with every ounce of soul I possessed, because if I had been completely present and completely myself I would have had no trouble smoking these earthlings)—it was too painful to be apart. And the idea I had had initially, to make myself immortal instead of having us both gifted with an eternity, and to kill him so that I would not fall victim to him any longer, so that I could regain my honor and take back my soul and body but most importantly my mind, seemed so silly, so unfair, so wrong…The idea that I would kill Frieza to me became the equivalent if I were to have murdered my own father and mother, for Frieza was my love.

When I found out that he was searching for the dragonballs himself, I felt such pain, such searing pain—the pain of betrayal, if you've ever felt it. Hypicritical it might have been, though I justified my betrayal of him as being due to my weak emotions, which I recognized. I was telling myself he should have known and should have come to Earth, taken me back, perhaps lashed me a few times, but in the morning everything would be back to normal—order restored. Maybe I was simply begging for attention, gratification in leaving him, but either way I was so surprisingly hurt that my plan now seemed much more achievable, as if my mother or father had killed my brother or a cherished pet—I could have killed him. And determined to confront him for shattering my heart, I tried.

But oh, life—the two of us almost walked away, maybe not immortal, but almost…until Kakarot returned…

Needless to say, I have some animosity toward my new lover—on so many levels, especially when I still find myself wondering how I ended up in this guy's arms in the first place; and I can affirm that I am more confused with myself and my intentions more than I have ever been in the entirety of my life, with so many ideas constantly spinning, so many needs to be fulfilled…and sometimes Kakarot can't, try as he might, not as Frieza would…

So I ask again: why am I here, now counting on this other Saiyan to provide for me?

"Vegeta, what's wrong?" Kakarot asked, pulling me easily back into his arms. I only offered a small squeak of protest, and blushed when he picked me up and carried me to the bed as if I were a baby. "Come on, why are you being so cold to me?"

"Don't treat me like that," I snapped, even though it was the kind of thing I was constantly convincing myself I wanted—that humiliation. "You're not any better than me, Goku."

"Of course I'm not," he cooed, and I felt him run his fingers through my hair, and suddenly I couldn't take it; I shoved out of his arms, and as a result he fell from the bed with a thud which echoed throughout that room, empty aside from the place for love-making.

He looked up at me with wide, disoriented eyes—stunned, perhaps best put. In the two years of our partnership, I had never hurt him once—in fact, he had actually been more rough with me than I had with him, and so certainly he wasn't expecting me to lash out at him in the way I had. Looking into his eyes I could see that he was stunned, yes, but he was also very hurt, and angry, as the seconds passed and he spent more time quickly considering what I had done.

"Vegeta! What was that for?" he yelled at me, and before I could answer he grabbed my ankle and roughly yanked me off the bed and onto his lap, making me cry out softly, as I, like he, had not been expecting the violence.

In a second, I found myself beneath him and pinned onto the floor, unable to move an inch—he had my tail in his hand.

"Now, you're going to stop acting like such a jerk and tell me what's wrong right now or I'm going to make you regret it, Vegeta," he hissed, and gave my tail a squeeze, making me moan gently in pain and some odd, aroused pleasure. To my embarrassment, I was erect, but it wouldn't last long as I dove back into the murky, monster-ridden ocean that was my past.

"O-okay," I said woozily, and looked up at him, knowing that my fear shown easily in my eyes, but knowing that even if he hadn't threatened me, I really didn't have a choice—after all was said and done, what I was keeping from him wasn't fair to him…to us… "I'll t-tell you…about our b-bond…"