Drabble 22: Masquerade - Mistaken
Kakarrot leaned against the wall, watching the ballroom with dully. He had danced a bit – twirled a younger cousin around clumsily – and was now resting in a quiet corner.
But he really knew he was hiding.
He was feeling better these days. Less depressed. More social. His grades, which had been floundering badly, improved slowly.
He was slowly getting over Vegeta.
His eyes followed a black-clad figure gliding across the floor. The matching cape billowed out, its maroon lining a stark splash of color against the outfit of unrelieved black, curling and unfurling with each snapping turn. The lithe dancer's companion, a young lady encumbered by heavy skirts, could barely keep up.
Kakarrot thought she should just sit down and let him enjoy the view, uninterrupted. To be fair though, nobody could really keep up with that black-clad dancer. Vegeta had been dancing since he was twelve.
He remembered teasing the prince mercilessly when he had stumbled into an old classroom, curious as to the source of the music. Vegeta had drawn numbered arrows all over the wooden floor and was pacing through the sequence of steps with a focused scowl. The other boy was mortified, but recovered quickly to punch him for laughing. The ensuing fight had scuffled out most of the chalked arrows, he recalled.
Kakarrot certainly wasn't laughing anymore. His hungry stare followed the graceful royal, absently noting how good Vegeta looked in his simple but elegant outfit. Vegeta had dressed in a typical Assassin's garb for the night's masquerade ball.
Kakarrot's costume was more arrogant. Not only had he was supposed to be an Ascended Saiyajin, he had chosen the Third Level. Nobody had achieved that level in four centuries, but the look was unmistakable. Carefully molded putty over his brows gave him the aggressive, heavily-ridged look and a blond wig completed the easy costume, though the heavy hair that fell just below his waist tickled him irritatingly.
Realizing what he had been doing, Kakarrot tore his eyes away. Damn! Not again.
Tail lashing angrily, he turned and exited to one of small balconies ringing the large ballroom. The closed glass door muffled the music and noise effectively, and he exhaled in relief. Just as he started to calm down, he heard the click of the door behind him.
"Looks like someone's been remiss in his duties," a familiar voice teased.
Kakarrot tensed.
"Were you supposed to be on patrol, on the *grounds* below?" Fingers carded through his hair.
Kakarrot suddenly realized that, with the spiky, long wig and the chiaroscuro of moonlight and shadows, Vegeta had mistaken him for Radditz.
"Bad boy."
And then he was spun around and 'punished' with a hard, wet kiss. Kakarrot opened his mouth, to protest of course, but was it his fault Vegeta's tongue snaked in? He moaned.
Vegeta stiffened and pulled back quickly. "…Kakarrot?"
They stared at each other uneasily, and then Vegeta turned and left with a muttered apology.
Kakarrot cursed. No, he was *not* over Vegeta.
(500 words)