Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A tiny twist in time ❯ Leaving ( Chapter 11 )

        Turles stormed from their shared room, leaving his mate a bloodied, bitten mess. He’d had to leave, or he would have ended by killing the other man. Not that that would be a bad thing, he mused, grabbing more food to take to his room. The room he hadn’t slept in since his king had accepted him as his mate.         He tore into his meal angrily. He’d been accepted, but he wasn’t wanted. Well, if that was what his king wanted, his king could have. Turles sneered. He hadn’t been accepted as a mere consort. No, the king had accepted him his first mate. Let his king find out what that meant. Kakarot might be the ruler of the Saiyan race, but let his mate find out just what it meant to spurn him.         Somewhat satisfied with his decision, he fell into the bed. There was no Kakarot to curl around, but that hardly mattered. Kakarot hadn’t been a fixture in his life that long. One of the slaves would do to serve his needs. He called for one.           Turles made it a point to fulfill every royal duty he had to his king. He made daily reports of the crew’s status, since the crew comprised the current Saiyan military, and progress reports on how much further they had to get to Namek. He requested permission for leave stops when they ran low on supplies, and suppressed his amusement at the king’s distress when he reported how much they’d earned selling the slaves. He had also relayed to the crew that they wouldn’t be slaving for a while, since that particular report had lead to Kakarot’s first-ever royal command.         Turles saw to it that meals were delivered when Kakarot failed to join the crew for meals. He dragged the other Saiyan out of his room to the training area and forced him to spar if he failed to train more than two days in a row. Then he would leave his king to solitary training, returning if necessary to take him back to his room.         His room, now, not theirs. Turles never went beyond the doorway, no matter how long he felt those still empty black eyes following him. His mate had spurned him, and had yet to say anything to prove he’d come to his senses. Turles had no problem with allowing his mate to know that he was sleeping with others from the ship, though he did make sure that everyone knew Kakarot was not to know there were still unsold slaves aboard. He merely waited. His mate was a Saiyan, and it wouldn’t be that long before Kakarot would be needing him, making proper restitution for having decided he wasn’t an acceptable mate after all.         He did make sure to continue Kakarot’s education. The disks were leftovers from his own original pod, and any he was able to scavenge from the marketplaces of the planets they visited, or worlds where he had tracked old Saiyan pods. He would not have an uneducated lunkhead to introduce to Frieza as the new King of the Saiyans, and really, if he’d had any sense, he would have realized that there was no need to pledge himself to the other Saiyan. Fuckin’ protocol… and the niggling, lingering fear of the expressionlessly stated first threat to kill him.           Two months later, Turles gave more serious consideration to simply becoming the next king. It wouldn’t be that hard to kill the shell on the other side of the door. Kakarot had very nearly killed himself already, with his refusal to eat most of what Turles delivered to him and his failure to train. Kakarot hadn’t raised a hand to defend himself against anyone over the last…. Hm. Turles checked the report in his hand. Two weeks. And he still hadn’t apologized for spurning him, either. Nor had he come begging as Turles had expected after having been deprived of sex.         It wouldn’t be hard to become king. Probably wouldn’t take more than snapping his neck. He’d have to go through that god-awful pain again, though, since Kakarot had effectively, if not publicly, renounced him. He snarled, and opened the door.         Kakarot looked up from the nest he’d made of his blankets, black eyes meeting his for only a moment before sliding away. His king – he snorted – looked down at the disks scattered across the bed and began gathering them up. “I’ve finished with these,” he said softly, carefully setting several aside.         “I’ll find you some more.” Turles moved inside, scooped the discs up, flipping through them quickly to see what his king had finished before tucking them into the pouch at his side. “I’ve today’s reports.”         “Turles, I….” This time, those usually empty eyes held an emotion, one not proper for a Saiyan. Turles sneered slightly, and Kakarot looked back down, silent once more.         “What is it, King?’         “I… I want… to know what… what I did wrong.” Kakarot hugged his knees, keeping his head down, his voice soft.         “What you did wrong?” What hadn’t he done wrong? “Which time?”         Kakarot flinched. His already soft voice was a barely audible whisper. “To make you leave.”         “I’m right here, Kakarot. I haven’t left.” Turles scowled, wondering what game his king was trying to play.         “You… left. Here.” A short, aborted movement Turles couldn’t decipher. “Me. I thought… you’d be back. To finish, but… you left. So… cold.”         Turles’ scowl darkened. “Make sense, Kakarot.”         He heard the other Saiyan swallow hard, heard the soft rasp of a tongue over dry lips.