Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Hand Picked ❯ Asessment ( Chapter 1 )

Hand Picked

By StarbearerTM

 

Disclaimer: I don't' own Raditz, Turles or Dragon Ball Z. Akira Toriyama created it, and it is licensed and owned by Toei Animation Co. Shuisha Bird studios and Shonen Jump. I'm only borrowing them for the use of this fanfiction which means no harm to the owners. I don't make money from this.

 

Turles has to reassign Raditz to a new position but will Raditz be up to snuff or not? What tests of loyalty will he pass? Yaoi, Shonen-ai. TurlesXRaditz.

A/N: I was inspired to write a Turles/Raditz pairing because it's not one that normally comes to mind. In this Raditz and Turles are NOT related by blood despite the fact that Turles resembles Goku and Bardock. So it's not an incest fic.

 

 

They had kicked him and pulled his hair yet again. Grumbling, Raditz stumbled away from the small rude bunk which was one of the few things he could call his own. Years of service in the academy had attracted attention both good and bad. Now he wished everyone would leave him be. Not good enough to his father's standards he had adopted a brash attitude. It slowly became polished to a harsh arrogant façade reminiscent of many a Saiyan warrior. Still the nagging pushes grated on him.

 

He was too pretty for his own good. Coupling with the same sex was encouraged, but it had worked for and against Raditz. Many a male thought him too 'pretty' while others thought he preferred only the company of females. That and his lack of sexual experience didn't help matters either.

 

Which was why he resented the person who called him into their office that day. The Commander was legendary for his Epicurean tastes. Not to mention his unusual methods of purging. He had taken on many jobs others had not, and had succeeded well beyond anyone's expectations. His crew was hand selected for their ruthlessness and cleverness.

 

So Raditz wondered why Bardock had allowed this ascended Third Class to drag him here. The others in his muster group had laughed and kicked him around for almost the last time, so his armor was scuffed and cracked in places. Within hours of finding out he was being 'summoned' for an evaluation and reassignment he'd worked feverishly. All he could do was polish the battered suit to a black luster like his eyes, hoping the cracks would bear witness to a survivor of hardships.

 

From behind a large table laden with papers the likeness of his father stared down at him. Seeing the similarity made Raditz skin crawl. Low class warriors were struck from the same mold, but he wondered WHY This particular Saiyan had to be so familiar. One in twenty Saiyans shared the same traits. While skin tone and height varied, the shape of hair and facial features were accusingly familiar. This showed the lines of breeding over generations to produce the perfect fighters. Saiyans had become increasingly inbred due to their rigid caste system.

 

"So, I've heard rather disturbing things about you… Private Raditz is it?" Turles clicked his tongue.

 

He snapped his fingers motioning the slave from her alcove. Hips swaying back and forth, the Idsarjin pleasure slave Persia balanced the tray with expert ease. Lacking the stripes of the upper Idsarjin caste, she still moved with the fluid grace of one born to please. Long purple hair streaked with decorative silver swirled around her shoulders. Only the top was pulled back in a clasp at the crown of her head.

 

"Yes sir," Raditz said.

 

"Refreshment master," she said, inclining her head and dropping to her knee. Turles nodded, and she stood to set down an intricately carved goblet to the right of his elbow. A long stream of red trickled down into the vessel from the pitcher Persia tipped. Still Raditz maintained his statuesque pose, his nose twitching at the smell of the rich wine. His mind spun with all sorts of nasty things that this commander might do to him.

 

Seeing Turles lift the goblet to his lips, Raditz felt suddenly how dry his tongue felt. Languidly Turles drained the goblet, saying nothing to the private posed before him. He simply swirled the goblet in his gauntleted hand for a time. Another servant wandered him carrying another tray laden with fine fruits and roasted meats. Green skin glistened with faint scales, and her long green hair was fastened in a braid at the nape of her slender neck. Persia moved around to start rubbing Turles neck as he started to rifle papers with one hand and sip his wine slowly with the other.

 

"Your lunch master. Fine tangelian melons and roasted graife. Just the way you ordered," said Zelbreen.

 

"Good," said Turles. Raditz blinked, nonplussed that Turles paid him no mind. Especially when Zellbreen sat on his knee and started to feed him slices of fruit from the heavy tray. Only one or twice did Turles spare a glance in the private's direction.

 

Quite forgotten Raditz stared longingly at the food. His stomach rumbled in response to the smell of the delectable repast the three were eating in plain sight of him. Turles licked his shapely lips with a sizeable pink tongue. Occasionally it darted to lap the juices off Zelbreen's long slender fingers.

 

If there was one thing Raditz hated was uncertainty. From the whispers around the rude bunks he heard tales of torturous hazing rituals that second class and elite would put the third class through. Far worse then the ones that he was yet subjected to that were bad enough. Whippings, scourging and all manners of physical punishments meant to strengthen a second class so he would heal from near death. Raditz welcomed each punch and slash from his teammates, hoping it would only make him stronger. Pain was a Saiyan's best friend next to anything.

 

Yet Turles left him hanging. Any moment he expected the Commander to lash out with some harsh sentence. So after standing there for an hour in a perfect pose Raditz felt disappointed to find himself only denied food and drink. Still he hadn't eaten since midday and the wine and roasted game seemed awfully far from his reach. He resented the fact the elite scarfed down such treats with ease while the Third class were forced to hunt their own game. While he enjoying the thrill of chasing a creature and feasting on its fresh blood and meat, he wouldn't have minded a slave or two waiting on him now and again.

 

"Mmm, thank you my dears. I require solitude," Turles said smoothly. Raditz heard the definitive click of his fingers and his orders. The coins and charms of the slave's low belts jingled. Long leashes trailed behind their bodies, indicating Turles could wrest control at any time, but gave them the privilege of limited freedom. All slaves wore collars around their necks with some sort of leash that would be held in the grip of their master. Male and female slaves alike existed for the elite. Third Class were Saiyans, and the Fourth Class of slaves served everyone.

 

"As your master pleases," said both in unison, dropping to their knees. Turles touched his boot to their shoulders while still sitting. They rose and scampered off towards the food preparation area of his quarters.

 

Left alone, Raditz stiffened under the gaze of two dark eyes. Pressing the flats of his hands against the granite surface of the table, Turles stood up. Saying nothing, Turles strode on well muscled thighs towards the private. Raditz stood rigid with his shoulders flung back and his body ramrod straight. Keeping his distance Turles paced around Raditz. He fingered his chin and swept his view over the unsuspecting private.

 

Raditz body had barely begun to fill out with muscle, so he was still gangly. Large hands and feet seemed out of proportion on the ends of lanky arms, indicating a huge growth spurt. Barely out of adolescence he lacked the full musculature of someone who had trained heavily. Under the heat of scrutinizing gaze, Raditz felt sweat beading on his forehead

 

"Mmm, you're rather young aren't you?" Turles said smoothly, fingering his chin. "What's your age, boy?"

 

"Sir, I am eighteen planetary rotations as of a week standard Changeling," said Raditz quickly.

 

"Mmm, you're Bardock's son aren't you?" said Turles. He turned his back momentarily, staring at the brightly painted walls of his suite. Images of the Legendary blazing into life and ravaging worlds filled every square inch of blank wall not decorated with various charts and videoscreens.

 

"Yes sir. Father sired me before Toma's child Parsnip," said Raditz.

 

"And your mother was Seripa? Seems you favor your father's height, but your looks from her. I wonder where the long hair came from. Perhaps from her line," mumbled Turles, tapping his chin.

 

"Sir?" asked Raditz. Turles folded his arms across his chest and smirked.

 

"I see the resemblance in Seripa's line. Rather tall. That's a good asset. Still you've not filled out. They aren't feeding you right are they?" asked Turles, striding close enough so his breath pulsed against Raditz ear. Minute shivers coursed up Raditz bare thighs at the feeling of power crackling around the Commander.

 

"I… eat standard rations as all Third Class in my muster brigade," said Raditz quickly. "My bloodline has produced some… late bloomers. But I have increased my strength since…"

 

Turles raised his hand, indicating Raditz should be silent. Swinging around to face him, he continued, "I see. Strangely enough you're the same age as my little sister. I should have recalled that. Because our mother Lique was in the same gestation center when you were transferred."

 

"I was… not aware of that sir," Raditz answered feebly. Just why the Commander was bringing up such a coincidence seemed a total non sequiter. Of course many Third Class were expected to brag of their sire and dam, and defend the family bloodline's strengths, and admit to its shortcomings with Saiyan pride intact. Yet it was rare for a Second Class to insist on pointing out any associations or similarities. Unless Turles had other goals in mind other then discipline. Mentioning Turles little sister, was the Commander assessing Raditz as a breeder for his sister? Such a privilege seemed incredible.

 

Still there was something else Raditz admitted at that moment. Having the Commander standing so close was causing his body to revolt against him. He hated the twitching of his muscles that betrayed him, not to mention the spandex of his tights. Still the front panels of his groin guard thankfully hid his rising erection. If Turles suspected the attraction surely he'd reject Raditz. It was said Turles preferred his males and females of the most exotic quality. Every pulse of Turles hot breath on his cheek and face caused Raditz to ache with a hunger that matched the one twisting his gut.

 

"I have a proposition for you, private," said Turles quietly.