Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Kingdom Come ❯ Chapter 13: Becoming ( Chapter 13 )

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

WARNING: See Chapter 1

Kingdom Come
~Chapter 13The daylight filtered down onto the arena tiles through gossamer clouds. The crowd was in unusually high spirits, betting on the outcome of the first match. As it was the only match of the day, bets were quickly becoming heated. For the first time in a very long time, there was actual speculation that Prince Goten might not make it to the final round. It was just mere speculation, though. Most of the odds were in his favor.

Krillin sat in the Ginyu box already, waiting for the match to start. He was looking at the sky, noticing that it actually could have clouds in it. He couldn't remember it raining since he had arrived in this strange reality, though he knew it had to have rained. There was still vegetation after all. He couldn't remember seeing a moon, either, for that matter. The curfew was pretty early, and he knew that everyone in the palace was IN the palace by curfew, even the princes. It made him wonder if there was a moon here, or if there wasn't. If there was, well, it would explain the curfew. Didn't want the princes, or the king for that matter, transforming and demolishing the place.

Krillin sighed as he looked back down to the arena. He had arrived early to his seat, as he didn't have much else to do, watching as the rest of the arena filled up with its overly enthusiastic crowd. He could tell that 18 was close to him, watching him. She -really- gave him the creeps. He noticed Yamcha coming his way, a strange expression on the desert bandit's face. "Hey, Yamcha! What's up?"

"Nothing much," Yamcha answered as he took his seat next to Krillin. "I just asked Piccolo if he could make me a bag. To go along with some extra clothes."

"What'd he say?" Krillin asked. He didn't know Piccolo could accessorize as well.

"He said, and I quote, 'I'm not a damn department store, Yamcha'," the scarred warrior grimaced. He was in his usual green gi, with orange sash. He had three outfits, and took really good care of them so that he didn't bug Piccolo too often. The Namek still intimidated him. "So... that means I'm going to be making a trip to try and 'find' an 'un-owned' bag."

"Uh-huh," Krillin smiled. He shook his head at his companion before returning his gaze to the surrounding people. "They're making a lot of wagers today."

"Yeah," Yamcha replied. "So... how long do you think Goten's gonna last?"

"I don't think it's going to take the entire time, but I think Piccolo's going to drag it out a bit. He's been doing that with most of his opponents, allowing them to have a little bit of time in the ring. I think he feels sorry for them," Krillin said as he crossed his arms. "Since it's Goten... I imagine it won't be much of a display of power. It oughta be... nicer."

"What makes you say that, Krillin?" queried the scarred human, an eyebrow raised.

Smirking, the smaller man leaned in to speak softly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Piccolo has been spending a little time with Goten."

"Yeah, I noticed," remarked Yamcha, "but I guess I've been kinda distracted. Are they friends now or something?"

"Or something," Krillin chuckled. Dropping his voice to the barest of whispers, he continued, "I think, uh... heh. I think Piccolo's a little, um... I think he likes him. Goten, I mean."

"Oh, I suspected as much. They seemed like they were headed for 'Central Perk'."

"No, no," the shorter man redirected. "-More- than friends. -Much- more."

"Get out!" Yamcha exclaimed. His face was all astonishment. Lowering his voice back down, he murmured, "I thought friends, maybe, but... Piccolo likes guys? Like... likes-likes guys? When did -this- happen?"

Krillin looked at his friend like he'd suddenly turned into a girl. Keeping his voice quiet, he asked, "He's always liked other guys. Are you forgetting his thing with Gohan? What are you, -new-?"

"No, I just... Oh. -Oh-. Whoa." The scarred warrior sat back in his chair, apparently floored. "Wait, wait. Are you sure? I mean, because that's pretty wild."

"I dunno for dead certain, man," snickered the bald male. "But I'm kinda thinking that's the case, you know?"

"Wait, I don't get it," the taller man paused. "How -do- you know? I mean, what, are you, like, following them or something?"

"No, no, no. Sheesh," Krillin corrected. "I'm just smart and observant. Just pay attention to the match. You'll see what I mean."

"Totally," smirked Yamcha, nodding. "This oughta be a real good time."

Tilting his head to the side, Krillin observed the royal family filing into their box. "Hey, Yamcha. You notice that it's always Bulma he's got with him? Like, I know he's married to Chichi, but she's never around."

"Yeah, but you can hear her screaming in the morning," Yamcha pointed out sadly. "You'd think he'd stop going to go visit her. But, like, he doesn't care that she's crazy."

"I'd get a divorce if -my- wife ever went nutzo like that," Krillin commented. At that moment, a loud crash signaled that there were only a few minutes before the first -- and only -- match of the day.

Up in the royal box, Lord Kakarrot smirked at his elder son's arrival. "Well, well," he said. "I see you've decided to show up on time today. Did you get some sort of alarm as I suggested?"

"No," replied Gohan as he took his seat next to his father. "But I wouldn't miss this fight for the world."

The emperor chuckled smugly. "And why is that, pray tell? Any reason in particular?"

"For one, I'm going to be fighting against one of them in the final match of the tournament tomorrow," the demi-saiyajin stated. "... Also, I so enjoy watching our Demon Lord Piccolo fight. He should put up an excellent fight against Goten, should he not?"

His father raised an eyebrow. "He may even win. I think you may actually prefer that."

"Well, fighting Goten year after year has gotten a little monotonous, although I do enjoy winning repeatedly." Gohan peered down to the arena floor and over to the small waiting area building. Despite knowing the green man was down there, he couldn't see him at all. "I wonder if Goten's nervous or excited to be fighting our only real competition in years aside from each other."

"I imagine he's probably nervous," surmised Lord Kakarrot. "They've never fought before."

"Maybe," Gohan nodded.

The royal saiyajin studied his elder son for a moment. There was an enthusiasm in the other's countenance that he hadn't seen before, a spark in his eyes. Thinking back some, he recalled how Gohan had eyed the green visitor at the emperor's welcoming home party, though he'd been unable to act upon it as the other man had been seemingly content speaking with Prince Goten. Of course, shortly after that, Lord Kakarrot had proceeded to get roaring drunk and remembered nothing afterwards, so if something else happened... Well, he didn't remember. Nevertheless, Gohan had said nothing regarding his preference for the tall warrior. Deciding to make an attempt at casually bringing up the subject, he turned to his beloved mistress. "My dear," he addressed, "who do you favor in this match today?"

Bulma smiled politely and met his gaze. "My lord, you know that I do not ever favor anyone either way in the tournament. It is imprudent to show an overt preference for any contestant. I'm afraid I do not have an opinion on the matter."

"As wise as you are beautiful," the royal smiled. She pleased him with her answer. It would make things easier in breaching the next line of questioning. "But, tell me. What do you think of the Demon Lord Piccolo?"

"He is tall, green, and a seemingly competent fighter," she offered.

Continuing to grin broadly, he inquired, "And what of his appearance? Is he frightening? Handsome?"

The blue-haired lady paused for a moment as if carefully considering her response. She could feel Zarbon tensing up behind her. This had to be a trick question, so she had to take extreme precaution in answering. After a short bit, she finally responded, "While I do not personally find him neither hideous nor attractive, I could certainly see why someone else might find an exotic being such as the Demon Lord either way."

"Are you blind?" Gohan interjected, leaning out from his seat to catch the female's eyes. "He's gorgeous!"

While Bulma sat unmoving and unresponsive, Lord Kakarrot let out a hearty laugh. "Ha! I knew it! I knew you were after that one. Well, he's worthy enough of your admiration. He's made it this far into the tournament. He has strength and character." Smirking, he added, "You've done far worse."

"Hmmph," skulked the prince. "That may be true... But I intend to become... very well acquainted with him once this tournament is over. I'm sure once he experiences my prowess in the ring, he'll be open to more... experiences."

"Such a diplomat," his father remarked sarcastically. "You don't have my fine taste in women. With you, it's always equal opportunity, which is rather repulsive given some of your partners." The tall saiyajin frowned a bit then sighed. Eyeing the waiting area, he considered the things he'd just said and then applied them to his other son. Frustrated, he found he couldn't, unless it was to note the exact opposite. Speaking his mind aloud, he muttered, "Goten, however, doesn't like women, doesn't like men. It vexes me greatly. If only he'd find interest in -someone-. The boy's not normal."

"Do not fret, milord," comforted Bulma. She knew that the emperor needed to hear reassurance, regardless of how little she actually felt he deserved it. Plus, staying in his good graces was always less painful in the end. Bulma only did what she needed to do to survive. And if that meant occasionally saying things she didn't mean or acting in ways she didn't feel, then she'd do it. In this case, however, she knew that her words held some semblance of truth, even if the men sitting beside her were not aware of it. She doubted either of them would ever be attentive enough to figure out that Goten had already found someone in whom to be interested. "He is your son. He will find someone to treat as you treat me. I'm certain of it."

Taking her hand and squeezing it lightly, Lord Kakarrot nodded. Then, as the final gong sounded, he turned his attention to the ring.

Piccolo waited just outside of eyesight, waiting to walk out into the light of the late-morning sun. He turned his head as he felt Goten approach. "Greetings, Prince Goten."

"Hello, Demon Lord Piccolo," Goten greeted just as formally, his tail threatening to unwind to curl behind him. But by sheer force of will, he ordered it back into place. He looked out the entryway to look at the high platform that was the arena floor. He took in a deep breath, ignoring whatever the announcer was telling the crowd. "I remember what you said, you know."

"Oh?" Piccolo asked, wondering exactly what the prince was talking about. He had said a lot of things.

"That you'd teach me how to detect chi without the aid of the scouter," Goten said as he looked at the taller warrior. "You said that that would be the first lesson."

"And so it will be. Your scouter will be useless against me in there, anyway," Piccolo replied, a slight smirk on his face. "You might as well leave it behind."

"All right. But I want you to promise me that you meant what you said last night. That what happens here today doesn't change anything between us," Goten said, beginning to walk forwards, towards the entryway. It was time.

Piccolo gave him a small smile and nodded his head as he walked forward as well. He stepped into the light of the morning's glare along side the shorter prince. Together, they walked towards the tiled floor. Just before they both jumped onto the platform, Goten tore off his scouter and tossed it behind him. It landed a few feet away with a soft bouncing thud.

There was a noticeable hush as the crowd witnessed the action. No one had ever actually gone without their scouter in a tournament fight before. How was one to gauge their opponent if they didn't have any proper readings?

Their feet clicked onto the tiles at the same time. Their pace was steady, yet evenly matched, as they walked forwards. When they were in the middle of the ring, they turned to each other and bowed. Then they turned to the royal box to bow, to show their respect to the ruler.

Lord Kakarrot always loved this part, as both contestants were equally vulnerable. The cue was given for them to get into their positions. Goten turned to the side, taking on a defensive stance against Piccolo. He watched with narrowed eyes as Piccolo took up his own fighting stance, something that the large warrior hadn't done with any of the other contests.

A breeze blew into the arena, causing Piccolo's cape to flap with its caress. And then the bell sounded. The fight was on!

Demon Lord Piccolo charged forward first, moving so blindingly fast that no one other than the two humans who came with him could actually see him. He struck Prince Goten with his closed fist in a backwards slap, hard. Hard enough to send the youngest of the royal heirs careening to the edge of the white tiled surface.

Catching himself just in time, Goten managed to use his momentum and curve upward. He hadn't really known what to do for this fight, but now that it was on and Piccolo was staying true to his word that he was going to have an honest fight, it gave the prince hope that everything else that the green warrior said was true as well. Dark brown eyes narrowed as the image of Piccolo standing on the arena floor changed faster than the prince could blink. His opponent was no longer below him.

Acting on pure instinct, Goten ducked down, barely missing the flat strike that would have hit the back of his head. He knew without asking that it would have been enough to knock him unconscious. Using his fear to push him forward, Goten shot a blast of energy at his opponent. He had to think of Piccolo as his opponent, knowing that if he thought of him as Piccolo, he would hold back, trying not to damage the other male. Trying not to damage their growing relationship.

Piccolo easily dodged the sloppy attack. Sloppy by his standards. "You're going to have to concentrate if you ever hope to defeat me."

"Huh?" Goten asked, stunned. That moment of confusion allowed Piccolo to send the prince hurtling to the ground at bone-crushing speeds. Instead of a hard impact, though, Goten merely touched the tiles before rebounding back into the air, using his chi as a sort of spring. As soon as he was able, as soon as he was within proper distance so that anything he did wouldn't over balance him or leave him vulnerable to another attack, he began to throw as many fast and hard punches as he could.

"Now, -that's- more like it!" Piccolo smirked. "Come on, Goten. Show me what you've got."

Goten growled low as he realized that Piccolo was easily blocking or dodging each and every single attack. Thinking to throw his opponent off, he began to use his legs to kick and knee, and even used his tail, though it was more as bait than as an actual weapon. He yelped loudly as Piccolo quickly grabbed said tail and scraped his nails down its length, causing more pleasure than pain. Goten's eyes blazed as his cheeks flushed, and he glared at his opponent. With a burst of speed, Goten picked up his attack to levels that had been unimaginable to him a year ago. But that was before he had taken a few extra beatings. Piccolo dodged all but one blow, which had him flying backwards a bit.

"Slowing down?" the prince chided. He floated a few feet just out of reaching distance from the other man. He was breathing hard, and his cheeks were still flushed, but it wasn't due to exertion. Not yet, at least. "Don't get soft on me now."

"You wanna get rougher?" the taller fighter queried with a sardonic grin. He easily tossed his weighted turban and cape to the ground, allowing it to hit the tiles of the arena floor with a loud crashing sound. Smirking, he fell back into his fighting stance from before, knowing that he had to take this serious.

"Harder too," returned the demi-saiyajin.

"Good," Piccolo said, licking his lips lightly before charging the younger male.

Goten tried to get out of the way, but found himself running -into- Piccolo rather than away. Spinning around while throwing his elbow out as a striking attack, he was caught by Piccolo's hand skimming his arm and grabbing his wrist to twist it in an almost dance-like twirling movement. Goten retorted by trying to knee his opponent, but that allowed Piccolo to dip him backwards instead.

As before, using only his instincts, Goten managed to get out of the bizarre position. He didn't make it far before Piccolo had him by the tail. Again. Goten hissed as he felt the green warrior's nails scrape over his prehensile tail. He glared murder at the larger male, and then smirked. On his next attack, he moved as if to strike, but instead twisted through the air so that he was doing a handstand on Piccolo's shoulders. He did a handstand-like push-up, so that he was able to grab at least one of the stronger fighter's antennae's in his mouth. He kept his teeth apart, but used his tongue to curl around the appendage as he flipped behind the better fighter.

Piccolo remarked in a voice that bespoke of how very effective that strategy truly was, "If I'd known this was going to get so dirty, I would've worn less to begin with."

"I would've forfeited," Goten answered. He was definitely breathing harder, and that wasn't the only thing hard. But as they were high in the sky in aerial combat, the only one who would know would be Piccolo. "Sensory overload."

"I'll show you 'overload'," Piccolo smirked dangerously. He wasn't sure how their fight had turned to this strange form of teasing, but he allowed it. It was fun, at any rate. He charged forward, wanting to prolong the fight, yet at the same time knowing that he had a personal time limit on it.

"You know," Goten said as he dodged a punch and threw a kick that never landed, "I'm kind of getting turned on by this."

"Me too," replied Piccolo, his shin connecting with the prince's torso.

"Too bad I'll be unconscious at the end of this," Goten gasped as he flew backwards, trying to regain some of his breath. And trying to keep his breakfast from revisiting. Blood was trickling down his chin, as well as a few other substances. Swallowing, he charged forward again. He was getting better at gauging how strong some of Piccolo's attacks were, even without the scouter. Perhaps he truly was learning something.

"I don't know," the green warrior began. He smirked as he caught the prince's closed fist. If he had let it connect, it would have hit him square between the eyes. Lowering his gaze a bit, taking on the visage of something supremely predatorily, he said, "You look good unconscious."

"But only if you do it to me, right?" Goten grinned. He felt like shit, but at the same time he felt good. He felt alive. And he felt really aroused.

"Absolutely."

Down in the royal box, Gohan strained to see what was going on in the sky above him. Ever since the match had taken to the air, it had become increasingly difficult to see what was going on. Plus, the position of the sun wasn't helping matters, as it was nearly directly overhead, causing the spectators to shield their eyes. He doubted anyone in the arena could truly see the fight they could all hear carrying on overhead. 'Dammit,' he cursed inwardly. 'I wish they'd fly lower. I can't really see what they're doing! Damn sun.'

Piccolo's head suddenly snapped back from Goten's uppercut to his chin, his purple blood arcing outward with the motion. Flying back a bit, he wiped at the injury. Goten had finally managed to draw blood. It was time to end this little game. "That was pretty good."

"Glad you liked it," the demi-saiyajin grinned. He watched as Piccolo's eyes narrowed. He braced himself for what he knew was to come, and he was glad that Piccolo wasn't going to hold back any longer. The game was over.

"I can't wait to see what else you can do," Piccolo smirked. And then he attacked. Goten managed to dodge some of the blows that rained down on him, but not all of them. And not the one that finally and completely stole the light from his vision. Piccolo slammed his fist hard into the young prince's body, feeling the flesh give way before the body accepted the power and momentum to carry itself to the unforgiving ground below.

Even with unconsciousness trying to take him away from the pain lancing through his body, Goten refused to give up. He and pain were old friends, and he wasn't afraid of it. He took the sensation, wrapped it around him, and used it to fuel his need to fight. It had worked in the past. With a war cry the likes of which no one in the arena had heard before, Goten used all of his energy for one last strike at where he -thought- his opponent was.

Piccolo's eyes widened in silent appraisal of the sure-kill that was racing towards him. Even though it was survivable, and he had seen far more impressive displays of brute power and energy, this display wasn't anything at which to laugh. One reason was it was obviously aimed right at him, moving at an incredible speed. Piccolo gathered enough energy to guard himself and deflect the blast, showing to all the scouters below that he could manipulate his chi more than to simply fly. His energy sphere was nowhere near as large as Goten's was, but it did the job that was required of it. The large green warrior looked down at the smaller form of the prince as Goten's unconscious body fell towards the ground, encouraged by the boost he had from discharging his last attack.

The spectators watched in astonished awe as a body came hurtling down to the arena floor so fast that the majority of them couldn't tell who it was. The previous energy shots had made the sunlight behind them dim in comparison, and no one could really tell whose shot was whose. Some could, though. Goten's body was moving at such speeds, and with such force, that had he landed, he could have caused considerable damage to the tiles on the floor, or more likely, caused a crater where the platform rested. Instead, though, the Demon Lord caught him just before he impacted. But even though it might have seemed gentle at first, Piccolo merely took Goten's limp form to the edge of the arena floor, and dropped him over the side.

The match ended.

The crowd was stunned speechless for all of two heartbeats. And then they went absolutely insane! No one had ever beaten Prince Goten other than Prince Gohan! And Goten was beaten in less than the allotted amount of time, too. In some areas, there was almost rioting due to the previous betting that had been going on. Money was made, and a lot of it lost. In the Ginyu box, only Yamcha and Krillin sat. The surviving Ginyu members were either in the infirmary, still recovering, or in their rooms, still recovering. None had made it to witness how right Jeice had been to bring them there.

Krillin grinned and faced his companion. "Told you so."

Laughing, Yamcha turned to Krillin. "Thirty minutes. You were right."

"I totally told you, dude."

"Heh. Piccolo always did have fighting stamina," the scarred warrior continued. "I wonder if he's got the same stamina in--"

"No!" Krillin yelled. "Stop that right now! Don't you dare finish that sentence. I don't wanna hear it. Seriously? Uh-uh. I may not have a problem with it, but that doesn't mean I wanna hear about it. Okay?"

Yamcha doubled over, still laughing. "Okay, man. Okay. Besides," he went on, "I'm not interested."

"Oh, that's right," the bald human grinned smugly. "You're more partial to... well, I think I'll just stop right there." Seeing Yamcha's face suddenly go sheet-white, Krillin knew that his friend had realized he knew about the short saiyajin. "Let's get out of here."

As the two humans departed the Ginyu box, just above them the royal family was applauding the match. Gohan stood, clapping loudly. Not only did it have an excellent ending, but now, it was his turn to get into the ring with the mysterious Piccolo. Still seated beside him was Lord Kakarrot, who only applauded lightly in light appreciation for an entertaining match. The green man was strong; that was clear. Smirking, he leaned toward his elder son and asked, "Scared?"

"No," replied Gohan. "-Excited-. I'm finally getting my chance to get him in the ring."

"That's where it all starts for you," commented his father. "Hopefully, you won't end up like your brother down there, unconscious and being carried out on a stretcher."

"Oh, no," the prince grinned. "I won't be going out like that. He's good, but no one's defeated me since I was a little boy. He won't win."

Lord Kakarrot stood, allowing his mistress to hold onto his arm. Turning to leave, he looked back at his son. "We shall see tomorrow, Gohan."

***

The heavily shrouded man sat some short distance away from the two regal boxes. He'd watched the match. He'd seen Piccolo's power. And he knew it was only a mere glimpse. There was more. Much more.

However, that was not all that the thin man had been watching. He'd seen before that two humans accompanied the green warrior. And he'd watched them today. The scarred one seemed preoccupied, as if his mind had far more on it than simply Piccolo's tournament match, despite its importance. But the short, bald one... There was a certain carefree air about him. Perhaps he'd be the best choice.

Gazing down at the retreating form of the green man, his shoulders sagged slightly. 'Oh, Kami,' he thought. 'I hope I get through this. Please give me the strength.' Sighing, his eyes watched the two humans exit the Ginyu box, and he knew. It would have to be the smaller human.

He just had to get the timing right.

***

Yamcha's arrival was only noticed by the mechanical door, which allowed him entrance before closing quietly behind him. He was in his usual gi, but he carried a small bag over one shoulder. He looked around the dim room for a place to put his parcel, but his eyes immediately spotted Vegeta and would not move away.

Setting the bag on the floor, Yamcha moved quietly over to the figure lying among the twisted sheets. Whispering words of comfort, though he was rather sure that Vegeta didn't hear any of it, Yamcha removed the sheet. The human winced in sympathetic pain as he saw how twisted and misshapen Vegeta's body was. Shaking his head, Yamcha set about his task.

He could see quite plainly that Vegeta was bare. And in pain. The shorter male was almost in a deformed fetal position. Yamcha thought a moment before grabbing one of the bottles of oil from his bag. Instead of going about what he had been planning since last night, he instead simply curled himself, fully clothed as he was, against Vegeta's back. He began to rub his arms, murmuring soothing sounds, trying to get the shorter warrior to relax some. Under almost any other circumstance, this situation might have been a bit more erotic. But as Vegeta was unconscious and in severe pain, Yamcha was far from turned on. Instead, he was protective and almost possessive.

Soon, the human forgot all about time, intent on the task at hand. Agonizingly slowly, he managed to get Vegeta to relax enough to lay on his stomach. With a shaky sigh, Yamcha removed himself from his position at the saiyajin's back. He then poured the oily substance from one of the bottles into his hand, and before he moved over to begin rubbing Vegeta's back. He added heat by using chi, trying to loosen the tight muscles that had to be bringing the shorter male pain.

He smiled softly, luxuriating in the feel of Vegeta's skin underneath his hand, the knowledge that he was touching the ex-prince as he had never really thought he'd ever be able to. Granted, there was that one time that Vegeta blackmailed him into sex, but he hadn't been permitted to touch the other male as he wanted to. To run his hands over every available inch of flesh available to him, like he was at present. Yamcha looked around the room, suddenly a bit self-conscious. He was warm. To distract his wayward thoughts, he began to sing the one lullaby that Vegeta had taught him, from start to finish, before he began the song again. He was glad that Vegeta had managed to finish teaching him the song all in one day. He doubted he would have had the chance to learn it since then.

The prince had been dreaming. Before they were more like distant nightmares, too misty to actually discern the horrors therein, but he knew they had been nightmares. And in his dreams, he was running away from them. But slowly, they were changing. He felt... good. Warm. Warmer than he could remember feeling. And the dreams were no longer holding demons barely in check. Now, they seemed to be hiding something else, something that he wanted. Instead of running away, he was running towards.

Yamcha nearly laughed as he noticed Vegeta was drooling on his pillow. He was done with most of the backside of the saiyajin with the exception of the tail. He had never had to deal with a tail on anyone other than Puar, and he hadn't actually given her any massages. With a shrug, he began to investigate the furred appendage, trying to figure out the best way to work with it. It was soft to the touch, and though it usually displayed the mental state of mind of the ex-prince, it now was languid in its action. Yamcha guessed that it was either too hurt to do much moving, or that it was showing Vegeta's state of unconsciousness.

Vegeta began to purr as Yamcha's fingers began attempting to massage it. From base to tip, Yamcha stroked. When he started at the base again, he noticed something that had escaped him before. On the underside of the saiyajin's tail, there was a strip of furless, velvet soft skin. The human ran his sensitive fingertips over the area but was momentarily stilled by Vegeta's soft whimpers. Thinking it was painful for the prince, Yamcha stopped.

With a furrowed brow of concern, Yamcha proceeded to shift Vegeta onto his back. He blushed lightly as he came to the discovery that he had not been hurting the shorter male at any time. Vegeta had liked what he had been doing. With a soft laugh, Yamcha continued the massage, singing softly as he did so. He thought to also help the other male with his obvious arousal, but he assumed that would be overstepping himself.

It was a temptation, though. To touch the other male in so intimate a manner while he slept, and while Vegeta wouldn't know, was a delicious thought. Even as he thought of simply touching, his mind also informed him that he had yet to finish going down on the prince. Yamcha raised an eyebrow at how perverse his thoughts were when he didn't reign them back, yet at the same time he had to admit that he wanted to know exactly what the shorter warrior tasted like. Breathing deeply, though, he knew that he'd not go through with it. Vegeta wasn't even awake! It would be like molestation, or worse: rape. So, Yamcha simply kept his eyes on it, noticing that with each passing moment it continued to grow. By the time he finished, Vegeta was relaxed in all but one area. Yamcha could sympathize, as his mind continued to play out scenes of what it would be like to touch, to taste, to take.

Yamcha sat back, wanting to simply look at the sleeping figure, but Vegeta denied him the right by rolling back onto his stomach, his tail flicking before curling around him. The short prince sighed as he clutched his solitary pillow close to him. The human grinned as he thought of how smug the other male seemed, though it was only in sleep.

Carelessly, Yamcha began to play with the still tail, petting and stroking it until finally finding that strip of velvet at its base. Running his fingers over the small area, he closed his eyes to try and memorize the texture. Vegeta's soft moan had dark eyes snapping open again. Dark eyes widened in surprise as Yamcha saw Vegeta's slow movements moving with the brush of fingers over furless skin.

Vegeta felt like he was surrounded by fog, but the fog was warm and cozy, and made him feel good. It was as if the world around him was a giant bowl of cream, and he was there to lap it up. Or rather, he was the cream, and someone else was there, waiting to lap him up. And it wasn't a bad thing, being devoured like that. In fact, it was a good thing. A very good thing.

"Like that, huh?" Yamcha said softly, not really expecting an answer.

Vegeta turned his face towards the sound of Yamcha's voice, allowing the human to see a light blush that was striped across Vegeta's nose and cheeks. Lips were parted, and breathing was irregular as Vegeta continued to move over the sheets, trying in vain to appease the nagging need while keeping the slow pace. He lifted his tail, allowing for a more intimate touch, purring when the invitation was accepted.

Yamcha was actually able to see the strip of skin he had been touching. He peered at it closely, noticing two small pores that were leaking a clear substance. Yamcha tried to touch the beads of shining moisture, but when he pulled his fingers back, they remained dry. Curious, Yamcha rubbed his fingertips together, trying to figure out if maybe he just couldn't see it. But his fingers were dry. He leaned in closer.

Vegeta gasped as he felt hot breath breathing on one of the most tender places on his body. His body wasn't his to control, though, as it remained too heavy and needful to the world around him, and he was helpless to whatever was going to happen next. He just hoped it was going to happen soon. He wasn't even able to open his eyes, too caught up in his dreaming to fight it off. He simply continued to roll his hips forward.

With a bit of timing and luck, Yamcha was able to actually get close enough to the strip of velvety skin to lick it. He had expected some kind of reaction. He did not expect the reaction he got.

Vegeta's legs parted, allowing his lover whatever he wanted, should he wish to claim it. At the same time, he clutched at the sheets and pillow, ripping them, even as he bit down hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood. Vegeta's orgasm hit him harder than Recoom ever could have, more violently, sapping what little strength the fighter had with one full body spasm. He fell back to the bed with a soft, choked sob as his body continued to hum with the electricity of it.

"Well," Yamcha whispered. "That was interesting."

The human continued to watch, making sure that Vegeta had done no damage to himself, before exiting. He had to find some clean sheets and perhaps something a bit heavier than what Vegeta had for a blanket. It took him a few minutes, but he did eventually find the Palace cleaning room. He pulled someone aside, a young human woman with large blue eyes and short brown hair, and asked for some sheets. Giggling and flirting, she handed them over easily. She also offered to help get them dirty. "Anyone who kills one of those bastard Ginyu members is A-okay in my book." Yamcha laughed nervously, declined her offer, and then ran for his life back to Vegeta's room.

Vegeta managed to pry one eye open -- how he didn't know -- and look around. He was lying on the floor, a blanket wrapped around him, and Yamcha was there. That in itself was nice. But Yamcha was singing like he meant it, and making their bed. Vegeta sighed as he felt more content than he had ever been in his life. It was a lovely dream. It really was.

***

Glacial blue eyes closed in pleasure as 17 held Trunks close. They had spent the day traveling the tunnels of the Palace, playing 'catch' in the darkness of the forbidden corridors. The raven-haired male had won, but he had a suspicion that Trunks simply allowed him to do so. They were in his room, both in nothing more than pants, swaying gently to the sounds emitted from the sound box that rested under his bed. To 17, this was as close to heaven as he had any right to be.

The song to which they were dancing was nearly at its end. Trunks smiled as he inhaled deeply of 17's scent. They had been dancing like this for a few songs, and it was incredible. Trunks sighed as he let his hands remain where they were, dipped into the back waistband of 17's pants to press against the small of his back. 17 had one hand pressed right above an up-curled lavender tail, while the other was pressed between Trunks' shoulder blades, pressing the younger male closer.

"17?" Trunks asked, though his voice was muffled through sleepiness and by being pressed up against the android's neck.

"Yes?" 17 whispered, savoring the precious moment as much as he could.

"Where'd you get the music from?"

"Your mother fixed an old player for me, as a sort of gift," 17 replied quietly.

He was never gladder that Mistress Bulma had forgiven him than he was at that moment.

The dark haired android opened his eyes to mere slits as he felt Trunks nuzzle his neck. The younger male was getting impatient, yet remained unvocal as to what he wanted. Nevertheless, 17 had an idea. And he didn't know how to accommodate what Trunks was asking of him, from him.

Allowing himself to drift off into his memories, he recalled the day that Trunks was born. He had been the first to hold the screaming, squiggling, mottled form in his arms. For him, it wasn't that long ago, a mere twenty or so years. He had been with Lord Kakarrot's force long before the day.

In fact, he and his cybernetic siblings had been with Lord Kakarrot before the conqueror was ever a ruler. Hard to imagine, but at one time, Lord Kakarrot was nothing more than an invading force whom the Earth tried to fight off. They lost; but more than that, they knew they were going to lose. They figured it out when the last ruler, and kami, of the planet was killed. That was before 17's memory, though.

The synthetic male remembered coming online along side his sister. Together, and with Dr. Gero's permission, they awoke 16. The three of them were the last chance that the Terran resistance had against the monster known as Kakarrot. It was just a shame that he and his sister thought it would be more fun and entertaining to fight -beside- the destroyer rather than against him. As was his nature, 16 merely followed them.

The earth forces didn't last long after.

Even though they were on the same side, 17 and 18 would still try to challenge Lord Kakarrot, almost killing him on several occasions. They were young, and they wanted to have fun, and sometimes they thought that their leader was only there to bully them into doing whatever he wanted to do. So they rebelled. Incidentally, 16 was the peaceful one that never rebelled, and never fought unless he had to. But the slightly older male was too stubborn to die, managing to persevere even though he had very little chance. And then, one day, they discovered that Lord Kakarrot was no longer able to be beaten. That had been a truly frightening discovery, yet at the same time it was also curiously entertaining in an ironic sort of way.

He remembered when Lady Chichi had been captured, as she was not only a high-ranking female, but the highest ranking female around. She was a princess. And a warrior. And very lovely at the time. And Lord Kakarrot thought that she would make the best breeding partner of his many women available. After, of course, he broke her. He did too well of a job breaking her, though, and she became quite mad. Even so, she had delivered him his first heir: Prince Gohan.

It didn't matter. Lord Kakarrot, Ruler of Earth, found someone else among the many women at his disposal. Someone far more lovely. Someone far more resilient. Someone who fought him at every turn. Someone with whom he fell in love. Mistress Bulma. The ruthless warrior that all had come to know and fear had found the one person who made him complete. Or at least, he had found the one person who turned him into a complete idiot.

When 17 had found out about Bulma, he had been indifferent. He hadn't known her. He had never met her. But she had known of him. And when they first met, she had spat in his face. He had smirked at her, knowing that would just infuriate her more. It did. She hated him before they had ever met, as he was one of Lord Kakarrot's minions, one of the reason's her world fell. Him and his siblings.

But that was then. Before Trunks.

The android remembered it had been rather late at night, though still before midnight. Mistress Bulma had gone into labor, and Lord Kakarrot, recently crowned ruler of the Trans-Galactic Empire through test of arms, had demanded to attend the birthing. Prenatal tests had indicated that the child she bore was not his, that the infant was genetically that of Vegeta, but the tall saiyajin wanted to be there and draw another blood sample himself to determine if it was true. Because it was his duty, 17 stood behind his ruler in the delivery room. His sister had been excused from the task, and his tranquil brother... Well, he had been dead by that time. Zarbon had been there as well, a mere shadow in the corner. The palace was alive with Bulma's screams of pain, her loudly vulgar curses that did more than defame the emperor who watched over her, and her cries that demanded someone, anyone, kill her and end her miserable life. No one other than the nursemaid touched her. In the distance, the echoing screams and cries and insane laughter of Lady Chichi could be heard as well, an eerie counter to the scene.

And then the babe was pulled from its mother's body. One look, and it was obvious that the child was indeed Vegeta's. Lord Kakarrot left immediately, knowing beyond any doubt that he had sired nothing with his precious mistress. Zarbon went immediately to tend to the sweaty, tired human woman. The nursemaid, knowing she still had work to do, quickly handed the bathed and wrapped infant over to 17.

Staring down into squinting, angry, tired blue eyes, 17 found himself transfixed. Strangely enough, Trunks was born with pale blond hair and tail. But though he had 18's coloration, there was nothing of his sister to be seen in the child. The two of them stared at each other, trying to figure the other out. Trying to figure out what they were to each other. Strange as it was, 17 felt as if he was somehow connected to the tiny life in his arms, as if it was there simply for him. Or he was there simply for it.

The nursemaid startled 17 by suddenly, and very loudly, ordering Zarbon out of the room, as he was getting in her way. The large, pale blue male had tried to argue with her, but a soft order from 17 had the larger male vacating the room. Quickly. Soon, the nursemaid was done, and she told 17 that he'd have to give the baby to its mother so that it could feed. But before he could comply with her orders, she left, leaving 17, Bulma, and the infant alone in the room.

This had been his first time being in a room with a true infant. He had been excused from watching Prince Gohan's birth ten years previous, a fact for which he was ever grateful. For him, this was truly an experience. A rather gross one considering how many body fluids were leaked out of the human woman, but an experience nonetheless.

"Give me my child," Bulma whispered through her exhaustion.

"Of course," 17 replied, walking carefully with the bundle. "What will you name it?"

"Name it?" Bulma asked, suddenly realizing that she hadn't even thought of a name for the child. "Name it... Hmm... I guess... I mean, I never thought that I'd be able to name it."

"Choose wisely," 17 stated softly, handing over the child. "Names are important."

"Huh?" Bulma queried, looking at the icy eyes of one of her most hated enemies. "What do you mean?"

"I am 17. The seventeenth prototype of a cybernetic creation created only for war and chaos," 17 answered stepping back. "But at one time, I was human."

"I know," Bulma said as she struggled out of her hospital gown, trying to allow her growingly frustrated child to nurse. "I know how you were designed."

"Do you know what my name was?" 17 asked her, quite curious.

"Your name?" Bulma responded, her blue eyes widening in surprise, her task forgotten for a moment. "Your name? You mean, before you became 17?"

"Yes. Before I came online. What was my name when I was organic, completely and fully?"

"... I don't know," Bulma replied quietly. Somehow, realizing that the person she had reviled for more than fifteen years, spat at, shouted at, fought with at every turn was something that she and her fellow resistance fighters had created made her no longer hate the dark-haired male. Instead, she rather pitied him. Of course, it could have been the postpartum depression speaking. "I don't have a clue what your name was."

"Neither do I," 17 responded with a semi-bow. Rising up, he let his eyes lock with those of the tired human. His hair was pulled back in a small ponytail to keep it out of his face, as he had decided long before that he liked the idea of it being up and out of his way. And out of the way of any stray shots that might cut it. After all, his hair wouldn't grow back. "I don't remember anything before I came online. I don't know if I had any family, or friends, or lovers, or... or if I even had a life then. It is... a frightening thing to have the ability to reason, yet no reasons yourself. When you have nothing to lose, when you can't even remember having anything... well, it is very easy to not understand why others would value things. I remember thinking that I must not have been of much value, as my life must have been taken from me. I couldn't remember giving it away, so it must have been stolen."

"I didn't know," Bulma said as she rested back, her baby finally able to suckle. "And I think I should apologize for that, for some reason."

"You don't need to," 17 offered with a tilt of his head. His own admission wasn't an apology, and he did not need hers. "I didn't ask to be -created-. I just woke up as... this. As what I am. I am synthetic, strong, un-aging, created for battle, and I will never grow tired. I am 17. You didn't create me. Dr. Gero did. And he is now dead."

There were several moments of silence as Bulma weighed what the once human male had said. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, trying to think. When she opened her eyes, she saw that 17 was still there, watching the baby as if transfixed. When he noticed her looking at him, he let his gaze return to her and asked again, "What are you going to name the baby?"

During the course of time, 17 had found himself in many roles for the younger male. He had been father figure when Trunks was young, and then older brother as he grew, and then simply friend when time spent apart became more than time spent together. And finally, somehow, miraculously, they had become lovers. Though, they were lovers more of a title than in actual act. The android didn't think that Trunks understood how reluctant 17 was to move forward in their relationship.

He didn't want to ruin it.

Sometimes, though, a moment is ruined not by the two sharing it, but by interruption.

The doors to 17's room hissed open without warning, causing both males to turn in surprise. Trunks immediately fell back behind 17, a defensive gesture that he had learned when he was a mere child and 17 was taking care of him. 17 fell into a fighting stance, two orbs of energy in each hand, before the door was able to fully reveal who was entering. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon what perspective was taken, the intruder was already talking before she entered the room.

"17, you will not believe the kind of day I've had today!" 18 said as the door widened before her. She stepped into the room, and only then did she see 17 was in full fighting stance, eyes blazing red. She pulled up short, uncertain as to the reason behind his unprovoked attack. This wasn't the first time she had come into his room unannounced. But then she saw Trunks hiding behind her brother. She let out a very unladylike snort as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm going to use your bathroom."

Two pair of eyes watched the woman walk into the small room and close the door. When she emerged, only 17 remained in the room. "What was he doing here?"

"That is my business. Not yours, sister," the dark-haired android informed his synthetic sibling.

The blond female frowned for a moment, not liking the fact that her brother was trying to keep something away from her. But then she shrugged, sighing exasperatedly, "Whatever."

"Was there a reason you came for a visit?" 17 asked. He thought that Trunks would probably be well away by then. He was glad that the half-breed was quick with retreats.

"Wanted attention," she said, seating herself on the end of his bed. She watched as 17 leaned down and turned down the music. Briefly she wondered what they had been doing that required music, but she didn't let it concern her. Her brother had always been a bit strange with Trunks. This was just a new dimension to that weirdness. "That Krillin is a slippery little sucker. I don't know -how- he manages to keep dodging me."

"Having fun with the chase?" 17 mused. The music player had a different song on now, one for which he didn't particularly care. It was just as well his sister was here. It would eventually return to the songs he liked, but for now it was playing music that was a bit... rougher.

"It's pissing me off, actually," she responded. "Where does he get off, you know?"

"Apparently not with you." 17 smirked, tempting fate by tempting his sister's wrath.

"Take that back! At least I'm not tramping around with the palace joke," she huffed. She was not in the mood for any teasing. All she really wanted was someone to whom to bitch. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong person. More quickly than she'd ever seen him move, 17 was leaning over her, one hand painfully grasping her throat.

"-Never- say that about Trunks, do you hear me? -Never-," the raven-haired android seethed. When he allowed her up she rubbed at her neck, trying to make sure that there was no serious damage.

"Fine!" Continuing to assuage the area, she went on. "What's the deal with you? You've never been so defensive over him. Not like this. Are you... What's going on?"

"It's none of your concern, 18," snapped her brother. "Trunks and my business with him is an off-limits topic."

18 stood finally, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. "Whatever you say." She shoved him slightly then, enough to push him back a step. "I'm out of here. You're no fun anymore."

Watching the door slide shut, 17 sat down heavily onto his bed, his eyes remaining on the door. He hoped his sister would keep her mouth shut about what she saw. It wouldn't bode well for any of them if she didn't. Especially not Trunks... and especially not her. He'd kill her if anything happened to Trunks because of her.

'Let's hope it never comes to that.'

Leaning back down, 17 turned up the volume. One of his favorite songs was coming on, one that said everything the android himself couldn't say to one lavender-haired individual.