Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance of a Prince ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

Vengeance Of A Prince

(© Jady Arewar and Shi-Saiyan)

Rating: NC17

Warnings: Too many to list! Character death, incest, sex, Yaoi, Yuri, mockery of Saiyajin mating rituals, violence, lots of blood, hentai, insanity, etc.

Summary: Vejita's world falls apart when Trunks is accidentally killed.

Pairings: Gokou/Vejita, Vejita/Trunks, Gohan/Piccolo, Gohan/Bulma, Pan/Vejita, Pan/Bura, Vejita/Goten, Gohan/Pan, Gokou/Pan… and I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch.

Chapter 10:

Gohan woke in the misty grayness of the dawn, a strange new energy humming through his blood. He felt warmth beside him and opened his eyes to see Piccolo's sleeping form. Blood was smeared down the Namek's powerful chest, blood from a perfect imprint of Gohan's teeth. Instead of the shock and horror he might once have felt, Gohan felt only a fierce satisfaction, a delicious feeling of power. He had claimed Piccolo. The incredible, proud, powerful Namek belonged to him and only him.

Piccolo stirred and opened black eyes, meeting Gohan's gaze at once. There was pain there, grief for what Gohan had become, hatred, for the power the demi-Saiyajin now held over him, but something else as well. Lust. He wanted Gohan again, craved him, needed to touch him, but it was more than that. He wanted the violence, the blood, to hear the sharp cry of pleasure/pain from the younger man's lips when he thrust into his tight passage.

Bloodlust rose in him like a tidal wave, consuming him, exciting him, until he felt himself go rock hard against Gohan's thigh. Gohan smirked and rolled until he was pressed snugly against Piccolo's hips, the throbbing length of his sensei held between his legs. Piccolo growled, abruptly rolling and pushing Gohan onto his stomach. Gohan pulled his knees up beneath himself, raising his hips and felt Piccolo's strong hands grip either side of him. Nails dug into his skin and the smell of blood was sharp in their noses, heightening every sensation.

Gohan arched backward and cried out as Piccolo thrust into him, burying himself to the hilt in the heat of the demi-Saiyajin's body. He pressed back against Piccolo's chest, his head resting on the broad shoulder, eyes closed tightly as the Namek pounded into him, steadily. Blood ran, unchecked, down his legs, pooling in the dirt, around his knees.

Piccolo wasn't sure when the desire to hurt him stopped and the need to love him began. One moment he was determined to cause Gohan pain, the next he found his hand snaking around the younger man's hips to grasp the length of him in one powerful, green hand and stroke him. Gohan's mouth dropped open and a soft moan left him as Piccolo's violent thrusts slowed and fell into time with the motions of his hand on Gohan's cock. Gohan's arms came up and reached behind him, wrapping around his sensei's neck, holding Piccolo's face against the curve of his neck, lost in bliss as the pace quickened.

Piccolo faintly heard Gohan call out, hoarsely, before the hot seed coated his hand, but he paid no mind, pulling out and thrusting back into his student once more to bring his own release. The roar that left him was purely primal, a battle cry as much as anything else and the need to taste the other man's blood rushed through him as if a damn had broken. Without thought, without conscious choice, Piccolo grabbed Gohan's hair, yanked his head to one side and sank his fangs into the curve of Gohan's neck.

Gohan screamed, in surprise, pain and rage as the crimson nectar filled Piccolo's mouth and their bond was made whole. Gohan's arms tightened on Piccolo's neck, though neither of them was sure if he was holding him closer or trying to pull him away. It didn't matter. The deed was done.

Swallowing the thick, coppery liquid, Piccolo slowly released his hold on Gohan and withdrew from him. Gohan took a step, then collapsed, his breathing rough and ragged. He looked up at Piccolo with those black eyes and Piccolo knew. Son Gohan was dead. The creature before him, his student, his lover, his mate was something that was neither human, nor Saiyajin. He was death. Cold-blooded and brutal with a thirst for blood that rivaled even Vejita and Piccolo's past selves. Here was a creature with the face and body of an angel and the soul fit to rule the Underworld. Pure evil was staring out at him from those obsidian orbs and he felt that evil call to him, a soft, taunting whisper in his head. It reminded him of the taste of blood, the satisfying feeling of crushing an enemy's heart in his fist, of seeing the life leave their bodies and knowing it had been he who had decided their fate. The scent of power was heady and Piccolo breathed it in, welcoming it like an old friend.

Gohan watched the change come over his sensei. It was as if the Namek had shed a mask of some kind as he gave in to the evil. Piccolo welcomed the bloodlust with open arms, pulled it in, deeming it better to make the choice than be taken by force as a result of his bond with Gohan. The madness that had taken root in the demi-Saiyajin was powerful enough to tear them both apart without some kind of guidance. Piccolo hoped, desperately, right before the last bit of the man he had become was swallowed by the darkness, that he might be able to temper Gohan's insanity, to save them both, by taking some of the evil into himself.

Gohan raised a hand to his neck and touched the wound Piccolo had left there, drawing back his hand to stare at the glistening crimson liquid on his fingers. The scent of the blood was sharp, tempting and he slowly pulled his fingers into his mouth, sucking away the blood, feeling it sear his throat, all the way down. Piccolo watched him, his black eyes sharp and hooded. Gohan raised his gaze to meet Piccolo's and then held out his hand, where his blood still stained the pale skin. Without looking away, Piccolo grasped the offered wrist and pulled it aside, pulling Gohan closer and lowering his head to the wound he had already created. With only a split second of hesitation, Piccolo gave in to the whispers in his head and locked his mouth over the wound. A slow, evil smirk spread over Gohan's face and he placed a hand on the back of Piccolo's head, as if to hold him in place as he drank the blood that flowed from Gohan's neck and the darkness completely engulfed his soul.

~*~

Bulma had long ago decided to ignore her husband and son's Saiyajin habits and pretend she knew nothing about them. She just wasn't ready to face the fact that her son had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend and that her husband, while still coming to her bed on occasion, was more interested in having sex with their son than with her. The situation between Goten, Trunks and Vejita baffled her and more than once she'd wondered why Vejita didn't simply kill Goten to have Trunks to himself. She couldn't know that the seemingly cold-hearted Saiyajin no Ouji loved his son more than life itself and would never have taken Goten from him. So, Bulma lived her life as if in ignorance and made no remark when Vejita came into the kitchen covered in the musky scent of sex. The pure, unadulterated sexual tension that being in a room with a Saiyajin male caused, however, did not go unnoticed by the blue-haired woman. He was close to her, reaching around her to grab something out of the fridge and she felt her body begin to respond. Without bothering to glance around the room to see who might be watching, Bulma stepped close to Vejita's chest and slid her hand down the rock hard stomach to cup him through his training suit.

Vejita froze, then looked sideways at her. The woman was licking her lips and he could smell the arousal on her. However, he was in no mood for the weak, careful mockery of Saiyajin sex to even come close satisfying to him after his bout with Goten, only hours before. His head was still spinning from the encounter, from the way that being with the boy had, in some elemental way, connected him to Trunks once again. They had both felt it, had both been searching for it, searching for him in one another. Annoyed, he grabbed Bulma's hand and removed it from him, turning away from her and walking out of the kitchen without a glance backward.

Pan watched Bulma's hand caress Vejita's body and felt something stir within her. She felt a growl starting, low in her throat, her eyes fastened on that small, pale hand, imagining how easy it would be to crush those delicate bones. Her gaze traveled up to Bulma's throat, black eyes shining as she pictured herself tearing through that white flesh. She could almost taste the blood. It would be hot and sweet and taste like-

Pan shook her head, suddenly, blinking away the images. Vejita had left the kitchen and Bulma was staring after him. Pan had no idea where the urge to kill Bulma had come from. All she knew was that the woman had touched her prince and she had to pay for it. And pay she would. Pan's eyes gleamed as she melted back into the darkness of the doorway, unseen, waiting.

~*~

Gokou felt the hatred flare in his granddaughter, an emotion so strong that it almost didn't seem possible for it to have come from Pan. Closing his eyes, he fought back the tears that threatened. His world was coming apart at the seams. The energy coming from Gohan was unrecognizable as his son's. Goten was somewhere in the woods, hiding. Chichi was dead and gone and deep in his heart he knew that Videl was gone as well, murdered by her mate, his oldest son. There was no one left. No one who would understand him. No one but Vejita.

Gokou took a breath and allowed himself to carefully examine his conclusion. Vejita was indeed the only one left available to him that might possible understand what was happening. He was, after all, the only other living full-blooded Saiyajin. Vejita had to have learned by now that it was Gohan who killed Trunks. There was no way for him to believe otherwise. Vejita was too intelligent to believe that Goten could ever kill his lover, or that Gokou would take the life of anyone who was no threat to him or those he loved. Indeed, Trunks had been almost like family to Gokou and nowhere near powerful enough to ever be considered a threat. That left only Gohan. Gokou's son. The murderer.

Gokou stifled a cry of anguish and made a snap decision. Vejita was the only one who could help him now. He would either help him or kill him. To Gokou, it really didn't matter anymore, as long as the torment stopped. He raised two fingers to his temple.

~*~

Vejita stepped out of the shower and raised his ki a little to dry himself. Without bothering to grab a towel or to dress himself, he walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. It was dimly lit, on the lowest setting, according to the knob on the wall. "Sex lights" Trunks had always called them with a cheeky grin, as he turned them down from their usual brightness to this level. There was just enough light to see, to be able to appreciate the beauty of the body beneath him, but enough darkness to heighten the sense of touch, intensify the silky softness of the youth's skin. Vejita shook his head and moved toward his bed.

He barely stopped himself from crying out when Gokou appeared before him, out of nowhere. After a moment's shock, Vejita snarled and took a step toward the larger man, raising his hand. Gokou caught his wrist and stared at him and Vejita went still, waiting, wondering. Without a word, Gokou slid his free hand around Vejita's waist and pulled him close.

Vejita's mind raced. Kakarrotto was holding him like a lover. He was open, vulnerable and seemed to need something from Vejita. Acceptance, physical contact, understanding, love… something… Vejita felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he realized what he'd been given. The perfect chance to proceed with is plan to own every one of the Sons. The baka was offering himself up on a silver platter and that was just the way Saiyajin royalty loved to be served.

~*~

TBC!