Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ White Lies ❯ White Lies ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Goku slumped over, massaging his temples and adjusting the buttons up his jacket.

“Kakarrot?”

He glanced up, smiling slightly as he found Vegeta a few feet in front of him, arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked. “Hi, Vegeta.”

“What's that getup?” the prince motioned to the ebony slacks and crisp jacket, which partially concealed a plain white dress shirt and maroon paisley-print tie.

“Chi's making me go to a job interview,” he lowered his head, trying to mask the heart-wrenching disappointment in his voice. “She says she wants me to be useful for once and bring in some money instead of eating it all the time.”

“I assume you don't mean literally,” Vegeta snorted. His mouth twitched upward in a smirk as he tried to ponder just what sort of a job Goku would be able to hold, but the other man's voice brought his amusement plummeting back down.

“No,” he mumbled. “'Course not. I…I don't want to go, Vegeta.”

“Of course you don't,” he responded gruffly, but his hand curled around Goku's shoulder nonetheless. His rough tone contained more comfort than he'd intended.

“I think she threatened the manager to hire me no matter how I do in the interview. You know how she is.”

Vegeta nodded quietly. He shifted his weight for a few moments before pacing a couple of strides forward and taking a seat by Goku on the couch - close, but not too close.

“I'm going to miss sparring.”

“Don't talk like that,” Vegeta snapped, thoroughly disarmed by Goku's sadness. “We'll still fight.”

“Not every day, like we used to.”

Used to. The words hit him hard. “Of course we will. We'll have time…in the evening, or something.”

“Not if Chi-Chi has anything to say about it,” his shoulders rolled farther forward. “I think,” Goku whispered, “the other part of the reason she wants me to do this is so that I don't spend all my time with you. She doesn't like you over here. She thinks you're a bad influence on Goten.”

“You know you can always come over to Capsule Corp. instead,” Vegeta sneered - tried to.

“I'm gonna miss you, Vegeta,” he curled his arms around his stomach as he shivered. “A lot.”

“You'll still see me.”

“You'll give up on making time, after a while.”

“Fool. I won't.”

“Yeah…you will.”

“No!” Vegeta snorted, jumping to his feet. “I will not! You think I lack the diligence? I'll prove it to you—I won't give up on it!” He bared his teeth for a moment, snarling, before striding out Goku's door and slamming it behind him.

Vegeta drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. The clock flashed from 11:59 to 12:00, and the dot beside the “PM” marking disappeared.

Of course, Goku had somehow ended up with the job. He'd yet to inquire exactly what it was—but that was because he hadn't had a chance to speak with the other Saiyajin yet. The first time he'd stopped by, Chi-Chi had chastised him for interrupting their dinner. A few days after that, his knock at the door had apparently woken Goten. The mornings were no good, either.

Kakarrot probably thinks he's won this, he growled to himself. He thinks I've given up on him.

The soft rumpling of carpet beneath familiar boots assuaged his initial frustration at being roused mid-dream. He gave a quick gaze to Chi-Chi, who lay curled up on the opposite side of the bed, before returning his eyes to the hazy shadow that had just entered the room. Gentle moonlight cascaded off the bed and onto the tips of his shoes, skimming off the glove on one outstretched hand.

“Come, Kakarrot. It's high time we sparred,” his voice breathed in the softest whisper.

“Tomorrow's Saturday,” Goku wanted to say; “Let's just wait until then.” But, charmed by the glint of white held out, waiting for him, by the near-melodious utterance of the other man, he sat up. He carefully slid from beneath the covers and started toward the closet to grab a gi.

“That'll be too noisy,” Vegeta responded in a gentle reprimand.

“Let's just spar tomorrow,” Goku wanted to say; “It'll be easier anyway, and I won't get in trouble.”

Vegeta seemed to sense the words on the tip of Goku's tongue. “Come now. You'll be fine. Don't you want to fight? Hasn't it been too long?”

“It has,” Goku finally spoke. “But, Vegeta…”

“All right, then,” he wrapped a hand around Goku's wrist. The other Saiyajin blinked at him for a few moments. “Teleport us somewhere,” Vegeta nudged him.

“I can only…”

“Oh, right,” Vegeta's shadowed eyes were downcast for a moment, a pale-moonlit blush covering his paler-moonlit face. “Let's slip out quickly, then.” He dropped Goku's wrist.

Goku nodded, but snatched Vegeta's hand back up. He eased the door open, and then closed it again, turning the knob as he did so, so that the lock wouldn't click. “There's a good spot this way,” he murmured as he dragged the prince along, smiling back at Vegeta as he let Goku guide him along. The taller man squeezed the other's hand, as if inquiring whether he realized it was still wrapped within his own. Vegeta's brows furrowed, but he neither said nor did anything more.

Upon landing, Goku finally released the prince. “I missed you a lot—like I knew I would.”

“Even though it's barely been a week?” Vegeta scoffed. His days had been too empty recently.

“Even though.” A silence passed between them. “I'm already homesick for the times when I used to be able to spar you anytime I wanted.”

“Homesick?” There was something beautiful about the phrase. Kakarrot's a poet. Vegeta played around with the idea for a few moments, chuckling inwardly at it. …About as much as I am a musician, he finally decided.

“Yeah. But the sad thing is that I won't be going back home again, ever.”

The first thing Vegeta considered was the literal meaning. “You—oh. I see.” He shuffled back and forth a bit. “We'll…make what we can of this. Build a new…home…?” Vegeta hesitantly continued the metaphor.

Goku smiled and stepped forward, almost falling the last few feet to embrace the prince. “I trust you, Vegeta. I know you mean that.”

“O-of course I do!” he attempted to snap, unable to brush Goku off. “I'm not so low as to—to lie like…like that…!”

“I sort of wish,” Goku ignored Vegeta's outburst and pulled the prince down to the ground, so that they sat across from one another upon the soft grass, silvery-blue under the sky. “That…I don't know.”

“Hnh,” Vegeta let out a half-chuckle, fingering a few grass blades. “Go on; out with it. What do you `sort of wish'?” He sprinkled the torn blades over Goku's head tauntingly.

Goku giggled and brushed the bits from his hair, but his expression grew solemn quickly. “That I had more time. Just more time.”

“What you mean,” Vegeta corrected him in a low whisper to match the night, “is that you wish you had more patience.”

“Why do I mean that?”

“Because…you know—you know that this can't last forever.”

“Nothing does, I guess,” Goku shrugged.

“One day, the manager will go on a firing spree, or, or your woman will die,” the second part of the phrase slipped from his mouth before he could check it.

“I don't think I have the patience,” Goku responded, letting Vegeta's comment by, and then realizing with a flush how horrible his must have sounded, following it as it had. “I mean…”

“I know.”

“But since I'm not that patient, Vegeta…what should I do?”

“Make the best of the moments you do have, of course,” Vegeta shrugged, a graceful smirk sliding onto his features. “But then, I'm not the optimist, so I don't know why you're asking me.”

“You mean…you'll keep visiting me at night like this?”

“If you'd like.”

“I would.”

“As long as you don't mind the hours of sleep you lose.”

“I won't.”

“Or the consequences that may come if—when the harpy finds out.”

“I'll take them.”

Vegeta smirked and tilted his head, a warm, thankful expression gracing his features as he took in the sight of the man before him. “You are a fool,” he chuckled.

“It's your fault,” Goku teased. “For making me do crazy things.”

“Like sneaking out at night?”

“Yeah.”

“You're an adult, Kakarrot; you should be able to leave your home whenever you want to.”

“But Chi-Chi would think…”

“What, that you're cheating on her?” Vegeta finished quickly, the warm smirk he'd worn transforming into a gleam of teeth.

“Something like that,” Goku bent forward slightly to observe the prince's expression.

“And how would you defend yourself if she accused you of such?” he tapped the backs of his fingers to Goku's jaw for a moment.

“I don't know,” the other man whispered, leaning in until his nose brushed Vegeta's. “Do you suppose I'd have to lie?”

“That's entirely up to you,” Vegeta breathed in a smoldering tone.

“Nothing wrong with a little fib every now and then, I guess,” Goku murmured, eyes ablaze as he tilted his head to lock his lips with Vegeta's. The other Saiyajin did not object, gratefully accepting Goku's tongue and offering his own. A few moments later, they broke apart, Goku clutching Vegeta by the shoulders.

“I've been meaning to ask,” the prince muttered as Goku pressed him back against the damp, moonlit grass, “what sort of a job did you end up with, anyway?”

Goku paused for a few moments, as if playing with a few ideas behind his eyes. He seemed to ignore the question as he pressed his lips along the tender skin of Vegeta's neck.

“Kakarrot?”

“Mm?” he glanced up briefly before returning to his activity, absently tracing a finger over the tight shirt that covered Vegeta's torso.

“Your…job…?” the prince managed through wispy breaths.

Goku's eyes glowed with amusement as he hovered a thread's breadth over Vegeta's face. “Nothing wrong with a little fib every now and then,” he repeated, his tongue flicking out as a giggle escaped him.

Vegeta's eyebrows arched in shock as confusion clouded his eyes. “You're not serious?”

The younger Saiyajin beamed and winked. “We've got a lot more time than you thought, Vegeta.”

He tackled Goku in mock fury. “You clever little…”