Obedience

       We have fought many times before now. I do not know what it is that makes this time different - perhaps because it has been so long since his mate died, or perhaps because it has been so long since ... my mate died. Bulma; beautiful, clever, infuriating Bulma, who hunted me with such dedication that it was almost frightening. I gave in to her as I have always done to those who are stronger, whether it be physical or some other strength, eventually I always yield. She was a gentle one though, perhaps all females are. She never hurt me and ... she let me be happy. Kami, I miss her, why did death have to take her? She was so young... humans die so young.
       Whatever it is, why ever it is, when he beat me, as he always does, he finally decided to take his rights in me. I do not understand why he has not done so before, except maybe that he did not want to upset Bulma. I was hers after all and he is very considerate with his friends. Though since... why has he waited so long since? I do not understand. I do not think I want to.
       I am pinned to the ground, his warm, strong body covering mine and I see a look in his eyes that has not been there before, or perhaps it has and he has hidden it from me. He wants me, wants to be inside me as all those who are stronger have been inside me. But it is not quite the same as the look all the others gave me; I cannot tell what the difference is, but it is there. So subtle, and I have never seen it before, not in a male. It is like how Bulma used to look at me... but it cannot be the same. They are not the same.
       He touches me, softly, running his free hand down my side as his other holds my wrists in a firm yet gentle grip. He doesn't have to be gentle; I have been trained to accept this since I was a child. Besides, it is his right to have me, I am the weaker, less worthy of the two of us; I am not allowed to complain. But he seems intent on being gentle, soft - as though he expects me to run. I will not. I know the consequences of fighting this and I ... I cannot face them again.
       I lower my eyes, not wanting to see the lust in his face that I have seen in others; somehow it seems wrong for his open, happy features to have such an expression. He caresses me, running his hand down my thigh now, and then he reaches under my shirt, trailing his fingers against my skin and slowly releasing my hands. I allow my arms to fall to my sides, knowing better than to attempt to participate. I almost wince, remembering the punishments I received for doing so before, but catch myself just in time - it would not do to make him have to beat me before he has even truly started.
       He kisses me, smoothing his tongue over my lips, and I open up for him, allow him to plunder me. He is taking such care, I almost wonder whether he intends to make me enjoy it and then punish me afterwards for doing so. It has happened like that before, and I do not doubt will happen again, and for a second I feel fear but then I remember his sense of smell, as keen as my own, and I focus only on the moment, pushing the thoughts of future punishment to the back of my mind. Frieza never liked to see fear when he bedded me; only obedience and submission, and I do not doubt that Kakkarrot is the same.
       For a second he looks at me, his dark eyes questioning and then he seems to make a decision. He removes my shirt, so gently. Kami, why does he have to be so gentle? Does he wish to torment me, force me into disobedience? No, no, please, Kakkarrot, please... he touches the base of my tail and the world turns white. I made no sound, thank all the fates. But... why? Why Kakkarrot? Take your pleasure, it is your right, but leave me be.
       He does not, slowly taking his time, as though he means to seduce me, as though he needs to. I almost laugh but restrain myself. Now is not the time to give in to hysteric mirth... it is never the time. He draws me onto his lap, slowly thrusting into me, and I gasp...It does not hurt. It has never... it has always hurt before. What has he done to me? What is he doing?
      He caresses me, kissing my neck and suckling my nipples, while slowly thrusting. He is holding back, waiting for... what? What does he want that I have not done? I do not know, I do not understand. What does he want?! Please Kakkarrot, I do not understand, I do not understand... I am sorry... please?
       He continues and ... my world has become centred on pleasure and confusion, and I can no longer contain the former. I clasp my hands over my mouth, knowing I must not make sound, it is wrong for me to... Kakkarrot? Why did he take my hands away? Does he want me to tell my pleasure to the entire world, I who should not even feel it? No, I must be silent; it is not my right to detract from his fulfilment. But... it is so difficult... please; let me cover my mouth, please? Kakkarrot! I... The universe goes white, lights explode behind my eyes and I scream out in ecstasy. My hands grip his shoulders, I hold him... oh Gods I hold him. My fear escalates, my breath tight in my lungs... oh Gods, what have I done?
       He climaxes inside me just a second later, and I tremble in his arms, waiting for the punishment he will surely mete out as soon as he recovers. I cannot hide my trepidation, and refuse to look at him, hanging my head like a dog who knows it has done wrong. My attitude will surely anger him further, but I do not want him to see the feeling of betrayal in my eyes, the hurt that one I almost loved... almost needed, should do this to me. He made me betray myself and now I do not know how to... if only he had just taken his pleasure and then left me, all would be normal. Why did he do this? Does he truly think me that pathetic, that I need to be taught who is master and who is slave? He beat me, so he owns me, I know this, I do not need to have it demonstrated.
       He holds me, cradling me like a precious, fragile treasure. He... he does not... why is he not angry? I did wrong, I took pleasure and... I made noise, I was selfish, I was bad. I do not understand, is this some new punishment...?
       He lifts my head and kisses me, his lips as soft as rose petals against mine. Then he turns me in his lap, wrapping his arms around me and rocking gently. He nuzzles my hair, breathing softly, and then starts trailing butterfly kisses over my ear. I cannot control the moan that escapes my mouth, and I almost cringe knowing that it will earn me further punishment.
       "You are so beautiful Vegeta. Like a pearl hidden in an oyster shell."
       Beautiful? No, no, only the strong and the good are beautiful and I am neither. I am... twisted, wrong. If I was good, obedient, I suppose I could be called 'pleasant'. Or pretty, if Frieza was pleased with me he would sometimes call me pretty. I want to shake my head, deny what Kakkarrot has said but... it is wrong to contradict, wrong to deny what the master says. Perhaps I am being even more disobedient by thinking such things? I should tell him so he can punish me but... I am too afraid.
       In my fear I have stiffened, become as inflexible as a statue and this worries him I think. He continues rocking and he strokes me, purring softly, until I manage to force myself to relax. Slowly I push my emotions to the back of my mind, where they will not interfere with my thoughts, and I look at my memories of what has happened. I put it together with what is happening now and... He is not angry, he went out of his way to give me pleasure, he was gentle... maybe... maybe he wanted me to enjoy it. Maybe to him I am not just an animal to be bedded and discarded? I ignore my instinctive, terrified denial of that conclusion - Kakkarrot has never hurt me, not in any way that counts, maybe he never intended to.
       He continues to rock me, attempting to comfort me, to hold at bay my fears even though it seems as though he does not understand what they are. He was not and has never been one of Frieza's men, he probably ... he probably does not understand. I decide to take a chance, looking up at him nervously. I lift my trembling hand and touch his cheek, searching his eyes for anger or disgust. There is none, just a gentle patience. I hold it there, waiting for him to hit me, to do or say something that tells me where I stand, that tells me to go back to being a slave. For a few seconds he does nothing, then he turns his face, keeping his eyes locked to mine, and kisses my palm.
       I cannot help it. I smile and start to cry at the same time, holding on to him as though he is the only shelter in the storm, sobbing silently into his shoulder. He holds me and he is not angry. He is not angry. I cannot stop weeping but he doesn't seem to mind; he murmurs softly, rubbing his hand gently down my back and I relax completely for the first time since Bulma died. The world slowly fades from my awareness, until all that I feel is his warmth, all that I hear is his voice. And soon that too fades.

Docility

       I don't know what makes me do it. It's not as though this fight's any different than any of the others we've had, the day's passed the same as any other day, but today... I just can't control my need to touch him. He's so beautiful, so passionate and every single second that I spend with him I fall more and more in love. I see what it was that Bulma saw in him, though I don't think she saw him as clearly as I do; she never noticed his deeply buried vulnerability, the fear that he doesn't show. He draws me like a moth to a candle flame, but I don't think that I'm the one who will burn if I'm not careful. His fragility has kept me at bay far more effectively than any aggression could.
       Today I beat him, although it often ends in a stalemate, and I saw, for a brief second, the pain and the loneliness he keeps hidden behind that mask of his. But there was something more there this time, a sort of defeated resignation, as though he'd given up and didn't care anymore. I can't bear that; he shouldn't look so defeated, so... broken. Not for a second, not ever. He's the Prince of Saiyajin's, he's strong and noble and... beautiful. Nothing so beautiful should ever be broken.
       I'm lying on top of him, my body deliciously pressed against his, and I can feel the warmth rising from his skin, even through the thick cloth of my gi. I can't help it. I try to resist but it's like keeping a thirsty man from water. I stroke his side, keeping his wrists pinned to avoid being hit, fully expecting him to fight me, to protest this sudden, unwanted touch. He's always hated being touched.
       He does nothing.
       At first I think that this is because he doesn't know what is going on, but one glance at him shows lowered eyelids and heated cheeks, his face a picture of shyness and... submission? But that can never be; Vegeta would never submit. I run my fingers underneath his shirt and release his hands, hoping for some sort of return, some reply to what I have done. His arms fall limply to the sides and he doesn't raise his eyes.
       I kiss him, pressing my lips against his, and licking softly at them, asking for entrance. He gives it immediately, his mouth a sweet treasure he allows me to explore. But he still does nothing, makes no sound, no movement. I'm the director of this play and all the actors - he seems content to be the stage. I don't want that. I have no wish to simply sate myself in him as though he were some sort of slave, a whore to satisfy my lust and nothing else. He's more than that; he completes me in ways I never hope to understand, he's my anchor, the person I can always depend on to be there when I most need it. He's not just...
       He smelt of fear. A bone-deep fear whose cause I can't see, so strong I almost look around, searching for an enemy. But it's gone now, his eyes calm and his scent submissive, obedient...docile. Still that smell of fear remains lingering in my nostrils, an acidic scent with implications that I don't wish to examine. I know I must but... He doesn't fear me, does he?
       He doesn't seem to and that encourages me. I lift his shirt from his sleek, taut body, careful not to startle him - he seems confused by something and a hint of apprehension enters his scent although his face remains calm, controlled... stoic? I want to see him flushed with pleasure, the fear banished completely from his eyes; I want him to know that I love him, that he is treasured as he's never been before. I run my hands down his back, caressing the base of his tail and he arches into me, his scent taking on the smell of pleasure. But the fear remains, it even gets stronger... I don't understand. What's wrong?
       I continue, touching him softly, trying to reassure the beautiful, fire-born creature beneath me that I mean no harm. I want him to be ready, to want me as much as I want him, so my touches are gentle, teasing. The fear fades, as does the confusion, until I can barely sense them and for a second I smell something that resembles amusement, but there's something wrong with it... Perhaps I am just being paranoid.
       I draw him onto my lap, thrusting into him slowly, giving his body time to adjust. I hit his sweet spot first time and he gasps, shocked by something. His eyes give a window to his emotions and right now they speak of confusion, fear, arousal and... pleading? What is it? What have I not done that you need Vegeta? His silence is almost frightening in its intensity, that gasp the first sound he's uttered the entire time - does he think I want him to be silent, or is this how he always is?
       I move slowly inside him, waiting for him to catch up with me, and his eyes continue to beg then the pleading finally disappears. The scent of arousal becomes stronger, overwhelming everything but the fear. What are you afraid of, Vegeta? What is it that I am doing that you fear? He clasps his hands over his mouth, as though trying to prevent himself from making any noise. I remove them, wanting to hear him cry out in ecstasy. He looks upset, confused - he did not expect me to remove his hands. Why not? What's missing? What am I missing?!
       His pleasure increases but he's struggling to remain silent, his face twisted up in concentration and his hands balled up by his sides. He eventually loses the fight, a scream of ecstasy pealing out of him as he achieves his climax, and he grips my shoulders as though I'm the only thing in the whole world, his body shuddering in pleasure. The tightening of his muscles around me makes the world explode in streamers of multicoloured lights, and I shout my release to the stars. I pant, holding his lithe form against my own coarser frame; I never want to let him go.
       He's trembling like a frightened bird in my arms, and it's not out of exhaustion. He's afraid of something, of me. Does he expect me to be angry? Why? He's done nothing wrong; he's not committed a terrible crime. He hangs his head like a spaniel knowing it is about to be whipped, his slight body shivering against mine, making me want to comfort him, to destroy whatever it is that has pushed him to such depths and I feel a rage growing in me for whatever did this to him. But I suppress it, for the moment, knowing it would only make him fear more.
       I stroke him, and then lift his head, kissing his silken lips, and turn him in my lap so he's sitting sideways on to me. I breathe in the scent of his soft, ebony hair and then tickle his ear with my lips, smiling as he moans and stirs within my encompassing arms. He's so beautiful, and I tell him so, comparing him to the pearl hidden in an oyster's shell. His scent becomes confused again, and it seems as though he wants to contradict me but he doesn't, unusual for him... The fear scent appears again, along with guilt. Why should he feel guilty?
       Slowly he stiffens against me, the fear once more overriding all other emotions in his scent until I want to sneeze to rid myself of it. I rock him, gently stroking his smooth skin and purring deep in my throat, hoping to soothe him out of the terror that's gripping him. He relaxes slowly, his scent becoming more controlled and his face gains an introverted expression. I don't interrupt his thoughts - he's obviously trying to sort something out in his mind. Suddenly his scent changes from relatively calm to pure terror, mixed with denial, which then fades away into a nervous, tremulously hopeful smell.
       He lifts a trembling hand and lays it across my cheek - I can feel it shiver against my skin, the delicacy of his build once more hitting me; he's so very good at projecting a greater size than he actually has. He raises his head, his eyelids lifting and searching mine for something, something he doesn't want but nevertheless expects. I don't give it him, instead holding his eyes with my own for long moments, before turning my head and kissing his palm tenderly. He expected something else, something that would return him to that unnatural, docile state he's been in since I started this.
       The smile that lights up his face when I kiss his hand is enough to illuminate the darkest depths. He starts to cry, clinging to me desperately and weeping silently into my shoulder. I don't mind - he's lost the fear, although I don't doubt that it will return, but for now he's not afraid. I've a suspicion about what causes him to behave so... tamely, so submissively, but I... we will deal with it later. For now, I am content that he's happy in my arms, content to hold him as he drifts off to a peaceful sleep - perhaps the first he's had in years. Sleep my love, I will protect you.

© 2001 Little Saru

Sorrow
(Little Saru's follow up to Obedience and Docility)

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© 2001 WordWrights.