Chains of Affection

by Syldana

Part 4

 

Yawning widely and loudly, Trunks poured himself a towering glass of orange juice. Good Kami, he was tired! Since his mother's illness, work had become an absolute nightmare, and her death had only compounded all the difficulties brewing over at Capsule Corporation. And he was the ailing company's fortunate president. Heh. Lucky him. All the pressure was slowly but surely getting to him. Perhaps he could handle everything better if he wasn't still plaintively grieving for his mother. He had been granted almost no time at all to mourn her passing before the exacting weight of the company had come crashing down upon his head. Too bad the enormous power of Super Saiyajin couldn't help him through this crisis. Of course, he might not feel so terribly weary if he could just get a little more sleep at night. Trunks grunted in grim amusement, then drew the glass to his lips.

Sleep. What was that? His nights were now overloaded with dancing and parties and women. He groaned aloud, feeling a dull headache return just thinking about it. Kami, what was his father thinking? It was a question he'd asked himself many times over the last week, but had yet to determine an answer.

His father had been acting totally unlike his typical self, ever since the death of his mother. Trunks supposed that was only to be expected, but it was the unusual way in which Vejiita was now behaving that had the lavender-haired man so perplexed. The early bout of depression was easy to comprehend, could almost have been anticipated even, but this strange, new behavior of wanting to socialize in the party scene was completely beyond him. His father was by far the least social person that he knew, most likely in all of existence. The fact that he now wanted to go out and meet women was something that Trunks did not understand at all, and found more than a little disturbing. Actually, it upset him greatly, but he had not said anything to his father about his feelings on the matter. He doubted the man would care one whit about his opinion, anyway. So he merely kept his mouth shut and accompanied the prince each and every night. Funny, it was the most time they had spent together in a long, long while, so Trunks found himself incongruently both loving and hating their evening jaunts together. And then there was how thoroughly fatiguing they were, yet the concept of letting his father go out alone was completely out of the question. He wasn't sure which worried him more, what his father might do to the people there or what they might do to him. The whole idea of Vejiita being alone at one of those parties was absolutely terrifying; it was already scary enough when he was right there with him. Trunks was hoping the man would revert to normal very, very soon.

What he also found extremely unsettling was the fact that the Saiyan prince had turned out to be one of the coolest operators he had ever seen. As Trunks was invariably aware, there were many women out there who fancied strong, powerful men, yet unlike himself, his father was utterly fearless in approaching and engaging them in conversation. Vejiita's innate ability to accurately size up an opponent and exploit their weaknesses also served him remarkably well when it came to dealing with the female persuasion, and the prince had always been extremely clever when it came to dishing out nasty insults; it seemed this quick-witted proficiency was quite easily reversed when it came to flattering pretty women. Also, the man's massive ego and proud bearing were actually assets, drawing women to his side like a masterful and alluring magnet. Trunks could only watch him with a weird sense of awe, and with the deep, underlying feelings of anger and disgust. Those adverse emotions had only waxed stronger the first time he saw his father leave with one of them. The other times merely increased their dark intensity even more.

Kuso! What was wrong with the man? Why—

"Oh, good morning!" a high-pitched, feminine voice greeted him warmly.

Trunks glanced over in startlement and saw a beautiful woman with green eyes and long red hair standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was dressed in a bright red mini dress with a wide belt and large, golden hoops dangling from her ears. Clutched in one of her hands was a pair of matching high-heeled shoes. A smile of delighted surprise was painted charmingly across her delicate features. He recognized her instantly from the club last night, for she was still wearing the exact same clothing.

"I'm Rose," she said with an impish grin. "Do you have anything stronger than that?" She pointed at the large glass of orange juice in his hand. Trunks gazed at her blankly for a moment, and then shook his head. "That'll have to do then." The woman moved into the room and began pulling open the cupboards in search of a clean glass. By the time he thought to tell her where the glasses were kept, she'd already found one. Then she calmly reached over to take the pitcher sitting on the counter before him and began pouring it.

"What's your name?" she queried, setting the pitcher back down and then taking a generous sip of the orange liquid.

"Uh… Trunks," he replied, somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, Trunks, it's a pleasure to meet you. Do you fellas grow on trees around here or what?"

"Uh… huh?"

"I'd say you and your roommate are just about the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen!" the woman expounded mirthfully. "Are there any more of you hanging about somewhere?"

"Uh… no," he responded, blushing faintly.

"Too bad," she said with a click of her tongue. "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with the two of you. Although, to tell you the truth, that roommate of yours is enough to thoroughly satisfy any woman all by himself. Whoo wee! Never came across that before. Ah, well… have him call me if he ever gets the itch again," she went on crassly, then finished off the juice in a single gulp and set the empty glass on the counter. "That goes for you too, sweet cheeks," she added with an insinuating grin. "Bye-bye!" Then the woman all but bounced out of the house.

Trunks stood there speechless and dumbfounded for well over a full minute, and then something began to churn deep within the pit of his stomach. It was cold and it was hard and, all of a sudden, made him feel inauspiciously nauseated. With an almost boiling deliberation, he set his own glass down on the countertop, and then strode with brisk determination toward the gravity room.

Of course his father was in there. Trunks didn't even need the telltale signs of his ki and the virtually imperceptible hum that vibrated throughout the entire building; Vejiita was in there because he was always in there. That, at least, was something that hadn't changed for very long. Without vacillation, Trunks pulled the outside switch to override and began powering down the machine. Then he yanked open the door.

"What is it?" his father barked gruffly in instant challenge, annoyance permeating his tone.

Trunks nearly growled aloud, for right this minute he was more than willing to accept. "Would you mind telling me what that—that—woman was doing in our house?" he sputtered, his eyes flashing darkly with barely constrained anger.

Vejiita paused for a single heartbeat, a sure sign that his son had managed to startle him. Then his back went up as he bristled with displeasure, his shirtless body rigid and glistening with sweat. "Oh, has she finally left then?" he countered in disdain, deliberately ignoring his inquiry.

"Damn it, Father, answer the question!" he shot back angrily. "What was she doing here?"

Vejiita's eyes narrowed. "I would have thought you'd know by now, boy. You're a bit old not to have figured these things out. Of course, your mother did tell me to have a little talk with you a few years back. I just never got around to it."

This time, Trunks did growl, exposing all of his pearly-white teeth. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he erupted wildly. "How could you bring that woman into this house! Kami, it's bad enough that you're even with her, but to bring her into this house—into Mom's house—" He choked for a second, on the pain, and his eyes abruptly filmed over. "Damn it, Papa, it's only been a few weeks! How can you do this?! Did she really mean so little to you? Everyone always said—but I never—I—Kami! I always believed that you loved her, deep down inside! But now—"

Abruptly, his father's hands were on him, holding him roughly by the shirt collar, crushing him brutally up against the wall. His obsidian eyes glared daggers at him born of a dark, unholy light.

"How dare you question me!" Vejiita hissed in fury. "How dare you question me, boy! I do not answer to you! Not to you or anyone else! I do as I please!"

"Oh, yeah?" he returned in a harsh, rasping whisper, the moisture now gathering shape in his eyes. "And did you do just as you pleased in my mother's bed?"

The scathing words reverberated rancorously in the air between them… and then the prince cracked. Just like that, his father's hard, angry facade cracked, shattered, instantly fragmenting into a thousand jagged shards of scourging pain. His face contorted and then blanched, bloodless and ashen, as his brow furrowed in dismay between eyes that were suddenly shimmering with clear, aggregating liquid. The hurt that inadvertently burst forth from their glossy depths was electrifying, and Trunks could only blink down in unbounded astonishment at the utterly alien sight. The hands clutching his shirt, holding his feet dangling off the floor, tightened to suppress a sudden trembling, and a low, strangled noise escaped Vejiita's throat, sounding mournful and wounded, like some anguished, dying thing.

Trunks was in absolute shock. Vejiita's powerful arms, now painfully immobilized by overwhelming emotion, maintained his body motionlessly aloft. The lavender-haired man wordlessly held his father's crippled gaze, his own eyes equally damp and spread wide in total disbelief. He had hurt him… Kami… he had hurt him really, really bad. Oh, Papa…

His own tears broke free to spill liberally down his cheeks. "Oh, Kami, Papa," he whispered. "I didn't mean…" But he did. He meant every single word. "I just… oh, Papa… it just hurts! It hurts so much!" And with that, Trunks began weeping in earnest.

Through soul-smiting pain and half-blurred vision, Vejiita peered up into the vivid eyes of his only son, eyes that were now copiously leaking tears. They were her eyes, and yet also his own, a very unusual, very striking, combination. And how those eyes had accused him…

Another staggering wave of pain sloshed over him, nearly drawing another wretched moan from his throat. The boy was right. He had betrayed her. In a moment of pure, prostrating despair, he had surrendered to a most heinous weakness, and had allowed Kakarotto to commandeer her space within his soul just minutes after her death. Because of that, he had now betrayed not only her position as his mate, but her memory, as well. He had degraded himself in the arms of strangers, and in far too soon a time to be deemed respectful or proper. Trunks was completely justified in his endeavor to restore and uphold his mother's honor. As he should have done in the first place. But he had not been thinking of Bulma as he should have been. No, as usual, he had only been thinking of himself.

Damn you, Kakarotto! No matter what he did, he could not seem to purge the man from his mind. Even now he was there, the muffled feel of him haunting his soul from the inside out, murmuring to him constantly, at all hours of the day and night, gentle whispers of sorrow, affection and need, always bringing to the forefront the shrouded memories of his warmth, his scent, his taste, a wellspring of sexual desire that had been wakened with the accursed bond that now chained him. The women were just a distraction, a means to an end, to temporarily satisfy the craving that continually gnawed at his insides, a craving the prince stubbornly refused to acknowledge, let alone accept. It was merely another weakness—this time one he would never give in to. Yet now Vejiita realized that this so-called distraction was in itself a weakness. A weakness of character. A weakness of honor. And with its thoughtless implementation, he had hurt his son. Badly.

…if only they could see you now: Vejiita, the proud Prince of the Saiyajin!

Shut up! he cursed to himself. Kuso, could he not purge the fool even from his own inner musings? Still frozen in place, Vejiita stared up at the boy, and more of that jumbled string of remarks came surging back.

Forget Trunks and Bura being there for you, you should be there for them! You're their father! They really do need you. They need to know you're there, that they still have you. Then they won't feel so alone.

The words resonated profoundly within him, for they had rung glaringly true. He looked at his son—really looked at him—and finally saw what he had been so staunchly avoiding these past few weeks. His pain. The prince had been far too wrapped up in his own to notice anything else, or anyone else. Bura had already returned to school, to her numerous friends, but Trunks was here, virtually alone, too busy running his grandfather's company to mourn properly—too busy trailing his lunatic father around the city, attending party after party after… Shimatta! As if the boy had nothing better to do than watch his father make a complete ass of himself. He looked so tired… and so utterly heartbroken. Vejiita's hands went slack, and the boy slid down to his feet.

"Papa…" he whispered through his tears, and then the pale-haired boy fell into his arms, enfolding his own tightly about his shoulders.

Vejiita hesitated only a moment before enveloping his son in a fierce embrace.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Trunks soulfully whimpered.

"Hn. Stupid boy," he muttered hoarsely in return. "She was my mate. Do you know what that means to a Saiyajin? She was my life. The bond we shared was stronger than any mere human one. Saiyajin bond for life." He drew back to squarely meet his son's red-rimmed eyes, clasping his tormented face between his palms. "Remember that, boy, before you make such a binding decision yourself. It is possible death you face, should your mate perish before you."

The boy blinked, surprise kindling in his eyes. "But you're alive, Papa."

"Hn. Am I?" he questioned bitterly. "Strange, I can't imagine hell being any worse than this."

Trunks appeared to slowly assimilate his words. "Is… is that why… why…"

Vejiita grunted again, and then released the boy's face. "In part, I suppose," he replied. "Though there are other reasons," he added, his lip curling almost imperceptibly in disgust. "Let's just say there are a few things I'm trying to forget."

"Mama?" the boy mumbled.

"No," he returned immediately. "Never. That isn't even possible. Look, Trunks, this has absolutely nothing to do with your mother. I was not thinking of her… obviously. I was not thinking much at all, and I… I am sorry that my actions have been… less than honorable where she is concerned. I… I have not been myself," he finished softly.

After surveying his features for another considering minute, Trunks finally nodded. "Okay, Papa," he murmured quietly. "Does that mean we're staying home tonight?"

Vejiita drew in a breath. "It does," he replied, slowly releasing it. He would just have to find some other way to… endure.

Damn you, Kakarotto.

* * * * *

After several days of ineffectual meditation and near wall climbing, Vejiita finally gave up and decided simply to train more. It was what he knew, what he had used so often in the past to drown out the horrors that had constituted his life. Now his life had shifted yet again, and was once more, in a highly bizarre way, horrifying. Hard, rigorous training would focus his mind elsewhere, would engage his body with preoccupying labors, and would leave him too weary to think about anything else. The Saiyan prince now left the gravity room only for meals and to drop thoroughly exhausted into bed each night. His plan was to veritably sweat the brainless fool out of his system, or die trying. There would be no more arbitrary human parties in the near future. At least, none with the intention of seeking blind, mindless sex.

There were still the lavish corporate affairs that Trunks was bound and obligated to stage as company president. They were something Bulma had always enjoyed planning, her favorite part of running the company, actually, and Trunks felt it was his duty to maintain that tradition, especially now with Capsule Corporation's current problems. Vejiita had always hated the confounded things, but he also felt the discomforting weight of his mate's former desires—and though the boy had said nothing, the prince knew his son was in great need of support. Besides, it was only for one evening, and, to tell the truth, he had gotten rather used to suffering through them. So about a week after their painful little confrontation, Vejiita found himself wearing one of the numerous dress suits his mate had bought him for just such occasions, standing stately and proud beside Trunks, in the rented hall at the annual Capsule Corp. banquet, as the boy smoothly took over his mother's role as host.

As the Saiyajin prince wordlessly observed his son welcoming the guests as they entered, a memory flashed through his mind of the long throne room of the royal court on Vejiitasei, an orderly row of Saiyan warriors lining the walls on either side of the walkway. His own father, the king, had stood beside him, much like he was now standing beside Trunks, as rank upon rank of the finest elite had bowed before them in homage. It was odd. The circumstances were completely different, and yet the only real difference Vejiita could see at the moment was that these humans did not bow to show their respect, they merely shook hands and inclined their heads. He nodded slightly to himself. It was only fitting. Trunks was also a prince of the Saiyajin. Vejiita began to speculate on what kind of king Trunks would have made had their world not been razed, when a change in the boy's vocal inflection broke through his quiet reverie.

"Goten!" he nearly squealed in greeting, instantly reverting from dignified corporate leader to impish, gleeful brat at the sight of his best friend. Vejiita merely rolled his eyes and gave a small snort of contempt.

And then he saw him.

Abruptly, his skin flushed hot, then ice cold, and then feverishly hot again. His breathing lurched and stumbled in sync with his sudden, irregular heartbeat. Only the prince's inflexibly strict self-control rescued him from any mortifying outward physical reaction. His eyes, however, did grow very wide indeed.

"Goten, I'm glad you could make it!" Trunks cried, thankfully oblivious beside him.

"Are you kidding?" the youngest Son boy said with a grin. "And miss out on all this great food? We look forward to these things all year round! Don't we, Dad?" he said, sending a mirthful query over his shoulder.

Son Goku, however, did not reply. In fact, he hadn't even heard the question. He was too busy staring with equally widened eyes at the Saiyajin prince before him. As they both stared for a seemingly endless eternity. For once, Goku was the first recover his wits.

"I didn't think you'd be here!" he blurted out suddenly, clumsily.

The sound of his voice instantly broke the spell. "No, Kakarotto," Vejiita negated with a quick sneer. "You just didn't think, period. So what else is new?"

"But you've never liked these parties!" he exclaimed, anxiously, still attempting to justify his presence. "I really didn't think you'd come!"

"Hn. Liar," the prince declared flatly, his eyes narrowing to mere pinpoints. "I have been here every year prior. The thought did occur to you."

A rosy pink blush seeped tellingly into the taller Saiyan's cheeks. "Vejiita… I just—"

"Che. As if I care," he interrupted tersely, jeeringly, then immediately turned on his heel and stalked away.

Goku's countenance paled considerably. "I just thought we could talk," he finished softly, his tone gone numb.

Shimatta… that had gone very badly. He had been hoping that Vejiita's anger might have cooled somewhat over the past couple of weeks, that maybe the prince had acted rashly in his harsh, tormenting decision, that maybe he might have changed his mind about never seeing him again. Now it appeared that Goku was sadly, miserably, mistaken. He should not have come.

To be honest, he had hoped that Vejiita would be here tonight, though he had not been lying when he'd said he believed otherwise. Not really. Trunks had, after all, sent him an invitation to the banquet, just as Bulma had always done all the years before. If the prince hadn't wanted to see him, he would have told Trunks not to send the invitation or he would not have attended himself. At least, that had been Goku's rationale at the time. However, by the flicker of stunned surprise in the smaller Saiyan's eyes, Goku realized that he had not known anything at all about the invitation.

"You all right, Dad?" Goten questioned gently beside him, his fingers touching his arm in unspoken comfort.

"Ah," he returned after a momentary pause. "You didn't tell him I was invited," he remarked to Trunks, his tone almost reproachful.

"Um… no," the lavender-haired man responded, lifting a brow in puzzlement. "You come to this thing every year, Goku-san. I thought it was already understood. Plus, I didn't think there would be a problem."

"They've had a bit of a falling out," Goten murmured to him softly.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Goku merely shook his head, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. It was not something he wished to discuss.

"You go ahead, Goten," he told his son. "I'm going to go home. I'll see you both later."

"Dad!" he protested almost instantly. "You can't leave just because of Vejiita! Who cares what he thinks!"

I do…

"I don't wish to upset him any more."

"But, Dad…" The look he sent his younger son must have affected him, for he immediately changed tactics. "At least stay for dinner. You've been looking forward to this banquet all year."

"Goten is right, Goku-san," Trunks chimed in. "You should stay and eat something before you go. I invited you, not my father. Besides, I wouldn't take anything my father says right now to heart. He still hasn't been acting anywhere near his normal self. Mom's death has really hit him hard," he finished quietly.

Goku found himself inadvertently nodding. "I know," he replied, his voice hardly above that of a whisper. "That's why I should go." Trunks and Goten quickly exchanged glances.

"A few minutes really isn't going to make that much of a difference," the lavender-haired man said. "Goten, the food is already prepared, why don't you find you and your dad a seat and I'll have it sent out right away, special."

"Trunks, that isn't—"

"I insist, Goku-san," he broke in firmly. "It's no trouble and I promise it won't take long at all."

"Well…" His stomach chose that pivotal moment to cast its own rumbling vote. In spite of himself, Goku felt a grin stretch across his visage. Trunks smiled in return and Goten laughed aloud.

"Come on, Dad," his son chuckled, taking hold of his arm to steer him toward the dining area. "I'm really starving, too."

* * * * *

Vejiita moved half-blindly through the endless sea of people, heading nowhere in particular, only away from where he'd been, away from the extremely unsettling presence of Son Goku. His whole body was starting to shake uncontrollably from the impact of the unexpected encounter with the tall Saiyajin. Every effort he had taken to stifle the overwhelming sensations the man aroused in him had just gone flying out the nearest exit, as the prince now wished he, himself, could do. Pride, however, would not allow such an unbridled display of cravenness. He would not allow Kakarotto to know how much his sudden appearance had affected him.

The man had been dressed in one of the few suits he owned, the one he wore every year he came to the company banquet. Vejiita no baka. How could you have overlooked the fact that he would be here? It was a dark brown suit that fit his large, muscular form perfectly, with a white dress shirt tucked neatly within against the man's broad chest. No tie. Goku hadn't worn the matching tie since Chichi had died. The collar was left casually unbuttoned, exposing the soft, pale flesh of his throat, a testament to the man's easygoing nature. Vejiita unconsciously licked his lips.

Kuso! He had to get out of here. He could barely think! Yet it could not appear that he'd been chased off by the man. But he had to… Kami, he had to—

"Hey, Vejiita!"

He instantly whirled at the sound of his name, looking rather wide-eyed in his startlement. It quickly burgeoned into all-out astonishment as a warm, lithe body practically leapt into his arms.

"Thought I'd probably see you here!" a red-haired woman boisterously exclaimed as she leaned back to meet his gaze, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. The prince recognized her immediately, her perfumed scent and the feel of her soft, curvaceous body pressing snugly against his own. Her name was… Rose. "Since you live over at Capsule Corp. and all," she clarified with a wink. "Naughty boy, you never called me."

"Uh…" It took him a second to recover, and then change gears. "I thought I was very specific with my intentions," he stated coolly.

"Oh, you were," she purred with a toothy grin that was both wicked and suggestive. "Just my own wishful thinking, I guess." One red fingernail rose to trace around his lips. "Not for anything more than a repeat performance, though, if you have a hankering for it. It was just so damned good."

"I don't believe I have the time," he said matter-of-factly, reaching to extricate himself from her embrace.

"Awww, really?" she pouted seductively, tickling the back of his neck with her other hand. "Even too busy right now?"

The prince blinked, his hands freezing on the slender arms they were currently grasping.

"Follow me," she instructed with an enticing grin, already assuming the fact that he would comply. She drew back from him, her arms gliding smoothly through his hands until her own gripped them firmly. Then she gave a little tug and they were both moving.

Oh, Kami… this was not what he wanted. She was not what he wanted. And he had promised himself and Trunks that this would not happen again. His feet, however, seemed to have a far different agenda, along with a few other heated parts of his anatomy, as Rose led him unquestioningly up the long staircase. The blood was surging through his brain, tingling through his body, and he could not think beyond satisfying the burning hunger that had ignited within him the instant Kakarotto had materialized before his ravenous eyes.

"This might do," the woman commented, before pulling him toward an unmarked door to the left of the stairs. She grabbed the handle and tried to turn it. "Nope, it's locked. Why don't we try—"

And then the door was unlocked. Actually, the knob was broken off in his palm.

"That'll work, too," she said with a giggle, then she drew him inside.

The room, if you could call it that, was little more than a storage closet for cleaning supplies and whatnot. The two of them had barely any room to stand within the small rectangular space, yet neither one voiced any complaint. On the contrary, when the door was pulled firmly shut behind them, Vejiita merely pushed her body roughly up against the only empty wall, and began hiking up her skirt.

Rose curled her fingers into his thick hair and yanked him to her mouth, her tongue plundering him with sheer wanton abandon. Vejiita ardently welcomed the invasion, feasting savagely upon her mouth and throat, licking and sucking, attempting to ingest the taste and scent of something that, frustratingly, was not there. That chafing fact only made the Saiyajin more frenzied in his need.

They didn't bother removing a single article of clothing; the woman simply unzipped his pants and skillfully pulled him free, her hands caressing but a moment before dragging his hips forward. And then he was inside her, thrusting, driving, burying himself within her eager softness, submerging his mind within the primitive, gratifying sensations. He would sweat that stupid, beautiful bastard right out of his system.

Vejiita muffled his groan into the woman's mouth as he abruptly climaxed, and her body jerked against his with rejoining spasms of pleasure. And then it was over. It had been swift, crude, and only halfway satisfying. But at least he could think straight again. The prince panted lightly against her cheek.

"Damn," she exclaimed in breathless wonder, pushing him back and away from her body to directly contemplate his face. "You are something else, aren't you?"

"Yes," he replied, a bemused smirk altering his features for just moment. "I am Saiyajin."

"Oh? And what is that?"

Vejiita merely shook his head. What did it matter? It was of no consequence at all to this woman, as she was of no consequence to him. He wondered why he had even mentioned it.

Rose tugged down her skirt and began straightening her clothing with her hands, prompting Vejiita to tuck in his shirt and refasten his pants. Then the woman drew a small container from somewhere within the loose folds of her blouse and with a twist opened the lid. The tiny plastic bottle rattled as she dumped a couple of pills into her palm; she then popped them into her mouth and swallowed them dry.

"Want some?" she offered politely. "I got them from this friend of mine. They're pretty wild." Vejiita shook his head again. "Sure? You really look like you could use something. You have this kind of tortured aura looming all around you, you know. These will take the edge off, if you get what I mean." She poured out another couple of pills, and held them out to him.

The prince considered them a minute, and then plucked the little plastic bottle from her other hand.

"Hey, those are expensive, you know!" she cried in annoyance.

"Then I'll pay you for them," he returned curtly, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

"Well… all right. I suppose I can always get more later," she sighed. The red-haired woman waited until he had handed her the money before reaching for the door. "Hey, you can still call me if you ever change your mind." Vejiita didn't respond, and then she was gone.

He stared at the little container in his hand. These will take the edge off… Vejiita shook two of the tiny white pills into his palm, then he placed them on the back of his tongue and swallowed. One could only hope. He shoved the bottle into his pocket along with his wallet, and then steadily charged back out into the real world.

Walking decisively to the wood-carved railing that overlooked the vast dining hall below, the prince peered anxiously down into the crowd, his eyes searching; then he dropped just a fraction of the shield that divided him from the soul that was Kakarotto, and sent his awareness seeking, as well. If he hadn't had such a tight defense around his mind, he might have sensed the fool approaching earlier. His questing gaze came to a rest on the unruly spikes of his sable hair a moment later.

The man was seated next to his son at one of the round dining tables located about halfway across the room, and the two were rapidly devouring large quantities of food that were piled up high before them. They were the only people at the party already eating dinner, so the two men were drawing more than their usual amount of attention. However, the Sons appeared to be far too preoccupied to notice.

He was still there. The prince had hoped Goku would leave after having dismissed the other Saiyan so harshly, yet he should have known better. The fool would never leave without consuming half of the evening's fare first. A grunt of amusement suddenly burst through his lips as he watched the man eat like there was no tomorrow.

"Low-class baka," he murmured softly to himself. Then he closed his eyes against him, extinguishing the image from his vision, and breathed in and out very deeply. You will not defeat me, Kakarotto, not in this, not ever. It was time to go home.

His eyelids opened, yet he chose not to see anything but the long staircase spiraling down to his right. The prince set his feet in motion. As he slowly and resolutely descended, his eye caught hold of a flash of red at the bottom of the stairs, and he looked to see Rose strolling purposefully into the dining hall, her bewitching grin alive and well and plastered to her face with wicked glee. Obviously, the woman had already set her sights on someone new. Vejiita grunted again as he reached the bottom, then turned in the opposite direction toward the nearest exit. Perhaps he could get a little training in before bed; he was still far from tired. As his hand touched the door blocking the way before him, however, the prince suddenly halted.

No, that would be too strange, too bizarre, to actually occur…

Once more, the picture of Rose flashed through his mind, her expression that of a feral predator on the hunt. The prince well knew what type of man would attract that barracuda's interest. The woman must have a scouter built in to her twinkling green eyes the way she gravitated toward power. But perhaps she wouldn't see… the man wasn't exactly radiating Super Saiyajin at the moment. If the audacious redhead zeroed in on him, Goku would hardly respond with the fierce Saiyan will he reserved only for battle. No, the fool would respond like the artless, witless innocent that he was…

Every ounce of color drained from Vejiita's face.

Before he could think twice, he was already moving away from the door, back into the heart of the huge dining hall, his every step brisk and urgent. Without stopping, he pushed his way through the crowd with singular determination, heading toward the table he knew lay nestled within the gathering group of people. Then he broke through the last barrier—

A low, rabid growl abruptly rumbled deep and menacing within his throat, vibrating with a turbulence that was savage and bestial in its rendering.

The red-haired bitch had targeted the large Saiyajin, all right. Rose was actually sitting in his lap! Her arms were coiled about Goku's neck like a cold-blooded viper, her venomous grin shining brightly with every ounce of seductive power she possessed. Her long, painted fingernails fondled the tiny hairs on the back of his neck, gently teasing, baiting, as her full, red lips murmured softly to him. What she was saying could not be heard, but Goku's round eyes were much larger than usual, and growing broader by the second. Goten, who was still seated beside his father, was watching the whole obscene display, trying his very best not to laugh out loud, though he was snickering quietly to himself.

Vejiita's eyes narrowed to mere slits and the low growl began to rise in volume.

And then he caught himself. Just seconds from ripping her pretty red head from her scrawny little shoulders. The growl was immediately squelched.

The prince felt as if his mind was ruthlessly splitting in two. The picture before his horrified eyes was screaming to every primal instinct within that he strike the bitch down who had dared to touch his mate. At the same time, his mind was raving in furious counter that Kakarotto was not his mate, and never would be. Oh, Kami, he should have left when he had the chance! But… there was no question about it, he had to stop this. How? Kuso! A thin burst of ki through her heart would do it… No! Chikusho! Kakarotto… just push her off! Push. Her. Off.

The large Saiyajin, however, simply stared in wide-eyed wonder as Rose pressed her red ruby lips to his own.

Vejiita nearly choked aloud as his breathing became ragged and the air suffocating.

Then a deep, stentorian growl abruptly echoed through the dining hall.

The prince blinked in startlement, for that ferocious growl had not been his own. His mouth fell part way open in surprise as Goku suddenly shoved the woman from his lap to the floor, almost as if he had heard Vejiita's thoughts before. Rose landed on her backside with a solid thump. Goku rose ominously from the chair, and another growl churned forth from his throat, his lips stretched tautly in a feral snarl of rage, his eyes glowering dangerously at the woman at his feet. And that was all the time Vejiita needed to figure out what was happening.

With black, seething eyes, Goku reached down to grab hold of her again… only to be painfully halted by the commanding hand of his prince clamping down over his wrist.

"Kakarotto no baka!" Vejiita hissed angrily. And just like that he had the man's complete attention. The maddened furor drained from Goku's eyes as he focused intently on smaller Saiyan's stern features.

"Vejiita," he said, blinking in surprise.

Then Goten was there, kneeling beside Rose, asking if she was all right. Goku glanced down at her, and then the larger Saiyan's eyes grew enormous.

"Oh, Kami, no…" He dropped to his knees before the fallen woman, his expression plunging into dismay. Vejiita released his wrist as if it burned. "Oh, Kami, I am so sorry! Are you okay?"

"What do you think, jerk?" Rose screeched indignantly. "You know, you could have just said 'no thanks'!"

"I—I—I'm sorry!" he repeated stupidly. "I just—you just—I don't know! I didn't mean to!"

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," she grumbled, and then let Goten help her to her feet. "At least some people around here know how to treat a lady. Thanks, Vejiita," she tossed at him, and then stalked off in a huff, brushing off her rear end as she departed.

"Dad, what happened?" Goten asked, turning back to confront him.

"I'm not sure," Goku replied, his brow furrowing in confusion as he rose to his feet. "I was just eating, you know, and then that girl sat on me."

"I saw that part, Dad," the boy said. "Why did you push her like that? I've never seen you so mad."

"I don't know… the whole thing was kind of weird. She just started kissing me, and then…"

"Then?" Goten prompted.

"Then I noticed that she smelled sort of like…"

"Like what, Dad?"

But Goku didn't reply, instead he shifted his eyes to the Saiyan prince standing silently beside him.

"Don't think to blame this on me, Kakarotto," Vejiita stated coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have no say in what I do, and no right to whine after the fact. Do not make such a mistake again." The prince held his gaze a moment to make sure he understood, then quickly severed the connection when the luminous black orbs threatened to lure him in and ensnare him forever. "Hn, but what can one expect from a third-class baka," he tacked on spitefully, before turning once more to leave. Just get the hell out of here!

"Vejiita…" All the longing in the world was agonizingly enwrapped within that single, pleading word.

The prince of the Saiyajin did not stop. He strode unerringly to the door, barely pausing to open it, and then stepped out into the dark night. His lungs immediately inhaled the cool, crisp freshness of the night air, deeply, forcefully, attempting to regain control of his senses, of his emotions. Kakarotto…

He came to a halt before a giant decorative water fountain that stood just outside the building. Without a thought, he dipped his hands into the cold, clear liquid and splashed it across his face, then rubbed it into his skin, into the hollows of his eyelids, and around his neck. Then he buried his damp, trembling fingers into his scalp and squeezed them into tight fists.

Oh, Kami, how he wanted him! To sink his hands into the rich, luxurious locks of his raven hair. To wholly devour his musky, mind-hazing scent and let its sweet, aromatic power override all senses. To slide his mouth and palms over that smooth alabaster skin and finally appease the teeth-gnashing cravings of touch and taste and smell. To crush that strong, sinewy body beneath him and lose himself deep within the hard, rippling contours of heat, flesh and muscle.

A small, strangled moan gurgled painfully within his throat.

The prince tried desperately to vanquish the torrid, blood-burning images from his mind, yet all efforts proved useless and unavailing. His hand quaked violently as it dove into his pocket, frantically digging for even the tiniest shred of relief from the need that was moiling through his body. His fingers clasped the small container of pills and hastily withdrew it. The bottle nearly shattered as he fumbled to open the cap in near frenzy. But then it was off, and the round white pills were spilling into his palm in a rattling gush of despair. He regarded them only a moment before popping the entire handful into his mouth. The first two had done absolutely nothing as of yet, and in his frenetic state, he figured his Saiyan metabolism probably assimilated them differently anyway. His hands cupped and again drew water, this time to his lips to usher the pills more easily down his throat. The plastic bottle tumbled empty to the cement with a clattering bounce.

Oh, Kami… Without grace or aplomb, he plunked down on the edge of the fountain, and then submerged his face in his quivering palms. He cannot win… he cannot… I will not give up… I will not give in…

I will not!

 

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