All right.  Someone said something about a fic featuring Vegeta and Raditz.  (You know who you are.)  Dagnabit!  Don't you people know I'm trying to finish part 2 of Chains of Affection?!  Then *boom* all I can see are Vegeta and Raditz!  I must tell you Goku is quite upset. (Don't worry, dear. It was long before he ever met you.)  ^_^

Well, now that the darn thing has finally been purged, I can get back to business. 

Enjoy!

 

Syldana

 

To Uphold a Prince

 

Pausing before the door, Raditz grunted in annoyance. Kuso! Nappa could really be a total bakayaro sometimes! Just because he had the lowest power level of the Saiyajin trio, he always got stuck doing all the lousy assignments. Vegeta, at least, was their prince, so it was natural that he should obey his commands. But Nappa was not royalty, he was a warrior of the first class, same as him. Raditz grunted again. The thing was, Nappa’s power level was more than double his own, never mind that the older Saiyan was a complete ass. Still, Raditz didn’t see why he should have to be the one to hang around and mop up all the weaklings on the planet Voleet. It seemed to him that any of the low-level soldiers could do the job, so why leave it to him again? Raditz just knew it was Nappa’s lame-brained idea. The bald Saiyan just loved to play lord over him, when he was nothing of the kind. Raditz bowed to Prince Vegeta, and to Frieza, of course, but to no other. So if he was going to do this assignment, then he wanted his prince to tell him so. Without any further hesitation, he knocked.

After about twenty seconds of waiting, he knocked again, but the door remained silent and closed. Odd, his scouter clearly indicated someone was in there, though the power reading was a bit low for the Saiyajin prince. But who else would be in Vegeta’s quarters? Raditz frowned. Trust was something not a part of this ship; too many dangers lurked and too many of Frieza’s soldiers hated the Saiyajin—Vegeta most of all. Raditz weighed the options only a moment—Vegeta’s punishments could be truly scathing at times—then he opened the door.

The lights inside were on, but dimmed, low for even a Saiyan’s comfort. He could still see, of course, but because of the lack of light it was his nose that picked up the blood first. His eyes then zeroed in on it, easily, for it was spattered all across the floor from the doorway to the bathroom. An involuntary growl rose in his throat as he rushed to follow the bloody trail, the scent maddening his senses and the unusually low ki signature igniting a primitive reaction deep within him. The prince was the last shred of home that he had, the heir to the throne of Vegetasei. He was the last hope for their race, for their eventual freedom from Frieza, the last potential Super Saiyajin. He was—

A torn, bloody mess on the bathroom floor.

Raditz abruptly halted, shock blazoning across his features. The prince was propped up against the outer door of the shower, his clothing just tattered scraps of cloth soaked red with royal blood. As far as Raditz could tell, most of the blood was coming from several peculiar wounds across his back and torso. They looked almost like… scratches? Or claw marks, maybe. Deep ones. There were even a few streaked down his thighs, along with even more blood seeping from some other wound Raditz could not yet determine. It looked as if Vegeta had been attacked by some rabid animal. But what animal could have done such terrible damage to a Saiyan as powerful as Vegeta? Raditz blinked, for he knew the answer even as the question flashed through his mind.

"Vegeta-sama?" he whispered hoarsely, horrified dismay stealing his voice.

The prince’s eyes instantly snapped open, then darted in surprise to his own, and in their dark depths Raditz could see a wealth of pain, trauma, and… shame. Then they ignited with a rage so profound that, for a moment, the large Saiyan believed his end had finally come. However, instead of a ki blast, Vegeta lashed out at him with his sharp, venomous tongue.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he attacked, viciously. "Get out! Now!"

At that, Raditz felt himself rent in two, half of him twitching to obey the royal command, the other half to charge in to aid his wounded prince. Indecision paralyzed him for several anxious heartbeats as he, again, weighed his options and, again, chose on the side of a higher duty—that of a Royal Guardsman given his final decree by the late king.

"Forgive me, Vegeta-sama," he said respectfully, "but I think you need an isolation chamber."

"I don’t need anything, kisama!" he retorted furiously. "Now get the hell out of here!"

"I’m sorry," Raditz returned, his tone matter-of-fact. "I cannot do that. You’ll just have to punish me later… when you’re fit enough to do it." With that, he started toward the injured prince, fully intent on taking him to medical for treatment.

"Don’t you dare touch me, bakayaro!" Vegeta hissed in fury; then he struggled to rise, pushing his back against the shower door behind him to force his body upright. His features tightened with intense pain, yet the prince did manage to find his feet. "I’m telling you I cannot use an isolation chamber!"

"Cannot or will not?" Raditz countered, coming to halt before him. The prince glared up at him for several long moments, his rage even more frightening to behold up close. Yet there was something else staring at him from within those seething black orbs, something hiding deeply, desperately, behind that wrathful glare.

"Cannot!" Vegeta grated out finally, his reply half-strangled. And then Raditz understood.

The prince could not go to medical because Frieza would not allow it, for it was Frieza, himself, who had done this to his prince. Who else could have? And for whatever reason the tyrant had done it, he intended the prince to suffer for it as long as possible. Frieza’s punishments could be brutal; you were counted lucky if you survived them.

Raditz quickly scanned the wounded figure before him, once again. If he couldn’t take the prince to medical then he’d have to bandage him up himself.

And that was when it clicked. That was when the large Saiyajin finally realized just what it was he was looking at.

Deep gouges from a clawed hand scraped savagely over back and chest. Clothes ripped to nothing but shreds. Blood oozing slowly down slashed thighs…

An statement of pure horror overtook his visage, broadened his eyes, and drained all color out of his complexion. Prince Vegeta froze instantly at the sight of it.

Neither of them said anything. Then Vegeta’s face went deathly pale, as well, and his eyes filled with a fear and despair that Raditz could only mutely acknowledge. To speak of it aloud was out of the question, he knew that immediately. No, it could not be spoken of—not ever—none of this could. To do so would only bring shame and humiliation—that was the fear. And the despair? That it had happened at all. To acknowledge it aloud would shatter all pride, and to shatter Vegeta’s pride would be to utterly destroy him, of that Raditz had no doubt. Kuso! Then how should he react? The answer actually came surprisingly fast.

In a second he was down on his knee, his fist across his chest in proper obeisance, his head bowed low to show his deepest respect. "Ouji-sama," he began, his intonation formal and even, "since you do not require serious medical attention, may I assist in binding your wounds?" Then Raditz lowered his head even further, and there he remained, to wait.

Silence then settled awkwardly around them. Raditz, however, refused to let it bother him, refused to even move, in fear of losing his prince forever. A full minute ticked by. Sweat began to trickle down his temple, but still he waited, wordlessly. And then, so very, very softly…

"You may."

Relief flooded through his being at the sound of that small, constrained whisper. Then Raditz gave a nod of his head and rose to his feet. However, he did not look directly into Vegeta’s eyes; instead he gestured for the prince to take a seat on the commode and then began to collect the necessary articles to tend to his injuries. After lining them all up on the counter, he filled the sink with cool water and doused one of the cloths he had gathered. When he finally turned back to Vegeta, he noted that the prince had already removed the tattered remains of his shirt. Still Raditz said nothing; he just quietly knelt down before him and began to clean the bleeding claw marks with the wet cloth.

Vegeta forced himself to remain motionless under the larger Saiyan’s gentle ministrations. It was unbelievably difficult, for inwardly he was trembling like a frightened brat out on his very first purging mission—inwardly he was slowly dying.

Raditz knew.

The minute he had seen that statement of horror swallow the man’s features, Vegeta had known. Raditz KNEW. He knew what Frieza had done to him… today, anyway. He could only hope the other Saiyan didn’t surmise that it had been going on for years… since he was a brat. Shimatta! How could he have let this happen? It was humiliating enough that he was utterly powerless to stop Frieza from taking him… but no one had ever known before. No one that had ever lived to tell the tale, that is. So the prince sat there, completely immobile, and contemplated whether or not to kill Raditz.

He would have. If Raditz had said one word, he would have killed him on the spot—or perhaps himself—Vegeta was not at all certain which impulse would have surfaced first. But Raditz had said nothing, had, in fact, honored him with the title which no longer meant anything to anyone else, and was now silently attending to his injuries. Through all the years, no one had ever done that, not like this. Raditz had knelt reverently before him, not because he was the prince of a dead planet and the gesture was deeply ingrained, not even because his ki was extraordinarily high for a Saiyan. No. Raditz had knelt before him, Vegeta, because for some unknown reason he actually mattered to the other Saiyan. Raditz had knelt for the sole purpose of upholding his pride.

Through hooded eyes, Vegeta watched him as he expertly dabbed the cloth over his wounds, the touch light and efficient, causing little pain in its passing. When he reached the gashes in his thighs, he did not suggest that he remove his pants, instead the large Saiyan merely tore away what remained surrounding the injuries, and continued on with his silent ministrations. He raised his eyes to him only once, to mutely request that he turn and allow access to the wounds on his back. There was no hint of pity or condemnation in those eyes, only a calm, composed understanding. Vegeta turned without protest, and allowed his skillful hands to travel uninhibited across his shoulders. The bandages came next, and Raditz was swift, yet thorough, as he wrapped and taped all of the injuries he had just cleansed.

"Ouji-sama?"

Vegeta blinked, startled out his thoughts when the larger Saiyan spoke. He had lost track of time, had been lulled by the soothing touch of the man as his fingers had glided masterfully over his brutalized skin. He looked to see Raditz gesture with a hand toward his tail. Vegeta didn’t have to look to know that it was broken, probably in several different places. Frieza was a sadistic bastard. He gave a nod, and Raditz carefully lifted the tail into his hands.

"This is gonna hurt," he warned.

Vegeta braced himself. Then Raditz slowly began to pull on his tail, drawing it taut, straight, and, with his fingers, began forcing the tiny bones back into place. The prince grunted at the sudden, excruciating pain, but he did not cry out. And then it was over, and the large Saiyan was deftly winding bandages around the tail to hold everything in place.

His touch was again gentle, and Vegeta felt a shiver run through him at the inadvertent strokes upon his tail. The sensation was strange in that he had never felt its like. No one had ever touched his tail before, at least not without causing a great deal of pain. It felt… damn good. Even better than the light caresses of Raditz’s hands as they had labored so diligently over his body. The prince angled his head so he could better observe the other Saiyajin.

His large, burly form was still kneeling on the floor beside him, Vegeta’s tail threaded limply through his fingers as he carefully finished tying off the bandages. His head was bent slightly as he concentrated; his mane of thick, black hair was its usual riotous mess down his back with the ends brushing liberally against the floor. He wore his armor, but the body suit beneath was all but nothing; it barely even showed through. Counting his arm bracers and boots, that was about all Raditz had on. The rest of him was just skin. Skin and broad, corded muscle. What was he going to do with him? Vegeta’s instincts answered for him.

His hand snaked out, pouncing quickly, and grabbed a generous handful of ebony hair just parallel to the man’s face. Raditz glanced up in startlement at the sudden contact, and blinked for a moment in confusion.

What was Vegeta about? He was near done with all the bindings. Did the prince require something else or was it now time for his punishment? Vegeta’s countenance revealed nothing. No, wait…

His eyes…

The prince’s typically cold, angry eyes were unusually bright, were actually glinting with an emotion Raditz had never seen in them before. It stole his breath away, that intense gleam, for it was aimed directly toward himself. Oh, Vegeta-sama…

He couldn’t speak the name aloud; hell, he couldn’t speak at all. He could only gape at him without sound, for once in his life utterly dumbfounded. The large Saiyajin had certainly seen that look before, many times, actually, over the course of the years. Usually from females, of course, but there had been a few men, especially before the fall of Vegetasei. But this was Vegeta…

Vegeta no Ouji. The Prince of all Saiyajin.

Raditz was a warrior of the first class, an elite, but Vegeta was super elite, the heir to the throne! He should be with—

That stopped him cold. Who? A Saiyajin princess? There weren’t even any low-class females left! There was only himself, and Nappa—Ha!—or choosing from amongst the other races. Raditz had been slumming it for years now, so why not the prince? What other choice did he have? Frieza had given him none whatsoever.

He saw that in Vegeta’s eyes, as well. Not just the brilliant blaze of desire, but along with it a half-hidden glimmer of desperation. The prince didn’t merely desire him, he needed him. His body was covered with wounds and bandages, his ki was low, he was likely still bleeding from the force of Frieza’s savage violation, and yet here he was, his dark eyes shining bright with hunger and need, despite it all. Or perhaps because of it. Frieza had plundered more than his own perverse pleasure.

Vegeta-sama…

Raditz couldn’t deny that he had thought about it, just fantasies really, for the prince was ostensibly as far out of reach as the long dead Saiyan females. And he was just as mysterious and beautiful. Prince Vegeta was smart, sharp-witted, perfect and elegant, yet also hard, cruel and bloodthirsty. He was the strongest of their race, fierce, proud, lethal, a phenomenal warrior of the super elite—and someday he would be a Super Saiyajin. Raditz was certain. It was the day he lived for. Yet this day…

Perhaps this day would be even better.

Without a word, Vegeta sank his other hand into the heavy locks on the opposing side of the face before him, holding it immobile between his curled fists. He wanted him. He wanted him so bad he could feel his stomach tighten with the coiling ache of primreview lust. As he had been dominated, now he wanted to dominate. He wanted nothing more than to throw Raditz’s great, sinewy body to floor and ravage him senseless. But he couldn’t do it, not like that, not like Frieza. First he would have to obtain his permission, and not only that—Vegeta wanted his desire returned. He wanted what he had seen so many others enjoy, yet had never experienced himself. No one had ever ventured close enough—he hadn’t let them—so the barbarity of Frieza was all that he knew. Raditz was like him, Saiyajin, and he now knew and understood Vegeta better than any other being in the universe. The terrible secret that lay between them was now a tenuous connection, and Vegeta had not felt connected to anyone or anything since… he could not remember. It was enough. For this, it was enough. Now all he needed was…

The corner of Raditz’s mouth curved, just a hint of smile, really, but it, also, was enough.

A growl rumbled in the back of Vegeta’s throat as he pulled their mouths together, plunging his tongue deep inside the awaiting heat. Raditz welcomed him in, eagerly, his tongue greeting his own with an entwining caress that teased and flirted brazenly. Vegeta’s need exploded tenfold, and he clutched the responsive mouth to him tighter, his arm wading into the wild outbreak of hair to curl around the man’s neck and lock decisively on. With a bold, thorough tenacity he began to explore the taste and feel of the larger Saiyajin, feverishly relishing the splendid discoveries of his warm, tantalizing mouth, the smooth, warm skin of his lips, his cheeks, his brow, the hot breath that tickled his own skin so deliciously. Raditz was just so… warm. Wondrously, gloriously, WARM. Nothing at all like Frieza… nothing…

He ripped the scouter from his face and tossed it mindlessly aside, then pressed his lips momentarily to the other Saiyan’s eyelid, then veered to nip wildly at his ear, intermittently swirling his tongue around the lobe. Vegeta’s hands went in the complete opposite direction, traveling down Raditz’s broad torso to work at the armor that vexingly encased him. That was when Raditz finally released the hold he still had on the prince’s tail, and moved to help remove the armor. With a well-practiced tug it was up and over his head, the thick hair coursing through it like a river of black satin. His body suit was quick to follow. They both landed somewhere in the vicinity of the discarded scouter.

Then Vegeta was on him again, his mouth latching onto his neck, palms smoothing over his chest, touching, tasting, breathing, reveling in the heat of his body, and immediately craving more. The larger Saiyan reciprocated in kind, though his touch was a little more gentle, his kisses passionate, yet more controlled, outwardly mindful of the prince’s numerous injuries. It was a bit of a disadvantage to him, and Vegeta took great pleasure in exploiting that.

He gave a meaningful shove and pushed Raditz to the bathroom floor, wincing in pain as his wounded body tumbled after him. He ignored it recklessly; the only thing that mattered was getting that warm, muscular body beneath him. And then it was, and the pain thankfully subsided to a more tolerable level. His mouth and hands resumed their frenetic sensory exploration, as Raditz wove his fingers deep into the spikes of his hair. Vegeta paused for only a moment to tear the bloody scraps off his hips, tossing them away without a second thought. That dreadful memory would not intrude to tarnish this one. This one was all his.

With a single thrust Vegeta buried himself deep within him; Raditz grunted at the harsh abruptness of it, but the prince was beyond caring what the larger Saiyan might want. He did stop then, for a moment, though not to allow Raditz time to adjust. No, Vegeta halted merely to savor the sublime feeling that abruptly shuddered through him at the magnificent sensation of warmth now encompassing him. The prince intended to savor every single minute of it. He began to move, slowly… oh… so… slowly…

Raditz grunted again beneath him, but this time not from any pain or discomfort; on the contrary, the sound that involuntarily escaped him was one of sheer pleasure. Vegeta could only mutely agree with the sentiment as he gradually began to pick up the pace, the need for more heat, for more marvelous friction, urging him on. The other Saiyajin now started moaning in earnest as the tempo grew, the rhythm increasing and the excitement intensifying, causing the prince to emit similar sounds as his body strove for even greater levels of pleasure.

Through half-lidded eyes, Raditz gazed up into the face of his prince and saw an statement that surely mirrored his own. Never had he seen Vegeta so open, so far removed from the tight mask of anger that he usually manifested. It was a sight glorious to behold. His eyes closed, lashes lightly aflutter, cheeks flushed, lips parted, gasping for air between the most splendid moans of heightened bliss; Raditz knew it was a sight never, ever to be forgotten. And then it vanished as his vision was lost in the haze as the large Saiyajin crested violently. The cry that tore from his throat was wrought with utter ecstasy, yet was immediately overpowered by the howl of exultant rapture that erupted from the prince.

When next he became aware, Raditz found that he was still in the same position as before, and the prince was now an exhausted line of flesh draped limply across his chest. His hand instantly moved to cup his cheek, his fingers lightly groping for Vegeta’s pulse. Raditz gave a small sigh when he found it, warm and beating rapidly. Then he let his fingers trail upward to gently caress Vegeta’s temple, as he wrapped his other arm gingerly about the prince’s shoulders. Yep, this was definitely the best day he’d ever hope to have.

Raditz just held him like that for several long minutes, until the prince finally moved. Without saying a word, he propped himself up on arms and then peered down into Raditz’s visage. Once again his statement was all but unreadable, the mask put carefully back in place. Still Vegeta said nothing, and Raditz suddenly realized that he never would. This, just as before, was something never to be spoken of by either of them. The prince contemplated him silently for another moment, and then leaned forward to capture his mouth once more. This time, the kiss was slow and leisurely in its art, Vegeta’s tongue grazing softly over his lips before stealing inside to brush against his own. Then the prince deliberately seized his lower lip in his teeth and bit down on the inner side, just enough to draw a tiny droplet of blood with his sharp canines. It was instantly lapped up by Vegeta’s awaiting tongue. Raditz shivered at the action, for among the Saiyajin it was considered a sign of affection. Then the prince carefully eased himself to his feet, and, after stabilizing himself, strode as steadily as he could from the bathroom.

Pushing himself upright, Raditz heaved a sigh. Damn, he always hated it when it was over. And this was definitely over. He severely doubted that there would be any repeat performances. Oh well, there was no use grumbling about it, so he simply gathered his scattered apparel and began to dress. It didn’t take long. After affixing the scouter to his ear once again, he gave his hair a quick toss and then stepped out into the bedroom.

The prince, who had since covered himself with a large bathrobe, was standing by the window, gazing silently out at the stars. Raditz didn’t even question it; he just headed straight for the door.

"So, what is it that you wanted?" Vegeta asked crisply.

Raditz halted in his tracks, then glanced over at him in surprise. Huh? He blinked in confusion several times. Oh.

"The planet Voleet, Ouji-sama," he said. "I was told that I was to return to finish sanitizing the area. I just wanted to verify that the order came from you." If the order was from Frieza, it would have come through Vegeta.

Vegeta turned his dark gaze on him then, and regarded him for a moment. "It did not," he replied finally, his tone cold with displeasure. "Tell that new purple freak to go instead. Saiyajin are warriors, not street cleaners."

"Yes, Ouji-sama." He bowed low before him and then turned once again to leave.

"Oh, Raditz," Vegeta called to him softly.

He halted once more, his eyes instantly seeking that of the prince.

"Don’t ever enter my quarters again without permission." The underlying tone was as sharp as it was deadly.

"Yes, Ouji-sama," Raditz replied, bowing even lower. Then he swiftly fled the room.

 

The End