Chapter seven

Jeice was frustrated. It had been one interminably long week of unrelieved sexual tension--one week since he had received even the small amount of satisfaction that his bedroom antics with Rhal had brought. As he lay prone on his bed, admiring his form in the mirrored ceiling, he recalled with vexation that screwing his gray-skinned, one-night stand bloody had merely taken the edge off this gnawing need chewing his insides, leaving him restive and unfulfilled.

He had tried to imagine it was the Saiyan princeling under him, arching lushly to his eager touch. With every thrust into his lover’s body he exchanged the discordant moans and sighs that issued to the dulcet tones he fancied resonating provocatively from the chords of a pleasured and pleasuring Vegeta. But no matter what he tried—be it a fast, brutal pounding or a slower, gentler pace—he remained unsatisfied, still so desperately wanting. Rhal was no Vegeta…just a poor substitute.

Jeice had at first found the hue of his skin attractive, but as the night wore on the pallor of his pigmentation dulled that sentiment as he compared it unfavorably to the rich olive tone of the prince. The color was dim, lifeless. Not that the look of death in his lovers was unappealing….but they shouldn’t appear dead till he killed them. And his eyes, though black like the Saiyan’s, were tame and vapid. Vegeta’s eyes were wild, expressive.

And the body heat of the prince. He had only felt it fleetingly in passing, furtive pats on the boy’s firm, spandex-clad derriere warming him even through the material that covered it. If the heat that radiated off the prince was that fevered, he could only believe that being enveloped by the fire inside him would be scorching. If it had been Vegeta’s flawless ass his penis rammed, he would have roasted happily. If it had been Vegeta’s ripe, inviting mouth that swallowed his rock-hard cock, he would have boiled gladly in the sizzling juices.

But it was Rhal’s larger cheeks his balls had slapped against and the substitute’s more tepid mouth that sucked his member. It had been pleasant warmth he admitted, but he wanted to burn. Desperate, he had ridden his lover hard, tearing some soft tissue, baptizing the sheets in blood. And he had bent his lover roughly, snapping a few bones. Unfortunately, Rhal had connections, family who would miss him and try to avenge his demise. Frieza wanted no enemies that were not of his own making.

So he was forced to apologize, make a generous pay-off, and heal the man’s injuries with time in the tank.

To add to his disappointment he was unable to leave the base ship, his own small cruiser requiring time-consuming modifications. Unable to leave, he was unable to hunt for another diversion. A week of stewing in idle misery.

The buzz from the video-com gave rise to the hope that maybe he might finally find some distraction. Leaning over to the nightstand, arm brushing over his treasured trove of stills capturing past encounters, he turned on the viewer to find the teasing smile of Burter, red, iris-less eyes gleaming with information. “Guess who will be returning to the ship in…um…about 15 minutes,” he said in sing-song.

“Vegeta!” shouted Jeice feeling the giddy rush of excitement for the anticipated encounter. “It’s only fair that the handsome princeling receive a proper reception upon his arrival, don’t you think?”

Landing aboard the mother ship as he had done innumerably in the past, Vegeta felt the familiar depression at the return to his cage. To add to that he now felt nervous, dreading facing Zarbon again after their parting interplay. So when the older pair of Saiyans began to leave the dock, he remained behind with the excuse that the life-support systems in his pod needed some repair and that he would find a technician to rectify the problem.

Sitting in his pod, arms folded, eyes closed, auburn tail lashing to the side in agitation, the prince attempted some breathing exercises to calm the raging sea of emotions threatening to crack the carefully-erected façade of superiority and indifference that he had perfected after years in the wretched service of the changeling. Half an hour later he was sufficiently pleased with the results to vacate his pod and head somewhat confidently to his rooms. He was the Prince of Saiyans, after all. He would face whatever trials dare challenge him--straight on.

He was out of the docking bay and heading inward to the lifts when he realized he had lost something. His signet ring. One of the few vestiges of the life he should have led. While he had been gathering himself in the pod, he had discarded his gloves and twisted his ring in nervous habit. He must have unknowingly removed it in his anxiety, leaving it behind in the pod. Whirling around immediately, he went back in the direction of the craft only to find—a third of the way there—Jeice---blocking his path.

Smiling at the dark young prince covetously, he asked, “Looking for this, my sweet prince?” as he held up the platinum ring embellished with the letter V.

“I see common thievery can now be added to your somewhat questionable list of accomplishments,” snarled Vegeta angrily as he attempted to snatch the ring from Jeice’s grasp.

“Really, Vegeta,” replied Jeice in wounded pout, keeping the ring out of reach, “I would never think to take anything from you. I’ll give you back your ring in return for a favor, a small boon that only you can grant…and which I would greatly appreciate to receive.” He eyed the lithe body before him suggestively as he finished.

Ignoring the blatant innuendo in the words and look, teeth gritting in bitter rage, the young Saiyan demanded, “What do you want?….Money?…You make more than you’re worth but I’ll pay to get the ring back.”

“No my lovely…just a kiss,” the Ginyu member whispered.

Tasting bile, Vegeta cursed, “Fuck you!”

Dark eyes narrowing in dreamy lust, Jeice breathed, “Oh. You. Do. Often and quite enthusiastically in my nightly fantasies.” Staring directly into the startled eyes of the reddening prince, he said regretfully, “I would love to take you up on that offer, but I’ll have to settle for the gift of a kiss at the present.”

Glaring daggers, back rigid and arms folded, Vegeta growled, “I’ll pass. The price seems a bit…excessive.”

“Scared you might get carried away?…..Or perhaps you fear displeasing your pretty boyfriend, Zarbon. I’m surprised you could be broken so easily,” the older fighter mocked.

Outraged at the reference to the being and situation haunting his thoughts and desiring to retrieve his ring, a tie to his father, Vegeta reluctantly relented. “Hn…Fine. One kiss…and I want the ring first.”

Thrilled at his victory, Jeice agreed. Handing over the ring to the prince, but clasping firmly onto his hand as he did so, he awaited his long sought-after taste of the enticing Saiyan youth.

Bracing himself against the revulsion that was sure to follow this gross intimacy, Vegeta leaned towards Jeice, hoping to escape with a relatively chaste joining. But the red-skinned mercenary wasn’t content to settle for that and forcefully snaked his tongue between the prince’s soft lips and sharp, white teeth, licking every portion of the Saiyan’s mouth that he encountered with wet and growing excitement.

It was just at the point where the prince had leaned in and kissed Jeice that Zarbon came upon the scene, astonishment and anger at what he was seeing causing his blood pressure to skyrocket and his vision to blur to a hazy shade of scarlet.

He knew the Saiyans were back, even encountering Raditz and Nappa as they rode the lift to the level of their new quarters. The stony countenance of the younger and the disgusted mien of the older discouraged any ideas he might have had about asking about Vegeta. It was hard to fathom but he had missed the snotty, sullen--but undeniably sexy--princelet. He wanted to see him, pacing restlessly around their shared apartment as he waited for the young man to make an appearance.

When the prince had not shown up after an hour, Zarbon became rather concerned. Surely, he hadn’t been injured. The report from communications listed the cleanup mission as a complete success. ~Where are you? Is there a problem?~ The Megalian found he just could not wait any longer and left in search of the missing boy.

When he rounded a corner, nearing the docking bay, he was stopped short by a sight so unexpected and so gut-wrenching that he couldn’t find his voice for a minute or so. Vegeta was kissing Jeice. If he wasn’t seeing it for himself, he never would have believed it.

“What in the hell is going on?” he demanded in a voice he could barely keep steady.

Jumping back from Jeice and staring at the blue-skinned emissary in a mixture of shock and terrible shame, Vegeta didn’t know quite how to answer.

Jeice, however, merely traced his fingertips wonderingly over his own lips and said to the Megalian with a vindictive glint in his eyes and unmistakable challenge in his tone, “I was just welcoming our sweet princeling home. If you object, maybe you should keep him on a tighter leash.”

Infuriated by the total contempt the shorter man was showing for his authorized claim on the prince, Zarbon slowly, in a way that left no doubt, voice dripping venom with every syllable uttered, warned, “The boy is mine! Lord Frieza gave him to me. Are you disputing that decision?”


“Lord Frieza does not like to have his settlements questioned.”

Huffing angrily but offering no rebuttal, Jeice pushed past Zarbon to retreat to the sympathetic ears of his fellow Ginyu Force members, Burter especially. They’d be at the gym--which was good--as he needed a workout.

Left alone with Vegeta, Zarbon faced a very irate Saiyan prince. He was in a barely-restrained fury, sable eyes flashing in naked hatred—directed in full intensity at the Megalian.

“I belong to no one!” he exploded, unable to hold back the volcanic acids burning holes in his stomach at the description of himself as some prize fought over by a rabid pack of jackals. Speaking more calmly he continued, “I am not a pet, not a whore….I am a prince. How dare you try to treat me in that manner!

“Is that why you kissed Jeice?…Because you’re not a whore,” shot back Zarbon, even as he said it cringing at the strident jealousy in his voice. ~It’s as if we were already lovers.~

Taken aback by the question, Vegeta hesistated before replying coldly, “What does it matter which freak I kiss, I abhor both of you!”

Zarbon felt as if he’d taken a punch to the throat, swallowing painfully at the poison-tipped verbal barbs the Saiyan prince aimed his way. ~How can the words of one boy—a boy that up until a week ago I had no personal contact with---hurt me this way.~

Not knowing exactly why he did so, figuring no victory was worth leaving the impression that he had willingly chosen to touch his lips to those of that white-maned abomination, he added, “He had something I valued—a ring—and to get it back he wanted a kiss.” Vegeta shrugged and then continued, “It was unpleasant but worth the cost….the ring was a gift from my father.”

Still hurt but strangely relieved as well, Zarbon said, “I’m sorry for all of this. Let’s continue this conversation in private. There’s no need to put on a show for any passerbys.”

Glancing over at Zarbon, seeing those tawny eyes glowing with a myriad of emotions, losing track of his surroundings for one brief moment, Vegeta nodded his head once in curt agreement and walked together with the Megalian to the lifts and then the privacy of their shared abode.

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