Title: Guard
Author: Kiarene
Pairing: Vejiita/Radditz
Rating: R
Warnings: Unbeta-ed.
Disclaimer: DBZ is not mine… But this story is, even if it’s not intended for profit.

 

~*~

 

You could only watch helplessly as your prince rages. He has a terrible, tragic anger for one so young, bearing the injustice of treatment against his subjects on his thin shoulders. He is your prince, the Saiyajin prince, and he should be pampered and indulged and adored -- not forced to work for a tyrant.

 

Though outwardly arrogant, he castigates himself as weak and desires nothing more than to ascend, to claim his birthright, to avenge his people. You see otherwise; barely past the flush of teenhood and already he is the strongest Saiyajin in generations.  You are his guard but instead, he is the protector.

 

He rages for you and you weep for him.

 

He is beautiful in his fury, unbridled passion and vitriolic wrath, and you are shamed to find yourself attracted when he is hurting. But you find him beautiful, no matter what he does.

 

The door to your spartan quarters closes and he turns to you, a hopeless, frustrated cast in his eyes and a snarl on his lips. You watch, mesmerized, as he tears off his battle-stained shirt and fling it --seemingly-- carelessly over the mirror in the tiny hallway, and you understand.

 

Your armor lands in a corner, catching painfully on your long hair in your haste but you don't notice the sting, and he is upon you even before you can get your boots off.

 

It is dangerous. You know you are probably being recorded, like rats in a lab. You should not be doing this, not here, not now, but you cannot refuse him anything. You cannot resist him.

 

Even as he continues to flay you verbally, lashing at your lack of worth as a Saiyajin warrior, for someone may be listening, his hands and eyes and lips divulges a different truth. They plead of his lonely need for touch, for reassurance, and he has it. He has your loyalty, your unconditional love, your very life.

 

He slams his fist into the carpeted floor even as he pulls slow, wet kisses from you, muffled thuds that mingle with your violent motions as the two of you tumble and writhe in a dervish of limbs and slashing tails, and if your moans were not of pain but pleasure, who would know? The camera you know to be embedded in the mirror is covered. He is reckless, not stupid.  

 

"I can't stand you."

 

His eyes are dark fire, snapping and bright.

 

"Fools... all..."

 

You hold him close as he shudders, the physical release coaxing tension and wrath from him, even if it's temporary. His hand closes around you, tight and painful and just how you want it. You groan brokenly in your own climax.

 

"I am sorry... my liege."

 

It is all you can do.

 

~*~

 

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