Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yamcha & Vegeta ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

By: SSLetta

Pairings: Yamcha X Vegeta

Notes: This is my first yaoi (I always just read it before), so there shouldn't be anything too graphic. `Denotes thought.' *Author making a crude comment.

Rating: R, for the friendly men situation, if you catch my drift. A certain friend of mine wouldn't *couchLordesscough*

This is a very weird story, and possibly offensive to those who like Vegeta or Yamcha. Then, there are the people who hate Yamcha who think this is right on, in one particular case. I have nothing against Yamcha myself, disliking very few DBZ characters, Garlic Jr. included. I just hate his voice! (American dub. Kami, I'm deprived!) Captain Ginyu annoys me, too. Mr. Satan/Hercule annoys me, but he's not that bad. Okay, so he is, but, yeah. On the plus side, here's a lovely little story for you to read. Delightful.

Yamcha and Vegeta

Yamcha entered the kitchen of Capsule Corp. to see Bulma sitting at the table, reading a newspaper while occasionally sipping away at her cup of coffee. She looked up at him as he came in the room, took note of his rumpled appearance and mussed hair.

"Morning Yamcha! Did you sleep in your gravity machine?"

"Yeah, I slept in it," he grumbled.

"I didn't realize you liked it that much," she laughed, "Hey, you want something to eat? I can fix you something, or my mom can."

"Can your mother please make me some waffles?"

"Is there something wrong with my cooking?"

"Yes," he said, staring evenly into her face, and didn't flinch until she smacked him with her rolled up newspaper. She then got up, and went to the kitchen where her mother was busy fixing her own breakfast to inform her of the new order. Yamcha scowled after she left, not wanting to think about his situation with Vegeta, but it surfaced anyway. `Exactly what does he mean I'll come back as soon as it kicks in? I'm not his toy or whatever he thinks I am!'

"Something wrong, Yamcha?" He hadn't even noticed when Bulma came back in.

"Yeah. Very wrong."

"What?" His head snapped up, as he looked at her concerned etched features. `I can't tell her! There's no way!'

"I don't want to talk about it right now. It's kind of personal."

"Well, when you do, I'm right here," she said, smiling as she sat down and reached over to put a hand on his. He made a weak attempt to smile back, and leaned back in his chair, yawning.

"Rough night?"

"You could say that."

"What, the floor was too hard?" she teased.

"Among other things." : ) Think about it.

"Did Yamcha get an ow-ee? Does he need a band-aid to make it all better?"

"I'm leaving," he said, standing up, and giving her hurt look, which she knew better than to believe.

"Fine, but you won't get your waffles." That remark was enough to get him to sit back down quickly. They went on with their teasing of each other, Yamcha forgetting about his problems when the food was brought out, and he dug in wholeheartedly. His stack of buttermilk waffles were as good as ever with a protective moat of maple syrup plus reinforcements about four inches from his plate. It was when the saiyan prince walked in the room that he nearly choked.

"Hey mom! Vegeta's here!" Bulma called out, the signal for her mother to cook lots.

"I'm already on it, dear!"

"I'm going to go to my lab for about half an hour, I want to test something out. Hey Yamcha, what happened to your neck?" Bulma said, pushing in her chair. Ignoring Vegeta's smirk, he tried to think of a plausible excuse. He couldn't, so he gave her a weird look, and raised his hands to his neck, and after fingering the puncture wounds for a second, putting on a confused face, he shrugged.

"Huh. Well, see ya later," she said, leaving the room. Yamcha wanted to tell her to stay, but couldn't get the words out. He suddenly found that his waffles had lost their taste and that they were getting harder to swallow. Vegeta had sat down across from him, and was currently watching him eat. It was unsettling, to say the least. Finally, he slammed his fork down on his plate and glared across at the amused prince.

"Is there something you want, Vegeta?" he said, stretching the syllables of the man's name.

"I believe I already told you what I want."

"Forget it."

"You were much more willing last night."

"You mean drugged?" he spat, accusingly.

"I didn't drug you."

"When you came near me, I sure felt that way."

"It's called lust."

"It's called rape," Yamcha said, pushing himself away from the table, and standing up, "And if you come near me again, I'll kill you."

"Oh will you?" he laughed, "I'd like to see that!" It took all of Yamcha's will to not slam his fist into the smirking face of the saiyan across from him, besides, if he wrecked the dining room, he wouldn't get anymore waffles. He knew that Vegeta was right; he wouldn't be able to defeat him, let alone, leave a mark on him, while the other could easily force him to do what he wanted. `It doesn't help how infuriating Vegeta is. Or how he has the advantage of strength, because he trains like a freakin' lunatic. He's got that damn smirk that drives me crazy! Or how luscious his mouth looks.' As soon as he realized what had just run through his mind, he scowled. `I hate him.' Feeling, for the moment, he had set himself straight, he sent an obscene gesture Vegeta's way and left the room to return to his gravity machine.

Once he was safely inside, Yamcha sat down and leaned against the wall. `Is this what he meant when he said `once it kicks in'? If it is, it better get out of my system soon, and not in the way I think it would'. Yamcha sighed heavily, thinking about what Vegeta had gotten him into. `It's his fault! Him and his damn `saiyan hormones'! Now, he thinks I'm his mate. Like hell I am! Screw Vegeta! …Among other things' It was the thought before the action, so to prevent any actions, he banished the thought from his mind immediately, deciding to pump up the radio and train. Maybe that way he could get his mind of his problems for the moment. He was tired of feeling so violated and dirty, figuring that feeling tired and sweaty would be better, even after his suddenly disloyal mind twisted it into something else.

He switched the machine on to ten g's deciding to shoot for twenty after a week, and intending to train every day. He felt the increased pressure, and countering it with powering up, starting out with a brief warm-up of pushups. After that, he threw punches and kicks before taking to the air to do it. Bulma had mentioned some training droids or something like that, and without too much looking after thinking of them, he found three droids and turned them on. They ground to life, floating above the floor of the room and stayed there for a second before one of them shot at him.

He hopped out of the way just in time as the beam zipped past his shoulder. The other two soon started in, and so began his training of dodge and attack. He did get hit a couple of times when he was too slow or getting away from the others, and he discovered it hurt. Nothing serious, but it was a lot like touching an electric fence or getting a jolt from a outlet, stinging for a few moments before wearing off into a tingling sensation. It was enough to make someone want to avoid it.

It was a good workout, and he definitely felt like he pushed himself when he was done. He was tired, but when he went over to the console to see what time it was, he saw that it was one seventeen. It didn't take him long to decide a quick break was in order as he shut down the machine and walked out. He soon found out that his stomach would've called him out anyway, as it loudly protested on the way back to the kitchen. When he made it inside, he found a note on the table. It said that the Briefs family had gone out for the rest of the day and if he was hungry, he could throw some pizzas into the oven. It also said not to let Vegeta cook, because apparently, the prince had tried cooking before when Bulma was being stubborn and blew out half the kitchen. Yamcha figured that the saiyan probably did it so there wouldn't be any more instances of refusal. Smart.

He searched through the freezer, finding what he was looking for, he set the stove to bake, and put the pies on some pans without bothering to let the oven preheat. In his opinion, they tasted the same anyway. Somehow, it didn't surprise him when he brought the food out to the dining room; the saiyan prince was seated at the table. Yamcha visibly scowled, as he set three cooked pizzas onto the table, and a pile of napkins. He went back into the kitchen, muttering to himself as he gathered some grated Parmesan cheese and red pepper. What good was pizza without the proper toppings?

He came back out, set the additives roughly on the table, slid a plate at Vegeta, hoping it hit him in the face or something, and sat down. He grabbed a few slices in silence, while Vegeta did the same, neither touching them, instead they stared at each other the entire time, one out of disgust, the other out of amusement. Then, Vegeta got up so fast, that he was just a blur to Yamcha, and before he knew it, the prince was kissing his mouth, using Yamcha's surprised gasp as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Yamcha pushed back against him as hard as he could, resulting in him tipping his chair over, and landing unceremoniously onto the floor. Vegeta remained where he was, obviously disappointed, but not yet deterred.

Yamcha scrambled onto his feet to glare defiantly at Vegeta, standing about three feet away. Vegeta reached out an arm to grab the other man to pull him closer, allowing Yamcha to grab a whiff of the prince, and again, feel himself get a bit dizzy. Now that he knew what it was, he did all he could to fight it, having a hard time as the prince drew him in his arms for a passionate kiss. He was aware of strong hands feeling their way over his body, and of his proximity to Vegeta, when his stomach growled. The prince pulled away, and looked at Yamcha before grabbing a slice from a plate, and placing one end in Yamcha's mouth, as he bit down into the other end.

Vegeta grabbed a chair, sitting in it as he pulled Yamcha onto his lap. He nipped at Yamcha's neck while the slightly dizzy warrior wolfed down slice after slice. The saiyan had moved to his chest, and was in the process of removing his shirt when a buzzer from the kitchen rang and he smelled smoke. He was immediately wrenched from his daze as he leapt up and ran to the kitchen. There wasn't smoke billowing out, but that didn't change the fact that the pizza was burned. It also didn't change the fact that for a moment, he enjoyed being in the arms of the prince, and receiving the man's attention. Yamcha shuddered at the thought.

He looked at the charred pies before him. He had sliced them anyway. `Maybe Vegeta will eat them… and choke!' He carried them out to the dining room, dropped them in front of the dismayed saiyan and left. He had his fill- of pizza and Vegeta.