“Remind me why this is necessary.”
“The uniform?” Vegeta’s valet smoothed the pleats on the dark blue skirt. “With the contract out on your head, your father thought a disguise – ”
Vegeta growled. “Not that. Remind me why I am not allowed to kick you in the dry, withered balls.” The fact that he was standing in front of a mirror in only a pair of pink lace panties ruined the effect of his glare. Those were also a part of his father’s orders. He grudgingly conceded that they were … supportive; however, he’d drawn the line at the padded bra. At least one shred of his dignity would survive this escapade.
“I am to pose as your guardian for the length of the school term.” Nappa shook out the uniform jacket and laid it next to the skirt. He held out the blouse; Vegeta grunted and put it on. At least it was white and blue. Then the skirt. Then the jacket, with its ludicrous sailor collar.
“Are we done?”
“The knee socks. And the loafers.” Vegeta put them on as well. “And the tail ribbon.”
It was pink. And frilly. Vegeta held it as if it was a small dead rodent. “Damn you, King Kold. And damn your assassins.” He tied it on.
Much to his annoyance, the mirror now showed a trim, athletic Saiyan girl. Even being flat-chested didn’t ruin the illusion. He tried out the new voice his father’s voice coach had managed to teach him before acquiring a broken collarbone. “At least I won’t blow the cover on the first day.” He swished his tail from side to side experimentally. He usually kept it around his waist, but that didn’t match the innocent schoolgirl image.
He caught sight of Nappa’s reflection in the mirror. The valet was standing stiffly, a bit purple in the face, his hands clasped suspiciously under his belt buckle. Vegeta’s eyebrows drew down as he turned around slowly. Nappa had the good sense to go pale.
“You may pretend to be my guardian, Nappa.” He took two steps forward. “But you are not allowed to find me attractive.” Whunch.
Huh. The loafers had steel toe caps; he’d have to remember that.
“Everyone, please welcome our new transfer student, Vegeta daughter of Nappa. The teacher, a tall and dessicated Namek, scrawled his name on the board. The class erupted into questions, ranging from his favorite band to his measurements.
“I am not here for your entertainment, chumps.” He stalked to his assigned desk and sat down. Bad enough that he had to repeat his junior year of high school, instead of starting his degree; he was not going to associate with these hormone-soaked losers more than he needed to. The irony of the situation brought a smirk to his face; if his father ever found out about his real orientation, he’d be disowned on the spot. But here he was, posing as a female on the old man’s orders. And pre-calc was just as boring as he remembered.
By lunch break the irritation had faded to a sullen undertone. Vegeta collected a tray’s worth of processed meat substance, buttered carbohydrate, and steamed carrots, with a bottle of I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-spring-water to wash it down. Quality private school, my ass. He looked up from his meal as a tray clattered down across from him. Its owner was a girl with short blue hair.
“Hi. You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Bulma. I’m a senior.”
“Anyway, you look like you could use a friend, whether you want one or not.”
“Oh joy, an extrovert.”
“But wait, there’s more! Order now, and I come with a brain.”
Vegeta chewed a carrot. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Really. I’m going to major in Cybernetics at Satan U next year. And boy am I glad to have a non-airhead around.”
They both winced at the giggle that erupted from the cheerleaders at the next table. “The frequency kills brain cells, I swear.” When did this turn into a conversation?
“No kidding. So, did you get to see The Great Saiyaman?”
“Nah, my dad won’t let me. He’s such a stuffed – ” A flash of orange caught Vegeta’s eye, and he turned to look. “…Da-amn.”
Bulma followed his gaze and smirked. “You’ve spotted Goku.” A Saiyan in an orange warmup suit had just walked into the cafeteria; he was tall enough that the top of his spiked hair brushed the door frame, and the muscles on his arms bulged out of his short-sleeved top. Said top also did not quite conceal a massive set of pecs, a lean, firm waist … and if Vegeta stood up right now, no one would ever mistake him for a woman.
“Vegeta. You’re drooling.”
“Hn.” He jammed a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth.
“You know, he’s captain of the football team.”
“Wonderful. I am turning into a soap opera character.” Vegeta clasped his hands under his chin and batted his lashes. “Prince Frieza, I think I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”
Bulma snorted milk up her nose. “Cliché aside, you could do a lot worse. If you can get him a clue, that is.”
“Hn.” A meathead, then. Vegeta’s gaze wandered over the athlete’s sleek tail and buttocks as he stood in the lunch line building a pyramid out of cheeseburgers on his tray. At least he made a nice piece of landscape.
Days passed. Vegeta easily fell back into the school routine; he exercised his creativity in throwing his math assignments. Bulma continued to draw him into conversation in spite of himself, and he was coming to enjoy her sarcasm. She discussed fashion with the same cogency as his father’s cronies talked about art. She also lent him a set of clip-on earrings. Before Vegeta noticed it, he’d been passing for female for two weeks.
Then one morning he found a note pushed under the door of his locker. “I know your secret. Please come to the school roof at lunch – K.” The handwriting was distinctive, big and loopy, but he didn’t recognize it. He didn’t know anyone at school whose name began with K. And he couldn’t exactly ask Bulma about it. He spent language class not listening to a droning lecture on the Journey to the West, and all of pre-calc staring into his workbook. How had he slipped up? Had he forgotten to disguise his voice, or had someone gotten a look up his skirt? He didn’t take PE, so they couldn’t have seen him changing.
The day held two points in his favor: the weather was good, and the cafeteria had quesadillas. He bought three and a box of chocolate milk, and downed them before going up to the roof. He was the first to arrive; he walked over to the fence around the edge, which was the only place to sit. When he turned around, someone was between him and the door. And he couldn’t mistake those broad, orange-clad shoulders; he’d only been ogling them for the last two weeks. Goku.
“You showed up. Vegeta, son of Nappa, right?”
Vegeta scowled. “How did you figure it out?”
Goku scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t have. You make a really convincing girl,” Gee thanks, “It’s just that I have the best gaydar of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Vegeta looked him up and down. “Gay. You.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m so deep in the closet I know all the dust bunnies by name. So I thought we could help each other out.”
“So you’re not trying to blackmail me.”
“What? No!” Vegeta decided to step closer to him; he was intrigued by Goku’s figure. Er, words.
“So what do you want?”
“Well. Uh. Will you go out with me?”
All of Vegeta’s tail fur stood straight out. The school hunk was asking him on a date. He could actually date someone he liked without his father having apoplexy. “Hang on – who’s K?”
“Oh, that’s me. Kakarott, son of Bardock; Goku’s just a nickname.”
“Kakarott. I like it,” Vegeta said in his normal voice, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Goku groaned.
“Keep … keep talking like that.” Goku clutched his shoulder with one hand, and a large bulge appeared in his sweatpants. He led Vegeta around to the side of the stairwell, where they were less likely to be seen.
“Turns you on, hn?” Vegeta let his tail flick over the taller Saiyan’s rear. A shudder went through both of them. “I admit, you’re more well-mannered than the usual football goons.”
“Good, there’s enough jocks on the team already.” Goku had his hand on Vegeta’s thigh. “You mind if I – ”
“If you don’t go further, I will be forced to hurt you.”
Goku’s hand slid higher. This time Vegeta groaned as the fingers squeezed his package and pulled away the lace covering it. His cock sprang free, hard and quivering. “Oh yeah,” Goku purred. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Cross – ngh! – cross-dressing fetish, hn?”
“Uh-huh.” He wrapped his hand around Vegeta’s shaft, still surrounded by the pleated skirt, and stroked with the fabric up and down. Vegeta’s tail thrashed, searching for a secure grip. It wrapped around Goku’s thigh; he used his free hand to ruffle its fur. “I’m gonna – ” he bent down and licked the tip of Vegeta’s cock.
Vegeta fell back against the wall of the stairwell. Kami! He’d fantasized about this, but he hadn’t imagined the heat, the moisture – he slid all the way into Goku’s throat Heat pooled in his balls; he roared as he came. Goku pulled off him, licking away the last drops. “Mmmm, that tastes better than I thought it would.”
“That – was your – first time?”
“Uh-huh.” Goku tucked him back into his panties and smoothed his skirt down over them. Vegeta noticed that there was still a tent in the front of his orange pants. He snaked the tip of his tail under the waistband and came up on his target from behind. Goku yelped, “What the?”
“You didn’t think I’d just leave you hanging, did you?” He cut off any chance for a reply by pulling Goku down into a real kiss. With tongue. It seemed the movie s were right about something – to his delight, the athlete practically melted on top of him. He barely lasted as long as Vegeta had, between the lips and the curious tail. Vegeta caught his fluid on his fur, pulled his tail out and sucked on it. “Hn. You’re right.”
“Uh …” Goku’s eyes bulged, his brain apparently running in neutral. “Friday? Movie?”
“It’s a deal.” Vegeta went back to his girl voice and whispered, “And afterward, I am going to plow your ass with my thick, hard cock.” He added a giggle, for effect; while Goku tried to recover his higher functions, he walked away down the stairs, flicking the tip of his tail behind him. He was going to enjoy this term.