Everybody Loves Vegeta Too!!!

Chapter 1

Vegeta never believed he would become a fucking housewife.

In a lot of ways it was his fault. He moved in (voluntarily!) with Goku after the Chichi-ghost debacle a few months before. And by gods, the third-class broke him in ways that not even Bulma Briefs thought was possible during her life on Earth.

He broke Vegeta, every night, with his furtive glances across the dinner table. There was no longer a reason to be shy, to pretend their feelings weren't laid bare every night when Vegeta would take Goku in bed—but there he was, blushing and looking at Vegeta below barely-raised lashes. And instead of punching him upside the head or flinging ramen at him, which he would have happily done a few months ago, Vegeta could only snort and tenderly rub Goku's knee beneath the table. Even then there were many unspoken words between them. Goku feared Vegeta's wavering fidelity; even after all that happened between them, Vegeta had to assuage his Kakarot's fears.

Not once had Vegeta told Goku to his face he loved him. Passivity was cowardly behavior in his culture, but he just could not not not, not in a million years, say those three words from his lips. So in his frustration, he said it through actions.

Goku was a good enough cook, but always the one to be competitive, Vegeta took over all grocery shopping and cooking duties to one-up his partner.

Whenever served with an excellent meal and a string of insults (they went hand-in-hand in the Son house now), Goku could only grin dumbly and say, "Thanks, Vegeta!" It sent the Saiyan Prince into a rage, which he channeled into washing dishes.

Goku was shitty at getting laundry done before it turned into a mountain of mildew. So Vegeta took care of that too. "Whoa, thanks Vegeta!" Goku would say while pulling his white tank over his spiky hair. When Vegeta chastised Goku for throwing jeans into the dryer since "any civilized, sentient being knows that you leave denim out to dry," Goku just scratched his head in confusion and kissed Vegeta full on the lips to make his angry-face go away.

"Get up, you lazy brat," was how Vegeta greeted Goten every morning to wake him up in time for school. Of course, he never woke up on the first try, so Vegeta had to flip the mattress. Every. Goddamned. Morning.

He felt weakened. His and Goku's sparring matches were just as extraordinary as before, but Goku took up to whining about minor bruises and broken bones afterward. At first Vegeta was shocked at the display of bitch-assness, but after giving Goku the sixth back massage in a straight week, he realized he was being used. The next day, he mercilessly slapped his mate around as retribution, but he remembered Goku liked that kind of thing…and then he had to look into Goten's blank eyes hours later and avoid having to tell him dinner wasn't ready because he had just spent the last 3 hours fucking his father hard enough to send him to another dimension.

It was a cloudy afternoon when Vegeta sighed in defeat after failing to vacuum a stain from the living room rug. He ripped the plug from the wall, ripped off the 50s style apron that somehow found its way onto his person, and stomped into Goku's room.

The bedroom window was left open, and a soft torrent of rain spray splashed from the sill onto the edge of the bed. Goku lay spread-eagle on his blue bed sheets, which were religiously tucked under the mattress edge as if some bedroom Nazi made sure not an inch of linen peeped out. Obviously Vegeta's doing. He sat on the bed, admiring Goku's angular nose and jaw, and how the slow rise of his chest was chased by a low whistling noise from his nostrils. He always looked angelic when he slept.

Vegeta slid off his t-shirt and jeans, and straddled Goku's waist. Earth's savior shifted his hips and opened one eye. "Whatcha doin'?"

"You've slept long enough. I need to fuck."