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His lands have long turned to stardust, his race long shattered or scattered too far to retrieve. Planet Vegeta and its people are gone, and try as he might, the flow of time forces him ever forward.
It surprises Vegeta with how little it hurts right now, at this moment.
Perhaps it’s because he’s found new lands to conquer, new kingdoms to build, upon soft sheets and warm skin beneath his hands.
Vegeta’s fingers are the soldiers that march along Kakarot’s skin, demolishing this proud, strong being capable of leveling creatures that are practically gods to mortals. His teeth claim this land, his flags the red-purple bruises he sucks and bites onto his lover’s skin.
Yet still Kakarot won’t surrender, not even when Vegeta takes him into his mouth, sucking him off while slipping slick fingers inside of him. His princely upbringing gave him some measure of skill in negotiations; his experiences as a soldier have taught him the best ways to make enemies spill their secrets, to make whole armies lay down their arms.
And it’s not until Kakarot’s begging, filling the room with light, breathy whimpers and please, Vegeta, please, that he knows he’s won. Only then does he withdraw his fingers and slide inside Kakarot, taking back his kingdom, claiming Kakarot’s voice with his own mouth.
When he finds his climax, it’s with the same heady, dizzying thrill he felt once upon a time, when all he had to do is look at the full moon to send his enemies running.
And when Kakarot reaches for him at the end - voice hoarse, arms shaking - it is Vegeta who holds him close and runs calloused fingers through spiky, sweaty hair. Kakarot is, after all, the last purebred of their kind that they know about.
Kakarot is his kingdom, citizens, and consort, after all. And Vegeta is nothing if not a merciful steward.