Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Free My Heart ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z

A/N: Surprisingly, I have agonized over this story far more than any of my others. Vegeta is turning out to be absolutely loquacious. I've fretted terribly over this, until I finally decided I have to write the story as it is unfolding in my head. If I did it any other way, I would make myself very unhappy. I have tried my hardest to be true to my Saiyan prince, so please any feedback you have would be greatly appreciated.

Kinky-typo has been so kind as to create some fanart for this story. You can find her gorgeous artwork on deviant art. http://kinky-typo.deviantart.com/art/Art-Jam-Watched-118543998

Free My Heart

Bulma sat with her back to Vegeta, her legs drawn to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her shins to keep warm, laying her cheek on her knees. She tried not to shiver, but it was hard, because the all-metal floor was cold, and she had just barely regained her body heat.

Vegeta slouched down on the bed, his arm flung over his eyes. He was tired, and giving serious thought to falling asleep. His cock still ached, its hard length laying against his lower belly, but he ignored it the best he could. Since kicking the woman off the bed he was inexplicably cold. As if something deep inside him was freezing solid with every laborious breath he took. After awhile, he could feel the woman fiddling with something beneath the cot, but the last thing he wanted to do was look at her. He heard the ting sound of metal breaking, followed by steady strokes of steal being slid over steal repeatedly.

“I'm a genius, you know.”

“Yep, hell,” he muttered, uncaring if she heard him. The woman couldn't even be quiet for five minutes.

“I can probably disable the collar around your neck.”

Vegeta shot up so fast his feet hit the floor beside her with a resounding slam. Bulma flinched back, looking up at him with wide eyes. In her hand she held a thin wire she had broken off from the framework of the cot, the tip sharpened to a point from scraping it against the floor. He glared at her, his eyes narrowing.

“Define genius.”

“Weren't you listening to my story? Second PH.D by the time I was sixteen. I have so many diplomas I could wipe my ass for a year.”

“That means nothing to me, little human. What makes you think you know anything about alien technology?”

“It's the red lights. They're saying something to me. It's a sequence. It has to be. If I could just get a look at the circuitry I know I can disable it.”

He leaned forward, wrapping his hand around her throat. His fingers brushed her hair, and he could feel her blood pulsing beneath her soft skin. She was so soft, so tiny. The slightest twitch of his hand could kill her. He pulled her off the floor until she was kneeling before him, their eyes even. It took all of his willpower not to drop his gaze to scan down her luscious body. It took even an even greater effort not to pull her up onto his lap.

“And if you fail, we both explode.”

She swallowed, and her throat bobbed beneath his palm.

“It's rigged with explosives?” she asked softly, her eyes so wide they looked like pools of crystal water. He stared deep into them, seeing a reflection of cold dark eyes and a grim mouth. He was terrifying to look at, but she wasn't afraid. He could feel it in the thrumming of her steady her pulse.

“Of course. If it wasn't do you think I would still be sitting here?”

They sat silently as she considered the problem. Finally she spoke, her pink lips delicately forming her words.

“I don't want to go to the whore quarters,” she stated determinedly.

“Well, I don't want to die,” Vegeta replied with equal determination.

Her pink lips curled down, and Vegeta couldn't help but to watch them. He wondered what she looked like when she really smiled. Not a false one meant to cajole or connive her way, like when she gave him her food. But an honestly genuine smile. He would probably never know. He had never seen anything in life worth smiling about, and from here on out, she wouldn't either.

“Why? What exactly is it you've been living for?”

Vegeta's grip tightened. She clawed at his hand, her fingernails scratching at the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He watched her struggle through distant eyes, replying her words in his head. What exactly was he living for? A chance? An opportunity to kill Frieza? Or maybe he just was waiting for the day he died.

He released her, and she fell back on her heels gasping for breath.

“Sorry,” she muttered rubbing her abused neck. She did feel bad for saying such a thoughtlessly mean thing to him, but it didn't give him the right to manhandle her. She was angry at him, but not afraid. Even as he had held her tightly in his grip, she knew, deep down, he wouldn't hurt her. It had been a reaction, honed by years of living under such hostile conditions. The instinct to prove himself as the most dominate in the room. She chaffed under such arrogant aggressiveness, but she couldn't fault him for it either. He lived in a world were only the most dangerous predators survived, and the weak rotted by the wayside.

She refused to look at him, making Vegeta frown. “There will be a warning before it detonates. Move to the far side of the room as quickly as you can. You will be outside the blast radius.”

Bulma had to lock her neck in place so she didn't gape up at him in shock. His actions in the shower showed a certain amount of consideration for her. But words were not actions. For a man like Vegeta, words were the hardest way to convey emotion of any kind. Especially, anything remotely in the arena of caring.

She covered his hand with hers, but he quickly shook her off, annoyed. Ignoring her, he stared at the floor in the distance. He didn't move as she stood up, nor did he flinch as she curled her body around behind him to get a better look at his collar. Her breasts were pressed up on either side of his spine, sliding against him with every breath she took. She kept one foot braced on the floor beside him, and her inner thigh brushed up against his leg intimately. She was so soft compared to him, so smooth.

She poured herself over him, melting across his back like candle wax. He was so warm, so hot to the touch, it was almost burning. Unable to help herself, she rubbed her face across his shoulders, nuzzling the back of his neck. He stiffened at her caress, growling low in his throat. She felt it vibrate through his back and she sighed as the sound tickled her skin. She smiled against his neck, leaning back a bare fraction so she could examine his collar.

She knew she should be guilty at how she felt when she touched him, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She couldn't love him, it was possible she didn't even like him, but that didn't mean she couldn't be attracted to him. As gorgeous as he was, as intoxicating as he heat, it wasn't just his physically presence she found alluring. It was him. There was something glowing deep inside him. Something bright and beautiful. She wanted to be closer to it. She wanted to be closer to him.

Vegeta continued to stare at the floor, listening to her soft breathing, and the gentle clicks of the wire prying at the collar's panel. He tried not to notice how his core warmed up now they were touching, the freezing deep inside melting away to liquid heat.

The way she touched him made him long for something more than just sex. It was intangible, in the arc of heat between them. There was something about her, and only her, which made him drop his guard and forget about all his anger and hate. For the first time he wanted to close his eyes and be still. Be still under the press of her skin against his.

“I never got to tell you my secret.”

“Great. Now that I'm your captive fucking audience.”

She chuckled, and every nerve ending in his spine tingled in awareness. He had never heard such an intensely addictive sound. He wanted to hear the soft noise coming from her lips more than he wanted meat for dinner.

“My deep, dark secret, is the reason I ran away from school.”

Seeing there was no escape, Vegeta sighed and refocused his gaze on the floor. If talking made her calmer then so be it. She was going to need steady hands if she was going to be poking around in an explosive chip.

“You see, I fell in love.”

Vegeta didn't respond, but his muscles stiffened. Bulma merely poured herself over him even more, leaning into him as she spoke.

“It wasn't true love of course. But it sure felt like it. At sixteen, everything feels so wonderful and new. He was an older boy. Everyone was older than me at the university. I always felt so out of place, awkward in my youth. Although I knew more than they could ever hope to know, everyone still treated me like a child, including the professors. I even had myself legally declared as an adult at fourteen. My parents helped. I thought it would make things easier, but it never did.” He heard a slight bitterness in her tone when she spoke of her parents. He wondered about it, but he certainly wasn't going to ask. “He was different though. He was kind. Paid attention to me. Told me how special I was.”

She paused, and if it wasn't for the quiver he felt in her stomach pressed against his lower back he would have never known she was remotely upset. She recited her story with vacant disinterest. Instinctively, he leaned back, pressing more of himself into her.

“Men say those things to women they want to fuck, no matter how special or plain they are. It's a great equalizer. They're not women, just the next lay.”

“That's special, Vegeta. I feel warm and gooey inside,” her voice dripped with honey, pricking the back of his neck with her false sincerity. He chuffed in discontent at her tone, not bothering to reply. “And what do you say when you want to get a woman in bed?”

“Wanna fuck?”

“That's it? No compliments or pretty lies?

“What's the point? Either they do or they don't. I don't have time to screw around.” He was always pressed for time. He did nothing at his leisure. Even fucking was nothing more than a need being fulfilled. Everything he did had a purpose, a calculated outcome. Except when he was with her. She was an unexpected quandary. A flicker of light in his otherwise shadow-filled life. Vegeta was used to adapting to the terrible, side-stepping unexpected horrors, but she wasn't any of those things. She was a surprise in every sense of the word, including the way he responded to her.

She pressed her face into the back of his neck, below his collar and he could feel her lips on his skin.

“Just the truth and nothing but the truth, huh, Vegeta?”

Her warm breath ticked his hair, and he shrugged, dislodging her. Unperturbed, she went back to work, her touch light, but efficient.

“One night he invited me to a frat party. I was so excited. I never got invited to parties. I was too young to drink, and too intimidating to talk to. I got dressed up in my nicest dress, and did my hair, because really all I ever wanted was to be accepted. Maybe have a boyfriend. By the time we got there it was a real animal fest. Panties swinging from chandeliers, that sort of thing.”

“Really? Frat party, huh,” Vegeta asked with feigned interested that got him nudged. “Careful,” he hissed, “you're gonna blow us both up.”

“Pfft, as if. I have the steadiest hands on two continents.”

“Whatever, just pay attention.”

“Anyways,” she drew out the word, rolling her eyes at him. “He was a real gentleman, bringing me drinks and all kinds of things. When he was off getting me another, I overheard one of his frat brothers talking about how he drugged my drinks so he could have sex with me. Maybe even let his brothers have a crack. He planned on getting me pregnant so he could cash in on some of my money. I'm very rich you know. Or I was,” she ended softly.

“Money is just a means to an end.” Vegeta never understood the allure of wealth. Thanks to Radditz's looting nature, he had more than enough money, and absolutely no use for it. It was better to live an austere life. If you valued nothing, then you could never lose anything.

“People kill for money on my planet. It's power and happiness.”

“It's superficial. True wealth can never be taken from you. Like pride.”

“Or love?” she asked quietly, her breath feathering over his ear.

“Fantasy,” he dismissed scathingly. Bulma frowned at the side of his face. He glanced away, shielding his profile from her.

“Pride can be broken,” she whispered softly, sliding her hand down his arm, enjoying the ripple of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

“Only if you let it.” He shook her hand away, and she felt his rejection bone-deep. She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she wasn't sure why. It was her sad story she was retelling, yet she couldn't get over the feeling she had stumbled onto a fundamental part of Vegeta. Uncertain of what to say, she refocused on the collar, continuing her story.

“Since I was a consenting adult he figured it would be no problem talking me into getting married. I ran out the back and passed out in the garden. When I woke up my panties were still on so I assumed he never found me.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“That's your dark secret. You almost got raped,” he asked, irritated. She had rambled on uselessly for the last five minutes. She didn't effectively relay information, she fucking gabbed. Endlessly.

“No.” The single word was a growl, and Vegeta hardened. He shifted his arms closer to his body to hide his sudden arousal. Her body was attractive enough, but there was something about her voice, how she laughed, or when she cried, he responded to. He wanted her to shut-up, but he didn't.

“When he came around the next day to find out what happened to me I confronted him. He didn't admit it at first, but eventually he `fessed up, and told me all about his big plans for the future.” Her words choked to a stop, and the muscles around Vegeta's spine tightened. He thought about telling her to stop. He really didn't want to know her secrets—all the things making her sad. He didn't want to have this sick compulsion inside himself to make her feel better. He couldn't be this involved with her. He had plans for his future which had nothing to do with a woman. Deep down he already knew it was too late. Even if he could walk away now and never see her again, he wouldn't be able to completely untangle himself from her.

“My dark secret is that I considered it. He was sitting in my living room, looking so dejected and handsome at the same time. For a minute, I thought about having sex with him. Letting him get me pregnant. Marrying him. I was so alone. So sad, all the time. The thought of having someone love me, even if it was pretend was tempting. At least I would have someone, and if he gave me a baby I would never be alone.”

“But you didn't.” Though it was a statement it sounded more like a question.

“No, I didn't. Promise not to tell?” she sounded vulnerable, child-like. It occurred to him suddenly, he was the first person she had told of her secret. Her shame at needing something so fundamental as companionship--the need to feel connected to something or someone. He wanted to shrug her away, but he understood too intimately.

“No one to tell,” he replied bluntly. Truthfully.

She was silent, and he knew she was considering the validity of his words. He felt her shrug in acceptance, and something in his chest loosened.

“So I ran off instead, determined to find real friends, and someone who would love me for who I was and not what I could give him.”

“And did you find those things?”

Suddenly a high pitched whine echoed in the room, setting Vegeta's teeth on edge.

“Move!” he shouted, grabbing her thigh in a bruising grip to pull her around.

“Stop! I won't!” she shouted back with all the authority of a battlefield general. She felt terror so intense it almost froze her heart. It wasn't fear for herself, but for him. Fear he would die and she would be alone. Fear of him being gone.

She reared up on the bed, wrapping her leg under Vegeta's arm, and planting her foot squarely between his thighs, nearly smashing his vulnerable genitalia with her heel. She kept herself fully connected to him, locking her thighs around his torso as she worked to disarm the chip.

The beeping came rapidly, louder with every second. Vegeta closed his eyes, certain his head was going to be blown off along with hers. He kept his grip tight on her thigh, determined to throw her away from him at the last moment if she couldn't stop the detonation. He centered his entire being on the shrieking of his collar, listening for the right moment to toss her--waiting for the heartbeat between life and death.

Just as suddenly as the beeping began, it ended. The room echoed with the overwhelming silence, and not even their breathing could be heard. For a long moment they were both unflinchingly still, until Bulma exhaled loudly. She flopped backwards onto the cot, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. She straightened her leg across Vegeta's lap, taking big gulping breaths.

“I'm going to need better tools,” she said softly, flinging the thin wire across the room.

The silence stretched between them, and Bulma just concentrated on breathing, thankful it was still within her capacity.

“When I was thirteen I almost committed suicide.”

Bulma shifted to look at Vegeta. He was sitting in the same position, his hands resting on her shin.

“It wasn't intentional at first. I had just come back from another session with Freiza and I was so angry.”

He swallowed, and Bulma watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. His profile was frozen, and she couldn't see his eyes. Only the tightening of his fingers on her leg told her he was disturbed.

“Session?”

He didn't reply, just kept staring in the distance.

“I put my fists through plate glass. I wasn't trying to hurt myself, just striking out. Thirteen is a hard age for a Saiyan. We have spikes in our power, and our hormones create imbalances in our ki. Due to my situation, I was prone to more outbursts than usual.”

Bulma stared at his profile and tried to imagine what he looked like as a little boy. Still proud and arrogant, she bet. Probably a great deal less controlled. A wild-child, maybe. A free-spirit like her, but contained by the chains of slavery, while she had been imprisoned by parental expectation.

“My control was sporadic, and I failed to shield myself. The glass left deep slashes down the insides of my arms. There was blood everywhere. I just couldn't stop staring at all of it. It just kept coming, spilling out of me until my entire body was numb. I had never felt anything like it. All my rage and frustration just poured out of me with my blood. I knew what was happening. I knew if I didn't get help I would die, but I didn't care. I had nothing to live for. No family, no world, no people. Just slavery and humiliation.”

Bulma placed her hand against his back, her fingertips brushing his ribs. He paused, swallowing again, as if he was trying to push the words back down inside them, but they just kept pouring out, like his blood had so long ago.

“Nappa found me. He was never far behind. He got me into a regeneration tank before I died. We never spoke of it, but afterwards I hated him. I hated him from saving me. I hated him for letting Frieza hurt me. I hated him for following me, though it was clear I was too weak to lead.” His voice was rough and hard to listen too. The words sounded like they were fighting their way up his throat through a battleground of razor-wire.

He shifted, prompting her to move her leg. He lay down beside her, his back to her chest. She wrapped her arm around him, placing her hand over his heart.

“That's my dark secret.”

“I'll never tell a soul, even in death,” she whispered into his hair, curling her body around his to keep them warm.