Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Second Chances for Bardock's Sons ❯ Bulma, Prince's Mate ( Chapter 34 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: StarbearerTM
Although Bulma has risen in status to Royal Consort, she is still his. Those that fail to protect or serve her will meet with royal punishment, despite her objections...

Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Martial Arts / Hentai / Drama / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.23.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.1K | Visits: 495 | Status: Completed

Vegeta's Celestial Gambit
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z. Akira Toryama does. This is fanfiction, not meant to harm or take profit from this anime/manga.
This time when Bulma stirred, she felt herself flush against something warm, slightly sweaty, and deliciously hard. Shifting against it, her soft body pressed more tightly against it, while the hard muscular arm tightened its grip possessively. Fingers tangled into her blue locks and her heart pounded more violently. Imprisoned by an equally muscular leg thrown across her thighs, she shivered with strange delight and an ache behind her temples.
Glancing down she realized dark tufts of hair jus under her chin. Then the bands of possessive tight muscle rolled over, taking her with them. She landed with a thump, and was tugged to be repositioned with her head tucked under a prominent chin. Her legs brushed against ones devoid of hair, and she quickly regained awareness of time and place.
“I ache all over,” she muttered, her head spinning and her throat catching thick with quivering excitement. Within the arms of a powerful being she realized she was being clutched, a man she hardly knew yet felt was her sanctuary.
Pressing the flat of her hands to his chest, she wriggled a bit; worried that waking him too suddenly would cause reprimand. Then Bulma grumbled, realizing that if she were going to be killed it would have happened already. No, all this male wanted was to ravage her utterly and possess her. Two qualities that served her well, and would ensure her survival. Feeling the cold metal of the armband, she saw the red device and felt the fingers squeeze it.
“Vegeta,” she whispered, leaning up to squirm. “Hey… are you awake?”
The vague soft words served to rouse him, and she wondered what he would say. A man's first words upon waking spoke volumes. She had awakened in Yamcha's arms and he always would croon, “Good morning Babe.”
Gently she pressed her lips to his chin in a kiss, and then wriggled again. There was no way she could break the hold of those arms pinning her down unfortunately. Despite the fact she tingled with sated satisfaction, some needs had to be addressed. Therefore, she tried again, “Hey, your Majesty, wake up… please?”
“Lie still Bulma,” he mumbled, not looking at her. She shivered, loving the sound of her name. That was encouraging.
“Um, I have to um… go… I mean you know… and it's kind of HARD when you're hanging onto me like that. Not that I mind, but I have to pee, so if you wouldn't mind?” she said as casually as she could. Namely to suppress her fear of what might end up as either a nasty moment of rejection or facing what she dared hope. Either one seemed just as overwhelming. Yes, he had chosen her but still she couldn't get her brain around what the nature of that roll would be. He had a distinct lack of manners that irritated her, but seemed strangely familiar.
“Very well,” he murmured, releasing her.
“Thank you I won't be long, promise,” she answered, kissing him softly on the cheek to remind him she was very pleased with the outcome of last night. Exhaling Bulma slowly turned over, letting her fingers rub affectionately down his muscular bicep.
“Curious though disgusting habit, that thing you call a kiss to the cheek,” Vegeta murmured, sitting up bleary eyed. She felt the heat of his gaze as she slid from under the sheets. Not aware of her nudity or worrying she trotted to the nearest facility to relieve her need. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the Prince was watching the sway of her backside and she giggled.
“Be right back,” she said. “What?”
“Nothing,” mumbled the Prince, with a strange sudden blush to his cheeks. She had caught him staring and that odd glance askance with closed eyes and a grunt surprised and intrigued her.
As she returned, she saw him lying on one side, his eyes travelling again over her body. She glanced down, full aware now of her state of undress and casually strode back, admiring what she saw in full daylight. Damn was he well built and sexy. Every angle of that body she had explored and it was incredible to think she was in the arms of such a handsome alien.
“Hi, there prince, miss me?” Bulma said softly, sitting down on the bed, and scooting beside him, lying on the covers while they covered Vegeta's lower half.
“Bulma,” he mumbled running hands through his hair. She slid her fingers through it herself, and he didn't push her away.
“You look cute with your hair all messed up, you know?” Bulma said, hoping a bit of flattery wouldn't hurt.
“Cute, what the hell does that mean?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I'm NOT cute.”
“Picky, picky. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” she teased, feeling more comfortable and a strange fondness. It dawned on her she wouldn't mind waking up next to him if his `claim' were what she thought.
“I should have taken you well before this. You seem far less annoying this morning,” he answered, with a smirk that sent her heart pounding.
“As do you. Seems sex improves your manners, Prince,” she answered. Slipping arms around his neck she pressed her lips to his in a kiss, and felt his arm tighten around her shoulders. Awkwardly at first, he tried to mimic her moves, his teeth nipping her tongue slightly. Rolling her over he rested atop her and then deepened the embrace.
“Mmm,” he answered, through the kiss.
A knocking at the door interrupted them, and he pulled away with a curse. “Damn I'm going to kill someone,” he answered.
“Ignore it,” Bulma murmured, hoping he wasn't literally going to blast the first person through the door.
Insistently it continued, and Vegeta again pulled away. “Dammit you'd better have a good reason to interrupt me!”
“Sire, please forgive me! I have merely brought refreshments,” answered a female voice.
“Enter and then leave us be!” Vegeta barked. Bulma winced at the harshness of his tone as he caressed her softly. Again leaning in to kiss him, she then heard a soft fall of feet following the noise of the opening outer door. A minute later two females with their leashes dragging behind them tiptoed in, heads bowed.
It was Persia and Naiya, both of them not making eye contact as they bustled about, setting down foot and piles of clothes. Vegeta ignored them, focusing more on nibbling a path down Bulma's bare arm and diverting to her breasts. A bit self-conscious Bulma shifted her legs, turning on her side so her backside was to them instead.
“Sire, your breakfast and fresh clothes. Forgive me for speaking but Lord Zarbon wishes the pleasure of your audience this morning,” said Naiya.
“Does he now?” Vegeta mumbled, releasing Bulma and turning towards the slave who knelt on the floor by his side of the bed. He reached for the tray of food that was set on the foot of the vast bed, while Bulma quickly grabbed one of the robes that were neatly folded and presented by Persia kneeling on her side.
“Thank you,” Bulma answered.
“Fresh fruit milady, do eat,” Persia said, averting her gaze from Bulma, who was surprised. Next thing she knew a third slave was entering while Vegeta turned away, focusing more of his attention on Naiya. Bulma took the fruit offered, and hungrily started to devour it. A goblet of something hot and spicy was shoved into her hands and she sipped it. Then Persia drifted over to her, and reached out hands to securely fasten her robe.
“Wait,” Bulma protested.
“Bulma, let them do their duty,” Vegeta muttered, nudging her. “Let them attend to you. I have matters of state to deal with before I see you again.”
“You mean they…”
“Go with them, your prince commands,” Vegeta said firmly. “I have work to do. I shall see you later, Bulma.”
“Oh… okay,” Bulma trailed off as the Prince's regal façade rose, and she saw Naiya drape a robe around him. Yet she did not touch him in any way yet to tie the belt more securely as he stood up from the bed.
“I will have the slave fetch you when I am ready to see you again. Till then bathe her and attire her appropriately,” Vegeta ordered, in a harsher tone that made the slaves flinch. Bulma quietly followed them, not questioning his instructions. Something told her it would be foolish to do so and risk undermining his authority before his servants. While she was escorted into a huge bubbling bath of sudsy water, she heard the sounds of the Prince getting dressed and the voice of Nappa.
“What's going on?” Bulma asked.
“The prince has his duties Milady. He has instructions that you are to remain here till he returns for you,” said Persia.
“But I'm supposed to work with Bardock…”
“No. The prince left instructions you are not to leave this chamber, lady Bulma,” Persia said, pouring water to douse Bulma's blue locks. Then she massaged shampoo through them.
“But what am I supposed to DO all day?”
“We have brought your projects and books to the chamber for you to amuse yourself. And you will have a bodyguard while the Prince is away should anyone threaten you,” said Persia.
“What do you mean?” Bulma asked.
“Since the last attempt on your life, the Prince ordered someone to be left alone with you. And there is one that may do the duty,” said Persia.
“A bodyguard huh?” she asked. “Can I choose who?”
“You can milady,” Persia said.
“Those two who rescued me,” Bulma asked, as the cat girl scrubbed her. She reached for the brush, scrubbing her own back despite the efforts of the slave to help.
“The one named Yamcha and the one named Trunks?” said Persia, moving around to rinse Bulma's hair once more with a pitcher of water.
“Yes. Can one of them do it?”
“The one named Yamcha is not to come near you till he has healed. Yet the one-named Trunks is well enough. Shall I send for him?” asked Persia.
“And the Prince doesn't care who?” asked Bulma.
“He will of course be informed,” said Persia brightly.
Bulma stammered, her mind spinning with strange possibilities. “He protected me so what does it matter? Besides, someone has to!”
“The prince will allow him to guard you. He will be well rewarded. He is a strong human like Yamcha. However, something about him seems almost... Saiyan. But that's impossible,” Persia laughed.
“Well I suppose,” Bulma laughed awkwardly.
“If he was Saiyan he would have dark features. Only hybrid females have lighter hair. Male Saiyan hybrids always have dark black or brown hair,” said Persia.
“Yeah, imagine that,” said Bulma, wondering what all this meant. Would she ever see earth again, and what did the self-appointed protector who had called her Mother mean? If she was bound to Vegeta, and this purple haired youth was her son, then who was the father? Was it Yamcha, or someone else she had not yet met? Or could it be Gohan?”
“That's silly. Me with Goku's son,” she laughed.
“I will leave you. Please be happy for the Prince's sake,” Persia inclined her head as she rose.
“Oh okay,” Bulma nodded, glad that she didn't insist that Yamcha become her guard. “But what will happen to Yamcha?”
“That is for the Prince to decide.”
“You mustn't let him come to harm!” Bulma said firmly. She stood up, water flowing down her naked body like water.
“He is not to be allowed around you without permission of the Prince. Not till they decide he is not a threat,” said Persia. “But he will not be harmed for now.”
“If he is I'll be angry!” Bulma growled. Persia backed away in fear.
“I give my word he will not be harmed for your sake. However, he attacked one of the Prince's officers. He cannot be trusted,” said Persia meekly, kneeling and genuflecting so Bulma could only see the top of her head.
“But where is he?”
“In a cell,” said Persia.
“Can you at least let him out of there, and put him somewhere NICER? And get Tomic to guard him! I need to see him!”
“Not without the Prince's order,” said Persia. “I'm sorry milady! If you disobey I will be punished!”
“Fine. Just get him out of there, and make sure nobody hurts him. Can you do that much?” Bulma asked, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her before the other slave could dry her off.
“Yes milady,” Persia nodded, with relief.
“Where are Bardock and Raditz?” she asked.
“Still being treated in their regeneration tanks with the others gravely hurt,” said Persia.
Tears filled Bulma's eyes and she felt like crying. Seeing her, Persia wandered over, “Milady do you need…”
“Just leave me alone will you!” Bulma snapped. Persia retreated quickly, vanishing into the room around her. Drawing her legs up to her chin Bulma hugged her knees.
“She said not to disturb her,” insisted Persia's voice.
“Good and stop bowing so much! I feel nervous!” Bulma chattered.
“But we must serve you milady! If we do not we will be punished!” Persia reminded her, fear quaking her voice.
“Fine, you can dress me,” Bulma sighed, shaking her head. She allowed the slaves to help her out of the bath and escort her to the bedchamber. Already Naiya was pulling the sheets aside and setting fresh ones when Bulma entered with the others.
“Step here milady,” said Persia, motioning for Bulma to follow her towards a changing area. Bulma allowed them to dress her like a doll. Stiffly she held her arms out as she had seen the Prince do, realizing that she was still a prisoner even though she had risen in status. He was going to keep her like a plaything regardless. Still, as she wiped tears from her eyes, could she make the most of it, Bulma wondered.
***
 
Much later Bulma's hair was coiffed into an elaborate style. A sheer but silky gown covered her body, covered with a modified white armor breastplate. Around her shoulders was pinned a light blue cape that reached to the middle of her thighs. Blue and pearlescent jewels adorned a choker around her throat, while her hands were sheathed in shoulder length white gloves. Tall white boots that reached her knees matched, with gold toes. A silver circlet fastened over the highly piled hair.
Sadly, she stared out through the window. Behind her on a long table sat a meal, largely untouched. She had not been able to eat since she realized what had happened. If a slave failed to serve her, they could be harmed or even killed. If her needs were not met, she would be responsible for the lives of those beneath her. The prince had ordered she was to be fed, clothed and entertained so she would not leave. Now she awaited a bodyguard that she had at least been allowed to choose. When trying to even approach the exit, a slave such as Persia or Naiya would firmly but politely remind her that the prince had ordered her to remain.
“I need to see if she's okay!” said another voice. She blinked up to see a hint of lavender hair through the veil curtains draped around the central area. They were reminiscent of animal skins with their strange patterns but see through. Many such Saiyan ships and chambers were decorated with them. The entire quarters was done in shades of blue and trimmed with red.
“Milady,” Persia returned tentatively. “There is someone who insists to see you… the one you say is your guard…”
Bulma leapt up and pushed past her, wandering into the entryway where other servants blocked the path of the new arrival. Her eyes took in the sight of him; with the sleeveless vest of elite overtop a blue bodysuit. White gloves decked his hands, while the boots coordinated with them as well. She had only seen a few Saiyans and top-level soldiers in Zarbon's command wearing such trappings. Gathered at the nape of his neck his hair hung in a ponytail, while the sword belt buckled across the armored chest. She could tell that he was quite well muscled, now out of those baggy clothes.
“That you Trunks?” Bulma asked, rushing over to him.
“I'm glad you're all right!” he said with a smile, and she grasped his hands tightly and tugged him towards her.
“You look so different,” she mumbled, glancing at the youth appreciatively. Still she felt faint, and leaned heavily. Fortunately, Trunks wrapped his arm around to catch her and steady her against him.
“Careful now…”
“Milady?” Persia asked.
“I'll be okay! Just take a break sheesh!” Bulma waved them off. Together they entered the main apartments and he set her down on the divan she had once huddled on. Next to her he sat, rubbing her back soothingly.
“Are you okay? You look pale… m… ma'am,” Trunks got out. She caught the hesitation, her heart skipping. She had seen the strange device in the corner of the Namekian ship, and it had intrigued her because it resembled something that she had scribbled on a sheet of paper only months before the World tournament.
“Trunks is it true what you said on the ship?” Bulma asked him, squeezing his gloved hand.
“What was that?” Trunks asked, peering at her earnestly with those blue eyes that seemed hauntingly familiar. Though the set of his brow was different, his hair and coloring looked much like her father's at a young age.
“You said I was your mother, is that true?” Bulma asked hesitantly.
For a moment Trunks was silent. He stared past her, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. As if at war with himself, he sighed and she waited for him to answer. Then he turned to her again, and inclined his head slightly, his lavender hair bobbing with his affirming nod. “Yes, Mother… I am your son… from the future,” he admitted.
“But you said it risked everything telling me,” Bulma insisted.
“It wasn't supposed to be this way. I had the wrong time… the machine wasn't set right, but I have to let it charge… I couldn't go back,” Trunks apologized.
“Slow down, you said time machine!”
“The one in the Namekian ship. I only found the thing after I saw Kami… before I met up with Yamcha,” said Trunks.
“You saw Kami?”
“I was going to ask him for the Dragon balls, and where Goku was. After I found out that I had come back too early… it takes months to recharge the time machine after a trip. But when I sensed those Saiyans I realized I was in the wrong time,” Trunks explained shyly peering out from under the fringe of dark hair.
“Why did you come back?”
“To save Goku actually,” Trunks confessed. “In the future Goku dies of a heart virus. I brought medicine for him to take… but it's useless now because he won't get it for at least another eight years.”
“A heart virus? Goku dying? No way!” Bulma stammered.
“I left the medicine with Kami,” Trunks sighed. “And I was around long enough to sense that Chichi was pregnant… and then I saw Yamcha…”
“You saw Chichi?”
“I wanted to see Goku, but it would be pointless to even show myself now. I blew it seriously and I have to wait until my machine is charged before I can return to the future. However, when I found out you were kidnapped I had to save you. If you die…”
“You don't exist,” Bulma nodded. “This is unreal… I mean… you're my son?”
“Yes, Mom,” Trunks nodded.
“I guess you can't tell me who the dad is, so I won't tell him to take a hike?” Bulma asked.
“It really wasn't supposed to be like this,” Trunks sighed wearily. “But since you're pregnant… and it's Vegeta's…”
“What are you getting at?” Bulma asked.
“I suppose you should know. Because my father is Vegeta,” Trunks slowly admitted. Bulma's heart stopped for a full second. Shivers crept over her body, paralyzing her. Only Trunks hands clenching hers seemed real. Relief and fear mingled together, pounding her heart once more. Heavily she leaned on Trunks shoulder, tears dripping from her eyes.
“At least… you don't end up looking like him,” Bulma stammered out, realizing the import of his admission.
“I'm sorry you had to find out like this Mom,” Trunks apologized. “That's why I have to protect you and Father. Even more than before. It's all wrong…”
“But he'll never believe you!” Bulma despaired, moving away from him.
“Sooner or later he'll figure out I'm Saiyan,” said Trunks. “It might be best to tell him the truth.”
“I don't know Trunks! The last time I saw him we fought! I just…”
“Don't worry,” he reassured her. “I won't leave you. You won't be alone in this. I'll stay and protect you as long as I can. I swear.”
“You said Gohan. What's… what's Goku's son like?” she asked, changing the subject.
Trunks reached under the vest and pulled something flat out. Reverently he stared at it before he passed it to Bulma to see. She took the battered picture from his hands, turning it over in its plastic sleeve with wonder. Narrowing her eyes, she saw a much older version of herself, near a dark haired man that could almost be Goku's brother. Yet his face was scarred like Yamcha's, and his hair was short save spikes flaring out from the forehead.
“That's Gohan all grown up in my time. He was a hero like Goku,” said Trunks proudly.
“He's handsome… just like his father. But you said was?”
“He… died… saving my life,” Trunks choked, his voice breaking. He brushed aside any tears that threatened to form as he turned away from Bulma.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, handing the photo back to him.
“He was family… and more,” Trunks confessed. Bulma swallowed hard, and Trunks clutched her hand sympathetically.