Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Set Up The Stage ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: DBZ is the brain-child of Akira Toriyama. I am borrowing Vegeta mainly because he is too hot.

 

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

By Caprice

 

Chapter 2: Set up the Stage

 

 

The soft purple chenille of the couch hugged Bulma's figure as she lay strewn over it, a slim dainty figure relaxing in the midst of a snug Monday morning. There was nothing inherently odd about the sight. She hadn't been working at the lab or going to her downtown office for several days now and she surely didn't miss the grueling hours spent either hammering away on her keyboard or exchanging mindless pleasantries with the company's pack of wolfish stakeholders. In truth, and this is something she'd never openly admit to either one of her parents, she sometimes wished she weren't an only child. If only the task of running Capsule Corp. didn't have to fall squarely in the immeasurably younger shoulders of Dr. Trunks Briefs' one heiress…

 

No point in worrying about that sort of thing today though. She had made sure to leave all her business matters in order before taking time off to round up a certain little monkey. Err, she should be careful not to call him that, not even in secret. It would equal a death sentence were it to escape her rather unreliable tongue.

 

She crossed her ankles and glanced out the wide crystal panes of the balcony rimming the spacious living room, letting the slow swaying of the palm trees sooth her jagged thoughts. Yesterday had given her the final boost to put her plan into action. The look in his face, the silent acknowledgement of what she believed to be inevitable dancing awkwardly across his handsome features. Thus she had risen today to the dawn of a new age, the era where Bulma pushes the Saiyan no Ouji to the limits, both in temper and in well, other things too. Yes, a new world where Bulma and Vegeta actually…

 

She blushed, in spite of her renowned strength of character, a muscle twitching around her lips minutely. Her expression and posture still betrayed nothing of the longing and anxiety slowly swelling inside. It had been ages since she'd last felt anything as remotely thrilling as this, and it tickled in and around her innermost parts. The feeling pushed further down to scrunch her between her thighs in a deadly grip. She could only hope to emerge unscathed after today, to survive the crashing thunderstorm sure to come.

 

Well she'd just have to. It was too late to turn back anyway. She depleted the refrigerator first thing in the morning, grabbing whatever cans, bags, bottles, and edible bits and pieces she could find. She then, with much effort, tossed the bulk raided into huge boxes and tottered downstairs to feed it all to a rather eager dinosaur pet. Buni Buni had surely enjoyed the heaping mound of treats, but the fridge now cried its vacancy. It remained nothing but a barren cold cavity holding little more than a single bag of celery and a can of half used dog food.

 

She allowed a full-fledged grin to grace her features. Then came step two of her elaborate ploy. She had snuck into Pappa's office and stolen the white platinum key to override the settings in the Gravity Room. When had it gone from being Capsule 3 to turning into the Prince's lair? She could barely recall. It had forcibly been turned into his world, that cocoon of self-flagellation and torture that served as his private fortress against the world. But not today. She had snaked in and rendered it out of order; ready to claim that it was in desperate need of … repairs. How ironic, she thought, that it was the owner who needed that the most and not his trusty machine. Anyhow, no manner of cursing, bitching or moaning was making that console crank a reading above 1G.

 

Her pearly grin grew wider.

 

Next on the list was making sure her poor parents weren't the ones to pay the bill. It just wasn't fair to drag them down to hell with her, put them in harms way. She really didn't want them facing the unnerving wrath of a pissed off, unstable Saiyan. Hence, she told them they should take a break today; go out for a nice time in the poppy carpeted meadows of the northern hills outside the capital. Kami bless their gentle hearts. They seldom contradicted her, eager to please her rather than butt heads with the half-mad girl she could become when denied any sort of particular whim. She supposed in the end being an only child did have its great props. She left their questions unanswered, muttering something about having a special project to work on. Thank god her mother hadn't quipped with an insightful little remark related to Vegeta. Still, she knew mamma was far quicker than anyone gave her credit for and in time she'd have to face her and her gust of questions.

 

Food, GR and parents out of the way, she had thrown her suddenly heavy body on the welcoming cushions of the lounge in the second floor. As she laid down, somewhere in the deep confines of the saner parts of her brain, a little voice crept up, berating her for luring the devil out of the shadows, for taunting him so daringly. Was this her twisted way of “seducing” a man? Of getting into his pants? Of unearthing some manner of a soul?

 

Yes. The plan could only be as warped and perverse as the recipient, the perpetrator as cold and calculating as the victim. And with that thought well saddled in her mind, she reached for her nail file and begun grooming their pink lacquered surface absently. Getting Vegeta in bed was almost akin to a challenging game of chess, no strategy, no gain.

 

The living room hung in a state of cryptic quietude, the kind that precedes an electrical storm of epic proportions. The only noise in the room, her voice humming a tune, some sort of melody about love and adventure her mother taught her when she was a child.¹

 

And then… a rush of wind as swift and sudden as the twinge in her stomach. She couldn't actually see him, didn't get a chance, but she could feel his energy sizzling through her body. It was the dark imprint of his quick incursion as he moved through the balcony doors and into the kitchen with preternatural ease. It was his usual routine, done with military precision every single morning. A Saiyan couldn't train on an empty stomach, a fact that forced him to pay a visit to the big white tiled room in the house and often leave it looking like a complete disaster zone.

 

And she braced herself… for the monstrous whirlwind of black fury sure to follow. In fact she eagerly awaited it, already savoring the fight and tensing her muscles in deep anticipation.

 

“…. what. Damn…”

 

Distant hissing and cursing. The sound of the refrigerator door slammed with so much strength it jolted her a good two inches off the sofa. Eating utensils wiped to the floor in one single swooping motion. Cupboards almost blown off their hinges, glasses smashed to smithereens, all in a very loud demonstration of poor anger management.

 

Then silence. A long stretched moment that took at least thirty seconds, during which she never once stopped the gentle motion of her fingers as she shaped her nails into perfect little arches.

 

She barely restrained a smirk when she heard the refrigerator door open again and caught the distinct sound of a spoon screeching against the hollowness of a can; the one can left in the entirety of the kitchen. When she heard him throw it against the linoleum flooring, the empty can rolling noisily over its expanse, it became impossible to hold it back anymore and she let it bloom, the devilish smile of an early triumph.

 

He emerged from the kitchen, flustered and disheveled, his rebellious mane looking impossibly wilder than usual. He darted his eyes to where she laid, lounging like a big lazy cat, minding her own business…. and he waited for her complete and utter acknowledgment. She stopped her humming, slowly lifting two glacier eyes to meet his heated gaze.

 

“Did you enjoy the dog food? You should have enlightened me on your habits. I can still arrange you a place to sleep in the garden next to my Jack Russell and my Basset Hound.” Her lips twitched maliciously, a mimic of his own usual trademark evil stare.

 

“Is that because you'd rather get rid of those useless, yipping hairballs? I've always thought they look delicious.”

 

She suppressed a shudder at the very real threat in his voice.

 

“Dog food and live, kicking raw meat… I should have called in the vet, not the doctor when you blasted yourself in the GR.”

 

He stepped closer, bearing an expression that could have made any human male pee in his pants.

 

“Bitch. What did you do with all the food?”

 

Her lips quirked and her brow furrowed. “Gone. I forgot to go shopping. Could you pass me the remote?” Her tone couldn't have been more detached if she'd tried any harder and she patted herself mentally after the puzzled look he gave her.

 

“Onna, you're failing to deliver the promise you once made your master.” His voice dropped down to an almost unnatural depth. “You said it yourself, I have no problems sliding into your private little zoo and systematically butchering every worthless creature you're so keen on breeding”.

 

A very gruesome image flitted across her suddenly tremulous mind but the muscles in her face remained tense with unwavering resolve. “You wouldn't, unless you want to destroy Pappa's very vulnerable, old heart and screw yourself in the process.” He regarded her with sheer contempt only broken by a sudden, inescapable look of realization. “If you do, you can kiss any sort of maintenance for your private hell-hole goodbye, unless you actually happen to be adept in quantum mechanics and virtual gravitons”.

 

If there was something she knew perfectly well about the Saiyan Prince's character is he was not that easy to bring down, a thought that succeeded at keeping her on edge and not letting her underestimate him.

 

“I have you, don't I onna. Why should I worry?” And there it was, the perfect replica uttered in a low self-conceited purr that should be outlawed for being so obscenely tantalizing.

 

She gripped the nail file in an effort to remain unmoving, crossing her arms in the process. She could only prey the sudden bolt of electricity that shot through her stomach wasn't evident to his keen Saiyan senses.

 

“Vegeta, could you pass me the remote?”

 

“Don't I?” He repeated, his smooth bronze face breaking into a lopsided grin.

 

She smiled a little, ruby lips curling in response. “If you did, I'd be on my knees, bent over…” She repositioned herself on the couch, unhooking her ankles and letting a long porcelain leg hang over the edge of the couch. “…under the console right this minute wouldn't I?”

 

She could have sworn she saw a look of utter bewilderment take over his grin but it was quickly replaced by one of unmistaken, nasty darkness.

 

“What the hell do you mean?”

 

“The GR's down. I think something's busted in the programming. I'll eventually get to figuring it out.” She resorted to grazing the file over a pink nail, blowing over it delicately.

 

He cocked his head to the side eyes growing into big black pools of psychotic rage. “You'd better be kidding me you trashy little whore”. He barely hissed the words through his teeth.

 

“No. I am not. Go try it out yourself. You can either take a break or train under the challenging pull of 1G. Whatever suits you best…Ouji-sama.” She regarded him under thick curly eyelashes, a look that was disquieting under its simulated innocence.

 

He regained his steady resolve and gave her his most commanding look. “I already told you, girl. There's you. Regardless of whatever you say I can force you down, I can make you fall to your knees and bend over. Whether you want it or not is completely irrelevant. By the time I am done with you, you will be pleading for more and thanking me for sparing your insignificant little life.”

 

… And a coil snapped between her thighs hitting her mercilessly. For a moment, she lost track of whatever it was they were taking about, the speech so heavily packed with innuendo it was hard to keep her mind focused.

 

“Pass me the remote, how many times am I going to have to ask you?”

 

“Fuck you onna.”

 

Wow, quite a mind reader. She could only hope he lived to that promise. He then looked her straight in the eyes, a half-manic crooked smile surfacing as he pointed a Ki laced finger in the remote's direction and fried it to a molten lump.

 

Bulma gasped in horror at the sudden display of blatant intimidation and regarded the smoldering stump that had once been a state of the art universal proton conversion remote. She raised an eyebrow and met his eyes defiantly, feeling the stark beauty of his sinister face threaten to crumble her resolve. She gripped the back of the couch and leaned forward.

 

“You're not precisely making points… Ouji-sama. I am not yours to do as you please, nor am I your fucking little slave to slap and toss around. ”

 

His lips quivered with what could only be ripples of maddened fury barely kept at bay. There was something in his eyes, something other than plain anger, something she couldn't quite put her finger to. It seemed a little like indignity in the face of betrayal. The rock hard muscles of his body bulged in tension under the skintight blue training suit he was wearing. And just like that, he darted forward in her direction to stand a hair's breath from his leg touching her dangling leg. It was so brisk a movement she couldn't help but issue a small whimper as she sprang to an upright sitting position in a posture of defiance, tilting her face upward to meet his thick-lashed murderous eyes.

 

“Stop fucking with me girl. You don't want to go there. I swear not even that bumbling moron of Kakarrot will be able to save you if I decide to snap your neck right this second. I suggest you peel yourself from that piece of furniture. Now!”

 

Bulma threw the nail file with violence and knelt on the couch all in one swift motion. It was now or never, the moment to stand her ground in the face of death. The point of absolute no return.

 

“If you decide to snap my neck right this second, I swear you're done in for Vegeta and you know that very well. I swear you lose that GR forever, so now you tell me, who the hell's the master, and who the slave, you tell me who's got the upper hand.”

 

Vegeta looked at her, both paralyzed and startled and she felt the stinging fangs of guilt wrench her soul and shake it around like a beast feasting on its prey. But she had to trust her instinct, trust that she had cracked the riddle. Someone this proud would never truly surrender to anyone he considered weak and powerless. He would only orgasm with all the power of thunder if he lay with someone that bested him in battle, someone worthy of both his mind and body. Kami knew she needed to ascertain that position for once and for all, to make him understand the simple truth of who she really was and realize there was nowhere to go but down, down together, burning in a downward spiral, clinging to the sole hope they survived the crash. He needed to know this was it, his time had come, their time.

 

This moment of epiphany, deep seated epiphany, is your life, spreading in your subconscious like night blooming jasmine that blossoms in the dark…

 

Still, despite her total certainty, that look… that look in his eye, that expression of deep hurt pride… it lanced through her heart with the precision of a javelin. He regarded her with the last shreds of his dignity, like a king without a castle, like a prince without a throne and she… she died in his eyes, that very second, feeling a part of her soul shift and rearrange forever.

 

His chest heaved in deep profound breathing and he stretched his hand to hold the hair at the back of her head in a tight grip. He lingered on her face the same way he had once stared into Gohan's, when he stumbled upon him during his raid in Namek-sei. He held her and studied her with the same kind of bitter-sweet demeanor, drowning in her rarity and defiance, hating and needing her with tangible desperation.

 

And that touch, that blazing touch of his hand sent violent shivers down her rigid body as she trailed eyes down his powerful chest. Her lips parted inadvertently as she tried to lower her gaze down, down… to the area between his thighs, unconsciously venturing to sneak a peek and find out if he was… he was also being raped senseless with the same heat that was shooting through her. But just before she managed to focus her eyes, he jerked her upwards by her hair, painfully hoisting her to her feet.

 

“Don't touch me Vegeta”.

 

How pristine and clear in its simplicity. To use reverse psychology with a being that was pretty much twisted and reversed himself. How infallible a tactic to deny him the one thing she truly wanted him to do, dare him into taking it by force. Everything was a battle to him, the only language he could truly understand, and she was more than ready to speak that dialect with every inch of her body.

 

They had never been this close, they had never touched and despite the insurmountable surge of boiling feelings spearing through both of them, they remained stiff as a boards, Bulma's hands balled into fists as she looked into the dark tint of his irises.

 

“Vegeta… let me go” Her request was little more than a whisper, as her eyes wandered down to his lips unconsciously.

 

He pulled her hair tighter, bringing her a breath closer.

 

“Woman, do you know what you're playing with? If I say you're my slave, if I say you're to do something… anything, you do it. If I want to grab, you, hold you, shake you like a doll I will.”

 

His hold was so tight she couldn't help but wince in pain, eyes narrowing to slits and still she managed to rasp her words out, enunciating each one with sufficient clarity. “Keep telling yourself that, Ouji-sama. If you want the GR ready I strongly recommend you let me go and I just might consider it.”

 

He frowned deeply, teeth clamped tightly.

 

“The only way you'll get me to do something, anything right now is if you grabbed me and forced me, if you pushed me down violently. Is that what you want? Do you want to go the same way you've always gone? Do you want me on it unwillingly, half-heartedly?” She breathed her words and saw his face reshape under them. And once again, it was as if the topic in question was unclear… as Bulma tested the waters. All of this was meant to shake him into reality, to get him to know her as she truly was, a woman with spirit and not just a subservient little subordinate he could use at his pleasure. It was meant to pull him out from his shell… to tease the male, the blood and flesh, breathing living, big animal male in him… and she wanted him, but not like this… she wanted every part of him, the part that went even beyond lust, but that was something to come later.

 

He drowned in her eyes, silence thickening between them, and in that quick moment, that very second, she knew the overwhelming truth. He was alive. He wasn't another Frieza, another crook past the point of salvation. The unspoken answer to her question hung between them… his tacit yet resounding “no”, no… no. No to using her the same way he'd used others, no to bringing her down and turning her into another thing to savage, to beat and slap around.

 

No… not… not her.

 

And he shook, regarding her in utter confusion, like a man looking into a mirror for the first time in 20 years. He let her go, stepping back, too angry and stricken to form a coherent thought, much less a proper reply.

 

She touched her hand to the back of her head, where he'd held her so forcefully. She regarded his darkened expression with elaborate and methodical coolness as she sunk into the couch again, grabbing for the nail polish in the coffee table.

 

In the space of a few minutes she had gone from cheerful anticipation, to guilt, to lust, and finally, a sense of deep, deep pain. Pain for who he was, a perfectly helpless and very much alive being, helpless while harboring such earth shattering power. And she thought she'd carry that image in her mind for all eternity, that visage of pure, crystalline emptiness. His complete realization that there was no way, no hope in hell he'd ever be able to find any sort of solace from the demons assaulting him. No one would ever be his willingly, never his ally, never on his side. Not even her, regardless of her initial invitation so many months ago, or the help she'd once cheerfully offered. No, she was now taking it back, all she had once given him.

 

He opened his mouth and closed it in the same breath, unable to muster a single word and she tore her eyes from his face going back to tending to her nails. That blinding rage… that poisonous monster cloistered deep within his chest howled, a horrid deafening noise.

 

He left, as quickly and unnoticed as he had arrived, and Bulma threw the polish aside the minute he did. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest feeling a cold sweat break over her entire body, sending shivers down her spine.

 

“Trust me in this…. please.” She didn't know who she was speaking to, didn't quite understand what she was feeling, but it was strong, heavy like hunks of steel burdening her soul, deep enough to make her exhale tiredly.. “I… I can make it better, I can make you whole… I… ” And she collapsed back on the couch, squirming and shuddering in lust and grief.

 

-------------------

 

 

Vegeta's POV

 

I feel like I could kill someone. Not someone… everyone in this revolving ball of dirt called Chikyuu. In fact, I'm seconds away of letting go of any stupid restraints and reverting to my old self. I crave extinguishing the cries of those at my mercy, hearing their bones snap like twigs under the pressure of my fingers. It's a thick, dense release only killing can bring, coupled by the crisp clarity it leaves behind. Gods, I need that abandon; that rush that assures me I am in fact alive.

 

I never had the time to remain in one single place, wasting precious time in stillness, to put up with lesser beings that deserve little more than a quick blast. I lived to suckle at the immeasurable fountain of evil, felt it grow inside me cloaking me in its rich obscene essence, and I liked it. I prefer the language of blood, of death and depravity… it is infinitely right in its simplicity, it is crass in its philosophy, just the way it should be. There lays victory and might, the sort of thing that truly matters. I didn't have to devout my self to mere training; my body and spirit were forged in the heart of war itself, in the lowest pits of hell.

 

I was familiar with the blaring sirens of battle, as I commanded legions, used to the rasping cries of murdered children and women.

 

I'd sooner go back to that than hearing one single more ear-puncturing word from that low-class onna. I wonder if she's got some sick, masochistic death wish. All this time she's played it safe, loud as always but careful not to interfere. She's been diligent in her self-imposed task of being my servant, always there, tending to my every need with the consistency of a Gamedian clock, yet today… what the fuck is the matter with her today? Did she fall off her bed and hit her head in the process?

 

I doubt it. She might have turned out to be a twisted little wench purposefully driving me to the edge of my temper. I truly don't think it's something as plain as stupidity. The woman and her ditzy parents do seem to have assembled a good amount of wealth based on their brain power alone.

 

That or she's toying with me, the insolent little fool. Did she suddenly forget who I am?

 

I live for the godly sense of power that comes with deciding if someone should live or die. I still indulge in the clear-cut images of past battles; I can hear the deafening cries, see the gaping faces of billions of enemies slain in the midst of combat, their expression contorted into sheer terror. If only it hadn't been in the name of that blasted mother of all fuckers it would have been perfect… if only I had been working in my benefit and not in his. Well the bastard is now dead, and that too would have been perfect if only it had been wrought by my very own hand. Hell no, the gods had to conspire against me once more, in their infinite mockery they had to take a low-born imbecile like Kakarrot to do the feat. Ah, but I shall meet Frieza in hell and kill him again in the afterlife, as many times as needed, until this poison is fully squeezed out of my system.

 

Kakarrot… my most pressing concern and the fucking thorn in my flesh. He comes first. I shall slay him in the field of bitter-sweet revenge, for taking away my rights, my identity. Gods I hate him so thoroughly, so deeply I can barely keep it in. He comes before anyone else, then comes her… that unsettling female. At least that's the way I had it planned, now, after today, she's making me reconsider my priorities

 

I used to laugh at how gullible she was, providing me with the tools to become stronger as if my ultimate goal is actually saving her and her sorry little friends from death at the hands of the tin cans. Fighting those worthless androids may be the necessary step to teaching everyone who the hell's on top, but that isn't what matters most. What's crucial is fulfilling the purpose of my existence, claiming my title for once and for all as the rightful Super Saiya-jin, not just another one, the strongest one! Entitled to the universe itself… I shall ascend; I have to… gods…I just need to.

 

Dammit. I shouldn't even be here hovering in the shadows delving on this. If there's any chance of achieving my goal soon enough I need to get back to training! Which brings me back to her… it's always her lately, the wrongful owner of the key to my success. Intolerable little Chikyuu woman. Just what the hell is the matter with her? Do human females suffer from intense periods of lunacy? She isn't even in the time of bleeding; I would have smelled it.

 

Does she realize she's failing at the only two things I deemed her useful for? Making the fucking trinket work and providing me with enough food to train effectively? Thanks to her all I've had to eat today is half a can of that thing left over in the cold white box they call “refrigerator”. I admit it was quite tasty, but once again, fucking bitch, I will make her pay for making me eat d…dog food.

 

So what's with the sudden change in her disposition? With my god-damned luck she probably finally put the pieces together and realized my ultimate goal is killing that moron Kakarrot and eventually rising as the rightful conqueror of the galaxy. She probably realized how incredibly stupid she was by actually helping me attain the goal that would result in her perpetual slavery. She'd probably make a fine slave too… given enough time to break her. But that's beside the point. I didn't expect her to jolt out of her rather helpful state of careless disregard… damn wench.

 

I never felt this… helpless. Not even at the hands of Frieza. At least that bastard let me go around un-caged, at least I got to roam and scour the galaxy with a license to kill. I could pretty much do whatever the hell I wanted. But the humiliation of existing at her expense, reliant on her whims is much more than royalty… than any being! … can take. Am I supposed to just sit here, waiting, until Bulma of Chikyuu decides she's done being a complete bitch? What are these human females made of? What kind of creature behaves so incomprehensibly, so irrationally? What the hell does it take to put them in their place?

 

At times I think I got her figured out, I admit she's got courage and spirit, and it surprised me initially, when she showed up to meet Frieza the day he came to earth. I was more than a bit taken aback when she arrived, doing something that made her either incredibly stupid or unbelievably fearless. Whichever it was, I actually noticed her, to my infinite amazement, but it was short-lived. She started calling after me in that loud voice of hers; emitting tones I've only heard from the screeching monsters on Belares Four. For all things unholy, she nearly split my ears in half. I almost commanded her useless boyfriend to haul her back and lock her up. But then again, I had more important things to tend to.

 

Gods I… I am tired. There's nothing more to destroy in this now barren strip of land I aimlessly circle over. Dust and rocks rain over me after blasting an entire mountain with a Gallic Gun that would have made Ottousamma proud. Ottousamma… I, I won't fail you, I will get there somehow, soon enough and then I shall restore this pride, the name of our house, the honor of our race…

 

It is pitch black, and I am surrounded by nothing but sheer devastation, product of the ire burning after our little encounter this morning. Since then I have walked among the wilderness, roamed like a hapless beast.

 

Are you going to throw me out you wench?

 

Dammit. She has probably come to the sober conclusion that she wants nothing to do with a murderous soldier like me. Stupid little slave, can't understand a killer. She sits on her pedestal and deems me unworthy of her attentions. It appears I now am the epitome of filth to her, too much of a bastard to live under the same roof as her and her parents, to be in the vicinity of her trashy friends. Well, damn her and her friends, and this planet and that moron Kakarrot. And damn the tin cans and damn the whole universe.

 

Yesterday she came to my room and actually started asking me questions, as if I needed or wanted her to start prying into my life. Why would I want to sink so low as to regard her with an ounce of deference? And it appears she didn't like what she saw. She thinks she's better than me. She thinks she can size me up to form her little conclusions. She believes she's entitled to judge me, measuring my words to find enough of an excuse to expel me from her presence. It seems she did find justification enough to throw me out like a stray pet she's gotten bored of, enough to ease her conscience with a hypocritical sense of right and wrong.

 

Damn her to hell. I should have just taken off into the wilderness from the very start, living off the product of my hunting, preying on whatever I could find. I have had my share of raw meat and guts back in the day, something I'm sure the female knows nothing of. Somehow I cannot imagine her pearly white teeth perched on flesh that's still warm and throbbing, or sucking blood from her pale immaculate hands.

 

The only reason I trailed along with her the first time I had the displeasure to set foot on this aggravating planet was to have news on Kakarrot. The second time around I complied to staying with her through her very own persuasion, and of course because of the GR. But all she did, all she offered with what seemed like genuine pleasure back then…it wasn't….it was all lies.

 

Why the hell is she taking it all back? Does she actually want me to kill her or something… ?

 

Is she going to throw me out?

 

Well once again, damn her. I would go back and threaten her into submission except I've tried that several times today and it doesn't seem to work. All she did was treat me with utter disdain, with a reproving glean in her eyes… I had never seen her so completely disengaged, so withheld. The Chikyuu-jin ice queen shall go at the top on my list of victims, I shall bring her down from where she's now perched and spit in on her broken body.

 

Yes, the bitch is probably throwing me into the streets.

 

She got bored of her Saiyan pet, worse, she's probably struck with the realization of who I am. No, little onna, I am not a soft, innocent weakling like your friends. I am not Kakarrot. I'm a bastard. Did someone break the news? Did they tell you the truth, the overwhelming truth of my past? It probably upset you, didn't it? You don't want to soil your dainty little hands do you? Well, to hell with you. I don't fucking need you.

 

…and how many more pounds, can the ground take as I vent my fury into it. Kakarrot and his half-bred pathetic excuse for a Saiyan are sure to come over if I keep raising my Ki like this. They should… if only to get a good fight going, pin them to the ground and give them all I got. Their every breath gets on my nerves, exhausts me. Gods I hate this place. I hate them all. But I shall right all the wrongs once I become the Legendary, I have to…I have to believe I will. By all the gods I will.

 

Well, this isn't right, I don't even want to keep blasting the mountains into dust. I don't know why, I don't even care to waste what little energy I have left on doing so.

 

She is throwing me out. I knew it. I just knew this day would come, and for that I should go back and kill her, go back and show her she was right all along, that I am nothing but a merciless, filthy bastard, a swindling mercenary. I'll prove her right.

 

Yet I thought… she sometimes seemed like…, when she looked at me, it was as if…

 

No.

 

Anyone could have been fooled by her act. But I can right that wrong, I can learn to never slip again. What the hell was I thinking when I said yes, when I trailed along… when I believed her? I will taint her with my dirt, my muck, my ungodliness. I will go over and prove her just how unholy I am. That's what she thinks, that's what she asked for.

 

I will stand before her and roar into her face, demand an answer.

 

Did you think I was good? Did you finally find out from those idiots all the sins I committed, sins according to you? Did you find out all I used to be? Is that why…

 

Is that why?

 

I'm glad you did. You've enabled me to let go, fly back to you and stand in your balcony as I do now, and attest to it. Your doors are open. Do you have a death wish? Are you mocking me…? Do you think I won't dare kill you only because of Kakarrot's existence, like you've got nothing to fear? You don't even think I am worth your bother...

 

You must really hate me.

 

I laugh again at that thought. I don't care if you do…I hate you too. I'm cold blooded, I was getting too soft…all because of you, but your hatred is bringing back what I like the most in me…the part that overtakes me and relieves me completely. This is me, what you asked for...and if you think I will let you laugh at me and humiliate me like this…take it all away just like that…then you're wrong.

 

You think of me no higher than the grime on your shoes, treat me like a toy you can just toss away… Little onna, I can't believe you fooled the Prince of all Saiyans, not even for a second. I can't believe you were so good at acting, at pretending things were different. That you, when you talked to me… when you looked at me…

 

Well, what a complete saint you turned out to be, the perfect picture of purity and innocence. How long did it last? Here you had me thinking you were some sort of faultless creation, an anomaly in the system. You got tired pretty quickly didn't you? Your true colors came out sooner than expected. Let me tell you I thought I was done letting my poisonous beast free to murder, but I will gladly bring it out to kill you, without an inch of regret… for this I wouldn't give a damn if Kakarrot comes over to confront me… I wouldn't mind facing his vengeful wrath just to prove you right.

 

I am a killer, onna.

 

This is who I am.

 

 

A/N Comments or questions? Feel free to drop me a line. Tune in for the third installment, where it's life or death, love or war (Or maybe both) for Vegeta and Bulma.

 

 

 

¹Romantic Ageru yo