Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Get Him Where You Want Him ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Disclaimer: DBZ and Vegeta were created by Akira Toriyama. Isn't he the greatest?
A/N: Many thanks to the lovely Raditz Silver for beta-ing this piece. This chapter takes the scope of things all the way into the next dimension.
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Step 4 - Get Him Where You Want Him
The enormous man sat his colossal weight on a comfortable swivel office chair of equally gigantic proportions as he poured himself a steaming cup of Chrysanthemum tea. The delicate flowers had been harvested, crushed and boiled by a swarm of tiny blue men clad in impeccable business suits on the kitchen behind the gates they guarded with utmost zeal and diligence. They were always orderly and vigilant, tending to their jobs as administrative staff of perhaps the highest post possible in the quasi-corporate realm of the afterlife, bound by honor to not only assist their king in the everyday hustle of bureaucratic jumble but to also provide him with something as simple and vital as a much needed cup of tea.
They skittered around like ants, running back and forth across the ample hall where souls from all across the galaxy came to meet their fate together. It was already time for an eagerly awaited lunch break and there were a few tasks to finish before closing the main gate that now separated the seemingly endless serpentine line of white globs from the front desk area where their master flipped and stamped the days away.
A minuscule horned man glided towards the entrance where a huge “Welcome” greeted the poor bastards who had recently suffered their demise and hung a big bold-lettered sign on the gate. He cushioned the impact those three words, “Back in thirty”, always made on the tumultuous crowd of souls by issuing a soft-spoken, albeit it telephone-recording-sounding apology of sorts.
“I am so very sorry for the inconvenience but King Enma is scheduled for a much needed break. We will re-open and resume judgment and transfers shortly. Please excuse the inconvenience.” He readjusted his thick framed glasses over his nose and bowed politely before disappearing behind the massive gate, leaving a rather unhappy array of squirming globes wiggling their tails in distress.
The red Lord of Doom sighed heavily, before closing a thick, fat notebook with a loud thud. He sometimes failed to remember why exactly he was forced to keep records by hand where a simple word-processor would make his job incomparably easier. But that was something he'd worry about later. The tea was achieving the desired effect of sharpening his dulled senses in preparation for his favorite time of the day, the one he'd been waiting for in vivid anticipation. He slid his chair to position it before the black, sleek widescreen that was slowly easing its way down from a mysterious slit in the hall's high, vaulted ceiling and smiled. The diminutive horde of pale-blue men hung around in a chattering multitude at the back of the room, tiny eyes glinting with utmost expectancy. They too had fallen prey to the merciless grip of the sneaky voyeurism he and a certain chubby pink-haired witch had been shamelessly indulging on for the past few weeks.
The pumping sound of her fortune-telling orb, which also functioned as a means of transportation, heralded her arrival a whole minute before she even emerged through an open window. It prompted Enma Daioh-sama to pull the square remote from his blue pinstriped tailored pants as he smiled knowingly. “Well I was wondering what was taking you so long, dear Baba. I was a second away from starting without you.” He said in the deep rumbling bass that was so particular to his persona.
“Oh, those stupid little errands held me much longer than I expected. I swear fortune telling can be much more difficult than one would normally imagine. But come on, come on now Enma-Daioh, what are you waiting for? I certainly don't have all day and neither do you.” The little old woman gestured a pudgy hand at the screen in complete agitation. “And where is that cranky old Namek? Does he want me to go all the way down to Chikyuu, grab him by the antennas and drag him out here?”
“Not more than I'd expect you to suddenly sprout blonde hair and morph into a beauty goddess.” Said the God of Earth in an amused, mild mannered tone, a mere fraction of a second after having materialized out of thin air.
“You always give me the creeps when you just appear unannounced!” She screeched, corrugating her wrinkly face further and hopping up and down on the crystal ball at the same time. “Can't you at least get yourself some sort of bell to chime whenever you plan on teleporting?”
Kami-sama smiled in that warm, appeasing way of his as he and Muten Roshi's oldest sister flew to position their tiny corporeal expressions on the wooden desk of the crimson behemoth. “Now, now… Uranai-Baba, is your frail heart failing in your old age? No need to get all worked up so early on.” He chuckled merrily.
“Oh… you blasted…”
“Stop it you two. Are you going to stand there bickering? I'm already 5 minutes into my lunch break and we haven't even started.” Enma flicked the screen on, waiting patiently as a blur of squiggling lines came into focus to reveal the massive yellow dome of Capsule Corporation. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother letting you both in when I could just watch by myself.”
“Hm, deep down you know it's just not the same Enma-sama. I could just stay and watch from atop the lookout myself, but Popo is neither as interested nor entertaining as you both are.” Kami directed a quick smile in Baba's direction. “I appreciate your company, even yours, dearest Baba, as unfortunately overbearing as it sometimes is.” He issued another deep chuckle.
“I'll deal with you later.” She spat in derision, a multi-lined frown creasing her aged face.
Enma emitted an impatient humph. “Enough!” He squinted and looked avidly at the monitor. “I say this is my lucky day. That boy is going to earn me a whole lot of cash and is going to leave you two as bankrupt as that Chikyuu-jin Energy Company that went belly-up a few centuries ago.”
“E… Enma Sama” Kami stuttered and eyed the man in bewilderment. “I can't believe you'd actually root on the boy to murder her just to add a few more coins to your already bursting pockets.”
“Don't call 10,000 million zeni pocket money my friend” His eyes gleamed. “As for murdering her? You got that right. Even if it doesn't happen today, I'm sure it will happen sometime before the Androids arrive on earth anyway. His majesty is much more likely to finish his stay on Chikyuu in a murdering spree than actually succumb to the little vixen.” He issued a loud hearty laugh, as he sipped one last time on his now lukewarm tea. “As cunning as she is… and I'll give her that.”
“You know too little about Chikyuu-jin women, Enma. Specially this one. She is one quick-witted, tongue lashing, ensnaring she-devil and I am sorry to say this, or rather glad, as it will make me 10 million zeni richer down the road, but that boy won't know what hit him, Saiyan Ouji or not. His regal ass is about to be handed over in a shiny silver platter and he doesn't even see it coming.” She regarded the screen, features softening. “And what a fine, fine ass, shall I add too.” Her eyes went back to pierce harshly into Enma's self-assured grin. “She will surely get hers and come out on top, so you'd better start getting my cash ready. I don't take credit cards”.
Kami cut in, addressing Baba before Enma had a chance to word his reply. “If my memory doesn't fail me, you last time said she'd get her way and dump him the next minute. Didn't you?” Kami narrowed his eyes in the witch's direction, holding onto his staff firmly.
“Only a complete fool wouldn't! No one lies down with something that wild and doesn't get bitten. The consequences of pursuing him any further, going beyond a single night could prove devastating. I am sure the girl is smart enough to understand that. If she's brazen enough to keep at it for a while longer, I can assure you the physical and mental bruises will scare her away and make her lose interest in him before the Androids arrive. She will wash her hands and forget about him the second she realizes just what hell of a mess she got herself into.”
“Shhh… I can't even hear anything!” Enma snapped before cranking up the volume on the multidimensional state of the art receiver.
“Hmmm, I suppose I should be ashamed of partaking in this insanity.” Kami-sama muttered. “I wouldn't if it weren't for the sole reason that I get the entire pool were both of you to lose the bet, and I have a very good idea of just what to do with that much money.” He smiled wholeheartedly a second away from fastening steady eyes on the slim figure of a fretful heiress.
She cackled. “Dream on Namek. I threw something in his pocket to make things a bit more interesting. Now let me watch. Remember the screen goes to snow in the censored parts.¹” The little witch mourned sourly.
Twilight befell the Capsule Corp. complex, enveloping it in a fresh, cool breeze that spoke the language of an approaching spring. The soothing, crisp wind flowed into the building making her a little chilly as she quietly paced in circles over the soft wool carpet of the cream and beige living room. It felt sinfully good; the fabric massaging her bare feet with its tiny, almost silken bristles that curled around the sensitive skin of her toes.
She approached one of the windows panes in order to study her own reflection as she held the telephone firmly to her ear. She looked… well… any other day she would have given herself the liberty of saying she looked simply great, a vision of glowing, ivory skin clothed in nothing but a basic white tank top and matching panties. She slid her eyes down the length of a body well-toned thanks to the marvels of endless aerobic workout routines that had crowded her morning agenda since she was nothing but a teenager. She had explored it all in that arena, be it traditional or experimental, but lately she had stuck to a particularly difficult drill that had turned out to be a ruthless son of a bitch. She wasn't sorry. It had rendered her muscles both lean and strong, and she secretly thanked herself for having had the resolve to stick to her body crunching, self-inflicted torment so relentlessly for the past few months. She hoped it had honed her strong enough to endure mating with a Saiyan, a force of nature as savage and untamable as Vegeta…
She bit her lips at the mere thought, muscle and guts already tensing in both fear and anticipation, sweet, sweet tangy anticipation. It had been such a tumultuous day, starting with that early showdown of sheer wills, going through the thunderous roaring of his wrath and having to recover from the emotional shambles it had left her in. Kami, she couldn't even begin to name all the feelings that had cruised through her in the span of one single day: guilt, trepidation, anxiety… and in the end, a womb wrenching need to… to simply have him that had shaken her off her initial disorientation and had pushed her to go on with the next course of action on what had to be the most backwards courting ritual in history.
She placed the palm of her hand on the cool surface of the window and lingered on the twinkling lights of West Capitol as they begun to spread and glint like fireflies over a dark blue meadow. She just knew he would be here any minute, could sense it in the air, feel it in every pore of her body that yearned to have another face off, that yearned to…
She quickly perked up, a blush spreading and burning her cheeks as if she had been caught with her hand on the cookie jar. “Ma… Mamma?”
“Oh… Bulma-chan, I am so glad you called, we were just talking about you…” The sound of her mother's hand smothering the receiver. “…weren't we dear… it's Bulma-chan, I wonder if she and Vegeta happened to finally get together.” The blonde chuckled delicately, Dr. Brief's reply barely audible.
“Mamma! I heard that!” She fisted her free hand and frowned, suddenly feeling very much the feverous adolescent that had often bickered with her mother due to the latter's nosiness and her acute, almost scary, perception of things.
More muffled sounds.
“Mamma, are you going to pay attention to me?”
“Oh… yes, sorry honey, your father said you can do whatever you want to do. That you are a grown woman, but to please do be careful…”
The words “world class asshole” and “volatile boy” slurred through in her father's soft, concerned voice.
“…and that he's got a rather difficult temper. Bulma-chan, don't worry. I will speak to your father to ease his worries…”
“Mother! I… I, what are you talking about?” Bulma said, falling prey to her own mercurial character. “Me… and him” She emitted a low growl “… it's got nothing to do with Vegeta. You had been talking about going away on a picnic for so long, I thought today was as good as any other day.” She rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly, feigning sincere indignity “This is so typical of you mom, to think that I would offer to stay and take care of the pets as part of a hidden agenda, I…” She gulped and bit her lip feeling the gross lie stretch her nose forward by the second.
“Oh dear, I am sorry. I just thought you had already accepted the reality of things and finally managed to give that boy a much needed release. Kami, he is so tightly wound he could snap any minute. Bulma-chan, you know…” she could feel her mother's breath closer against the receiver. “I think he really needs to blow off some steam, if you know what I mean…”
“Oh God, mamma, please be quiet!” Bulma looked around as if afraid someone would accidentally overhear her mother's zesty little remark. “I swear I shouldn't have called. Why don't you just tell me how your day's been?”
“…and by the sound of it, Bulma-chan you might need some of that yourself.” Bulma drew in a profound breath. “I am just glad you both are finally going to…”
“Where are you right now?” She cut in, desperate to avoid hearing whatever it was her mother was about to say as part of her insolent, yet well-intended babble.
“It doesn't matter, please, Mamma, could you stay over for a few days and make it a camping trip? I… uh… I am having a little trouble with that experiment I told you about and it might turn out a little messy.” Bulma approached the coffee table, eying the telephone cradle wistfully. Her mother had a way of becoming overbearing very fast and quiet honestly, she was already feeling the early buds of desire bloom inside her abdomen. The throbbing was proving increasingly difficult to tolerate by the second.
“I threw all you'll need in the satchel you're carrying. You'll find a hoi poi capsule there that's a rather luxurious cottage. I'm sure you and Pappa will enjoy your stay.”
“Bulma-chan, don't you worry!” She sounded a little too delighted at the prospect, Bulma thought. “We will stay and camp under one condition…”
She gulped, feeling her throat constrict with her mother's ominous little preamble. “You have got to tell me how he kisses! One can only dream…”
“Good bye mamma.” She clicked the off button and threw the phone on the couch. She'd deal with her parents later. There wasn't time to concern herself with anything other than facing a murderous ex-mercenary on the rampage. He was going to come and get her. She knew that as certainly and undeniably as the most basic algorithms, and she was nothing but an easy prey, a sitting duck in danger of being devoured alive by a vindictive, blood-lusty wolf. Kami… she had made herself the target of a rather deadly and very unstable alien…
She had a sudden overwhelming sense of respect for whoever had actually managed to couple with that hellion. Respect and an odd sense of violent jealousy, the kind that managed to crack her sanity and make her envy the lucky little tramps that had the luxury of getting in his pants on Frieza's ships or ports, even if it was only to get a brief animalistic taste of him. The way she felt right now, she could almost settle for only that.
She dismissed the dangerous thought and shook her head violently. No. She wouldn't, she couldn't throw so much work aside by lying prone in a simple mindless rump to satisfy an impudent sexual urge. She wanted more, a lot more, completely reticent to the idea of winding up another chink in his armor, another little hit and run. She was going to reach deep down inside his furthest, innermost parts and grab him, shake him, and rattle him like no one had before. Oh… she was going to play him, play him like a Stradivarius.
He peered into her room through the balcony window, sniffing the air and licking his lips like a huge predator cat. His eyes were nothing but onyx pin-points of fiery hate as he surveyed the area with the ease of someone that had hunted and killed a million times before, someone who could smell his target from miles away before pouncing on it and draining it ki-less. His heart hammered in his chest, thrumming violently, sending his blood in strong pulsating bouts throughout his body.
He tensed, inexplicably, every muscle in his body suddenly acute to something he couldn't quiet understand. This was different. It suddenly dawned on him, aware on some deep instinctive level that this kill, this felony, just wasn't the same. He searched and pulled a silk handkerchief that had strangely appeared on the pocket of his Capsule Corp jacket, the same jacket she had given him when he'd first arrived on the complex and had desperately needed a change of clothes decent enough to allow him to dispose of that heinous pink shirt she had maliciously thrown his way.
He blurred past the windows and stopped in the middle of her room, sniffing the ethereal piece of cloth he was holding, inhaling it deeply before throwing it on the floor. It inflamed his nostrils with her scent, allowing him to follow it down the luminous corridors of this maze-like house he hadn't yet memorized completely. He just hadn't had the time or the need to explore its sheer overwhelming dimension. He had always been more inclined to limit his interaction outside the Gravity Room to a quick shower and a swift kitchen raid.
And he moved… letting his hairy, sharp-fanged beast rouse from its dormant state to take over his mind and reason. Yes, this was different, there was something else threaded between the already overwhelming desire to murder. Something… smooth and silken, something liquid and hot, that melted over his every neuron making him stumble. He stopped, breath ragged, eyes looking down and teeth gritted as he placed a palm flat against the wall on the hallway. He clenched his eyes shut, cursing himself for this sudden, this… incomprehensible hitch in his otherwise steely, unwavering determination.
He felt that other… thing intertwine around every nerve in his body, like velvet rose petals brushing against sand paper but he pressed his lips into a tight firm line, raising his eyes and furrowing his brow in a renewed effort to carry on his mission.
He could feel her, smell her standing like some wild, nectar-filled flower ripe and open to the wind. The womanly scent made his breathing intensify and his heartbeat gallop as he staggered through the hallway. For fuck's sake, what was the matter with him? He could feel the cold, smoldering ice of his intentions thawing under a tremulous, heated sensation that broiled in some deep unreachable part of him. He stretched his fingers repeatedly, trying to diffuse the suddenly overwhelming need to press his strong fingers over the porcelain skin of her neck, to… to touch her, to pin her under him and look into her eyes as he slowly and methodically drank her in. He wanted to see her thrashing underneath him, as he straddled her and suffocated her to death; wanted his punishing gaze to be the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes forever, her blue stormy eyes. Gods, yes… and he would be her last, her only one from this day on. Her rightful executioner. Something pulled at his groin sending a shiver through his muscles. He would carry that for the rest of his life to accompany him in the darkest hours of the night. He would remember her trembling body, her eyes fixed on his own, and her suffocated screams as he imprisoned her under him. He would relive just how good she felt writhing underneath him…
Fucking twisted… sick… He stumbled again just as he reached the lounge. He shook his head, trying to get a grip and rearrange his thoughts into something resembling coherence.
And just like that he straightened his spine and regained his resolve, nose flared as he set his jaw. He glided across the stretch of the living area heading for the kitchen. He leaned against the entrance to the room and…
He saw her, blue hair cascading freely over a shoulder. A shot of energy broke into a cold sweat over his entire body, a knot twisting in his gut. His eyes roamed of their own will over her entire length, so scantily clad, so much skin showing, as she concentrated on whatever the hell she was doing, cooking it seemed. He secretly thanked the gods that her scatterbrained parents had left for the day, leaving their little girl perfectly alone and vulnerable to him, to lay his bloody, filthy hands over her and have his way as he extinguished her to his pleasure.
She flicked her hair and he felt its rush of wild berry and vanilla spread over the space between them like tiny spores. It mixed with something else, something mouthwatering and delicious baking in the oven. Gods, he was fucking hungry. He wondered if he should just eat before resorting to the murdering part. His body was already suffering the backlash of endless hours without proper sustenance, of what was beginning to feel like deep cruel Saiyan starvation. Yet he didn't raise a single finger, finding himself suddenly prey to some manner of spell. Chikyuu-jin witch.
How much longer was he going to linger there looking at her like a statue, she thought as a lip curled in deep self-satisfaction. There was a profound, instant gratification of knowing her calculations had been as precise as the timer on a bomb. She tasted the gravy the servo bots had mixed to season the roasted meat she was harboring in the fiery depths of the oven. The entire display, the whole thing was a no-brainer. No male, be it human or Saiyan was invulnerable to the power of food and… well the power of shapely flesh exposed to the view. She glanced down at her breasts seeing the nipples perked over two perfectly rounded globes, straining against her top as if they wanted to just burst out, making it explode. Lucky, lucky bastard, she thought. Doesn't know what he has coming.
She allowed herself to smile as she endured the laser heat of his gaze for what seemed like ages. She was frankly puzzled at his inertness, yet relieved he wasn't making a move for the kill just yet. If her calculations didn't fail her, she might just happen to make love and not war tonight. In that same train of thought and pleasurable anticipation, she decided to tick a box in her mental checklist. Prince Vegeta was alive, and it appeared he was susceptible to tiny, white lace undies.
He moved as quickly and gracefully as a lion hunting on the savannah, shortening the distance separating them in the midst of the eldritch silence. He raised his hand with the full intention of clamping it firmly on her smooth, elegant neck, hesitating in mid air while his fingertips grazed the shiny silken tresses. He met reality with disbelief, unable to understand why it was he hesitated… as he stood there completely rigid for what seemed like an eternity. He didn't move until he felt it surge in him once again, that same overwhelming need to smother her, to spend himself on her… and he moved his hand, fingers already beginning to curl. In that same infinitesimal fraction of a second, in that very moment of almost certain doom she swung around and regarded him with huge sparkling eyes, a snide little smile gracing her relaxed features.
“Do you want to taste it?”
His black irises danced in full-blown bewilderment, and he quickly pulled his arm back like a mischievous little boy caught in the middle of something, something really bad. His expression gave way to a tight, stern frown, followed by a jagged exhalation.
“What…” He beheld her in confusion.
“Do you want to taste it? I think it turned out pretty good, much better than what the servo bots usually come up with.” She flashed a grin at him, strawberry lips revealing pearly teeth teasingly. Her arms were spread wide and drawn back as her hands gripped the edge of the countertop. The posture forced her chest outward making her breast push and stretch the thin material of her top.
Vegeta tensed visibly, an image of perfect stoicism, straining hard to keep his eyes in focus. “What the hell are you talking about” He croaked.
Bulma twisted around slightly and dipped one fine boned index finger on the warm, thick goodness of the savory sauce. She then held it in front of him, as friendly and gracefully as possible in an effort to avoid the tiniest hint of intimidation. She only managed to make him issue an impossibly deeper frown.
He parted his lips as if to say something, striving to reorganize the already swirling mess in his brain. He regarded her finger in utter confusion feeling his Saiyan senses suddenly become overloaded with the sweet, flavorful promise of food. It inflamed his guts and made his tongue water. Vegeta fought a desperate battle to concentrate… concentrate on whatever it was he had come here to do in the first place, he could barely remember. The heat of the oven, the deep, rich and multifaceted smell of the entire room twisted his stomach into a sudden audible roar.
Bulma smirked and cocked her head slightly. “God, you must be really hungry.”
“Of course I'm hungry you fucking bitch.” He almost whispered it, a thread of accusation interlaced with his words. His eyes harbored a tiny speckle of anguish as he looked into hers, face to face with the mistress of all his recent misfortunes. She suddenly felt another tiny needle of guilt prick at her conscience but was careful to throw it aside instantaneously. It wasn't easy. She took in his haggard appeared, eyes sunken and shadowed and hair tussled by the wind. In essence he looked terrible, as if he'd been to hell and back, clothes smudged with mud and dust, and skin slightly covered in sheen of sweat. And yet, there was nothing shorter than magnificent about his aura, every single bit of him screaming in pulsating waves of raw male magnetism. His heady presence washed over her making her skin tingle and her belly flip flop. Kami… only true royalty could manage to look so inviting in that state of dishevelment.
“Oh… yes… now that I remember Saiyans don't do well if they're not being fed properly.” She moved to dip her finger on the gravy one more time, aiming to give him another chance. She knew he wanted to, could tell he did so by his wistful expression. It just seemed it would take a little more coaxing on her part.
“Try it… it's so… so good Vegeta. You're going to like it…” She raised her finger one more time, tempting him with the richness and tastiness of the sauce. “You're going to enjoy it…” She whispered in a soft, hopeful susurrus and both their eyes fell on the upright digit at the same time as if suddenly enthralled by it.
Vegeta may have been stiff and uptight, but he was also a bold and daring son of a bitch. She gave him that. He was never one to back down from a challenge, to be cornered into intimidation. He would always jump to meet his contender full-on, sometimes acting before thinking. It was something she had counted on as she plotted his fall and God did she want him to fall.
He closed his eyes, thick eyebrows knitted together in a frown, issuing a tacit invitation for her to touch her finger to his lips and… and she did, breath held in, waiting as he took her entire finger in his mouth. Oh Kami. She screamed mentally, feeling her knees turn to nothing but quivering jelly, almost buckling under her weight. She suppressed a sob as she felt the gentle sucking motion of his mouth send darts of hot fiery heat down her arm, his warmth and moisture… his tongue, making a quick shudder ripple through her entire body. He opened his darkened eyes and looked at her before issuing one last drawn suckle and releasing her finger. She remained as rigid as a board, dazed and numbed as she fought a very difficult battle with that portion nestled between her thighs in order to retain control.
He wasn't helping. He bore his midnight eyes into hers with all the intensity of his almost supernatural gaze, lips as perfect and sublime as an ancient work of art, face as stormy and almost inhumanly dark and tantalizing as a god of pure full-blown wanton.
Beautiful, beautiful... It was all she could think of as she lingered on him, feeling something wild flap and bat its wings inside her stomach.
She poised the same finger on her lips and sucked on it before she even knew what she was doing, deep seated raw, unbridled female need driving reason out a trap door in her mind. She thought she could see his chest rise and fall a little quicker as he regarded her with his usual scowl, something glinting in his eyes. And the seconds ticked by, Vegeta poised on the edge of… of something, savage and primal and infinitely fierce, feeling it extend over his entire body and hold him hostage, his eyes suddenly sliding to her bosomy chest. Something snapped and recoiled inside his abdomen; something surged and boiled in the middle of the sepulchral silence of the room. Oh gods, it was tearing at him. He could almost …
The oven dinged.
Bulma jerked in place and turned around, shivery hands flying to open the small door to the oven. She bent her knees in a gentle, lady-like manner to check on the perfectly well cooked delicacy she had been working on. Well, scratch that. She hadn't been working on diddly squat, not technically anyway. Her role in the preparation of the fastuous dinner boiled down to issuing orders to the bots who had concocted the whole array of what lay displayed on the counter tops in the isle on the middle of the spacious kitchen. They were also responsible for the juicy roast smoldering in the pit.
She closed the little oven door and straightened her spine, both cursing and thanking the stove for its surgical precision at slicing through a particularly dangerous moment. The air still hung with almost tangible electricity from their little silent exchange, a moment that could have driven her headfirst into a senseless rump that would only serve to satiate the most maddened, bestial need within her. It would make her miss the chance to have something much more substantial, way more gratifying.
“It's ready. The entire meal, completely ready.” She sounded pleased with herself; her voice was relaxed as she sought mental equilibrium. She was going to need that in order to carry the evening out according to plan.
He looked a little unsettled, his face an unreadable mask. “Onna…” his voice was raspy. “…did you suddenly sprout a Saiyan stomach? What the devil are you doing?”
“That is none of your concern.” She said it in that strange combination only she could pull off, half a smile, half a frown. “Why don't you tell me what you're doing here Vegeta.”
His upper lip curled back baring his fangs. He took a little step forward, reducing the space between them to a mere ten inches. “Don't tell me you don't know the answer to that question, little Chikyuu-jin bitch.” He placed one strong hand on the counter top, the other palm drawn into a fist as he cloistered her in a little niche against his chest.
She inhaled sharply but didn't shy away, lips pressed into a firm line. His eyes roamed all over her face, unnerving her, making a very real sense of fear burst within her. “I know what you're up to. I know what you want and for what it's worth to you, I can tell you're rather courageous onna, much more than half the soldiers I commanded in my time. I still can't believe you're bold enough to go for it. ”
Her eyes widened minutely, also wandering over the smooth planes of his face, over the exotic eyes that were as deep as they were haunting. “You… you know what I want?” Could he? A sudden sense of dread sank deep in her stomach. She had been so close, so close to her actual goal…
The corner of his mouth lifted up. “You think I won't go through with it? You're damn wrong. I don't give a shit about Kakarrot.” He acquired a half manic, mocking tone. “You finally figured it out, didn't you? Realized just who you were harboring. A criminal, known and feared across the entire galaxy. You want me out… not just out of your house. You want me out of Chikyuu, out of your lives.”
Out? What was he talking about? If anything, she wanted him in--- in every sense of the word.
“You dealt your cards really well you bitch, I almost feel like clapping. You take away the Gravity Room… you win, hindering my training with an almost fatal blow. You wouldn't think I'd dare risk my skin by actually murdering you for your insolence. You think I wouldn't want to incite that fool, Kakarrot's wrath. Sneaky little way of forcing me out into space again…”
She gazed at him, transfixed in his speech. “If I actually come and get you…” His face hardened immeasurably, making her heart beat faster. “You double win, don't you, little bitch. You hit jackpot. Kakarrot will be forced to land the final blow on me, avenging your death.”
“Don't be stilly Vegeta.” She hissed the words, eyes narrowed into slits. “Why would I want to actually manipulate you into kill me? Why would I want to wind up dead?”
He snorted derisively. “Don't underestimate me, onna. Aren't you the number one promoter of better life by the means and arts of a certain dragon? You'd be resuscitated quicker than I'd make it through the gates of hell.”
She stared at him in bewilderment, opening her mouth to say something she just couldn't word. He thought she had purposefully and mechanically plotted his demise with a scheme worthy of Machiavelli. Kami, this could only complicate things exponentially. She wasn't working just against his cold, ruthless and infinitely uptight resolve to remain detached and untouched; she was working against his paranoia, his utter-full blown realization that she was his number one enemy.
“If that's so, if you think I plotted this precise moment in a deliberate attempt to entrap you, then why are you still going for the kill Vegeta? Why fall into the hole I purposefully dug for you?” It was taking all the effort in the world to concentrate. He was too close, almost pinioning her with his eyes alone.
“Because I'll take my time…” His voice was low and barely audible. “I'll enjoy tearing you apart limb, by limb, torturing you endlessly, keeping you alive as long as possible so that your death is as slow and painful as you could never imagine.” His deep bass voice rumbled on with such eeriness she actually froze. “You may not know this, but let me break it in to you, Bulma of Chikyuu. I was a soldier in Frieza's army since the age of eight, used to killing for the pure pleasure of it. I had murdered more beings by the time I was ten than you could ever begin to fathom in your inane little mind, not because Frieza forced me to it, but because I liked it. Loved it actually. It was all I lived for. By the time I was fifteen I had already amassed a small fortune with the payment I got for purges and special errands such as killing political leaders and other stakeholders that threatened the stability of the empire. By the age of twenty I was already a living legend, the worse bastard the entire four quadrants that fell under Frieza had seen, reputed for being not just a ruthless killer, but an unflinching torturer… and I didn't stop at males, I did my job to the best of my abilities, the nastiest stuff not even the Ginyu were used for. That is why I never made it to the special force. He needed me and my squad to remain a separate entity, to do the filthiest, sneakiest jobs, the ones that required true brainpower. He used the big idiots as pompous propaganda for big campaigns, where they could show off their fighting level to instill awe among the cowering nations.”
He slid his palm so that both his hands were now gripping the counter top, and she looked into his eyes, forced herself to do so, as they pierced through her like shards of ice.
“I have seen so many deaths… I have single-handedly wiped out so many systems, you would pee your little panties if I were to toss a number.” He grinned, leaning closer. “And it was very, very good. It was fucking satisfying.”
Her hand moved before she knew it, slapping him across the face with a resounding noise that hung in the air. She poured all her strength, all her shock and consternation into it. She was pleased to see his face swayed to the side as she had obviously caught him completely off guard. His thick eyebrows fluttered and he grimaced, wrinkling his nose and forcing his eyes to refocus.
“Bitch!” He hissed through his teeth. Gods… she had… she had actually had the nerve to… He looked at her startled, unable to comprehend her reaction. No one had ever… He was used to victims shrinking away in fear, to peers praising and/or being jealous of his reputation, but this… this, clear, uncompromising slap of… disapproval.
“Fuck you Vegeta!”
He moved back, face blank and unreadable. She was acting as if what he'd done was somehow wrong. Not just illegal, wrong in a way he was unable to understand fully. That single slap from a weakling with a fighting level of one, from a… a woman from an inferior race, it spoke volumes, it was as if for the very first time someone had made it stinging, sharply clear that what he had done had been quite simply… immoral.
“I don't care if you kill me. I don't care if you torture me even, believe me, and I simply don't give a damn what you think. Go ahead, assume what you will and do whatever you want, but that won't change the truth. You are a rotten, ill-twisted bastard and you should be tried and sentenced for all you did. I have no problems telling it to your face, you perverted little fuck!”
All this time she thought she knew… without really knowing, without… She had no idea about the reality, the crude, stark reality of who he had been. It just hadn't registered amid her hormones, her raging insane crush, that she was housing a perfect weapon of terror and mass destruction, an infamous, cruel piece of scum that had murdered, women and… and children and… Oh Kami.
She was tempted to look away, to run even, but something she couldn't quite name anchored her in place. She looked into his eyes, as he stood there like a devious little child caught red-handed for the very first time in his life. Her mouth had spoken out of its own will and just what would he do now… would he lose it? Would those words become the last ones she ever uttered?
“Gods woman, you're not making points.” He snapped.
She regarded him carefully for what seemed like minutes, becoming lost in the black of his eyes. Just like that something began expanding inside her chest, a gratifying sensation arousing from the intimate moment they had just shared. Something told her this was the very first time he had bared part of his soul to anyone, as he'd narrated the scope of his sins, the utter reality of who he was. To have his undivided attention, to have tell her about him felt a little like an odd privilege, even if his speech was gruesome and sick. But God, he had talked to her. He had actually deemed her worthy.
As the deafening silence grew, her initial shock receded, leaving only a little surge of adrenaline cruising through her body. Something in her face softened minutely and she spoke in a soft even voice. “Well, if you want you can kill me, you can do so in any way shape or form you desire.”
She strode daintily across the linoleum floor towards the isle in the middle of the kitchen, all the while giving him the luxury of staring at her backside. His eyes, his cold eyes, as dark as they were completely and undeniably male, slid towards the curvy mound of her bottom and hung there, reveling in the way her panties snuck in all the right places. His blood heat up with a sudden…
She sat on a high stool and started picking at a bowl of cherries distractedly. That's when realization sank like a boulder in his stomach. He was in real danger. A freezing thrill shot through the length of his spine making him tense his muscles. He had to kill her, he just had to. For real. She was… gods, she was fucking dangerous.
“Then… you… I…” He tried to string a sentence together and failed miserably, oddly caught up in the sight of her popping a cherry in her mouth and exploding it over her lips in a burst of tangy sugariness. And it looked, well, it looked simply delicious. His stomach uttered a deafening growl that bounced all over the kitchen, making him double over and fasten a hand on the countertop. It blinded him, the horrible pain that seemed to spear through his guts. Saiyan hypoglycemia was beginning to wreak havoc on his body and he suddenly sank to the floor, kneeling and gasping.
He was weak, very weak. She knew just how much. She had conducted several thorough studies on his alien physiology to know fully well what an entire day without food could do to him after a night of intense, bone splintering training. Compounded with deep emotional Ki disturbance, it could become fatal even, and it was all her doing. She knew if she were to fetch a knife and drive it through him this very second it would very well hurt him irreparably. It would buy her enough time to fly over and find Gokou. She would be able to issue a swift accusation and have him fly back here and finish this matter categorically.
Even if Son-kun didn't opt to end his life, he could very well humiliate him, all the while making it clear that he wouldn't hesitate a second time were he to come an inch closer to his Bulma-chan or anyone in Chikyuu for that matter. He would kill him if he were to mess with his loved ones, his family… his world, Saiyan kinship be damned.
She regarded him as he knelt there on one knee, a Prince slain in the worst of battles, one without honor, one that didn't even allow him the decency of a proper fight. She witnessed as his body ate at him mercilessly, rendering him powerless and unable to control its rioting.
It was now or never, love or war, a fork in the road that could very well mean going down a dark, shadowy path or remaining the untainted maiden. She clenched her eyes shut and issued a deep breath. He was going to kill her. He had the full intention of doing so. Who in their right mind would choose to bed the enemy? To ride him and actually, Kami… actually make love to him?
Was it sick that she wanted it even more? That after the initial shockwave of his venomous threats and his bloody backstory the need for him had returned tenfold? Was it crazy that she couldn't wait to explore every single inch of his body and drown inside him as she looked further within?
His breathing was very shallow as he held unto the countertop to pull himself up, turning his face away in an effort to avoid what were surely mocking eyes. She was more than likely scorning him for his weakness.
“Kill me later, Vegeta” She whispered. “My friends aren't coming. They called earlier and I have no idea what to do with all this food.” There wasn't any veiled sarcasm in her voice, no underhanded insinuations.
Something strange flitted across his mind as he turned to glower at her. This entire scenario, the food, the… everything…. it had all been meant for her stupid little friends. “You were waiting for them?” He spat, a sudden unexplainable image of her boyfriend, flickering in his mind.
She nodded absently, lying blatantly in the process as she popped a single cherry in her mouth. She then smiled, a genuine, warm smile aimed solely at him. Something in his chest… something shifted.
“They called earlier and said they won't be able to come after all. Who the hell knows what the reason is. I was too pissed off to even ask.”
Vegeta's lips twitched. “And you were waiting for them all, looking like that…” His eyes did a brief all-over glance at her.
“Does it hurt your Saiyan sensibilities?” Her smile grew wider as she poised yet another juicy cherry on her teeth.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Gods, you're so vulgar… low-class and incredibly, fucking vulgar.” He enunciated each word, almost caressing them in a growling masculine voice.
She didn't respond verbally, only looked at him with a placid and relaxed expression as she pointed towards a seat with her eyes. She crossed her legs, forcing his gaze to take notice of them… long and interminable porcelain legs. He quickly looked back up, adjusting the upturned collar of his jacket as if to shield himself from something, from whatever it was she represented.
They would eat together, him unaware that this was some sort of ill-conceived, twisted first date, her fully knowing what dates usually contemplate. Eating is a mere excuse for prodding, for warming up. And then… she grinned internally, barely able to restrain a sigh. And then… oh God, Vegeta… then it was time.
A/N: Huge thanks for the great reviews on this fic. Comments are highly motivating. Tune in for Ch. 4. Saiyan loving coming your way soon…