Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Make it Physical ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: DBZ belongs to its rightful owners but I just need to fill in the blanks of my evil prince's dark desires.
AN: The Saiyaman costume, the Z-fighters' armor, the “Bad Man” shirt. I think there's an entire facet of Bulma still left to explore.
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Chapter 7
Step 8 - Make it Physical
Remember the tempestuous feeling you get…
The languor of life before Namek seemed centuries distant in the midst of today's clarity, today's pristine brightness. And that old urgency and need, that sexual frustration of legendary proportions that came after that first day they spoke to each other when materializing on Chikyuu had now morphed into something ineffable. Those old feelings had been nearly erased after ten days and nights that couldn't be tagged or explained. She didn't want to define them, didn't have the time or the will to do so. She had become a tachyon travelling in the tracks of his passion. And what about hers… what about her own unbridled desire?
Bulma rested her chin on the palm of her hand and glided her pencil along the smooth pages of her sketchbook. There was a certain relaxed expression about her face, an odd glint in her eyes as if lost in reverie. It was her and her musings, a mind that concerned itself with nothing other than indulging in her secretive thoughts. Toying with the memories of the last few days was impossible without almost reliving them.
She wasn't aware of what the pencil's graphite sprung in its endeavor as was often the case when she lost herself to that kind of thing. She was only conscious that it seemed too long since she'd last seen him (3 full hours) and, as such, was already beginning to feel the withdrawal.
Kami, what was she, sixteen? It was indeed the very first day back at the Capsule Corporation downtown offices after hours and hours of… a smile pulled at the corner of her lips, a peculiar gesture she'd developed after endless moments of intense daydreaming.
Long eyelashes hung low as she recalled how it felt waking up to the feeling of him inside her, her legs entwined with his. It was the substitute for a lack of an embrace or the gentle cuddling lovers usually lend themselves too.
Not him. Being with him involved pumping until he was sated and she was done mewling. It entailed him finishing and holding her still with strong hands for a few seconds before dropping down panting and then… then simply turning over to his side.
He lay there eying the ceiling with his usual proud countenance, his skin damp and his heartbeat still thundering. She had often noticed him lost in rumination, riding the last waves of a climax with an undecipherable look. That was if his eyes were open. If not it was nearly impossible to asses whether he was asleep or awake. She'd sometimes relieved the silence and soothed her jumbled up nerves by popping her very own brand of cigarettes from the little drawer on her nightstand. The man had gotten her back on smoking and at this rate she was going to turn her poor lungs to cinders. But it felt good… when she inhaled the soft minty smoke with slightly trembling fingers while still high on the scent of their sex.
He was too smart, and she'd suffered the consequences of it and of her own perversion. Why anyone would avidly embark on the task of showing someone like him what to do with his tongue and his fingers was beyond her. She was actually beginning to think she might have a very masochistic side that was a perfect match to his sadistic demons. He'd play with her like a boy who never had the chance to experience Christmas and its joys, fingering and prodding her like a new toy. In fact, sometimes he sniffed her all over, licking and exploring with such eagerness his eyes danced a little.
She could still remember the moment he'd discovered the one thing that had intrigued him most: her little pleasure nub down there. He had asked her several questions… what was it, since when she'd had it, what she felt when she touched it… The interrogation was something to be expected from someone as keen and sharp as Vegeta. He had really taken his time to explore that one, hands on, entranced on the possibility of having found her ultimate weak spot. He'd squeezed it firmly between strong fingers and watched her gasp and shudder all the while bearing a lazy smirk on his face. The bastard. It was only good she'd gotten the tables reversed. The moment she could, she raked her teeth softly along the sensitive tip of his hardness and made him lose his much prized control. The proof of it had winded all over her face alright… but his startled look had been priceless.
Up until now they had concerned themselves with little more than bed wrestling. In fact she was more than happy for the privileges of her wealthy life, where she could take a break from rolling around in the sheets to order food on the intercom while still trying to catch her breath. It was good the bots had no way of reading between the lines or figuring anything out. When they whirred into the room with their chromic composure and hoards of food in trays, he ate, and ate… and ate some more and then… well, if she slipped away he'd look her up and pound her again mercilessly.
Nights turned into a blurry haze of waking up and falling asleep together and waking up again. He used her in the middle of the night, extending a strong hand to pull her to him for a quickie. No amount of complaining or moaning was enough to stop the rhythm of his testosterone. She'd curse him, usually while devouring his lips or climbing the peaks of a soul-stopping climax. She'd curse him for feeling so good.
He'd then fall asleep after grunting in her ear, leaving her feeling like a well used rag. Nights melted into mornings and days into darkness without her giving thought to her parents (which were still not back from their impromptu camping trip), her responsibilities, or the possibility of death at the hands of some sort of walking-talking tin cans. How could she possibly find solace to think about that sort of thing when after dropping herself on the bathtub in utter exhaustion he'd snatch her away? That particular occasion was the first time he'd gotten her out again for penetration. Next thing she knew her wet skin was almost sizzling against the supernatural heat of his smooth hard body.
Another smile and she finally quirked an eyebrow to analyze the ivory sheet she'd been doodling on. And then she realized… it was another one of those sketches that happened almost by accident. They appeared while twirling around in the half manic daze of lust. His, lips, his hair, his eyes, his body, in different positions, across the page with the fine whispery strokes of an artiste used to repeating the same theme over and over again. She'd done it in the past, with nameless, faceless individuals she took to drawing as a hobby. Pages worth of them, as if she'd been seeking something she couldn't quite fathom. But now this… man, it had his identity, the other worldly features she couldn't have conceived otherwise.
The first pages of him where drawn in armor, fierce and violent as she remembered him. They were the product of those first months he'd sat immobile in the depths of Capsule Corp.'s jungle like sanctuary after Frieza's death. He had preferred lounging about surrounded by the frightened pets that hid in the bushes from the predator that had invaded their territory. She had divided her time between playing hostess to a pack of Namekians and entertaining stray little thoughts of him in the intimacy of her room. And her boyfriend had been dead…
She frowned a bit, rustling the thick pages to find the infamous “bad man” one, dated to the hiatus between his sudden departure and subsequent return. She'd sketched it the very same day he left, in the wake of some nameless emotion that took her entirely by surprise. He had taken off with not so much as a goodbye, nothing… nothing left of him. She'd nearly broken the tip of her pink colored pencil on that one, pinched her fingers with the needles as she balanced the Fashion Configurer (state of the art CC technology). But every bit of her blood and sacrifice had been more than worth it. When he came back it had been waiting for him, neatly folded in her panty drawer.
The drawings that followed had evolved into a considerable amount of detail. They showed facets of him she'd often catch when they were still nothing but an alien guest and a benevolent heiress. The pages showed him in his training shorts and in the Chikyuu clothes she'd slip into his room surreptitiously. He had no way of knowing she'd actually made them herself after having first put them on paper. It had been hard hiding her glee at the sight of the man she wanted, walking about in clothes that not only suited him perfectly but were her own creation too.
And the newer sketches… she could only blush and twitch her lips as she smudged the soft tracings with her fingertip. They depicted the contours of his body and portrayed him with his eyes shut as he lay asleep naked. The art resembled the original faithfully, up to the flame-like hair and finely carved lips. These new ones where nothing short of…
“…Wouldn't you say, Miss Briefs?”
The chair of the meeting sliced through her thoughts as clean as a knife through butter. She raised her pupils to meet the eyes of the other members of the board and blinked when she saw them staring at her intently. The motley ensemble of business suits and cravats succeeded in dissipating her drowsy thoughts and replacing them with a certain dull weariness.
“Yes.” She said after slamming her sketchbook shut and clearing her throat.
A long, dry woman many years her senior straightened herself in her plush executive seat to address her with poorly veiled condescension. “Yes what, Miss Briefs? We were saying we believe the final decision on whether to enter a partnership with Viored Corp. or not should be made by a Briefs, be it you or your father. The pros and cons of the decision to capsulate their weapons as opposed to entering into a nasty acquisition have been placed over the table here. I personally believe this would be a subtle step that will assure a much smoother takeover in the long term. The firearms production side of our company has certainly been our weakest link, but I think we all agree that by entering this venture we would revert the situation.”
Bulma blinked a few times, scanning their stern faces. It didn't take much to notice they had obviously already made up their minds while she was numbed thinking about her alien lover. An acrid remark danced on the tip of her tongue at the patronizing tone on the woman's voice, one she had grown accustomed to hearing during these long, insipid meetings. She knew the ceremonial words, the parliamentary procedure and honorifics were nothing but shrewd hypocrisy, and she supposed she couldn't blame them. She was after all, and had always been the oddball daughter of the most celebrated inventor the world had seen, suffering from the child-in-the-shadow-of a-prominent-parent syndrome. It didn't matter the intelligence she possessed or the number of titles on her extensive resume. She knew the negative or trivial was more appealing to their jealousy. The tabloid pictures of her naked on her pool, the snapshots of her and Yamcha making out somewhere public and the odd rumors of her trysts with other martial artists hadn't helped either. They were terrible additions to a reputation that had been damaged since the very day she had dropped out of high school to live “a life of a rebel”, as a headline so colorfully put it. Low cut jeans, very short skirts and scandalous cleavages had come as a bonus.
“The reason why that particular part of the business never thrived was because my father never took too keenly to it. He is a gentle pacifist, not a greedy hound half the people here are.” She could see them shift in discomfort at her words. Some of these same old bloodsuckers that looked at her with disdain and rumored behind her back were the ones she caught sneaking a peak at her chest every now and then. They were visibly terrified of her declining their proposal and losing another big deposit at their Caiman Island's account.
She knew her parents weren't even aware of how much money Capsule Corp. was really worth. The title her father still carried as CEO was more a something ala Queen of England than anything else at this point. She now bore most of that responsibility and thus was the only one aware of the epic dimensions of the consortium. Sadly enough, there simply was no way around the lack of relatives, a fact that laid the job square on her shoulders. She would have changed this room for a laboratory in a heartbeat. Yet she had no choice…
Bulma heaved a deep sigh. “Yes do it. Sign the partnership.”
Some actually slumped in the chair, obviously relieved at her words. They would now be obscenely rich as opposed to just… rich. And she couldn't care less. She was past the point of telling the difference between a billion and trillion zeni as was the case with her parents. True pleasure was somewhere else, in a very different place that was beyond what was earthly fathomable. True pleasure…
That jolted her out of her muddled thoughts.
“Now if you'll excuse me…” She swiveled the chair to get up and gather her notes, which coincidentally had nothing to do with the matters they'd discussed in the first place.
They all rose from their seats, nodded and immediately resumed a lively conversation that was engorged with all sorts of business hoopla. Thank God she was out of there.
Her silk trench coat fluttered as she hastened her steps down the ample marble corridors of the luxurious umpteenth floor (she had even lost count of just how many floors high the enormous building was) as her heart throbbed in anticipation. It was a labyrinthine complex of steel and glass, filled with an aura of opulence. She nearly went dizzy. She needed him, right here, right now, like a drug that makes everything better if only for a few minutes of pure bliss.
“Miss Briefs!”
“Oh for the love of Kami, can't it wait Cherry?” Bulma groaned and glared at her assistant. It would have been enough to make anyone turn on her heel, but the woman was more than used to her difficult temper.
She had emerged from one of the countless rooms that lined the hall; face nearly lost behind a pile of papers. She skirted around the melee of staff and visitors until she reached the highly tense figure of her boss. “Miss Briefs… Thank God, I am very glad you haven't left. I thought I'd have to wait another ten days before I got to see you again! This is everything pending for you to sign.” She moved the papers up and down. “As you can see it is days worth of stuff for you to browse through.”
No shit. She was about to give her a piece of her mind but her reason kicked in. It really wasn't Cherry's fault, was it? And at this point she had better ways of venting her frustration anyway. “Alright already… give me a pen.”
The resourceful girl popped a silver one from the pocket of her uniform and Bulma snatched it, not paying attention to the enormous blocks of text as she signed along the dotted lines perfunctorily.
The girl jabbered on, unfazed by Bulma's complete lack of interest in the business babble related to deals, office gossip and other rather mind-numbing information. Halfway through her chatter and a few nods and “ahums”, something happened. A door opened to her left and Bulma's eyes wandered to the bustle inside. Bright colors, drapes and chandeliers in the middle of a room that existed in total dissonance with the rest of the building.
The girls inside walked about smiling, almost in slow motion as if the world spun to a different tune.
She felt her legs carry her of their own accord, slowly moving towards the mesmerizing space. She didn't hear Cherry nagging repeatedly to tell her what she was doing. In fact she ignored her altogether in lieu of the fun, ornamented expanse of the Capsule Corporation Division of Fashion and Merchandising. It was the wondrous machine responsible for clothing lines that included, sporty, casual and even a certain haute couture line called CeeCee. It sliced through every demographic, ubiquitous enough to be worn by children, tweens and adults of all strata. As if that weren't enough, the division expanded its velvety tentacles unto shoes, jewelry, accessories, and all sorts of promotional items.
There was a collective gasp as the girls pulled their attention from the huge electronic tablets used for sketching and preliminary creative artwork and directed it towards the mistress of the empire.
“Miss Briefs…” They all stood from their chairs and desks, some peering from behind hordes of shiny lamé fabric. Lady Masuki, the head of the division, stood tall and proud, surrounded by a group of girls that buzzed around her like bees around their queen. She stopped her browsing of a catalog and turn to regard Bulma with genuine surprise.
“Bulma” Her smooth, deep tone did little to grasp her attention as she walked towards a long blue green dress that was the color of sea foam in the warm waters of the Caribbean. The younger woman smiled, grabbing the diaphanous fabric between her fingertips. “diamond encrusting…”
Masuki's eyebrows twitched as she tried to decipher her words. In her eyes she was still the girl she'd seen run around he halls of this very same floor irreverently.
Bulma spoke again, a bit of hesitation in her tone. “Have you tried it with diamond encrusting instead of sequins.”
Masuki smiled fondly. “Child, you have an eye for such things.” The familiarity in their rapport was a rather personal thing, something developed through years of Bulma following her around when she was still tiny waving about drawings of things that looked like potatoes with feet.
Bulma once thought about mixing science with the creative; the two halves of her brain were more than capable of handling the task, but Capsule Corporation… she had to watch over it, she couldn't just enjoy it.
“Masuki… can't believe you're still concerning yourself with this crap, running it and all…”
“You know what they say. Old habits die hard.” The slender woman replied amiably.
Bulma chuckled and then frowned, a rare composition that only she pulled off effectively. “A mere suggestion Maki. Sequins might be better after all.” She backed down, nearly stepping on Cherry's toes in her haste. The short girl shrieked, trying to keep the tower of papers she was balancing from blowing down to the carpet.
Masuki smiled once more before waving the girls into resuming their tasks. “A suggestion no one else had the insight to make and I say it is a perfectly good one too. Perhaps you should come over and visit more often. In fact there are a few things I'd love to discuss with you over a cup of coffee sometime soon.”
Bulma stopped in her tracks to exchange a brief nod with the older woman, a tacit sense of understanding filling the space between them. It was all she could do before exiting the room and leaving behind the rich atmosphere that was so arousing to the senses.
Cherry took the departure as a cue to continue with her machine gun style monologue. “I know you are leaving the tower in a few moments, but please… “ She grimaced “…remember the celebratory cocktail to welcome Viored Corp. is on for the 14th.”
At that Bulma started, turning around to glare at the other woman with glacier blue eyes. “Wait a minute. How did you know that? That wasn't formally approved by the board of directors until a few minutes ago.”
“Oh” Cherry seemed rather nervous at the prospect of having screwed up. Bulma's relentless gaze plied her mouth open and her assistant smattered on. “Well uh… Miss Briefs there has been talk about it since before you came back. It seems to me they had already made the arrangements before any meeting was held. In fact” She pulled a white metallic card with the CC monogram from a pocket in her vest “The invitations were already sent.”
Bulma gritted her teeth before developing a rueful expression. “I want them out, every single member of the board, and bump the next batch up.” She had lost count of just how many times it had happened, changing and replacing scum with scum. They had all gotten high through the backstabbing game of the corporate ladder and shared no true respect or sympathy for a young woman with her face and her body. She knew they sneered at her inability to comprehend the smarmy drivel of their kind.
Her assistant cringed, muttered an “excuse me”, and bowed briefly before scurrying back through the ample hallway. She could have cursed and complained openly, could've sunk into a bitter stupor, but the event was a trifling matter in comparison to this burning need she felt thrumming through her veins. Him… God, she craved him.
She patted her hair, which was done in a slightly messy bun and rushed in the direction of one of the labs that were adjacent to her personal suites. She glanced both ways down the hall before swiping the keycard through a slot and sliding the door open. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she pressed her back to it with abounding relief. It was over, the lackadaisical rituals of her life as a girl that presided over a corporate monster. At least for now.
The intermittent beeping of medical machines lured her attention to the middle of the room. He was there, completely unconscious lying on the med table in nothing but skin tight training shorts. He was hooked to monitors that took steady readings of his sleep patterns, ki levels, blood, and bone and muscle index among others. Her father performed this kind of testing regularly. Not only did he consider Vegeta a peculiar study worth the effort, but the highly experimental training he was undergoing required some type of consistent monitoring. It was in both his and Vegeta's best interest.
She strode towards the table, enjoying the rare sight of his slender body in such state of relaxation. She had sometimes fallen asleep watching him as he slept in the bed they now shared through post-coital exhaustion but not once had he looked this tempting.
His eyebrows were still drawn together into a scowl and she straightened them with her fingertips. “Look at that face… That face is sooo scary I'm gonna piss my tiny panties. Well I would if you'd just let me keep them on long enough.” She slid her palm down his muscular thigh, noticing how that knee was slightly bent. Her hand was flat and resolute as it reached his calf and worked its way back up, relishing the rare opportunity to touch the elusive alien specimen with such unbridled freedom.
“Big bad guy, you're not so tough right now, are you?” Her hand snaked its way to cup him between the legs, squeezing him gently. “I could say I am your mistress… I could do as I please with you if I wanted right this moment, and what would you do? Let's see… would you get all moody and start crossing your arms with that glare of yours…” She dropped her voice as low as she could. “I am the Prince of all Saiyans and you will bow down to me woman…” The corner of her lip curled up. “And then I would do as you say, kneel down, and you would whimper in pleasure and pain as I…”
Her hand began stroking him over the fabric and she felt her mouth water a bit at her own imagination. “…while I kiss you the way you like it, where you like it” Her hand reached up to his waistband but she darted her eyes in the direction of his face before attempting anything else. He seemed out of it, so she gave herself a few seconds to regard the cosmic aristocracy of his visage. It was all very fine, oh, but the mouth… the things he made her feel with those lips of his, with that tongue. He had learned to do quite a lot more than just hiss and grunt; things she didn't even know were possible. She blushed and bit her lower lip. Not that she'd ever tell him just how much she liked them. What a vain asshole.
She moved her eyes back to his crotch and her heartbeat quickened. So he liked using her? She'd use him, alright. Her fingers began sneaking under his shorts in a heated attempt to violate him while he lay there, completely oblivious to her ministrations. She licked her lips, her heart leapt, her palms sweat in anticipation of the feel of his...
Her cell phone rang so loud she jumped in place. “Fuck!” Bulma withdrew her hand and pulled the device from the pocket of her coat all the while trying not to drop it. “Stupid, god-awful piece of…” Her entire face sunk the minute she looked at the name blinking on the color screen. She didn't move, staring at the device for what seemed like ages all the while feeling the gears in her head turn in reverse. Things didn't make sense, this juxtaposition, this irreconcilable scenario of… three.
She turned around and approached a filing cabinet to lean against it. A little sigh, a look at the ceiling, and she had gained enough resolve to hit the green button and deal with reality.
“Bulma.” His voice no longer carried the subtle undertones of jealousy, sarcasm and bitter anger of that day she'd flipped out and sent him packing. As was usual with their quarrels, the event had been rather colorful, complete with her throwing his clothes out the balcony doors and slamming them for effect. It had happened a mere two days after he'd come back from his training trip, when she'd gotten quite suspicious that the spree had been more about some other type of amusement that didn't exactly involve fighting.
He'd paced like a cage lion. You want to be the center of the universe don't you? You will take nothing less than that. Is a kiss on the cheek cheating, dammit… I've seen how you look at him… I've heard how you talk about him…
Scandalous screaming, you are the cheater… and… I think this is over. The prospect of such loneliness was terrifying but at that point she felt she'd take sexual tension with a murderous stranger over a single more day of the Yamcha rollercoaster.
“You shouldn't be calling me.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper, no sign of animosity in it. It was the usual effect of time on their constant squabbles.
“You are right I shouldn't, but before you hang up on me, I just felt a need to tell you something important…” He sighed at the other end of the line, his tone becoming a little less guarded. “Bulma I miss you, it'd be impossible not to. I can't erase so many years just like that, and if I find it so hard to do, then that would let me to believe you… you probably feel the same way.”
Bulma clenched her eyes shut and felt a needle of guilt prick her soul. Images of earlier today, as Vegeta grabbed her on this very same lab rushed to the front of her mind.
She softened her voice further into a gentle plea. “Yamcha… this is ridiculous. You know this isn't just another petty quarrel. I said we were over, I said it was the end of the road for us and you have got to understand that. Don't make this harder than it already is.”
He'd made her drop her lab instruments, pushed her against the counter and raised her skirt.
“Bulma, don't get me wrong, I also don't want to go back and reenact what happened that last day. I don't want to go over the stupid circumstances that made us end up like this.”
And his fingers, they had stroked her entrance before pulling his pants down to his knees and fucking her from behind.
Yamcha paused. “I am not going to beg for your forgiveness Bulma. I think we are long past that point. But I want you to know, I know I may not have been the most perfect boyfriend all the time. I need you to know I realize I may have not always been what you needed me to be.”
And it had felt good, when he suddenly went tense trying to hold his pleasure in as he pinned her against the drawers. His hardness had been immobile and erect inside her and she'd doubled over, feeling his legs pressed against hers. They had stayed in that position for a while, like animals mating in a dark corner of a secret place.
“I…” Her voice broke in midsentence.
“I am not going to ask you to get back together with me. I know that's not the way things go. But don't you think we should at least try and be friends again? We were… we were more than just lovers. You are my best friend. Our pillow talk… the things we lived together, don't you remember that?
She leaned her head against her palm and played with a stray curl of hair. There was a doleful expression in her eyes, something her ex could probably sense without even seeing her. She exhaled and felt something tear up inside her. It was a wound that hadn't open in a long time. “Yamcha, I do miss you… I miss what we once had and believe me; I wish things weren't this way. God, when we were together… I could talk to you, I could hug you, kiss you and feel comforted, I could be free, so free… why would you take that away from me? Why? Why would you even think of giving it all to someone else?”
He sighed heavily, his voice trembling a little. “I won't ever take it away, baby. What we have won't ever die. If you need me, right now as a friend, I am more than willing to take that. And if things go well, if time does its thing, then maybe later on…”
“I love you…” It slipped her lips, soft and sorrowful like the singing of birds at the end of spring. She did, she would love him forever in the deep, rooted way one loves a best friend or a brother. The way you love family and memories too important to be forgotten. Did she still love him as a man?
“I love you too…” She could hear the smile in his voice, could feel a sudden genuine flicker of nostalgia. And she closed her eyes, enjoying the soothing sensation of the human love and compassion she had been so deprived of lately. “So, friends again?”
“I… I can't…”
“I will try and change Bulma, if you want me later on, I swear I will try and change. I always wanted to get married, to have children, and I never once saw me doing it with anyone but you.”
Here he was, offering her something she wasn't brave enough to desire yet. But he was, he was finally there after so long and he would anchor her, he would be her compass. This was the love of her life she was talking about, and why not? Maybe… maybe in the future she'd attempt to have a family with him? He was strong, gentle and handsome. He'd be, well, he'd be a good father…
“Yes… perhaps later on. I need some time though and I can't make any promises but I would never…” She closed her eyes again and swallowed “God, how could I ever just kick you out of my life you silly head. I could never do that.” Her smile widened a bit. “How could I ever just forget about us...? Right now I am in the middle of something though, but I will be seeing you later. I have to go.”
Bulma's husky whisper lingered in the air as they said their goodbyes, each enraptured on a sudden wave of memories that were as heartwarming as the thoughts of childhood and homecoming. She clicked the phone off and issued a sad little gesture before turning around to present day.
And the world stopped.
He was there sitting up on the table, looking at her with those penetrating black eyes that were impossible to acquire from the human gene pool. He spat the special tube that been placed inside his mouth to regularize his breathing pattern and got off to stand on his feet.
A cold shiver crawled down her spine but she stood paralyzed, unable to say a word or move an inch. He tore the black ice of his gaze away to begin pulling at the electrodes and the IV that had been attached to his wrist. He did so in mechanical silence, as if he were alone in the room and she were nothing more but another piece of furniture standing in the middle.
A few seconds were enough to make her snap out of her mental limbo. “Wait… be careful.” She approached him, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with him for fear of… she wasn't even sure why or what she feared. Instead she focused on helping him free himself of the flimsy cables that had been methodically spewing information for the last three hours unto her supercomputer system.
She finally gathered the courage to speak in a barely audible whisper “How long have you been awake?” She tucked the wires away carefully while he walked a few steps to gather the clothes that were strewn over a wooden chair.
She waited for an answer that didn't come, and she glanced in his direction, visibly annoyed at his arrogance and indifference.
He swiftly got dressed, boots and all, still sporting a deep scowl and zipping up his pants with quick, elegant motions. “Speak”.
It was all he said in that velvety voice of his without even minding her one look. Bulma's delicate eyebrows drew together at the short command. “huh?”
He finished adjusting his shirt before sliding his pupils to the corner of his eye and then gracing her with a dour look.
She frowned and turned away, grabbing the papers the machine was printing with laser precision. “Oh… sure. Well, it seems all your functions are very much standard. Blood, Ki levels… nothing jumps…” Her eyes narrowed and his followed as she held a paper to her nose and read the symbols with deep interest.
Vegeta lifted an eyebrow and squared his shoulders to glower at her with his usual intensity. Her eyes flew sideways to meet his before quickly returning to study the graphs. “Muscle index has decreased slightly, but then that is only normal. You haven't been training on the GR which would explain that quite easily.”
He grunted and crossed his arms. “The Ki map, get to it.”
She curled the side of her mouth and glared at him. “Sure, Oujisama, if you'll just give a second.”
His muscles tensed with impatience as she fumbled around with her coat, looking for something in its numerous pockets. He pressed his teeth tightly, deeply irritated at her for those snide little glances she threw at him. Damn woman didn't learn, not even after banging her for hours on end during the sweltering nights they shared. It appeared what didn't kill her made her stronger, but then again, that was proving more than entertaining to his hunting instincts. It was actually way better than he had initially expected.
They had come here today because one of her “cell phone” devices had begun beeping incessantly a few seconds into a particularly heated session between the sheets. She had insisted on picking up, adducing the other humans needed her in what she called her office. He should have been more adamant and zapped the damn thing into a smoldering lump. After staring at the bright screen for a few seconds she begun whining about how she was ten minutes late to some meeting she had forgotten about. It would have been futile to hold her hostage, she was louder than usual and insistent on how she just had to leave or the world was going come to an end. And so he had to stop moving inside her and withdraw a very swollen and painful erection.
“Crap… where did I leave the Ki-mapper”
Vegeta's right cheek twitched in irritation, a particular quirk he'd had since childhood. He then raised his chin to the side haughtily.
She had hopped on one foot trying to pull her panties on while running around looking for clothes to throw on from the mess her room was still in. She said she just couldn't find her capsules, didn't know were her hover car was and dammit, dammit dammit, couldn't he do something about it.
And so he'd lounged there braced on an arm under the covers staring at her angrily like any healthy pissed of male who'd been harshly interrupted in the middle of sex.
She started talking to herself, about numbers and figures and the responsibilities of her status, grabbing her bag and capsulating it before tying her tangles into a tight pile.
“If I do something about it, will you shut the hell up” He'd said, getting off the bed and pulling his own clothes on. She nodded fretfully.
He flew her here at a speed that had probably sucked the air out of her lungs, but she seemed rather grateful the minute they landed on the helicopter pad on the roof deck. She mumbled something about record speed getting to the office and directed them, through some dark stairs into her private laboratory.
He had cursed her repeatedly when she got a second call as soon as they closed the door saying she still had a few minutes to spare anyway and that the meeting was at 10:30 not 10pm. She began grabbing instruments, arguing about how she should probably make use of her time in a more effective way being she was still early to whatever it was she'd come to do in the first place. Damned little girl. He grabbed her from behind and finish what they'd started roughly, half maddened with frustration at the human race and her loud mouth.
At least he'd sated the pain of his arousal. She then left saying the best thing to do was for him to kill some time while she was gone by undergoing the physical she'd planned to do sometime soon anyway.
“Found it.”
“About fucking time.”
She shook a long black bar with a screen before tapping the end on the heel of her palm and projecting a ray that scanned him from head to toe. It beeped a few times and finished with a single sustained noise that nearly pierced his sensitive eardrums.
“Electromagnetic field of the seven layers of Ki, 93.4% imbalanced.”
“What?” He unhooked his arms and frowned at her in utmost concern. She raised her eyes to meet his and turned the device off.
“Vegeta, if you think that's bad, then you should know it used to be even worse. Does 98% imbalanced sound scary to you? It's good Pappa didn't mention it or you wouldn't have known what to do with such dreadful information.”
He bore his eyes into hers for a long time, without saying anything. It was one of those unsettling things he did that would make anyone's blood chill up. He was probably used to sizing up his adversaries with this kind of cool intimidation.
“I don't like the idea of loosing muscle index.” He said gruffly. “I must train under gravity again to not fall behind on that respect.”
She walked towards the counter and begun sliding the pages of his exams neatly on a folder labeled “Vegeta No Ouji”. She supposed she should use his title as a surname for lack of anything else.
“I will set the gravity levels at 100 G. If you start exerting yourself too much you can surely fall into the same pitfalls as before, which would mean all we are… doing in order to fix your problem would be in vain.”
She didn't look at him, half expected a stinging retort, but he remained quiet. It was part of what she liked about him, his unpredictability, like a dangerous animal that was both strong and intelligent.
“That is acceptable for now. Are your dealings done in this place.”
She nearly smiled at how his questions were always formulated in the tone of a command. She stuck her sketchbook, other papers and his file on her leather bag and zipped it shut. She refastened her trench coat tightly around her body before staring him down for the expanse of five eternal seconds. He narrowed his eyes to slits and glared at her with equal determination.
“How long had you been awake?”
He didn't move, as if trying to make her nerves falter but she stood her ground, basking in that look of sheer overbearing power.
After a moment he snorted and turned his face sideways. “A few minutes.”
Her eyes remained fixed on him and she hesitated for the very first time as to what to do, say or think. “Vegeta…”
“Woman, I don't care who you talk to. I care who you fuck.” With that his eyes returned to hold hers firmly. “You may think, feel, or say as you please; all I give a damn about is your body.” He spoke with all the self-assuredness in the world, his posture, his expression and every nuance of his body as arrogant as ever. Still, there was a cool calmness to his demeanor and that was what unnerved her most.
A gesture of something that looked like deep hatred flitted across her face. The sudden pain in the pit of her stomach felt like burning acid.
Her heels resounded in the small lab as she stepped closer to him, eyes lit on blue fire. “Well, I am perfectly glad we're on the same page, my Prince.” She coated her words with a double dose of sugar and she slipped her hands up his torso under his shirt. Her palms tingled at the feel of the hard shape of his body. His smell, so clean and stimulating, so unmistakably virile seeped its way into her nostrils and rushed to her brain.
He must have been entertaining similar thoughts, for he pressed his nose to her hair, still finding the scent of their bed sheets between the silken blue strands. He grabbed the base of her skull and lowered his mouth to her ear, the moisture and heat of his breath sending thrills trough her body. “Good. I wouldn't want to touch you if I were to smell trash on your skin.”
“And how is that bad for me?” Her tone was defiant, her words driven out by the single childish purpose of kicking his pride in the gut.
He chuckled evily, a low sound that rumbled in his throat. “Little one, you forget I know exactly how.”
She bit her tongue, chose to remain quiet and lose herself in the sensation of her palms under the cotton of his shirt. God, no one should know, no one needed to be aware of her little pact with the devil and how she had winded a glorified whore to his darkest needs. What would they think if they realized she was his pleasure girl? Entered into a liaison that was based upon sheer lust and possession? No one would understand this thing they had together, she wasn't even sure she did.
She wanted to kick and scream and retain some measure of control but his hands on her waist, as they pressed her body to his him reminded her of the unavoidable truth. She was his… to use, to play with, to wrestle around. He used that against her, every day and every night, punishing her for having “attempted” to take everything away from him and throw him out in what he thought was a deliberate ploy to bring about his demise. He thought she'd wanted to dispose of him with arrogance and self-righteousness as if he was nothing more than a depraved demon from the pits of hell. He probably thought she had wanted nothing to with him. She couldn't tell him the truth, not in a million years. He wouldn't believe her and even if he did, he'd hate her even more for tricking him into sleeping with her. Either way she was quite literally, fucked.
She felt her own share of deep running anger, something that was half need and half hatred. His touch was merciless at times, his lust to dominate her in bed like an alpha male bordering on frenzied. She felt dirty and used every time he ordered her to swallow and she complied. She felt like a whore whenever he made her screech his name in the middle of the night as she moved her hips frantically. The pleasure was nothing without the pain and the more she had him, the more at home she felt there, doing forbidden things in perfect seclusion.
What would her parents think? Worse, what… what would Yamcha and her friends think? He'd killed some of them when he first arrived on Chikyuu. He'd been heartless and cruel enough to end their lives as if they were less than the grime on his boots. And there she was, wailing in pleasure in his bed as he ravished her repeatedly. There she was asking for more as he touched her, the man that would kill her family and all her friends without an inkling of remorse. Kami, what would he do once he tired of her… and what was probably even more dreadful, what if he never did? What kind of life would she live if he took her away as his private toy to use and abuse forever?
It was her body he wanted, her body he craved… the sick bastard would probably even enjoy the knowledge of her loving someone else while he rammed her senseless every night.
She ran her hands up his back and reared her head to look into his eyes. “I will fuck you, all the while thinking of someone else.”

“And screaming my name?” His whisper brushed her lips, arousing her further.
She breathed agitatedly into his face. “Jerk…”
“Bitch.” Vegeta pressed her to him, his palms firmly on her bottom.
“Miss Briefs?'” Gosh, this sure was a day that just wouldn't end. A gentle knock on the door pulled Bulma out of the half-insane whirlpool she was already beginning to sink into.
Vegeta glared back at the door and emitted half a curse before letting her disentangle herself from his arms.
She ran to the door and pressed the button to step outside, leaving it still partially open. Her assistant apologized profusely before giving her a few last minute notes regarding the office, and the firing that had already taken place. She also spoke of the upcoming reception to be held at the yellow dome in honor of the new partnership. Bulma whinged and moaned, complaining about how she could be briefed about such matters through the more convenient medium called email.
Cherry peeked around her when she noticed the man inside the lab, his dark glittering eyes and exotic mane catching her attention at once.
She gasped. “Miss Briefs, I didn't know you had a new boyfriend?
Bulma moved to block the view of the door, attempting to push the woman away with gentle shoving.
“God… no Cherry, he isn't” She whispered hurriedly. “He's just a… a friend, a distant friend from my parents that's staying with us temporarily.”
Cherry's eyes widened and the undeniable spark of female curiosity lit them at once. She lowered her voice to Bulma's hushed volume. “Will he be at the party?”
Bulma exhaled in exasperation, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible. “I sincerely doubt it Cherry, and if I were you I wouldn't keep my hopes up with this one, so please, please, save your pool soul the displeasure.”
“The displeasure? He looks like a dark knight from the movies, you know, riding a black horse and sweeping you away into the night…”
“Cherry!” She hissed, beginning to grow tremendously exasperated with the conversation. “I really have to go now.”
The younger woman smiled and pulled her business card from her shirt's pocket, offering it to Bulma between two resolute fingers. “Do you promise you'll at least pass this along to him? Please, you can't say no. I'll be forever grateful!”
Bulma blinked a couple of times at the white, glossy card before snatching it off her fingers and sliding it into one of her own pockets. Cherry winked and took off, nearly skipping down the corridor.
She looked at her disappear around the corner, oddly transfixed in a mental repetition of what had just happened. She didn't want to think at all, didn't undergo a cognitive, rational mental process. Instead, she walked back inside, and saw him standing there, next to the big window that was already open to a white and blue sky.
“What did your human helper want that couldn't wait. Will you have to remain in this building?”
She shook her head and capsulated her bag, sliding it into her coat. “She… she didn't want anything.” With that she strode towards him and clasped her arms around his neck. It seemed there wasn't hope for a whisper of normalcy in her life. Her female friends were probably used to being picked up from work by their significant others in a snazzy car or a trendy motorbike. She… well, she traveled in a slightly different fashion.
“Hn” He reached around to lift her legs, but she stopped him with one delicate hand. “Wait!” She moved to unclip her hair, letting its voluptuous curls hang down. Her other hand reached down to take her heels off and hold them in one hand while her other arm curled around his shoulders. “I don't want to lose a shoe in mid air. They're Dolce's.”
He lifted her up with strong arms, pressing her tightly against his body. “What's a Dolce?”
“It's a Chikyuu thing…”
“And the hair. You are rather impractical onna.”
She smiled and buried her head in the crook of his neck. “I like the feeling of it fluttering to the wind.”
Those were her last words before exhaling and closing her eyes. The next thing she knew she was rushing through the skies and soaring through the heavens like a shooting star.
A/N: I have no idea how this chapter ended so long! I woke up 15 pages later. I am unworthy of all the lovely feedback I've been getting but will forever hold it close to heart. To all you faithful readers and reviewers, and I do know who you all are, *blows kisses*. Ch. 8… It's all just physical, or is it?