Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Keep a Secret ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: DBZ is the rightful property of its creator, Akira Toriyama. It doesn't mean I can't play with the Prince of all Saiyans, does it?

 

Author note: There's a reference to that watch-like device Bulma gives Gohan so he can change into the Saiyaman costume somewhere in this chapter. (You'll recognize what I'm talking about). On another note, the Japanese version of DBZ is sometimes hilarious. I just love hearing him being called “Vegeta-chan”.

 

This chapter's dedicated to the lovely gokusgirl, one of my most faithful reviewers, please don't go dying on me!

 

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

Chapter 8

 

 

Step 9 - Keep a Secret

 

 

The cool breeze infused with a scent of roses came as a stark contrast to the oppressive heat inside Capsule 3. A wave of nausea and dizziness hit him as soon as he emerged from the metal globe, a normal aftereffect of his body adjusting to a gross difference in gravity pulls. Not minding the discomfort, he moved with exhausted steps towards a place secluded among the tallest trees of the compound. It was a near desperate attempt to seek refuge from the overwhelming brightness of Chikyuu's kaleidoscope of light and color. He really did need that beyond belief, a safe haven away from the voices, the people, the overbearing presences that now invaded the rooms he'd walked about so freely a mere couple of weeks ago.

 

At last he knelt on the ground and dragged his sweaty body forward until he collapsed on a bed of baby's breath flowers. The cushion of tiny white petals that now lay crushed under his strained muscles offered some type of comfort, the soft whooshing of the wind against the leaves almost lulling him into slumber. Yet he remained aware, surrounded by his one silent companion.

 

Chikyuu.

 

The most beautiful, most intriguing planet he'd ever set foot on, home of crystal clear rivers and mountains that turned to blue under the spell of twilight. Days were infinitely sublime but it was the nights that held the most enthralling quality, with that odd chirping of insects and an all-encompassing darkness. And her.

 

His body had learned to associate dusk with the suppleness of her skin and the feel of her womanhood. The death of the sun never failed to make the muscles in his lower abdomen tense as if he were some pubescent boy inflamed with the prospect of milky thighs and hot, tight pleasure. Train by day, fuck at night, all night, until he felt completely drained. Yet somehow the thirst, the hunger would only grow stronger by the time the following evening came around.

 

It was odd really, how good her curves felt pressed against his body, as if molded for him by the gods themselves. Like an irony or a joke of fate. It was almost unnerving how his palms sweat with yearning while he trained in the Capsule ship, thinking about the things they'd done the night before, about the way she'd called his name between hitched breaths. He'd even caught himself smirking like an idiot while drifting off in the middle of his kata, a most unsettling thing to come across. He used that feeling of utter self-embarrassment to push himself harder, as much as was possible under the almost insulting, mediocre pull of 100g. Incidentally, it did take enormous willpower to agree to so little but in the end his impulsiveness was forced to take a seat and let reason lead the way. It was a setback, but with a greater purpose.

 

He opened his eyes and watched as the rays of light danced with the leaves up high. This kind of thoughts never failed to let certain wariness crawl into his stomach. There was no doubt the willingness to train at such a low level was also a testament to the fact that he did, after all, believe in the woman's smarts to aid him in his plan to become Super Saiyan. Of course there was something about that was deeply…unsettling, yet there was no denying she had superb mental prowess and he was smart enough himself to recognize that. Of course she had brains; otherwise he would have never even considered taken her as his rightful female.

 

But it wasn't just about her wits was it? It was also the body. He turned his head to the other side; the minuscule dainty flowers tickling his nose while he indulged in thoughts of one particular night she'd make him sit on the bed inertly. She said she had something to show him, something fun. Fun? Whatever the hell that meant according to the inane customs of her people.

 

And so he sat there, on the bed, bewildered and cross armed as she stood before him in her regular everyday clothes. She said she had invented a handy wrist device that had the ability to reconfigure clothing to whichever particular settings had been previously programmed into it. He said he didn't get, and grasped a cushion tighter to his crotch to cover his nudity. He had been aroused but her technical babble was already beginning to maim his desire.

 

She said she had a way to explain it better and with a swift movement, she hit the button to reveal her wearing something totally… different, in fact it was something that was barely even there. “Lingerie” she called it. It had been easy to memorize the word after her constant repetition when she saw him frown in deep confusion.

 

“Lingerie?”

 

“Lingerie.”

 

It was a black see through corset thing that hugged her upper body making her breasts look like they were going to explode. He'd beaten the image of her nude legs looking interminably long out of his head the next day while he trained. He'd made sure to pass out from the strain for letting his mind wander off into memories of the flimsy string that had covered her core. Yet shedding the remembrance of his loins stirring uncontrollably was harder than he'd thought. It was invariably true; the feeling of shame he'd felt when he caught himself staring at her still persecuted him.

 

She said that wasn't all… that she had other things pre-programmed in that mind-boggling contraption and she was more than curious to see which one he liked the most. A little show, for his own enjoyment, a piece of pure indulgence after a life of battle and brimstone. He had been intrigued at the thought of it, and he'd only managed to nod once, still holding on to his frown for dear life.

 

She produced some sort of minute red mesh that consisted of straps, straps everywhere and she said something about… chiffon, lace? Fuck knew. He was too concentrated following the crisscrossing paths of the strings as they hugged her body tightly. She looked like a woman packed and ready to be devoured.

 

Do you like it? She said with wide eyed expectation, twirling around like an innocent girl doing something harmless. That's when he started to salivate and to his perpetual disgrace he asked a question. “Do you have any more of these garments?”

 

In a matter of seconds she was looking at him coyly, wearing something that looked like a whisper of fabric, so thin in its whitish transparency it looked like he could tear it off with his eyes alone. It was snug against her straining… tits, as soldiers called them during conversations around bonfires he'd only overheard and never participated on. His eyes had then slid to the threads that barely concealed her lower regions and then… stockings up to her thighs. In white, all white like some immaculate nymph.

 

He really didn't remember much of what happened next, it was all a blur of sweat and tongues and sheer ecstasy. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a woman scantily clad. Hadn't those whores worn things that were perhaps akin to her tiny clothing? But was it ever that smooth? Had they ever looked like she looked that night when she appeared clad like a fallen angel? Fallen all the way to hell to touch his heated skin and let him drink until he was satisfied.

 

Gods, he could really behave like a miserable fool sometimes, a shame to the dignity of his crown. What was he, a fucking third class soldier?

 

What a weakness to let his body take over so completely and to fall so heavily under the spell of her wiles. What a pitiful thing that he liked inhaling her perfume under the covers as he let her cling to her. Her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, the heat, the moisture, the smell…

 

Vegeta pushed the wayward thoughts away from his mind in an effort to remain in control. He braced the weight of his upper body on his forearms and peered through the trunks of the trees at the enormous yellow building ahead. She was in there, with her parents, pretending to be a good girl. He remembered the day they came back from wherever they'd skulked to for the past few weeks and how completely taken by surprise she'd been. Truth be told, so had he.

 

They'd both been in the kitchen, early in the morning after having emerged from what was for all intents and purposes, their bedroom. The morning breeze that accompanied dawn was seeping through the curtains allowing the mist to chill her skin. It'd given her goose bumps. For some reason he'd focused on that as she plugged some device in a socket too blend something in for him. She called it a “smoothie” and said it was fantastically healthy for him. Chikyuu names were all rather stupid in his opinion but it did taste particularly good. It hadn't been the first time she'd prepared him such a blend. In fact it was already beginning to turn into some sort of routine, him and her alone together, in the house, almost like…. mates?

 

He grunted at the thought before refocusing on the dome. During those days spent together she'd been particularly sedate early in the morning and he'd usually wake up to the feeling of her soft lips all over his body. They'd shower together, they'd eat together, she'd work, he'd train, she'd come home… he'd slip into her room… and it would all start over again. Round and round, until constant proximity made him memorize her every gesture, especially that one, that tiny slanted smile she gave him when she caught him staring at her as she cooked, as she did their bed…

 

She was so earthy, so unrefined in the things she did. She “peed” when he was still in the bathroom shaving that Saiyan moustache that threatened to come back every few days. She ate in bed and sucked her fingers, luring him to suck them too because it was supposed to taste too good. She plucked at her underwear when it stuck too deep, gods, in front of him. And yet her brainpower was nothing short of genius. She would lie on the sheets, her feet propped on the headboard throwing mathematical equations in the air as he lounged on his belly, trying to concentrate on his own concerns.

 

“… According to the parameters of the calculation I suppose I'd have to multiply 65 times 274,000 to achieve a final answer.”

 

“17 million 810 thousand”.

 

He still remembered the look of shock in her face as she braced her weight on one arm to stare at him from the other end of the bed.

“What? Th…that's actually right. I never needed a calculator for this kind of thing but I'd never met anyone else who didn't either”.

 

He'd only looked back at her for a few seconds, eyes half-lidded in sleepiness until after a while she slumped back down. “I didn't know Saiyans had such mathematical ability.”

 

“They don't.” He replied with a voice that was already slurring. “I do.”

 

That's the way life progressed in the unnatural privacy of those short days and long nights until the morning her mother glided into the kitchen wearing a bright yellow dress and that overbearing disposition that always befuddled him. Thank the gods they'd been wearing clothes, although his concubine's tops left little to the imagination. That and those blue pants she so liked sliding into which hugged her hips a bit too tightly in his opinion. For some reason little details like those had remained firmly etched in his memory, as if time had frozen still that day, the second life changed. Her posture, her expression…

 

“Bulma! Oh Kami, It is so great to see you again! And Vegeta-chan! I'd say you look even more striking than usual, it seems the past few days have suited you quite nicely.”

 

“Mamma… I had no idea you'd be here so soon, why didn't you call first…I…” She was surprised, her eyes wide and her body tense under the other woman's relentless scrutiny.

 

“…and they most definitely have suited you quite nicely too, Bulma-chan. In fact I'd say you are as glowing as a blushing bride.”

 

Her father trailed in, carrying pointless trinkets they'd obviously gathered during their time away. She mentioned they'd taken the chance to trek the globe and see things they'd have never had the chance to see otherwise, all the while warbling about how beautiful every single town, city and patch of land was.

 

The woman's father spoke. “Now dear, don't overwhelm the kids with too much detail. There will be more than enough time to discuss it over dinner. By the look of Vegeta's clothing it seems he was about to hit the Gravity Room, am I right son?”

 

Bulma cut in, still looking fidgety.

 

“Mamma… I am glad it was such an eventful trip… but I think Pappa's right. How about you go get reacquainted with the pets...”

 

“Nonsense! I brought you all sorts of things you'd better open right now. After all such a lovely trip would have never been possible if it hadn't been for your…”

 

“Yes! Because I offered to take care of the pets, no need to thank me, please, we'll discuss it later, now why don't you guys go freshen up…” She tried pushing her away with light shoving, still smiling and being patient about her mother's incessant babbling.

 

“Vegeta-chan, are you Bulma's boyfriend now?”

 

He stared at her, one eyebrow quivering as was usual when she assaulted him with her unending chatter. He would never admit it, but to his eternal shame, most of the time he just didn't know what the hell to say to her. He had never faced such mighty opponents as the woman's parents, and that lady… she was almost beyond Vegeta's ability to grasp.

 

“Boyfriend?” It was all he could say as he looked at her as puzzled at that first day he'd set foot on the front lawn of Capsule Corporation.

 

“Mother! Shut up…” Bulma hissed, opening her eyes as round as dishes.

 

The blonde looked back over her shoulder at the old man who was now polishing some strange ceramic ornaments. “I have to say she is a rather lucky girl wouldn't you say love?” The blonde chirped on. “She was born with such advantage over the rest of the people and now she gets to have such a handsome, strong young man as Vegeta-chan to keep her warm. Dear? Isn't that fantastic…!”

 

He really did feel his cheeks begin to burn and he grated his teeth in sheer embarrassment. Gods, they were definitely low-borne, with that shrill volume and that overbearing excitement that reeked of commoner.

 

“Well, welcome to the family Veggie-chan.” She clasped her hands together and beamed at him like he was some precious boy she wanted to cuddle.

 

“Mamma! Please stop. What are you talking about, we aren't together. Are you out of your mind? Is it the jet lag? He most certainly isn't my boyfriend.” She brought down her voice to a deadly tone. “Isn't that right, Vegeta?”

 

He looked at her, took in the stern determination of her pleading eyes as she awaited his response. But he merely returned her glare.

 

And with that he placed the glass he'd been holding all along on the countertop before exiting the kitchen through the adjacent balcony. He stood there perched on the railing, ready to fly off unto the lawn but the wind carried their voices through to him, keeping him still against his will.

 

“Do you even know who he really is? You must know I would never be with someone like him. How could I ever be his girlfriend?” Her whispers resounded in his brain the minute he lifted off to a self-imposed exile into the depths of his training capsule.

 

Do you know who he is. Yes she thought she was better than him, liked pretending she was pure and uncorrupted. He sometimes saw her sitting in the living room, the place she'd been his for the very first time, on the same couch, talking to the human that used to be her partner. She played the role of some virginal creature, chaste and undefiled. But no one knew the darkest truths about her and what they shared; they couldn't even begin to understand what she was capable of.

 

But he knew.

 

He had learned the extent of her fire and her deepest desires. He knew how her skin became tremulous under his touch and her body swollen with undeniable wanton. And so in the middle of secrecy he'd walk into their chambers every night since to lay with her and remind her how much of a lie her everyday façade was. That she was his and, better yet, that she liked it.

 

If she wanted to continue the farce to please others and sooth herself so be it. Let them keep thinking she was a paradigm of decency while she fooled them with her elaborate ruse. She may laugh with them, speak with them, but she lay with her master every night, she fucked the enemy.

 

I would never be with someone like him. Yet she walked around with the smell of his seed so pungent he knew exactly where she was at all times. What was undetectable to humans he could inhale through his every pore.

 

At the end of the day, he aimed to wipe her delusions of morality until daddy's little girl realized she really wasn't his superior. Let her pretend. There was only one thing she got right in her assumptions, and for that he respected her valiance. He really did like to believe he was in fact, pure evil.

 

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

 

There was unsurpassable elegance to the crystal dinner table in the middle of the room, from the glistening china to the sparkling wine glasses and the silverware. The scent of lilies was infinitely subtle, intermingled with the aroma of the amouse bouche that had already been served. Black truffle canapés, nothing more, nothing less, a very ambitious way to start the interminable parade of fancy cuisine inspired by one of her mother's glossy magazines. Mamma surely liked dinners, but more than that, she adored food that looked “pretty” and this time around, it really showed.

 

She had waltzed around the room, her dress swaying about as she greeted the well perfumed guests that had slowly filled the chairs. Bulma was incredibly thankful she had kept it moderate, narrowing it down to only a few close friends of the family and as usual with this type of gatherings, her neighbors (her mother shopped with the wife on a regular basis). Now they all sat engaged in light conversation, overtly excited about the extremely boring details that usually composed early dinner chatter.

 

She hadn't wanted to come. Really. It had taken her mother hours of pushing and shoving before she'd finally agreed to grace the room with her presence, but not without first thinking about making a statement. She had appeared clad in a little black dress, a sin that perhaps would have been forgivable if it weren't pure leather and the front plunged into a very generous cleavage. It was obviously her way of issuing a tacit protest yet she was honestly beginning to regret it. It had been years since she'd last worn the bodacious garment and her curves seemed to be struggling to fit into the tiny scrap. Nevertheless, and being not one to shy away from a challenge, she told herself to stay for the food and leave as soon as it was politically correct to do so by using one of the already well rehearsed excuses she usually pulled in such situations. “I am terribly sorry to leave such pleasant company but I am afraid I feel a bit indisposed” seemed to sound both convincing and gracious enough. In anticipation for an easy retreat she had even made sure to sit at the end of the table. She really did not want to make her disappearance anymore troublesome than necessary.

 

“Oh, it is such a pity he hasn't showed up. I was hoping he'd join us on such a lovely evening, if only for the food.” Mrs. Briefs lamented, wringing her handkerchief with dainty fingers.

 

“I think it would be best if we start dear. After all I am sure you've prepared a delightful number of courses we are just dying to taste. The boy must be tired from all the training he's undergone lately. We can't really blame him can we?” Her father offered the reassuring words in his usual soft mannered way, making her mother issue a squinty smile.

 

“My… you are right. He is probably in more need of good rest than nourishment. After all, he does exert himself to incredible limits. Such a hardworking, driven soul.” She cocked her face and sent Bulma one of those polished grins she'd learned from her life as a socialite. “Bulma-chan, did Vegeta train hard while we were away?”

 

Her eyes widened instinctively, a pesky blush burning up her cheeks. “I…uh, sure. Very…hard.” She downed a glass of water and looked elsewhere.

 

“I am sure he did.” Beamed her mother. She was eternally thankful to Kami the minute they all started devouring their carefully concocted portions of food if only to avoid anymore unintentionally discomforting comments.

 

She shuffled in her seat, helplessly trying to pull the hem of her dress down. Damn her rebelliousness. She felt like a sausage, her dress as snug fitting as nothing else she had ever worn. Worst of all, it kept riding up her thighs and the clingy fabric made her hot, which was now evidenced by the sheen of sweat already beginning to glimmer on her chest. It only added to the strain of being here and it burdened her with thoughts of how different life had been before her parents had reappeared on that quiet Monday morning.

 

The elaborate pleasantries and propriety of tonight were a perfect contrast to the evenings Vegeta and she had shared in the bedroom, eating all those foods she'd loved since she was a child. French fries and pizza and ice cream, and licking his lips as he tried them in earnest surprise. She learned he liked chocolate, and saw how he'd preferred chicken nuggets to hamburgers. He said the latter made him look very unrefined. And milkshakes? He was keen on those too…

 

You have got to try this… you are going to like it. Was it ever like this on Vegeta-sei…and the things you tasted, were they ever this sweet?

 

He wouldn't respond. He'd speak with his body, with his hands. He would betray a gesture or two that she'd be careful not to miss. And with so little explained and so much lived she was now more than sure she had never felt so ignorant. For the first time she couldn't find an answer to anything, not even through her usual overanalyzing of things. Life became incomprehensible; like a riddle she still couldn't solve. All left was the undeniable truth that she'd never felt so… alive? It was astounding how her entire knowledge and self-awareness had flown out the window leaving her with only that.

 

She tried pushing the thoughts away frantically yet she could still feel a stinging in her chest when she realized she hadn't even seen him all day. Her parents' sudden arrival all those days ago had undeniably altered their time together which now boiled down to the hunger and desperation of every night.

 

“Sweetie, there's no food in the refrigerator. The bots are on standby ready to serve your helping as soon as you take a seat. The one across from Bulma is free.”

 

Bulma choked on her entrée, (when had they even served the veal scaloppini?) when she heard her mother's tender voice rise over the gentle conversation she hadn't even been participating on.

 

She coughed into her handkerchief and raised her eyes to meet him as he stood in the entrance. He had obviously been on his way to the kitchen but her mamma's artfully chosen words were already beginning to break down his barrier. His frown was a bit more relaxed than usual which allowed his facial features to project their superhuman elegance. And incredibly enough she had to fight the urge to smile.

 

Was his striking apparition the reason she felt something flutter inside her chest and her palms begin to sweat? All she knew was she was suffering a riotous reaction at the sight of the very fine stuff she got down with every night, all the while trying to retain a measure of control. She was also amazed at her vast sense of pleasure the second she saw him stride confidently towards the dinner table and sit down directly opposite to her. As he glowered there she felt the instinctive need to say something but she chose to clear her throat instead in a conscious display of utter nonchalance. He wasn't acknowledging her presence either; she couldn't feel the familiar heat of his gaze on her body as she sat there prodding at her food.

 

She listened to her mother engage her guests in a short introduction to the stranger. Bulma's friend from far away who was staying over for a few months and was very much into sports. He was a tremendously motivated young man who trained pretty hard but also sometimes missed his family and his country. She finished by stating he did seem to be having a good time in their home and was always eager to learn about their culture, which included the language. Yeah right. It sounded like she was singing his praises at a male beauty pageant. Still, she had to give it to her mother for her skill at grabbing control of every social situation and veering it the way she wanted to. There was no doubt she was aware of the dynamics of the table and how important it was to portray Vegeta as the foreigner who couldn't even speak their tongue very well. That would be more than enough to set him off limits.

 

Thank you mamma.

 

“Vegeta, make sure to let us know if you need any more food, honey.” She dismissed the bots with a gentle wave. “Thank you. That would be all… My, it seems oddly quiet in here don't you all think?” Her fingertips met her lips. “I believe some music should do the trick.”

 

“Great idea honey.” Her father smiled, popping another bottle of Chianti. “Do you have one of those records we bought in our trip to that terribly exotic jungle region?”

 

Bulma stopped her fork in mid air. “Oh Pappa, no more weird music, please. One more tribal drumming interlude and I'll just pull my hairs out.”

 

Dr. Briefs chuckled and so did the guests. “I am sure you can all remember just how difficult to please our Bulma was when she was a little girl. Well she hasn't changed one bit.”

 

He still wasn't looking at her, merely focusing on clearing his plate steadily.

 

“Don't worry Bulma-chan, nothing more soothing than Pappa's favorite classical mix Cds.” Mrs. Briefs said after pressing a button on her universal remote. She then turned to talk to the table in general. “All the incredibly bright people seem to have something for instrumental music have you noticed? It's one thing I've never quite been able to understand.”

 

Bulma arched an eyebrow. She was a genius but for some reason she wasn't too keen on that type of thing herself. At least it was better than the horrible sounds her parents had managed to unearth from the depths of the jungle. If only they hadn't submitted her to them for endless hours during the last few days…

 

Nothing, not a word, not a look.

 

Minutes dragged on, tension mounting on the place as they both ate in perfect muteness. The little bubble of their world had grown bigger and now seemed on the verge of exploding under the weight of the secrets they shared. Hadn't they rolled around in her room last night? Hadn't he looked at her through half-hooded eyes as she rode him? Yet the immutable Saiyan ate, an elusive prey, a man of hidden ardors who seemed adamant in retaining some sort of aloof disposition. She repaid him with the same detachment, not a glance, not a gesture to betray the reality of who and what they were.

 

Except under the table.

 

Bulma, sliced a tiny potato and popped it in her mouth as she smiled in Mrs. Rosenbaum's direction.

 

“And that experiment you were working on dear, what was it…”

 

“The Podkletnov Force beam.” Said Bulma.

 

“Ah… yes, how is that going? Pretty risqué endeavor or so I've heard.”

 

She slid the foot she'd freed from the confines of her shoe up his leg. “It's going better, much better than I expected. Thank you.”

 

Her toes glided north very slowly, indulging in the sensation of the hard curve of the powerful limb. She curled her foot to touch his muscles as thoroughly as possibly over the snug pants he loved wearing. A sudden wave of electricity rippled through her body, something indescribable nearly combusting in her chest. But still he gave her nothing. Even though he wasn't pushing her away he wasn't showing her an inkling of emotion. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, like a fish out of the water ready to spring up.

 

Great, more for her to work with.

 

She exchanged a few perfectly trivial comments with a couple of guests while munching on an asparagus and sliding her foot back and forth over his thigh, so thick and muscled her entire body shuddered in anticipation. She bit her lip when he remained as impassive as before. He really did seem to be completely concentrated on his Pasta Parisienne as if it was the most delectable thing he'd ever seen. What on earth was the matter with him? Didn't he feel anything at all? Now she justhad to know.

 

She snaked her way towards that narrow place between his thighs, and, oh… Bulma smiled a bit, something throbbing at her very core. His rock hard bulge was a perfect place to station her foot and let it play, up and down, pressing, rubbing. Yes, the man definitely spoke best with his body.

 

She sucked on her fork while she risked a quick glance in his direction. Would she ever tire of looking at him? Would she ever be able to resist the feel of his smooth bronze skin against her own? She wanted him now…could he smell it?

 

She nudged him as hard as she could and he jolted.

 

“Vegeta, is everything alright?” Bulma's father inquired with concern. She could feel his black gaze on her, at last, yet she said nothing, resorting to showing total interest in the apple napoleons she was being served. He grunted in response and went back to finishing up a 3rd plate of food. It was good the others were entranced in some vapid conversation regarding someone's nephew's wife's son or they would have been a bit taken aback by his voracious appetite. And he was hers, completely; no one had a right to talk about, set eyes upon or notice her little catch.

 

She licked her spoon in a very demure gesture while she massaged his engorged need. She wanted to moan, to vocalize the fact she knew he was about to explode. It was evident against her sole, as she pushed and stroked, he wanted her. And at that moment a cloud began to blur her reason.

 

I want you too… so much it hurts. Can't we just leave,you and me, anywhere? Take me with you, drive me into the ground….

 

A tiny thrust of his hips, just a millimeter into her foot, almost as if he could read her convoluted thoughts and wished to sate her burning need. Her breath was beginning to shallow, perspiration breaking over her skin. One hand wrung a napkin while she pleasured him under the table, and as the beat of her heart quickened so did the overwhelming stirring in her womb. She ground herself on the seat in an effort to stifle her own urges at least a little with the pressure but she knew, instinctively, only he would do.

 

Then, when he lowered his fork and their eyes met she could only swallow hard, moistening her lips without even noticing it. His fingers were beginning to deform the metal of the utensil under the power of his grasp. Was he getting close? It sure seemed so… she recognized the smoldering heat in his eyes too well. This was probably getting out of hand and he probably thought so too as evidenced by his penetrating scowl. He looked like a grown up pissed off at a naughty child.

 

Her eyes held his, lips parted and she lowered her pressure, sliding the mischievous foot all the way down. And the minutes extended infinitely, a perfect moment of complicity until she hooked her ankle around his.

 

“Bulma-chan, Bulma-chan!” Her mother gasped in utter exhilaration. “Do you recognize that piece?”

 

The delicate wave-like sounds of a harp expanded throughout the room in a soft crescendo and Bulma's eyes widened. Her head swam still in the haze of lust but her mother's shrill tone was a rather brusque and effective way of pulling her out of it. She slowly gathered her wits enough to recognize just which song was oozing off the sound system. Yes, it was as if it were only yesterday she'd last heard it. And that second her stomach clenched.

 

Her mother swayed her head gently when the violins made themselves present through the most affable tones of horns and flutes.

 

“Yes… could you change it?, Pappa can you change it please?”

 

“Waltz of the Flowers…” Her father beamed, looking in Bulma's direction.

 

“Oh isn't that what Bulma danced when she was only 5 years old at the school gala?” Mrs. Rosenbaum offered, her eyes glinting as she sat up in her chair. “I can still remember her twirling around in the backyard in her little pink tutu, her pudgy arms flailing to the wind. Oh Bunny, the most adorable thing she was.”

 

“Yes. Used to be cute. I just don't know what happened when she reached thirteen. I think it must have been the influence of all those god-awful TV shows they started putting on the air. Kami knows what happened to decency. One day I woke up and she had turned into a perfect rebel I tell you…”

 

“Mamma, I am still here. Could you change it, honestly? Pappa, hand me the remote.” She perked up, her tone a lot snappier than the casual relaxedness she'd been so good at portraying throughout the evening. Vegeta stared at everyone behind a glower of sheer confusion and Bulma couldn't help but dart an eye in his direction. This was not a conversation that was happening, especially not in front of him.

 

“And I remember she was a rose too, isn't that right?” Now Mr. Rosenbaum found he could too track down the memory of their little neighbor running around in a cloud of tulle so many years ago.

 

Dr. Briefs popped a madeleine. “She most certainly was. Her mother jumped at the opportunity to turn her little baby girl into her favorite flower. Adding sparkles to the skirt was all Bulma though. I think we may have pictures lying around somewhere of her practicing her moves.”

 

Mrs. Briefs hummed to the tune. “And tandú, plie, tandú plie… skip, skip, piroutte. I may even have the recording somewhere.”

 

“Stop… stop… Mamma, put something else on. Come on, where's that tribal music? I change my mind, I do like drums, put the drums on.”

 

Her foot had locked around Vegeta's ankle in the hard-rock tension she had so much difficulty hiding. Through her peripheral vision she noticed he seemed to be devouring madeleines with a peculiar glimmer to his eyes. Was he actually enjoying seeing her being placed in the spot like this? She supposed being in your own territory didn't always put you at an advantage.

 

“And what happened to little Bulma's love of ballet.” A nice old lady, who was one of her father's long time business associates and her mother's dear friend inquired.

 

“It was that science gene she got from her father that took over. She got obsessed with changing the world or something to that effect. Unfortunately that meant not nurturing her creative side anymore. She used to be into drawing too. Her favorite theme was princes and princesses, do you remember love?” She spoke in her father's direction. “I think she put castles in there somewhere too. Yes, she definitely wanted to be a princess.”

 

Could Kami just kill her now? For real.She balled her hands into fists and clenched her teeth. She didn't look angry, she look more like mortified.

 

“A pity the whole classical dancing thing too.” Her mother carried on with casual grace. “She used to be infatuated with the idea of wearing pointe shoes yet sadly enough she just never got picked for that particular ensemble. Oh dear, I suppose I should just change both the song and the subject. Now let's see…”

 

Bulma puffed in complete tiredness and moved a few imaginary pieces of dessert in her plate with her spoon.

 

“Is that better sweetie?”

 

Bulma glanced at her and back down at her plate before shrugging. “Oh my goodness, isn't that Theme from a Summer Place?” Her father interjected. Wow quite the night tonight. It was like a little memoir show from hell, Bulma thought, her foot still hooked around Vegeta's.

 

“I am so glad you remember our song.” Her mother sighed, smiling in a gesture of complete adoration. “The one song we danced at our wedding.”

 

All guests seemed delighted at the heartwarming display of emotion. “A most lovely piece indeed” commented one.

 

“Yes. Honey, can we play it at the Capsule Corporation reception next week? I would just love to dance with you once more, all dolled up like that day so long ago.” Her mother's voice had lowered to a sweet whisper and her eyes lit up when her father issued a quick nod. At that very moment and despite Bulma's prior sense of torment something shifted inside her chest. It happened when in the presence of this thing her parents brought together with them, an emotion both incomprehensible and sublime.

 

Love. So deep and honest it almost filled the entirety of the room. Companionship and memories, all mingled together in such a way words couldn't even do it justice. She would have preferred thinking it was nothing but a mythical emotion concocted in the minds of poets and troubadours but her parents' presence was a perfect example that proved her wrong. Not only was it infinite in its beauty, it was bittersweet in the way she got to experience it every single day of her life through the eyes of others.

 

“Which reminds me, who is going to be escorting you child?” Her father asked with total sincerity, his voice devoid of any slyness.

 

“I… “ She frowned. “No one.” Escort? She hadn't even thought about that. Not Vegeta for sure, who now seemed about ready to bolt after hunger was no longer an issue. He had remained perfectly quiet throughout dinner, ensconced in that mental seclusion of his. Yet she knew him all too well, and there was nothing that escaped him, nothing he had missed here tonight.

 

“Perhaps Yamcha.” Came her mother's quiet response.

 

Bulma's toes curled around Vegeta's leg with the determination of a vine. “No mamma. He will be there, but not as my date. We are no longer together like that, remember?” She didn't notice her mother's little smile at the sound of her words. Her eyes didn't once lift from her plate as she spoke transfixed in the golden details of the china. All of a sudden she felt suspended in time, experiencing a feeling of perfect self-knowledge. Her limb didn't move, intertwined with his in a touch that seemed more like a small caress even in its stillness. This moment, together with him, in secret, in silence, had become her life.

 

A few minutes more ensued, her heart engrossed in that odd sense of tranquility, of moments spent avoiding eye contact. It seemed nearly interminable before she felt him pull away with a slow deliberate move. He got up as swiftly and graciously as he'd appeared and exited the room almost unnoticed. Her family and friends didn't realize he'd disappeared. They seemed a lot more concentrated in discussing how everyone wanted their coffee before preparing to retreat into the adjacent room and finish the evening with merry laughter and soulful conversation.

 

“Bulma, will you be joining us next to the fire?” Her mother inquired as she prepared to follow the rest of the group out the archway and into the soft golden hues of the den.

 

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

 

No. High heels definitely weren't made to climb ladders and walk around rooftops chasing monkeys. That was more than clear as she huffed and puffed, hoisting herself up unto the curvature of the enormous expanse that was the roof of the main dome in the complex. To make matters worse, the night was frosty and her teeth were on the verge of clattering, her nipples hardening almost painfully against the skintight fiasco that was her little dress. What in the seven hells was she even doing here? The promise of hot tea next to the fire in the cozy living room was a lot more welcoming than this cold, dimly lit expanse of nothing that extended before her. Why was it she had to go out venturing her ass into life threatening situations, chasing up demons instead of indulging in the comfort of human companionship? She gave up on responding before she even tried.

 

Bulma scanned the ample space and narrowed her eyes when she suddenly spotted him lying belly up on the roof. It was interesting how he always looked deeply menacing even when in repose, yet tonight he seemed… different, not a hint of that perpetual tension in his muscles. Showered in moonlight, arms crossed behind his head, he looked more like a statue that had suddenly sprung to life. A gargoyle that turns to flesh and bone during the night.

 

He had probably felt her already with that keen warrior sixth sense of him, and even if he hadn't, the slight tackle of her heels on the concrete showed no intentions of being stealth whatsoever. He didn't move a finger as she sat next to him, her body facing the opposite direction so she could look right down into his eyes. And… she could feel it. For the first time in the evening she felt completely and utterly, good, even if he wasn't acknowledging her presence.

 

“Human gatherings aren't always that boring you know. There is much more to it than meets the eye.” The cold breeze brushed through, making her hair wave slightly to the wind. “I wish I could tell you just how many things make up who and what we are, perhaps you'd even like some of the music us humans make, music that's different to what you heard tonight.” She squint her eyes a bit. “Somehow you don't strike me as the kind of guy that would enjoy sitting at a classical recital. Perhaps you'd like rock… you'd probably like Van Halen better…”

 

He quirked an eyebrow. “Van Halen?”

 

She smiled at the sound of his almost supernaturally low voice and how good it felt as it wrapped around her like a cozy blanket. “It's a….”

 

“It's a Chikyuu thing.” He finished, finally looking up into her eyes.

 

She didn't say anything, just pressed her lips together and curled them up in a catlike expression.

 

And he remained still, both their eyes locked in what seemed a timeless moment of infinite silence. For some reason she couldn't quite recognize she felt her nerves electrify throughout her limbs, a tickling sensation suddenly frolicking inside her stomach. Why did she feel embarrassed like a schoolgirl out on a first date? Didn't he already know her more intimately than anyone ever had? He had touched her body as deeply as physically possible with everything he had, hands, tongue…. every part of him, yet she felt unnerved sitting there staring into his dark eyes.

 

He slowly raised his torso, bracing its weight on his hands, his face mere centimeters away from hers. What was he gonna do, what was he gonna do…Couldhe sense how terrified she was? How tense and nervous?

 

But she didn't move, she just let her eyes roam all over his face as if trying to memorize every single inch and every angle. Was it starlight shining through the cloudless skies that was morphing him into something this inexplicably beautiful?

 

She cleared her throat and tried to relax her face as much as she could. “Had… anyone ever told you, you are…”

 

Bulma frowned and pouted, and unfortunately that feeling of internal clumsiness returned full force. What was she, crazy? Did she want to lavish his ego so that it finally made his head explode?

 

“That I am what?” He asked gruffly.

 

She clamped her teeth together knowing fully well it was too late for her not to finish her thought. “… Well, that you are not… unfortunate looking.”

 

He looked at her in slight confusion, brows knitted together. “Why do you say that?”

 

Yes, why did she? Good point. She should learn to shut her mouth, yet her tongue insisted on spewing words out of its own will. “I don't know. No point in denying the truth. Granted, the hair is something I've never seen in my wildest dreams, but even in its alien quality, it always looks almost like it's groomed. And the rest…”

 

He was looking at her with such intensity she felt her voice about to falter. “And… the rest is, well you know.” She trailed off, looking elsewhere and glowering like she was talking about the weather.

 

“No, I don't know” He stated, pulling her gaze back with the sheer magnetism of his voice. There was a quiet demand to his words, something that compelled her to continue.

 

She garnered her thoughts and planted her pupils on him steadfastly. “It's nice.”

 

He suddenly narrowed his eyes at her, his face becoming unreadable.

 

“Had anyone ever told you that?” Bulma could have sworn she saw a slight tinge of amusement flit through his expression, his eyes becoming half hooded… and then he slid them to her lips. Time ticked in her head, her ears suddenly deafening under the pressure that was rising inside her body. And she couldn't move, could only hold her breath. His face was so close, his breath on her lips… What was he going to do? God, what…

 

She was getting ready for the unexpected when he suddenly lifted his gaze towards some imaginary point in the horizon. Her already parted lips curled back as she bit on them, big glimmering eyes not leaving his features once.

 

She raised a hand and placed it on his cheek, turning it gently back to face her. “Fly me somewhere.” She whispered, a tad or urgency coating her words. “I want to get away from here…”

 

Vegeta looked at her a bit perplexed, drawing his chin in a little. He regarded her for a few seconds of extreme silence before splitting it open with the velvet of his voice. “I can't do that. There is no point to it.”

 

“There doesn't have to be a point. Just do it, take me away.” She rushed, suddenly escaping the mental bars that had been firmly placed around her. Her mind struggled past fear, past restraint, in a desperate window of courage that wanted to throw all caution to the wind.

 

“No.” He said, without any harshness, with a simplicity that seemed both sincere and final.

 

Bulma inhaled, her eyes suddenly becoming infused with bitter determination. Her mouth opened to say something frantic yet she shut it again and chose to stand up instead, towering above him as her hair brushed against her face. “If you won't take me, then I'll go there myself. I'll fly away on my own.”

 

Vegeta raised his eyes and glared at her with slight irritation. “And now what the hell is that supposed to mean? Did you have too much wine to drink at that gathering of yours?”

 

“No I didn't, and I guess you'll find out what I mean soon enough.” She began walking backwards, not taking her fierce eyes off him as she did. She was infinitely glad the minute she saw puzzlement spread across his face, his usual tension returning to his posture at once.

 

“What…” He rasped leaning forward.

 

“Oh yes, I'll throw myself Vegeta, believe me.” Her voice was steel in its determination, stern in the delivery of her threat. She twisted her neck to look down over the edge of the building and its downward slope into sure death. She was so high vertigo was beginning to make her dizzy, but adrenaline alone held her together.

 

“Stop playing games woman. I don't believe you capable of such a thing. Not even you are that foolish.” He said, legs beginning to bend as he perched an arm on a knee.

 

“Alright, goodnight Vegeta, I think you really don't know me well at all.”

 

And she threw herself.

 

One second the harsh coldness of the wind was rushing against her body as she freefell, and the next… was she dead? Had God spared her the pain of crushed bones and sent her an angel to hoist her up towards the heavens?

 

She cracked an eye open, noticing how she'd been screaming all along at the top of her lungs. The first thing she felt was warmth, strength. She was safe, held tightly in his powerful arms as they hovered several meters above the ground, high, very high in the air.

 

“You stupid little girl!” He roared, the depth of his voice reverberating against her body. “What the hell was that all about?! Are you going through some lunar phase of complete insanity?!”

 

Bulma, held unto his neck for dear life, her heart beating violently against her chest. He seemed so angry she was suddenly afraid he'd just drop her on her rear in a fit of pure, blinding fury. “No you ass!!! I was sure you'd get me!!” She bellowed into his face. “Isn't that obvious!”

 

He was breathing hard, readjusting her in his arms continuously as if he couldn't get a good grip on her. She expected him to say something else, yet he remained quiet, looking at her all flustered.

 

“Please, take me away now.” She whispered, her tone softening infinitely and her lips almost grazing his.

 

He looked sideways, exhaling against the silken tresses of her aquamarine her. His strong hands grabbed her delicately, pressing her against him and embellishing her in the soft indigo of his power. They remained like that for a few seconds, merely hovering like a soft blue star in the middle of the night, their heartbeats struggling to pound in unison. As moments dragged on he slowly turned his face back to meet her eyes, his lips brushing against hers like a feather. “You are crazy woman. Why….” His voice had never sounded so rich, so deep and masculine. “Why would you do this? Where do we go now?”

 

She smiled against him, knowing she'd get her way, yet again. “Wherever Vegeta.” Her arms narrowed around his neck trustingly, not missing a chance to look into his eyes before flying off into the darkness.

 

“Wherever.”

 

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AN: Comments, questions? Feel free to drop me a note. Ch. 9, Bulma's going to dig much deeper, and just where exactly is “wherever”? *wink*. Stay tuned.