Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Fall Into the Underworld ( Chapter 16 )

Disclaimer: I am Toriyama's fan and Vegeta's slave. I don't charge a cent.

 

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

Chapter 16

Step 17 - Fall into the Underworld

 

 

She expected some sort of major event after the timer beeped, an Ixian convoy materializing in a spectral display of colors or perhaps the tremors of the ship as they were yanked by the gravitational pull of some alien apparatus, but they were only met with the subtle hum of the capsule. In fact, she was trying to puzzle out the reason why he had insisted they didn't even move it at all since making contact.

 

Vegeta had put on his royal blue armor after a trip to the lower level to fill the chrome sink and splash cool water over his face and chest. She'd been making the bed she'd occupied in solitary for the last week when she risked a glance through the bathroom door. Tiny beads of water rolled down the taut hillocks of his torso, spilling lazily down his biceps and shimmering on his dark long hair. It had all reminded her of how thirsty she was, had made her want to drink the drops right off the tanned skin and lick until there was nothing left to gather. Thankfully the knowledge that they were about to land had squelched that desire, a flicker of hope igniting at the thought that they were one step closer to the end of this journey. If things flowed smoothly she may just make it back intact. Soothed by that notion, she'd paced around counting the minutes, tapping her fingernails on her arm and longing for the three hours to pass swiftly. They had, but her disappointment was now vividly notorious.

 

She remained silent from her position next to him looking idly through the main screen of the ship. And then, as the minutes dragged on, her brows sank together along with her patience.

 

“Veg…” He extended his arm before her, cutting her words short. He then moved towards the hatch, grabbing the latch and swinging it down forcefully.

 

“No, no, no. What in heaven's name are you doing?” She shrieked, rushing to his side and holding his forearm with both hands. “Are you crazy? You can't do that. We're hovering in the middle of nowhere. Are you just going to fly out into the great wide nothing?”

 

His pupils slid to rest on her quavering eyes. “Haven't you been paying attention at all? And there you like calling yourself a genius.” She knew her strength was pitiful compared to his, which is why her entire frame tensed when she saw his fingers tighten over the steel rod and yank it down. A loud flushing sound resounded as the door extended outward like a bridge into the impenetrable depths of the universe.

 

She inhaled sharply and took a step back, certain this was all part of some elaborate ruse to dump her like refuse after seven days of torment. She bit her bottom lip in expectancy but he didn't shove her out, in fact, and strangely enough, nothing actually happen. There was no sudden oppression in the cabin, no blaring sirens alarming the occupants of their impending doom. It was as if he had opened the hatch to a different room filled with a completely breathable atmosphere, opposite to the cruel hostility of raw space.

 

“There hasn't been an inkling of movement in the asteroid belt directly ahead since we've anchored.” He said, granting her a sideways glance with a hint of arrogance, and then, without further preamble he stepped out. Just like that. She half expected him to float helplessly and begin asphyxiating, but he instead appeared pretty steady right there were he stood, on the firm surface of… well, nothing.

 

“Chikyuu-jin, are you going to stay there?” He husked, offering his hand to her in a gesture that was both firm but also gentlemanly. It was ironic how she was supposed to take a leap of faith and step out into deep space hand in hand with him. After all, they were supposed to be enemies, to stay true to that heartless fate destiny had cast over them. But for some reason she felt safer here than she'd ever felt before, facing cosmos in its breathtaking enormity with him as her only guide. It was her last thought as her dainty hand came into contact with a bigger, much stronger one.

 

Then slowly but surely, her heel touched a solid surface, as if they were both standing on some invisible platform. They were surrounded by stars, light years away from any breathing creature, bodies completely unguarded by anything. How could they still be alive? Were they mortals or were they gods? Her eyes sought his, on the apex of an unrecognizable emotion, speaking without words to let him know that she was amazed. She was breathless when she was with him, stricken, floored. In his presence even the smallest things were resplendent and larger than life. Only he could make her walk among the stars and shake hands with the constellations.

 

The ghost of a smirk graced his face before taking a couple of steps, still holding her hand. And then, when she least expected it, the universe morphed into a whirlwind, the canvas of space melting into a spiral of color and pixie dust till there was nothing left but blackness. A different scenery came into view and it took her a moment to figure out where they were, an extensive enclosed docking bay consisting of multiple levels, running as high and as low as her eyes could reach. Landing platforms projected outward like flat lollipops trimmed by incandescent lights. Capsule four was resting on a circular palette, shutting down in automatic response to some foreign stimulus, and they were only ten feet away from it.

 

Bulma glanced around, lips parted as she took in the enormity of the area, vessels of all shapes and sizes docked around them in what seemed like infinite numbers. “Where are we?” She inquired almost to herself, her slender fingers now holding unto his wrist instinctively.

 

“It's called Port 99 for its position inside this quadrant, not for a correlative order of numbers. It's the only way into the planet and the biggest station this side of the galaxy. It's impossible to access our destination directly, much less touch down on main city with a ship this size. This acts as an entryway to a wormhole that shoots you within the gravitational pull of Ixia.” She listened attentively, beginning to suspect this area of the universe was completely different than what she had seen during her first trip. “I presume it's cloaked to any passerby much the same way this station is. It's all an elaborate security measure to ensure it remains what it is, the best kept secret in the universe, after the dragon balls that is.” He added the last comment with a grimace of distaste, perhaps due to his unfortunate history with the spheres.

 

“Why can't ships this size land on the city we're headed to?” She asked, engrossed in the fantastical explanations spilling from his mouth. He turned to the oval shaped gate to the left, an eyebrow curving in a gesture of deep analysis. He was evidently machinating some strategy. “Once you look at the surface you'll probably realize there's not much landing space.”

 

“So what are we going to use to touch down if Capsule 4 is out of the question? We've got nothing.” He didn't offer any explanation. Instead his countenance hardened further, becoming an impenetrable mask of sheer calculation. She had seen many expressions grace his face but not once had she met this side of him. “We don't have much time, capsulate the ship.” His instructions weren't harsh but she was so attuned to him she could immediately sense the energy inside him coiling in preparation for… something. She decided to obey without delay, packing the metal structure in response to his body language.

 

He snuck it underneath his breastplate and grabbed her shoulders, commanding her attention fully. She half-expected him to go on about how she was supposed to walk ten steps behind and keep her arms crossed at all times like a worn out cliché. “I have brought you because I am confident in my ability to protect you. I know I can. I am far above the food chain in regards to any bastard you get to meet from now on, but not even raw power is undefeatable.” Bulma was both comforted and distressed by his ominous words. “So you must do as I say at all times and bite that viperous tongue of yours lest you want to doom us both. Those who come this far but are unable to meet security protocols for entry end up leaving in bags.”

 

“What?” She hoped she hadn't heard him well, an unsettling need to pee making itself present.

 

“That means dead you moron, and you'll drag me down with you for having committed the sin of bringing you along. If they so much as assume I am attempting to smuggle people into the place they will do away with both of us. Just remember something, at this point you already know too much.”

 

With that he strode towards the entrance. She ran to catch up with him, dissatisfied with his sinister explanation. “Wait, what are you talking about? What could they possibly do to neutralize you? You really are incredibly powerful… the most talented warrior, criminal, fiend, Saiyan, whatever, I know of. Just look at your fighting level, your experience and strategic ability. They can't touch us.”

 

He reached out and grabbed her waist, more than a little glad for the ego massage even if it wasn't deliberate. He pulled her to him and crossed the gate after the polished sheets parted. “Security has the unsightly ability to spray venom through their mouth. Now hush, we are now being monitored.”

 

Her pulse raced at the gruesome image of some horrible reptilian creature perched on an admittance cubicle. “Shit.” she muttered, now noticing the round elevator with padded interiors that looked like velvet. It began humming its descent, sending a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her belly.

 

He was pressing her to him, big hands dipping slowly down her back until she was enfolded in a deep embrace. It caught her off guard, but she didn't stop him, her body responding immediately. Her form was soft and feminine, narrow shoulders constricted against manly steel. She wasn't supposed to, but there was her head, resting on his shoulder, arms encircling his waist and palms smoothening along the curve were his spine met his tight buttocks. It was all she could do not too sigh… so long without feeling this, her mind whispered, lips close to the base of his sinewy neck, almost tasting the salty sheen of sweat laying there.

 

He lowered his head to bury his nose between her silken hairs and murmur in her ear. “Kiss me”. Bulma thought she had imagined the words, eyes narrowing to slits of confusion. He couldn't be asking her to… “What?” She breathed.

 

“Kiss me” He repeated “Touch me… like you're dying to have your way with me, like you can't get enough.” She blinked at the rich dark sound of his voice as it caressed her earlobe. She felt a surge inside her gut, some barely restrained feeling spiraling out of control and rushing violently throughout her limbs. She squeezed her eyes shut, plump breasts squashed against his chest as she breathed heavily.

 

“I…” She begun uncertainly, lips tremulous.

 

Vegeta exhaled in sharp annoyance, bunching the barely there fabric of her dress. “Do it. Act like it if you must unless you want to end up gasping for air and smelling your own skin as it chars with hyperacidic venom. They mustn't suspect I'm merely sneaking some refugee girl in for pay.”

 

Bulma breathed in, her fingers tingling in expectation. Then a muscled thigh found its way between her legs, urging her up, steely arms wrapping around her tighter, imprisoning her with their power. She licked her lips before pressing them to his neck, half biting, half kissing, delighting in the masculine flavor. The taste was intoxicating, addictive enough to loosen all inhibitions. It was a private feast, blood to the thanatophile in her.

 

She tightened her hold, kissing all around his neck feverishly, slithering an eager pink tongue from the base to his chin and then nibbling his ear. Vegeta slid his palms up her back until they cradled the base of her skull, fingers tangling in the long sapphire hair. He pulled her head back to suck on her neck, sending her entire frame into shudders. Her hands began transpiring, sweat breaking through her body and wafting into his nostrils in notes of wildflower, vanilla and musk. Her taste, her flavor… he could recognize it perfectly. This heightened and delicate. This rare.

 

Her mount of Venus rubbed against the top of his thigh, slender female fingers reaching up to gather the stray strands of hair at his nape. He tilted her head one way and another to give him better access to her damp porcelain skin. And as she felt helpless again, her heart beat a tattoo in her chest, hips undulating hungrily against his body. In the midst of the ragged breathing he pulled her head far back again to lick her lips. “Lick me too.” He demanded against her mouth.

 

It was a necessity to live, she reasoned, feeling both the viscous wetness oozing from her very core and the hardness straining between his thighs. It's a necessity to keep breathing… and so she lapped against his lips, nearly whimpering at the feeling. Their tongues licked and flicked together, mouths suctioning intermittently and drinking big gulps of each other. Their bodies writhed in spasmodic fashion. More, more, more, her body cried, like it was agonizing, like every touch was both heaven and hell.

 

When he released her lips her mouth remained open, stuck in a bottomless gasp, relishing the blazing fire of his saliva as he moved to her earlobe. Her hands had become restless, fingers digging into the firm muscles of his ass. “Bulma…” She only pressed herself against him, head dizzy from lack of sustenance and too much adrenaline. God, she was going to faint any minute now. “Bulma…” He repeated, now much more strongly, beginning to tear through her hazy thoughts.

 

“Hn…” She murmured in a drugged up state.

 

“That's enough. I don't want to walk around with a damn erection for everyone to see.” He rolled his eyes and shut them, leaning his head back against the surface of the elevator. She allowed herself a moment or two to just look at him, face tinted with a fraction of vulnerability as he tried to regain control over naked instinct. Her ruby lips grew sly at the thought of being a real bitch and sabotaging his intent, forcing him to walk around with a hard-on in front of whoever was waiting for them at the other side of the door. Still, she remained unmoving, oddly pleased that she could incite such ardor in him.

 

Quicker than expected he reclaimed his senses, the pore-less contours of his face hardening in concentration. The doors slid to reveal a wide room decorated in crystal panes and more of that velvety padding. She could see the cautious determination in his eyes as he walked ahead and stepped into the monochromatic foyer. She stalked up to him, running into his back as he came to an abrupt halt.

 

There, lounging around in the room were at least half a dozen creatures, all surely recent arrivals from the gates that surrounded the interior. She expected to see a sundry array of gaudy mutants, pretty much in the style of Frieza's lackeys, but what she saw was a far cry from that. They were all, no exception at all, not just anthropomorphic, but looked rather human. They would have fooled her if not for a few details that gave them away. A couple of them were painted in a hue a tad more golden than she would have seen back on Chikyuu, others sporting the elongated pupils of a snake. Still, there was latent elegance in their demeanor, garments contrasting and highlighting the fact that no one shared a common background.

 

They murmured lazily, sneaking furtive glances in their direction but largely undisturbed by their presence. Her eyes eventually came to rest on a greenish old man behind a counter, with an expression so harsh she thought he'd make the perfect principal from hell. His eyes were a milky blue, staring ahead like he was looking beyond the walls of the waiting room.

 

Vegeta looked both ways, his chin just a bit tilted up in an intercultural signal of superiority before turning to her and shielding her from the onlookers. He produced his necklace from a pouch behind his breastplate and clasped it behind her neck. The heavy medallion encrusted with the sparkling gem hung above her breasts dignifiedly, making her feel almost a bit unworthy. “When I'm summoned, wrap your arms around me and no matter what, don't look directly at him.”

 

Was he telling her this so in the event of failure venom wouldn't hit her straight away? She refused to dwell on the life threatening situation and only nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. He braced his palms against the crystal panel behind her, “From this moment on you are my royal consort. The only thing giving you any sort of worth in the eyes of others is that Rock of Fire hanging from your neck, an ancient Saiyan stone nearly everyone here recognizes. Slaves can be bartered, touched, exchanged, disrespected, but high ranking consorts… no one inside would challenge me for you, or kill you in some sneaky way if they were to be displeased by your mere presence.”

 

He darted a glance over his shoulder at the sound of his name.

 

“Vegeta, Prince.” The strange agent rasped in a voice that reminded her of two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. Bulma only nodded, resolving to go into autopilot so she could put herself through the gruesome situation. He dragged her with him until they were facing the wrinkled creature.

 

“Te'an oni'antean Saiya-jin.” The man stated solemnly. Vegeta looked at him down his nose before pulling out a solid rectangular card that glimmered prismatically under the trap lights. The agent slid an end unto a round device that glowed its acceptance before giving it back.

 

“Faykari shiniia aeka.” The prince responded, crossing his arms and allowing Bulma to wrap her own around him like an adoring child. His voice vibrated through to her, reminding her of how sexy she found it when he spoke Saiyan. The exchange went on for a few seconds, at times acquiring an edge, as if they were arguing over something. Vegeta shook his head adamantly, boring his midnight gaze on the Ixian with utmost hauteur. “She will pass untouched. She is a rare specimen I acquired on a mission and belongs to a fragile race. She will pass untouched.”

 

The older man's face deformed into features that reminded her of an alligator, scaly, webbed flaps extending from behind his ears and rattling in agitation. God, they truly had reptilian in them, just as she'd imagined before. She clenched her eyes and buried her face against his bicep. “Blue hair, soft skin. She is an exotic race. We desire to inspect her beforehand.” The now nubby creature gurgled.

 

Bulma's gut shrunk in fear. They wanted to take her from him and throw her on some counter to search her every cavity, to probe and dissect her like some lab rat. She intensified her hold, hoping desperately that he wouldn't let them have her. She'd never wanted him more, as a savior, as her dark angel that would shield her with his mighty wings from certain violation.

 

Tendrils of ki crackled around Vegeta, a signal to his growing irritation. It engulfed him in a soft mantle of indigo that seemed to have an immediate effect on their interrogator. The reptilian hissed. “We pay good crystallite, Prince.”

 

“She will pass untouched.” Was all Vegeta snarled, this time sounding deadly enough to freeze anyone's blood. The man muttered something unintelligible but appeared to be weighing the situation. Vacant eyes landed on her necklace before he morphed into a less hideous being, the webbed flaps closing like a folding fan. Gray steel gates parted to the side immediately and she resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

 

Gosh, the creature, man, you name it, sure was creepy. Old stories of alien abductions and systematic dissection floundered through her mind, but still, miraculously, she held a measure of composure. It was only after the gate closed behind them that she let go of Vegeta, cupping her mouth and attempting to shake the frightening idea of being torn from his side. Her eyes then set on a beautiful sleek black vehicle that looked like a hover car, except a heck of a lot more advanced. It was the only thing in the empty tunnel that extended towards pitch obscurity.

 

He quickly moved to the opposite side, tapping a code on the astounding piece of machinery and flushing the doors open. They sprang upwards like the wings of a falcon earning her gasp of admiration. “Get in, girl. This will take only a few seconds. We will be landing sooner than you imagine.”

 

“Are they lending us the vehicle?” She inquired, seeing him slide into the driver's seat with the elegance of someone with plenty of experience. He chuckled darkly, waiting for her to be fully seated to bring down the doors and gear up the engine. “No one just “lends” you this type of vehicle. It's a Bullet Sombrah, and it belongs to me.”

 

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Blood red irises gazed upwards at a sky lit with the reflection of five moons. The token sirens that accompanied twilight were already blaring across the city and the light beams atop the crystal towers had begun their nocturnal 360 degree sweeps.

 

He slid a fingertip repeatedly along the twisted surface of the small horns adorning his head. It had been a glad day still riding the high of last night and attempting to recover in time to do it all again. It was in darkness that the city became alive, every sentient being rising from the depths of their cozy mansions like the dead from the depths of their tombs.

 

What a nice thing to have landed this “job”, if he could even call it that, dwelling among the luxurious decadence of this city with its hidden treasures and sinful nature and still holding a dignified position as permanent emissary to the courts of the oriental quadrant. It was good that a year ago justice had finally learned to become pragmatic. Upon luckily finding out about its existence, the High Judges had decided to strike up a little deal. A great deal as far as he was concerned. Instead of pressing charges against this land of all things immoral, Ixia could go on untouched. It could remain a purveyor of illegal appetites… as long as they were allowed entrance. As simple as that, and boy, did his hirers enjoy themselves in their frequent visits.

 

And this Ixians, by all things unholy, they would sell their own mothers for a handful of processed crystallite. That could only simplify things for him as he waltzed around tagging runaway infidels, spotting criminals featured on the court's black list or fishing intel that could serve them when opportune, all between mind-blowing orgasms. Ah these creatures of the night, so privileged some of them and yet so wicked.

 

He licked the last remnant of poison from his lips, savoring it greedily, and stared at his image on the huge ornamented mirror that was bolted to the far side. He supposed he should attribute having been picked for this to his looks for which he was more than thankful. The Judges knew Ixians would be a tad more inclined to grant them added liberties if their private ambassador was very pleasing to the eyes. So here he was, sacrificing himself in the name of those who everyone on the eastern quadrants knew as eminences, sacrosanct doers of justice. Well he would keep at it every day of his life if he must. And to think he actually got commissions for this.

 

“Lord Tallicron” His helper arrived, black hair showering down to the middle of his back much in the same way his did. Tallicron straightened his tall, muscular frame from the cushy divan to perch an incense cigarette on deep burgundy lips. “The hell do you want Secha. Don't tell me, the sighting of another petty swindler? I never dreamt my life could become so predictable.” He scoffed and sucked on the black tube, fragrant smoke diffusing through his nostrils.

 

“Petty swindler? No my Lord. I don't think so. You are not going to believe this.”

 

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Bulma Briefs, heiress to a fortune, renowned scientist, fashion connoisseur, business woman, member of the social ring of the Tea Ladies of West Hill (by her mother's insistence), named “Little Miss Darling” at the age of seven in the city-wide children's pageant and West Capitol's Sweetheart upon turning sixteen, nearly ducked her head between her arms as she walked awkwardly behind the alien prince. They shouldn't have left the Sombrah back on that parking spot for a swarm of servants to tuck away, she thought bitterly.

 

It wasn't that he didn't allow her to walk by his side, in fact he kept glancing back over his shoulder, sending her reprimanding looks for taking so long to catch up. And she was trying, Lord knew she was, even with the shards of pain stabbing her legs as she clambered along in high heeled stilettos. She just felt dirty and ugly and her surroundings weren't helping at all.

 

He strode gracefully through a wide stone bridge with big strong pillars that ran as high as her eyes could reach. It was all way too distracting, the long sleek crystal buildings that projected up into the darkening sky from one interminable ocean and the ornamented houses beautifully fashioned like the Asian castles of Chikyuu. Every structure was connected to each other by bridges, not roads, the atmosphere infused with speckles of light that danced in the wind like tiny fireflies.

 

That was all tear inducing to an earthling, it was besotting, but it seemed strangely irrelevant in comparison to that other part of the scenery that had her looking both ways and feeling inadequate. Stunningly clad aliens glided up and down the wide expanse of the bridge… and most of them were women. No, could that word even apply to the creatures? It seemed like a gross understatement. They weren't just women. They were impossible nymphettes, pages of high fashion magazines come to life. The worse was their look wasn't plasticky or grotesque like the overdone features of a pornstar. They were sublime and appealing in a completely delicious manner. She was particularly stricken by a trio that waltzed by, smiling merrily as their long waves of glossy hair kissed the breeze.

 

The things they were wearing! Bulma's heart pounded with a nasty blend of contradicting emotions. The fashion lover in her was exhilarated but she was still beleaguered by the knowledge that she, on the contrary, looked like crap. They wore nothing like she'd ever seen in Chikyuu. Their clothing was like lingerie meets haute couture, like Harajuku infused with perversion. Ruffled little skirts and plunging cleavages were obviously designed to showcase their lacy undies in a remarkable balance of perfect taste and haunting sensuality.

 

Bulma's heel broke and she nearly fell, her stomach jumping between her ribcage. She cursed sourly and tucked a tendril of her tangled hair behind her ear. She snatched the shoe and realized the needle pointed stiletto was now dangling loosely. Great, fantastic. She got it really, destiny shouldn't try so hard to grind in that she was a freaking mongrel compared to the stunning creatures prancing in the vicinity. A backwater mutt from a hovel.

 

She rasped a few more expletives and threw both her shoes over the bridge, nearly following the self-destructive urge to throw herself as well. A glance and she gasped. No, he was way ahead now. Why did he feel the need to move so quickly? Bulma scampered in his direction, feeling like a derelict trailing the wealthy for a couple cents. And then she noticed them, the looks. A couple of girls leaned against the mighty structure and slid their eyes in Vegeta's direction, appraising him in shameless eagerness and exchanging words with one another. A red-head coming from the opposite end and nearly bumping shoulders with him, and upon doing so, doing a double take. Her eyes then fell on Bulma as she walked by, sweeping her entirely, head to toe, before twisting her lips in obvious disapproval. Damn bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Was all she could think. With the enormous green eyes and perfect rosy lips. They were all freakin' bitches...

 

She collided against Vegeta's back and fell back on her ass. “Don't fall behind.” He intoned, hoisting her up from her forearm and pulling her to him harshly. He directed his gaze down to her bare feet before refastening it on her mortified face. “And just what did you do with your shoes. I take my eyes off you for a minute and you start dismantling?”

 

She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to yank her arm back but he dragged her along with him up a narrow detour that spilled unto a small isle with a tower at the end. When they climbed the wide steps that led to the entrance, Bulma trudging with unease and Vegeta nearly carrying her limping body, a child-sized figure cloaked in black greeted them. The garment only left the mouth uncovered, through which the creature spoke as it bowed down. “Your majesty, Lord Prince Vegeta. It has been a very long time.”

 

Bulma frowned at the ceremonious motion of the inferior. “I don't want any unnecessary attention, you hear me? I am here briefly and will be gone as soon as possible so make sure food is brought hastily. Gather the servants to be on standby for anything else I shall need.” The strange little hireling merely nodded before retreating. Vegeta opened the platinum gates and after traveling through a narrow corridor arrived at what she presumed was their destination.

 

He opened the door, threw her in and closed it behind them. It was the very first time she could see the planes of his face relaxing to some degree. All this time he had been walking in a state of perpetual tension and still now it seemed as if he wasn't completely at ease. He had been trained to live in constant alert, to believe his every minute could be his last. Something clenched inside Bulma's chest at the realization of such a traumatic upbringing, the notion that he had lived life without a glimpse of true peace sinking in heavily.

 

Her eyes followed him as he headed towards the center of the lavish living room, immediately throwing capsule 4 and his transact card on a black table and pulling his breastplate over his head. His undershirt followed, and then the boots, and the rest of his clothes, leaving him only with a pair of tight black undies. Whoever thought Vegeta didn't wear underwear under those muscle hugging garments... she thought waywardly. He strode ahead, past the bank of see-through panels that graced the far side and opened into a wide natural pool.

 

“Vegeta, wait…” She asked helplessly. The splash that followed was her only answer. She twisted the corner of her lip upwards but decided to take advantage of his absence and examine her lush surroundings. It was obviously a bachelor's pad, the aristocratic, high class version of it. It was painted in dark tones and rich deep blues. The couches looked like they were upholstered in the finest black leather, placed atop the pelt of some enormous animal. The bristles were downy like the feathers of baby geese, or so they felt to the battered soles of her feet. It was all enticing, like nothing she'd ever felt before.

 

A wide round onyx table stood in the center, a small warm fire wavering mysteriously from the depths of a bowl that rested over it. The beautifully shaped liquor decanters gracing a surface to the side called to her and she approached them, striding her fingertips over the smooth surface of a particularly striking one. Then a light caught her eye and she rounded a corner, coming face to face with what seemed to be his wardrobe. It was wide enough for several people to step in, lined with all sorts of boots and armor sets and to the right a long shelf made of polished black wood showcasing a collection of weapons, scouters and guns. The firearms were all sleek and refined, some of them beautiful like works of art, but it was a small ruby encrusted dagger that caught her attention. The edges of the blade where curvy and jagged, a roaring oozaru carved on the grip. It looked completely deadly and yet it was so alluring she couldn't avoid touching it.

 

A strong hand clamped on her wrist. “You probably don't want to do that.” She jolted, the knife rattling against the surface as her fingers weakened. How long had she been lost in her reverie?

 

“Where are we?” She decided to question, whirling on him and searching his face for an explanation that could satisfy her now crushing curiosity. He was still damp from the swim, smelling impossibly fresh, a towel thankfully wrapped around his waist. “Were you in a comma all this time?” Came his snide clip, abandoning her limb and turning to the dark collection of clothes. She noticed it wasn't all armor but that it actually included casual items, some of which she would pay to see him wear. They looked like they would suit his tanned complexion perfectly.

 

“I didn't mean the name of the planet, I meant this place…?” She insisted, a hand gesturing. Vegeta picked a few garments from the depths of the rack and stalked out, closely followed by Bulma. “My father used to own the whole tower back when my people still lived and our culture was prosperous. I don't know how he got granted entry into this world, but he kept the secret of this planet to the royal family with great diligence.”

 

“Family? Royal family'” She repeated, tottering behind him as he punched something on a console lining the center table. “You mean, like it wasn't just you and mean old dad?” Her idea of his father wasn't exactly positive. What sort of man would allow his child to fall in the claws of a cold heartless monster?

 

He threw a positively murderous look at her before proceeding into an ample bedroom. Dammit, that bed was a tempting mother… Bulma's mind screamed upon alighting on the wide cozy surface. It was draped with silken black sheets and sported richly embroidered pillows that looked soft to the touch. A legion would fit comfortably atop it, she thought morosely.

 

“You have a very narrow vision of things. My father had his own life you dolt, and a couple of royal consorts who fathered his sons.”

 

Bulma's spit caught in her throat. “Sons?”

 

“Do you realize you sound like a tired old record repeating all I say?” He quipped. “Now turn around if you feel offended.” He added with that twisted smirk that could be both scary and strangely suggestive. He dropped the towel, and Bulma jerked around hastily. Her eyes wandered through the crystal panels an over the silvery waters that lay beyond. “You have brothers?”

 

“One younger brother, but he's surely dead now as is every other son of Vegeta-sei. His life is inconsequential anyway. I was the one and only crown prince, and my father made sure to carry me with him on many trips, including the clandestine journeys to this region.”

 

Bulma was struck with the very true realization that Vegeta, for all the hard façade he presented to the world, had belonged to a people and a place, that there were things meant for him he never had a chance to live. He was a dethroned heir with a stolen life and what was worse, he was all that was left. His universe had been torn from the roots, his father, his brother and all he'd known as a child killed so a merciless beast could use him at his will. Bulma's lids closed in contrition. “I am sorry.” She whispered. “I am sorry it's all gone.”

 

“It doesn't matter anymore so why don't you stop asking pointless questions and go wash yourself.” He spat, obviously despising the slightest display of anything that could be considered pity.

 

Bulma winced at the cold remark but decided to let it slide in the benefit of her curiosity. She sought him from over her shoulder. “You said your family used to own the entire tower. Why did that change? You could have kept it all.”

 

He was silent for a couple of seconds, leading her to believe he was probably not going to answer, but the husky sound of his voice eased her worries. “I had a new life to tend to so I decided to sell the state we owned outside Vegetasei and merely keep this pad.” Bulma's lips twitched, the idea that he would want to dispose of everything that could remind him of his family evident. Losing it all from one day to another was something she couldn't wrap her mind around. To end up responsible for yourself at the age of eight and unable to mourn the loss of your world, something unfathomable. He'd decided to discard any weakness so he could focus on surviving, that much was clear, but his identity had remained afloat in the form of the collar ornamenting her chest, in the shape of this place and most importantly in the fierceness of his pride. Bulma touched her fingertips to the rock she carried. This was true royalty, not measured in wealth or possessions, but measured in strength of character.

 

“Ixia may be a land of thieves and smugglers, but its power in its rawest form. Entry grants you the ability to attain anything you may covet from any region of the galaxy. All is bought and sold, brought right here to you in a silver platter if you just have the crystallite to pay for it. It's also a great place to gather information, which came in handy for the assignments I was sometimes given. Then some other times I just wanted to kick back between missions.”

 

“Kick back and do what?” She asked before thinking. She turned around in time to catch him fastening what she recognized as a Kaltan around his waist. The beautiful dark blue sash draped from the buckle to wrap around his waist and bottom. Smooth caramel skin peered from behind the lapels of a skintight black shirt, almost clamoring to be touched. He looked so compact, so slender and dark, she felt her pulse accelerating. Those were artisanal clothes, made for him exclusively, undoubtedly by highly skilled weavers from his world whose main chore was showering the prince with garments he wasn't even old enough to wear anyway. She had to admit royal Saiyan attire was rather ravishing.

 

“Woman, for the love of all things evil, go shower so you can eat. I am surprised you're even standing at this point.” He shortened the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders in a solid grasp. His nose descended to smell her neck, breath tickling her skin and making her hairs bristle, “You stink of female lust. Make sure to wash very well down under because it's freaking heavy.”

 

He snickered to himself when she tore her arms away and stormed out the room. It was nice how he always got her going…

 

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AN: Yes, that back there was a reference to Tarble, Taburu… or however you want to spell it. Wasn't it neat to get to meet little bro? He obviously wasn't dead. I just love the royal family. Contact me if you have no idea what the hell I am talking about. Now let me go roll around in that bed. (Jumps in and wraps the black silk sheets around her body) mm, smells good.