Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ To Become the Accomplice ( Chapter 17 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Disclaimer: This story is written in appreciation to Akira Toriyama. I am not trying to take what is rightfully his, although I'd pester him to death for Vegeta.
AN: Surprisingly, I did get many questions regarding Tarble. For anyone who may have missed out on the news, that's the name of Vegeta's little brother, featured in the new animated special that aired in November, “Yo! Son Goku and his Friends Return!”. I found it delightful and so did most in the fandom. I don't think you can access it through the original site for free anymore, but you can look it up on Youtube. At this point in this story, Vegeta obviously still considers Tarble dead, but we know were he was… far away falling in love with that cute little Gure.
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Step 18 - To Become the Accomplice
“How many times did I clamor for you when I was a child and not once did you answer, you mean old… alien.” She drawled out the words, trapped in a strange ambiguous state of half-consciousness. Her knees were slightly pained by the hard marble they pressed against, a stark contrast to the cushy warm, albeit irregular surface of the lap her head rested on. She was vaguely aware of a wrinkled, leathery hand travelling in gentle motions along her hair, casting the drowsy spell that kept her inert. Her eyes remained closed, face drawn into a cast of perfect serenity. “Couldn't you tell how much I needed you?”
“Now, we both know that is a rhetorical question, don't we?” A short hoarse chuckle rolled over her, reminding her of his old age. “You know I did, and that's what's giving your voice that edge. What you don't know is answers don't always come in the form of words, nor do they come exactly when expected.”
“Mmm, hogwash.” Bulma's head shifted without rising. A wry lopsided smile disrupted the otherwise tranquil planes of her face for the briefest of moments. “That's little consolation when you don't know what to do. It's an excuse for the way you forsook me, when I walked in circles and thought I couldn't make it without you. And the worse part is… I still am, running around in circles, that is.”
The backs of long claws glided smoothly along the curvature of a cheek in a steady rhythm that fostered strange memories of when she was just a baby. That's the overtaking sensation she was sailing on, free and unbounded. Could one even remember that far back? She knew for sure she hadn't ever. “You still are?” He inquired.
“Stop pretending you care all of a sudden.” She delivered in a tone that was both mordant and wounded. “I am thoroughly alone in this, and there is not one single being in this world or the following I can even bring myself to broach the subject with. In fact, try the whole damn universe.”
A calloused fingertip tapped repeatedly on her temple, a fitting companion to the sudden chortling that followed. “Ah, child, that sharp, snippy tongue of yours did always keep me entertained. But instead of brandishing it like a weapon, why don't you try a more productive approach. I am here now, am I not? Here and now is what truly matters. So what's this about the circles I keep hearing?”
“I…” She hesitated, as if the enormity of what she really wanted to say was too leaden for words to bear. “Would you understand me if I said my heart is consuming? That it started doing so the moment the devil crashed into my life?” One brow lifted, the other lowered and then she sighed, a very long sound that seemed interminable. “In the beginning I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I knew what I wanted out of him. It was something we both deserved you know? I needed to be released from the desire that maddened me. And he… well, he really looked like he needed to get some as well. And I could make things better for him, fix a bit of those terrible ki patterns.” Her mouth curled into a grim smile against the soft linen of his robe. “This for that, nothing more.” The pitch in her voice fell abruptly, amusement sinking down to near-tangible melancholy. “And yet nothing's the same, hard as I try. I can't forget what happened between us. I can't excise it from my soul.”
Her listener grunted low in his throat. “And why that impossible need to fight, you stubborn creature?” The rejoinder wasn't harsh yet the long, knotted hand for once ceased its caresses. “Haven't you fought enough already and isn't that a most solitary way of living, child. You are like a pasture fending off winter for fear of death, when in reality winter is merely a passageway to the flourishing of life.”
“Don't try to take my resolve away from me by using pretty metaphors. I love sunshine and gardens like the next girl, but he's a blistering night, cold and impenetrable. He's too far gone and wounded and I can't bring him back.” She whispered the last words, lips compressing on the close of the statement. Quiet ensued for an incalculable amount of time before she resumed her speech in a hushed, barely perceptible susurrus. “He doesn't love me.”
The all-seeing Guardian of Chiyuu, witness to the crude, harsh reality of billions sighed, understanding all too well the most cruel, agonizing sentiment of all. Lack of love. A black, endless vacuum that stood as a roots to pain and sorrow. A disease prevalent among a cursed creation, brother to emptiness and sister to darkness. If only the grace to wash away such damage wasn't weighed in blood…
“He covets me. He lusts after me, but little more. And the minute I don't suffice... the minute he turns his eyes to another, that moment I cease to breathe. When he's tired of his Chikyuu-jin toy, when he throws me away or bins me into a somber alcove as nothing but the first of his concubines, will you be there to pick me up and piece me back together?”
A small, bird-boned hand fisted the fold of the tunic she was limply leaning on and she exhaled. “I never knew this feeling, not once before. It's dense like the universe, deep like the raging seas. If I let go I just know I will be gone forever, into him until my dying day. And it isn't fair, that for every synapse firing away just how wrong he is for me, how bad and wretched, it's only next to him the world spins right. And it's only in his presence I find purpose and consolation.” She grimaced, a shaky breath catching in her throat. “Rather pretty sounding, except for the single fact that he is incapable of love. My future with him, certain desolation. My position, a prisoner to his bed and the witness to the atrocities perpetrated by his command. War waged against my friends, my brothers, when through duty they try to stop him. My consolation, that Chikyuu may be spared for its status as my home world. That is, obviously, until he ceases to care and resorts to pillaging my world.”
He anchored his palm on her shoulder, transferring warmth unto her clammy skin. She was struck by a palpable sensation of all-encompassing moisture… where was that coming from? The wayward thought diffused as he delivered a quiet response. “I just for some reason, never thought you a quitter. I believed one long complex algorithm could only kindle the fire within you.” He paused, levering the following words with utmost care and tangible sincerity. “The universe needs you Bulma, to recover what we thought was lost forever. This is your calling. I do not promise it will be pleasant. I can't say the path to light is free of flesh-tearing thorns and tribulation, but I can say it is you who must go through it. It is you who gets to walk over the ashes of hell.”
“Why me?” She asked.
“Because life wasn't the same when he saw you and it hasn't been since. Because you had the courage to go places no one had and he let you. Only you.”
Bulma's brows bunched together, an arm fastening around the knees of Kami-sama in earnest, quietly pleading to stay just a bit longer in this place were no time or space could hound a being. His words were dark and ominous, making her blood curdle and her chest close. “Would you take this trial away from me…”
She waited for a response that never came and when she tried to speak her throat had gone numb. The words came out a half-broken croak. “Kami?”
Huh? Bulma shook her head, a strange weight dissipating from her body and a gelid sense of consciousness encroaching upon her. Her body awakened slowly, a thousand needles prickling at her until she regained all her senses and remembered in vivid shock, just where she was. She was displayed over warm sparkling waters on a luxurious bath chamber on the second floor of the Prince's lair. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her when her gaze had landed on that shallow circular pool gleaming with a bed of smooth round crystals. She had wondered what its purpose was and after stripping and lying over it, was joyfully rewarded with spurts of water that filtered and curled around her limbs as if they had a mind of their own. Something in those entrancing waters had to be responsible for such a lucid, befuddling dream.
She spread her arms over the layers of crystallite, fingers burying and scooping up the polished little rocks that she now knew had incalculable valuable over the expanse of the galaxy. They were obviously infused with all sorts of puzzling properties. Screw diamonds. Crystallite was a girl's best friend. She moaned in self-indulgence, knowing she was strewn naked over a fortune that was probably enough to purchase a small nation.
“My Lady?” the voice said doggedly, knuckles rapping against the door.
Okay, that did it.
“In a minute!” She flapped her limbs on the smooth swirling waters and sat upright, cursing whomever dared interrupt the Saiyan-no oujo's beauty bath. Wait, Saiyan no oujo? Where the hell did that come from? She had been here for a mere couple of hours and she was already delusional. However somber that last thought was, it still didn't wipe an impertinent little smile off her lips.
She rose clumsily and stalked to the door, dripping wet and for the first time wondering just what in heaven's name she was going to wear. The unsettling notion succeeded in setting off the panic button in her brain, images of herself seeking out Prince Vegeta in damp and naked humiliation so he could grin like the smug bastard he was before throwing some rag her way flooding her mind. Damn. She just hadn't thought things through had she? That was happening a lot lately.
Another one of those small little servants greeted her, all cloaked in black, but sounding distinctively female as opposed to that first one at the main gate. “Who are you?” She blurted, a tad more harshly than intended. In truth, she quickly reflected she probably didn't even need to hide so carefully behind the door, as the eyes were completely shielded. How did they even find their way around without tripping?
“Lady Bulma, forgive my intromission. Lord Vegeta sends the following message your way.” The little servant produced a small card Bulma grabbed from the tip to avoid soaking. Her gaze wandered over the rectangular surface, eyes studious before her features distorted into planes of confusion. It was nothing but an array of numbers and a signature, all in Vegeta's writing. The strokes were bold but rather harmonious; his name a neat representation of the owner, no unnecessary curlicues or elaborate wisps of ink.
“The teletransferring station can be found to your left on this side of the door, right on this adjacent room.”
“I don't understand?” She regarded the hireling with unvarnished puzzlement.
“Do not worry; I am to assist you until dismissed. I am at your service as I've been to the seal of Vejitasei all my life. I am to remain here as long as necessary.”
Wow, so their life consisted on tending to masters who were virtually never there? Did they even know only one remained from the house they were evidently sworn to? Perhaps that was beyond the point, considering their lord was still every bit as royal now as he was when he was just a boy.
“Were you brought here by the King himself?” She gingerly asked, weary that her probing would prove far too intrusive.
“Not exactly. Our kind is granted asylum outside the main cities in return for labor as servants. We are appointed to different masters and their dominion, a lifelong oath binding us to them.” The girl, (she really did sound like a relatively young girl), continued as she bowed slightly, “Something else you probably should know is you mustn't worry about privacy around us either, my Lady. We are blind by birth. It is by sonar that we are able to move around and make ourselves useful.”
“Oh.” Bulma replied lamely. This could be the much more developed outer space, but truth was advanced societies everywhere still tended to evolve from a common template. Wealth exists on the backs and shoulders of the more humble creatures who give others the luxury of being catered to. Something in that disagreeable notion had motioned her to perfect servobot technology back in Chikyuu and thus foster something like a revolutionary era. Perhaps the rest of the galaxy could learn something from her “backwards” planet, as Vegeta called it. If she could only instill a change, given enough power…
She physically shook her head and resolved to deal with that later. After giving the girl an indication to give her just a few minutes she retreated into the chamber and dried herself up as quickly as possible. Well, truth was she had taken a brief moment to peruse her skin on the mirrors that surrounded the bathing area and had noticed the silken glow it now possesed. She hadn't put body shimmer on but it certainly looked that way. Had she mentioned just how much she loved crystallite?
A moment later she emerged wrapped in a soft towel.
She noted this adjacent enclosure didn't seem to serve any purpose. It was bare, except for a panel fitted into a wall with a light that tinkled emerald every other second. She strode towards it, punched in the code Vegeta had sent her way and stepped back a little as a strip of light outlined the silhouette of a door. The surface retracted to the right, allowing her and her aide into a wide interior that reminded her of the backrooms she'd visited with her mother on those designer shops lining the streets of the most exclusive boulevards. But they had nothing on this. They would pale in comparison to the endless array of ensembles lined before her. She couldn't see every single garment, but she could tell the fabrics were the same ethereal quality she'd seen in the bridges before arriving here, admittedly without that degree of immodesty.
She could have been impressed out of her wits, but the single thought that crossed her mind came out as an indignant blurt. “What the hell's Vegeta doing with a roomful of women's clothes?” The man was too much of…well, a man, to be presumed any less than that. That she could attest to, which left only one possible explanation. Stormy thoughts paraded through her mind in the form of women all shapes, sizes and body measurements. Had he been staying here with some other bitch???
“We are not literally at the royal suite anymore. That room back there was a terminal that is able to transfer you to different locations depending on the code entered. Lord Vegeta requested the right code for this particular area. He insisted on a storeroom with collections that would suit your expectations.”
Bulma was distinctly aware of the vacant, slightly idiotic stare she was proffering the servant. “I… ok, so I am supposed to pick something from all this. Leave it to him to make things complicated for me. Given the fact that he probably expects me to do so in as little time as possible, I will settle for the cheapest thing you got. I don't care what it is. Just bring it over.” She had developed an infallible sense for the expensive, and boy, this reeked of it, but she wouldn't want to abuse his coffers. It wasn't just the neat display of clothes on the far-reaching room, it was all the additional glass cabinets, heavy with accessories, shoes, make-up, bags of qualities, colors and textures that would take her literally days to browse through. Squeezing her lips together, she raised her chin defiantly, filling her eyes with the splendorous view one last time before turning her head and pushing the vision away. It was all too pretty, dammit. No one in Chikyuu had ever seen such a thing.
“I don't think you understand. It's all yours, so picking the single cheapest item serves no actual purpose.” The girl explained in a tone that suggested that fact should have been obvious from the start. She crossed her arms and craned her head upwards to face her. “Lord Vegeta commented he lacked the time and/or patience to pick something up for you and decided to acquire it all on impulse. He really did seem more concentrated on the conversation he was holding through the domestic scouter he was wearing at the time. He also commented on a special technique you both possessed to pack away the entirety of the room. Something about a ship in a capsule or so.”
The small hireling waited patiently for a response that never came. “Are you alright?” She nervously inquired, uncrossing her tiny limbs and beginning to worry when a ghostly pallor supplanted the rosy hue of her master's coloring.
“Yes.” She snapped, staring at an indefinite point on the far wall.
Several minutes ensued as she browsed through what stood like a personal treasure of dizzying proportions. Bulma exhaled tiredly, blowing her now dry bangs out of her face. It was all rather gorgeous, except she now knew exactly what she wanted and she just wasn't finding it.
“Help me out here.” She snapped over her shoulder at the tiny figure standing on a corner, before resuming her fruitless quest. “Knowing him, he'll be all on me demanding what's taking me so long.”
“Well, what is taking you so long?” Chimed the girl, in a manner that reminded her of that sharp practical intelligence a child possessed.
“Alright, alright.” Countered Bulma, rearing her mussed up head of blue hair from under a see-through garment. She sighed and notched her hands on her hips. “I think you may be able to place what I am truly looking for. Do you, by any chance, happen to know where I may find garments just a tad more… daring?”
Bulma suppressed the need to chuckle at the puzzled intonation in the girl's response. It really was rather amusing to see the creature stunned into an upright position.
“I saw clothing today, out there, on the streets that followed a much more intimate cut. It was made out of textiles so thin they seemed to almost be painted on. That is by far the most interesting fabric I've encountered. Don't you have anything like that?
“Of course I do, but that's the one collection my Master told us to dismiss.” The girl motioned to an adjacent area. “He briefly stated it probably wouldn't suit your recently acquired more conventional tastes. That's what he said.” She added a sly intonation on the word conventional that led Bulma to believe that was probably a watered down version of the term he'd actually employed. Being that crystallite was just not an issue to him, she could tell he truly believed that little factoid.
“Well, your Master was wrong. Pop the doors open.”
“Are you sure he'd want you wearing that?” The hireling seemed just a bit alarmed. “He probably also deemed it a tad too revealing for a consort. I am not convinced…”
“Do you realize he'd probably be a bit angrier you are making me waste time by putting up excuses when he expects me ready as soon as possible?” Bulma said crossly, shooting blue daggers at the insubordinate little runt that was standing between her and her statement of rebellion.
“You really like courting death don't you?” The servant stated, sighing and shaking her little head as she moved towards the doors that housed what Bulma so coveted. “For the record, let it be noted I was coerced into this most difficult position.” She continued, moving a bench to hop on it and reach the handle to the crystal panels. “He's been known to flay servants on the spot for daring dishonor his instructions.” Her tiny hands started producing all sorts of fascinating items from the shelves, Bulma's eyes widening in elation at each one. “But yeah, you're right about one thing. He does expect you at the 35th hour sharp on a second location. Seeing you like complicating matters on incomprehensible grounds, that means I'd better get this over as quickly as possible.”
Bulma snorted, a sly grin etched on a self-satisfied face. “And be quiet while at it. You really seem to be an impertinent lot, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Meh.” The girl answered, kneeling on the stool and shoving a red piece of clothing her way. “Royalty.”
The ruby-tinted glass piece over his right eye announced the conclusion to the last preliminary conversation of the night with a beep, a finger clicking the side of the scouter to turn it off. His mouth pulled into a dispassionate curl before leaning his head against the stone wall on the balcony that fronted the imposing nightline of Central Island. Endless towers reached towards the skies, blending together like diamond encrusted monsters that emulated giants, casting eyes on him, threatening to eat him alive. He snickered to himself, Saiyan adrenaline stirring up his easily excitable blood, something coming alive at the mere notion of facing a threat.
He pulled up a knee so he could rest a forearm on it, the remaining leg stretched over the wide chrome surface of the railing. He could have taken her himself, arrived at the joint arm in arm with his consort, but he'd decided against the idea almost as soon as it hatched. A little voice within had kicked into major overdrive, insisting she should just be directed to the place and then… well, then he could take it from there. They weren't a couple. She wasn't truly his, was she? And even though she was posing as such, he was compelled to establish certain boundaries. Pretending things were different between them was playing into a dangerous game that couldn't be good… good for him.
He certainly hoped the gifts had suited her taste. Was she smiling right now? Ecstatic over that collection of flimsy, impractical clothing? But then females were fond of such things, and he certainly knew she was one to flail over that kind of stuff. How many times had he witnessed her fret over something as unsubstantial as what to wear? Especially as she prepared for their little trysts. She didn't know he knew about it. She would seat on a pile of multi-colored items unearthed from the depths of that important place she called her closet as he watched from afar, behind her windows. She seemed happy, trying things on, face brightening when she found just the right thing, that same garment he'd later dispose of with eager hands.
“Do you like it?” She'd whisper softly, against his neck, as slender pale arms curled around his neck. “Be honest.”
And by all the gods, he did. “Don't ask me such things. You may not like the answer.”
She would smile at him, that same self-satisfied expression that told him she'd already gotten her response in more ways than one. She sought his eyes when he averted his, when he felt that tinge of discomfort manifest as red patches over his nose and cheeks. But she'd touch his chin gently and tilt his gaze her way, and then fingers would draw a path down his cheek. “Words are unnecessary.” So he'd remain quiet, brows together and more self-conscious then she had a right to make him. And then exhalations on his part, on hers, and going at it until sunrise.
A touch of the breeze and Vegeta opened his eyes, the moons embedded in the sky with their different sizes and degrees of intensity catching his attention. And hadn't she once said she was fond of the moon? Chikyuu-jin women were rather sissified in their tastes, with their particular penchant for anything that glittered.
That day, eons ago, long before her parents disrupted the rare routine they'd established by showing up, she'd been wearing a tiny top with the word angel written across her chest in sparkling letters. At first he'd believed she had picked up the garment by mistake, its small dimensions suggesting it was meant for an underage child, but she'd been quick to clarify her navel was indeed supposed to show, to which he'd responded with a glare of confusion.
Had it been a Sunday? All he truly remembered was she'd been chanting one of those three minute compositions Chikyuu-jin so adored, and her croons reached out to him from the depths of the kitchen. But then one of those felines that populated the compound uttered a high pitched mewl that rang through the living room with ear-piercing intensity.
“Vegeta! Leave the damn cat alone for Kami's sake!”
He'd refrained from growling, hand aching from the need to pull at the fur ball's tail again in merciful punishment for sinking its ungodly maws on the helping of tuna he'd settled over the coffee table. He'd been fastening his sneaker's shoelaces and that single distraction was all it'd taken for the annoying domestic beast to pounce on the delicacy. Words of indignity caught in his throat before something finally seeped through in the form of an angry sputter.
“Which cat? You'd better be a little more specific. You fucking have a knack for obnoxious animals.” Oh, he'd set himself for that one. He deserved the comeback.
“I won't argue about that, Mr. Oozaru.” She bit out, a head full of still damp tendrils appearing from behind the wall of the kitchen. Her blue eyes regarded him slyly. “Now leave the poor creature alone. These stupid tuna wars have got to stop.”
Vegeta stood up, crossed his arms and threw her a disgruntled look. “Your approval of that noisy bag of bones is truly remarkable, woman. The fact it's guilty of perpetrating the crime seems past the point. Should I learn to mewl like it so I can too get a fraction of such mindless grace?” He voiced with heavy sarcasm “Would that spare my eardrums the sound of your shrill vocal chords?”
His askew glance grew exponentially wide as she laughed daringly. Then the corner of her mouth lifted into a playful smirk that went along with the mischievous glint in her eye. Tiny shorts swayed side to side, riding just above thighs that were interminable, the garment low on her hips, almost offering her belly button to him so he could lick it. Oh and he would, sooner than later. She certainly deserved to be shown some discipline.
A wooden spoon waved at him. “You are jealous of the cat, Oujisama?” She asked feigning coyness. “How interesting. But you shouldn't really. I used to sleep with a kitty cat but I'd rather go Saiyan now. And I'll give you twice as much tuna to compensate for your loss, I promise.” She tilted her head, that pearly wide grin that could unsettle him to no end still firm and unwavering.
He hmphed and averted his eyes, offering his imperial jaw to her instead of a verbal reply. To what she threw the wooden spoon aside, sauntering in his direction. And all too suddenly her palms were reposing on the width of his shoulders, then smoothening over the white t-shirt he'd thrown on that morning. Somehow her fingers weaved their way under his biceps until her arms surrounded his slender torso. “One more pout and I am yours.” She chuckled against his lips then bit the lower one a bit too harsh.
He winced. “Do your people have anything resembling nobility? It seems you don't know the proper way to behave around highborn individuals.”
The insufferable bitch actually laughed, quite literally in his face. Her arms unwound, grabbing his hands in the process and pulling him towards the plush couch they'd made unprecedented things on many nights before. She, with her puny force, pushed him unto it, climbing over to straddle him as he lay there looking at her behind puzzled eyes. Why had she been so joyous that day? When she looked at him? Why had she spoken so enticingly, so softly? The way no one ever spoke to him.
“I liked what happened this morning. Did you?” And her hands had snuck under his t-shirt, gliding heatedly over the suddenly tense muscles of his lower abdomen.
“You keep asking these questions.” He'd muttered under his breath. “Questions there's no point in asking.”
More gentle laughter from her throat, like some song composed for his ears alone. A long-nailed finger had found its way to the dip of his belly button and it drew circles over it, sending his stomach into quivers. “That's wretched.” He said in a voice that sounded unnaturally throaty to even him. So his hands had fastened unto her hips, thumbs pressing their way towards to the center of her belly, searching that indentation that had been teasing him all day. And when he found it, the pads of both digits stopped there to play, pressing and rubbing as his mouth watered.
A tiny sound emerged from her mouth and she angled south until her mouth found his. Then a squeal, a jolt, when his fingers buzzed with ki on the very center of that little button. He didn't even remember plotting his actions. They somehow just… happened, like a product of some dangerous instinct that became unleashed in her presence alone. Her irregular laughter wiped any more thoughts as she framed his face with her forearms. “Do you like this?”
Well, who wouldn't? Who wouldn't flinch as she moved like that on top of him? Was it some attempt at taking control away from him? Such impudence… such ripe, juicy impudence. “Tell me what you want, what your secret fantasies are.” She dared inquire, eyes absorbed in his lips. “I am yours, remember? Wasn't that what you said before?”
She had been a rather good liar, an amazing actress, an artful deceiver. The way she kissed him afterwards, imprinting the words in his mind. It had been perfect, the tone she'd used, the motions of her fingers as they rubbed against the back of his ear. Tender spot for a Saiyan, and she'd learn that little fact quite quickly. “Tell me your deepest secrets…” She whispered in his ear.
How long had they kissed afterwards? How heavily? His arms straining with the need to avoid crushing her ribs in his embrace.
And after enjoying her mouth thoroughly…“You will enjoy outer space.” He'd spoken before he even knew he had. “Life as a concubine can be rather rewarding. I'd settle us in a place that pleases you and is adequate to our offspring. Only servants that hold my absolute trust would be allowed in your presence.”
And her entire frame had frozen for a fraction of a second. “Offspring?” She asked, her head shooting up to look at him in surprise.
His lips folded into a lopsided smile, a hand suddenly smoothening over her womb as she sat there perched on top of him, bug-eyed. “Offspring, yes. I need brats to rule properly, and raise a house that will be strong and feared. True loyalty can only be garnered from your own blood. Haven't you seen how potent the mix is between Chikyuu-jin and Saiya-jin?”
She cleared her throat, her voice a tad pitchy. “And just how many `brats' are we talking about here?”
“You'll have help, don't worry.” He'd stated, concerned she would feel overwhelmed with raising his children. “Nothing should tax your mind or wear you out physically. I don't want any of you damaged in the least.” At which point he was sure his damned eyes had actually twinkled. Sometimes he loathed himself. “And we will take our time to do it right, leaving just enough time for you to recover. You'll have everything you need. I can swear to that.”
He was sure she'd be able to handle it with her intelligence and resourcefulness. He'd provide her with enough help to aide her in raising a healthy family of say, half a dozen little cubs with wiggling tails. And trinkets, as many as she wished, so she could take them apart and put them back together. She'd be happy enough. He'd personally see to it with every resource he possessed. “They will grow up strong warriors, powerful enough to slay and conquer innumerable worlds and secure a nice portion of the galaxy. You will hardly notice any prolonged absence of mine with a proper household to run and the amount of technology from dozens of worlds you'll be able to study.”
There was something odd in her eyes. Something disquieting that made him narrow his eyes. She'd looked about to say something and then….
Then the world changed unexpectedly. One second he'd been transfixed on the peachy curvature of her cheeks, the rosy lips widening and the next he was thrashing about in the couch trying to tug something out off his hair. “Get it off me!” He roared as soon as he felt the claws of that pesky black feline clamp down on his head and tangle in the long spikes there. He was vaguely aware of Bulma's half maddened peals of laughter as she attempted to do as he asked. “Don't hurt him!” She cried out, striving to unlock the paws of the sneaky little pet he was sure was far more conniving then they give it credit for. The damn rat had purposefully waited on him to be at his most vulnerable to jump from behind the arm of the couch and attempt to eat him.
“Bulma!” He kept bellowing, the animal on his head screeching and hissing.
“Vegeta! Vegeta, stay still!” When she'd finally pried the thing off his messed up hair she'd smartly pushed it as far away as possible. He'd long snapped to a standing position, heaving and sputtering curses in a million dialects. And still she'd laughed, running her fingers over his mane to give it back that neat upright look.
Vegeta returned to the present, lowered his eyes to the palm of his hand, casting aside the memories that now seemed ancient. A tiny smirk tugged at the side of his lips, when he noticed the twirling ki that was gathering in the center of his hand, glowing blue and spinning until it formed a semblance of those perfumed vegetables Chikyuu-jins called roses. His brows lowered, wondering if he'd gotten the shape right. That same distant day, that day life had somehow been perfect, the sun melted over the horizon when she remarked how gorgeously, (those were her words), the plants had bloomed. He had only grunted but she cut one out and adorned her wavy hair with it before stalking back into the kitchen. She really was crazy.
How had he come to own such a fragile little crazy thing?
Own her… Vegeta's lips twisted in bitterness and formed a fist, the form twirling slowly in his palm extinguishing immediately. Memories of her kissing her boyfriend flooded his mind with blinding intensity, vile rising to his throat and souring his mouth almost simultaneously. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching when the merciless bout of thoughts hit him. Her inviting little smile as she inched in his direction over that balcony, a dainty hand pulling the other closer, his mouth clamping over hers, savoring the woman with abandon. The kiss deepening, promising an eventful night, the same way she had with him so many times before.
Vegeta exhaled, chuckling dryly to diffuse the tension that had gathered on his limbs.
How could she…
Jarring images of her body touched by someone else run boundless, strange hands over her skin, splaying her legs, hoisting her up to sink into the corners he'd adjusted for him and him alone. Her fingers raking over the idiot's back, his mouth against her neck, her cries as he rammed into her.
Vegeta pushed the idea as far away as he could for fear of imploding. Every time he went there a hairy beast reared its head deep within that recondite region even he didn't venture into. It was fanged and disfigured and it thirsted for blood, her blood. It needed to suffocate her, own her, split her asunder until all she breathed was him. It wouldn't stop until it tore her open and drank every last little drop of her essence. It sought revenge in its most perfect form, needed to make her pay for doing this to him. Because being numb was always a thousand times better and she'd dare take that away from him that night she betrayed him like a little harlot.
Note to self: consider research and development on teletransferring ports back in Chikyuu. The sheer potential such technology had to make life much more efficient was simply mind-boggling. It was taking her every bit of self-control to refrain from tinkering with one of those control panels and go into a splicing and resplicing binge. She had more pressing matters to see to, and the confounded look in Vegeta's face was something she wouldn't want to miss for all the high tech knobs and whistles in the galaxy. That's what you got when you left a woman alone in a vault full of drapery. You just never knew what you were going to get.
She barely tolerated the several seconds it took for the gate to activate after punching in the string of numbers and symbols. He was supposed to be waiting for her at this other mysterious location, probably ready to get down to business and seek out some underground dealer that could provide them with a gazillion megatons of raw power in the form of a reactor. Enough to destroy a planet of the density of Chikyuu. She inhaled a lungful of air, snuffing out the disturbing notion that she was helping him acquire a bomb of genocidal proportions. She may as well wrap it in chiffon and hand it over to a mass murdering criminal.
“Isn't this like you, Bulma?” She told herself, sure she was approaching that point of near madness where soon to be lunatics begun talking to themselves as a coping mechanism.
And then the doorframe lit up and dinged, like a microwave oven announcing a fresh batch of popcorn. She crossed through the threshold and, despite her previous mental preparation, couldn't help but gape at the marvelous ability these aliens had to open portals unto completely different spaces with nothing more but a code.
The gate behind her swished back, trapping her in a venue that was dimmer than expected, fuzzy red lamps on the walls casting pools of light over the sleek contours of the oval tables. An intriguing and pleasant swirl of perfumed smoke reached her with potent intensity, and she gauged this was some strange version of a late night bar, except it seemed to roll on forever and multiply into innumerable trails. And just as that distressing knowledge began to sink into her guts and twist them with a sudden sense of fear she spotted him.
Oh yeah, the hair was unmistakable, the poise and the air of indolent arrogance. He was standing next to a bar counter, doing something undecipherable with a tiny crystal chalice. Too many aliens transited between he and she, distorting her view, allowing her only a tiny glimpse of him tapping a tube on the edge and swirling the container around before throwing his head back and gulping its contents down.
Well, well, here I stand, fresh meat for anyone to just snatch up and violate while Mr. Laid-back down there does mystery shots like we've got all night. The tight composure of her face suffered severe disconfiguration when she saw a blonde chick, two ponytails, very young looking and big breasted park next to him, exchange a couple of quick remarks with a stern faced Prince, loiter for a few seconds, smile slyly and slither back into the crowd. She gaped in indignation. Was someone so young even legal in this part of the galaxy? Were those boobs real? Oh psssh they couldn't be. No way.
She battled down a growl in lieu of something more befitting the way she looked. Even though his attitude was so cavalier it was infuriating, lending herself to an outburst of apoplexic proportions could only mean ending up all disheveled, and he'd probably remain his usual aloof self anyway. Ah no. That'd be the day. She could have stormed down the steps that separated them and slapped his conceited visage in the right direction but she resolved to stay rooted until he deigned acknowledge her presence. Seriously, was she such picayune matter that he wouldn't throw the damn teletransferring station a single glance? UGHH
And then… then it was all just right. His eyes latched unto her like he'd known just were to look and his face went blank. So she, with that delicate art that only came natural to women, walked down the carpeted steps, fixing him with an imperturbable expression she secretly congratulated herself for. She could have sworn his face had turned several shades of purple, all while his nostrils flared.
“I thought I sent a roomful of clothes your way. How is it then, you managed to walk in naked?” He grated, nailing black daggers on her upturned face the minute she reached him.
“Gosh, my Lord, you certainly have a penchant for hyperbole.” She said acidly. “The room contained a few items you probably hadn't considered, that's all.”
And he went silent, mouth slightly opened as his eyes perused her every curve, lingering just a tad too long in certain areas. Could she blame him? He could be a Prince, a Saiyan, a Mercenary bla bla, but he was male after all. That remarkable fabric with very flattering push up properties hugged her figure in the form of a very short halter hotpant jumpsuit, the color of fresh blood. The cleavage dipped down almost to her navel, the Saiyan Rock of Fire heavy and shiny against the pale skin.
The red high-heeled sandals were rather uncomfortable, like every pretty shoe, in her vast experience, usually was, but they had grown on her. Literally. The minute she put them on, the straps had started curling around her ankles and over her calves until they settled on a pattern that was exactly the same on each leg.
She batted the lids of her smokey eyes at him, flicked a cascade of glossy blue curls over a shoulder and smiled. She was almost sure he was about to start foaming from the mouth and yell she looked like a whore. Except, last time she checked Ixian fashion was rather avant-garde, so what right did he have to expect her clad in vaporous dresses? His jaw was still tense.
“If you're expecting me to say thank you for the gift, you'll have to wait a little longer. Are you trying to buy me, Vegeta?”
That did it. He sprung from his trance and gave her a malicious grin, inclining his head to husk in her ear. “If you had named a price, I would have paid it a long time ago.” Every bundle of nerves on her skin fired up. He pulled back slowly, not enough to deprive her from the perturbing sensation of his breath over her lips.
“Someone could have kidnapped me just a few minutes ago.” She told his mouth.
“I can smell you the moment you walk into a room. It fills my nostrils stronger than incense. It travels through my synapses like a drug.” He answered gutturally, “I knew you were there all along.”
She blinked, seeking his dangerous charcoal eyes charily. “Now what, then? I'm sure you wouldn't want me going back to change would you?”
He turned his gaze back to the strange little tube that rested near the chalice, scooped it up and snuck it in a pocket beneath his Kaltan. “Now you remain quiet until told otherwise while I do what I used to do so long ago.” He replied, motioning her to follow him into a narrow underlit tunnel.
She trailed after him on the passageway. Murmurs… slow pumping echoes of strange music reverberating across the walls, a place so vast she hung unto his arm with all she got for fear of getting lost.
“This area is secure. There is no one to worry about. Well, no one but me.” He chuckled humorlessly down at her, a pupil glinting. The aura of ungodliness in the place made her wonder if she had died without realizing it and had somehow been dragged down to hell.
“You said you were going to do what you did long ago. What did you mean?” She questioned sliding her hand down a hard arm until her fingers curled with his. He halted his step to slide a finger over the soft contour of her chin and tilt it upward. “That means be a criminal. Or did you think acquiring that kind of reactor was legal without a license?”
In that place where she would have expected to see a semblance of compunction, only a smoldering smirk prevailed.