Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Ritualistic ( Chapter 21 )

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

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, no matter what Vegeta whispers in my ear.
AN: This chapter was a complete ordeal to put out, not because it was difficult to think up or write, but because too much was messing with my mind. It was bad enough that I thought I'd never be able to write again, so the mere fact that I'm writing this author's note is surreal to me. I give credit to every person who poked for an update and to the beautiful mind-blowing comments dropping in.
I've updated my site (see link on my profile). There's now a part called “Treasure chest”, with art and drabbles I've received from some of the most talented people I've met. You might like what you find there. I've officially fallen in love with the artists behind them.
This is a short chapter, by my standards, but fear not. The next one's already written and I guess it's coming soon depending on how much it's wanted. To end this long ass note, I do need this chapter, even if it's not riddled with action. I trust you'll see why, later on.
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Chapter 21
Step 22 - Ritualistic
They stood in silence atop the barren crest of a craggy cliff, casting eyes over the blue-green waters that stretched as far as they could see. Wandering winds twined around them, whispering sibilant nothings in their ears. The silence and isolation made for an awkward peace, to that she could agree, but the surroundings weren't exactly mesmerizing. Ten minutes would have sufficed in this irregular surface that jutted to dizzying heights from the pooling oceans beneath. The uneven mass of boulder and rock stood alone in the vastness, still and proud as it watched over a silent remote region of the Ixian planet. Much like the Prince at her side.
She ventured a glance at him and settled on his fearsome profile, clearly outlined against the brightness of day. His eyes were fathomless, his expression august and no trace of movement disrupted it apart from the occasional blinking. Clad in armor he appeared every bit as intimidating as he was. He'd chosen the latest one she'd configured to his singular specifications, many weeks before in the comfort of Chikyuu. It was deep blue and limpid white, gilded in places that caught the soft midmorning light. She couldn't understand the reason for wearing such attire on a day that promised to unravel with ease but she wouldn't voice her contemplations. A tiny part of her relished he'd donned something wrought by her hand, worse after the rocky events from last night. At that thought her eyes drifted to the velvet tan of his neck, eyes tracing the cut that peered right behind the collar of his suit.
In her mind it was all a haze, a mesh of lust, liquor and drugs coupled with rage and indignity on both their parts. She couldn't even pinpoint when hate had shifted to roiling passion or how they'd managed to find release from the madness. But they had. They had spoken a language of violence only they understood and stoked their lustful fires until the flames devoured them whole. No touch had been needed, except for those unholy kisses that should be declared illegal. So endlessly gratifying and so masculine in taste. She truly didn't know how she felt about it now that dawn had broken. Only that whilst she knew she'd never take his life, no matter the danger he posed for her and her species, she wasn't sure he'd show her the same kind of mercy.
Yet, today he appeared pensive, like a lion pondering a kill in a cage. He'd dragged her here with no apparent purpose, and that was placing her on edge.
She shifted slightly, now shamelessly staring at him as she crossed arms over the cushion of her chest. A spark ignited in the sea colored depths of her eyes, one he couldn't miss. She was letting him know with the subtle cues of her body that she didn't really see the point in this little tryst.
That morning she had woken in a cocoon of black silk, a gloved hand trailing gently down her swanlike neck until it reached the place where her pulse fluttered. Slowly he'd come into focus, his solid weight shifting the bed as he sat on the edge, regarding her with an air of mystery in the pit of his eyes.
She could have sworn she saw a tinge of satisfaction curl his upper lip when she awoke to her senses, a few seconds elapsing until his velvety voice uttered a simple invitation. “Get dressed, if you want to come with me.” It was a question veiled in the form of a gentle command, and she knew it'd taken everything of him to lower his pride enough to utter it.
He'd waited in a rare show of meekness, for her to comply, to show him a sign she'd go with him willingly. The slight apprehension that tensed his frame eased when she rose to a sitting position, his hand aching to indulge in the creamy suppleness of the woman sitting naked on his bed, the one he couldn't have. Her skin was surely warm from the sheets, her eyes shadowed by malnourishment but still sparkling with spirit. He knew she'd been left sensitized from last night, that she undoubtedly wanted him. That knowledge alone was more than provoking. No matter her worrisome condition, there was no doubt she'd still have the stamina to keep up with him were they to give in right there and then.
But he'd chosen to avert his eyes and rise to his feet, snorting inwardly at the irony of it all. Never had he slept with a woman, in his very own suite and not indulged greedily in what she had to offer. Then again, he'd never behaved as preposterously as he did when he was around her.
Bulma had hastily dressed, donning shapeless black trousers and knee length boots to complement a simple white blouse that opened at her neck. She'd plopped at the dining table and gobbled up the copious breakfast sprawled before her, obviously laid by the hands of servants.
She'd then let him take her with him, carrying her over the imposing bridges that arched from tower to tower until at last, they faded in the horizon. They hadn't spoken as he dashed like a bullet through the foreign skies, long minutes unfolding until they spotted the lonesome peak they now stood on.
But they hadn't flown straight to the top. They'd landed at the base of the formation, all the while Bulma fighting the urge to assail him with questions. She let the enigma of their journey hang between them as they traipsed over a naturally winding trail, slowly ascending over the parched uneven ground beneath them. The specks of crystal that scintillated in the air like stardust faded the higher they went until none remained. It was a challenging hike, one her lungs struggled to breathe through, but a strong arm eased her way through the rougher patches, his iron muscles taking the brunt.
All through the process she wondered at the purpose of the trip. He could have taken her to the pinnacle but he hadn't, thus they'd spent an hour together, walking along in silence. More than once she'd glanced at him only to be met with the immutable cast of his face, nothing disarraying the slight frown that creased his brow. His only answer was a grunt when she'd asked about the reactor, signaling he'd already picked it up from the dealer. It seemed he'd been busy long before she wakened to the subtle feel of his touch.
She'd half expected their destination to be a mythical wonderland, a sight so breathtaking it would compensate for the poor panorama they'd endured as they traveled up the slope, but the dusty trail had led to this lifeless top that hunkered over the oceans unimaginatively.
That's when the staring into the distance had started, something Bulma couldn't quiet see the fun in. He on the other hand, seemed to be rather pleased. Long moments of silence had slowly frayed at her patience until the harpy within reared its unsightly head. So here she was, arms folded and on the verge of a verbal protest. The king of practicality should have lifted off planet as soon as he'd taken possession of the reactor, yet he'd dragged her to what appeared to be the very edge of the planet.
She took a step forward and filled up her lungs. “Veg…”
“Do you see those rings of light forming in the distance?”
Bulma stopped abruptly in her tracks, her words cut short. At the interruption, she craned her head and regarded the horizon with curiosity. “What…” She narrowed her eyes, eyebrows dipping to signal her obvious confusion.
“Look carefully, woman. Right ahead. The rays of sunlight fall askew until they touch the water and as they do, they loop into rings that glisten like fire.”
Bulma's eyes slit further until she saw the circles that faded in and out of view. They were made of pure light, filtering through the air in graceful patterns. Something like an aurora borealis made of spiraling rays.
“I used to come here to train in the early hours of the morning, when the atmospheric phenomena came into view the way you see it now.” Came the deep baritone of his voice, gaze fixed on the rare natural spectacle.
Had he just talked about his past? She slowly veered her pupils back to him, her expression doused in disbelief. She deliberately kept her silence, needing him to go on, suddenly afraid of spoiling the moment. A realization befell her. This was a glimpse into his life, more about the privilege then about “the point.” The quiet walk up the weather-beaten formation, as rough and unrelenting as it'd been, the endless staring into the distance, it had all been part of a personal ritual only he was privy to. And now he'd let her partake on it, a creature he'd often declared lowly.
Bulma disentangled her arms and her face lost its edge. She'd been entitled to the world since day one, nothing ever denied to her. Vegeta had been the one “thing” she came to covet. He was the one man who wouldn't give in to her. Not in bed, not in spirit. He gave exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. No soft-spoken word or gesture of acknowledgement was given freely. And through it all he retained that air of aloofness that could drive any woman insane. She often wondered if he even knew how devastatingly attractive it truly was.
Today, at least, she was the one he'd chosen. He'd been opening a closed compartment to her, out of his own volition, inviting her on his warrior-like version of some sort of `date' and she'd been stupidly unaware all along. This was the best he could do, open up the windows of his past into their present. He was not much of a talker, lacked all the social skills, but silence spoke volumes. He'd wanted to do with her something he often did alone. Alone until today. Bulma's soul twitched, a pull so strong she thought it'd change her forever. She couldn't fathom a life were so much loneliness and trauma existed.
He turned to her, brows lowering with that casual indolent beauty. The graceful curves of his lips shifted sideways and something wicked glinted in his eye. “I suggest you step back now. You don't want to be close for what's coming.”
She was puzzled but she quickly did as he said and widened the distance between them. A few moments and the pebbles on the surface began rattling in the wake of his power. The ground fractured in a spidery radius from the point where he stood and energy shot around him, encasing him in a haze of indigo. Electricity licked along his muscles, crackling and popping as it lashed through the air. “You need raw power to detonate an attack that will reach the rings, and the precision of a gun to pass through one of them cleanly.” He said, his ki zinging. “That became clear after several failed attempts. I figured it out at eighteen standard years, shortly after my first grade A mission.”
The air around them whirled in agitation, her long strands of hair whipping in the funneling winds. She hid her eyes behind her sleeve, peering from behind the thick curtain of her lashes. His luminance grew until she thought she'd go blind and slowly his body shifted. His arms folded together to his side and in a moment of thunder he stretched them forward, palms out. A bright beam of purple energy exploded forth, preceded by his booming voice calling up a “Gallic Gun”. The force of the blast sent her sliding back against the ground, all her efforts thrown into not falling. She tensed so her feet would anchor, eyes following the course of his attack until it shot through a faraway ring meticulously.
He followed it too, until the blast faded in the horizon, sporting a self-satisfied smirk across his countenance. He looked so smug he reminded her of a big contented cat. She was sure he'd be lashing his tail if he had one. He'd probably wagged it in pleasure the first time he'd managed to pull the feat.
The trick was nice, that she could attest to, but it was the purpose that really struck her. A sense of wicked pleasure tickled her basic instincts. It must be his animal side, something naturally male or perhaps his innate pride. Whatever it was, he'd displayed his power before her like a tiger roaring his might. She knew roses and chocolates like every other girl, but she'd never been courted quiet like this before. It was potent and primal, and it called to the female within her with blood stirring force.
He crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and lifted an eyebrow to her maliciously. “Of course I promptly learned a Gallic Gun had more practical uses. Namely shooting the head of the enemy cleanly off.”
Well, she couldn't believe she was standing on the birthplace of his trademark attack. Bulma's gut wrenched at the gruesome image of the beheadings but it didn't wipe that sinful satisfaction. She was being pursued by a beautiful man, strong and brave. Who was rich by many standards and who, oh gods, was also prince. She suddenly felt dizzy.
She wouldn't openly admit it, but the raw energy that thrummed through his veins enticed her, his arrogance wildly magnetic only because he truly had the power to back it up. She was aware other women must have found him terribly alluring for the same reasons, but had they ever stuck to see past the armored exterior? Would he have let them anyway?
She approached him with a slight sway of her hips, her steps slow and intense until his eyes flickered to hers. Gently her palm travelled over the hard slopes of his arms, and he followed that bird-boned hand as it found its way along a bulging bicep.
“I wish I knew what it's like to cradle such power.” She said, touching him as a mortal would touch a God. He was sublime, larger than life and she wanted to let him know that's exactly what she thought right now. His spit caught in his throat at her gentle words of adoration. Her touch was innocent and seductive, lingering so delicately it felt like she was touching him for the very first time. He felt like he wanted to do it again, Gallic Gun just to see that look of awe shifting the planes of her face. Then again, a blush colored the tops of his bronze cheeks as she continued her girly appreciation of his power and virility.
“I wish I felt what it's like to be so… perfect.” Her fingers glided up over the side of his neck, rendering Vegeta mute and enthralled. She had this power over him, the unknowing vixen, to lay his senses dormant. They're eyes looked far into the other, black colliding against blue. Every trace of insecurity he'd never admit to, was assuaged by her words. He'd lived his life seeking perfection, looking forward to his Ascension like the moment he'd finally be whole. It was in the embodiment of the Super Saiyan that he'd find a true sense of accomplishment, as his father and his people had decreed long ago. No perfection could be associated with him until he bridged that gap, every breath a failure until that foretold day. So why did she look at him the way she did? Like only the present matter, like he was enough the way he was?
He realized in bewilderment that he wanted to kiss her, to brand her lips with the heat of his want. It was a sudden impulse, one he didn't follow though his every cell clamored to. For the first time he didn't think about possessing her, only about giving in to her. He wanted to shove his heart, his soul, his dick deep inside her and forget who he was. That thought unnerved him to the core. A kiss could seal his fate, imprisoning him in her arms forever. His gaze, still hypnotized, settled on her mouth. “Baby…” She whispered, throwing him back to the days she called him that in the heated afterglow of sex. “How I wish I knew.” Her hand was now cupping his face, the words brushing against his ardent lips.
“I can show you more than you could ever handle.” He told her in a voice thickly slathered with appetite. “I can lay the heavens at your feet, crumble entire worlds, enslave them or set them free in your name, if you so much as said the word.” His gloved hand reached out to cup her chin, much the same way she was touching his now. “If you so much as asked…”
Thickly muscled arms wound around her waist, pressing her to him, molding her softness to his hardness. He whiffed her hair, certain he'd gone mad, but not wanting to stop. Never had a woman obsessed him so, the need to impale her and drink her very blood driving him mad. He gently turned her so her back was flush against the solid wall of his chest plate. “I can show you the power of the Gods. Close your eyes and let go.” White gloved hands enfolded hers.
Bulma had no idea what he intended to do, but leant into him like a doll against her puppeteer. And slowly his fingers twined around hers, locking their bodies so they stood as one over the imposing view before them. Energy sizzled through him and thrummed right into her. It shot down her limbs until she felt like a pregnant supernova, ready to burst into a shower of light. She gasped, bosom rising in expectation as he brought four hands together into a familiar position. Energy balled like purple fire against the soft flesh of her palms.
“I'll absorb the impact of the recoil into my muscles.” He mentioned in her ear, his breath both warm and reassuring.
And then she felt it, the name of the attack bouncing around in her stomach as a Gallic Gun burst forth from their locked hands and out into the open space that mantled the oceans. It exploded in mind-blowing power, piercing cleanly through space until it lanced through the rings. Then the spray of light curled along the stratosphere and flickered off above the heavens.
Short breathless sounds escaped her lips, the wind sucked off her chest like she'd ridden a rollercoaster. “God…I'd never… I'd never done that.” She claimed with excitement, whirling around in his arms. Her face was aglow with the thrill, proper words eluding her as she grinned. A million interjections weren't enough to describe the indescribable. The tiny little hairs all over her body were still standing, her long flowing hair puffed comically at the frizzing effects of the powerful discharge.
He grunted, a slanted smile softening the severity of his features. “Woman, you should see what the wattage did to you. Your human hair would fare ridiculously in battle.” She emitted a high pitched sound and patted her mussed up hair, then hastily pulled it into a messy ponytail.
Her cheeks flared to a rosy hue and she punched him loosely in the chest. What a typical thing for Mr. Perfectly Erect Hair to say. “I now understand that gravity-defying mane. Saiyan hair is all about the wattage.” She quipped and to her eternal surprise he actually chuckled, a short grave sound that seemed to sprout from a hidden region in his chest.
He remained there, for long heavy seconds, his eyes sinking into hers with a sense of urgency she didn't know how to interpret. She waited to see if he would say it, words she herself had been close to uttering but had pushed back down many times. She dreamt he'd speak of the feelings that accursed him, that he'd talk of the heart and how it beat for her. She'd echo those words afterwards, fall down in a heap and make love under the gentle shower of the Ixian suns. No one in this world would hear her as she howled to the winds that she wanted him. No one would listen to her screaming his name in reckless abandon.
But seconds elapsed and the moment was lost. The air between them remained empty and the unspoken words charged the space with their absence.
“We'd better get going.” He stated curtly, eyes drifting away. A slight frown pulled his brow back in place and he started back the way they came. But a childlike hand sprung forth to manacle his wrist, swift and calming. His eyes slid down to the place where their bodies met, befuddlement in his expression. “Please. Let me hold onto you. I don't want to fall and scrape a knee.” Came a soft-spoken explanation.
Vegeta regarded her heavily, but he didn't shake her off. He couldn't understand her, but most of all he couldn't understand himself. Why the hell did he keep coming back to her, offering her things he'd never offered anyone before? Wasn't she his sworn enemy? Who cared what the bitch wanted. He should be preoccupied with his own fucked up life and not wanting to make her squeal, but when he saw her happy… when he saw her smile, time came undone.
He let her hold him, her hand fierce and faithful as they made their way down. He told himself he only allowed it so he wouldn't have to worry about her hurting herself and inconveniencing him, that he didn't find it in any way… pleasing.
He struggled to remember his private credos the entire hour it took for them to reach the bottom. He repeated them as a mantra in his head… that he was doing this as a way to screw with her, make her sweat a little. That only lazy slobs discarded healthy exercise such as this in favor of flight. He convinced himself that she must still think him a monster, and it served her well. He was one indeed. Her hold and proximity must be surely to avoid falling on this rocky ground, no matter if she didn't let go in the easy parts of the trek.
But the voices in his mind centered on the main core of his beliefs, the one he'd believed true for thirty years. That his heart was unassailable.
And so it went, the droning litany of his inner demons, stretching until nothing remained. Many minutes later the voices died down. All he was left with was a keen sense, something that budded in the pit of the heart he thought dead. He felt like a Prince today and she in turn felt like his mistress. Last night they'd performed a deadly dance and still, somehow, they had persevered.