Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Remembrance ( Chapter 25 )

AN: Heather Rinehart produced a beautiful illustration of Chapter 24. I want to formally thank her and share it with you. Make sure to check it out at the following address: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/KaERq889ttp3gvQcN7X7Og ?feat=directlink

You'll find other illustrations made for this fic on my public album as well. I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed, especially mooni21 and Infinite Pen for such beautiful comments. I know I haven't been posting as frequently, but I've been writing. The rest of the story is practically finished. That means quicker chapters.

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

Chapter 25

 

Step 26 - Remembrance

 

Her dance had been sorcery to Zarbon's usually sharp senses. She had a golden pass to roam the main base and front row tickets to the prince's execution. Everything had gone according to plan but that didn't loosen up the tightening in her throat or keep the stinging tendrils of worry from threading up her spine.

 

She worked the dagger through Vegeta's tethering chains with shaky fingers, the powerful weapon much too heavy for her slippery hands. Time remained her worse enemy. She'd have to halt the treacherous effect of the handcuffs and revert it, allowing Vegeta's energy reserve to fully replenish. If the programming language turned out similar to that of the device she herself had produced in her lab, her job would be simplified and they both would stand a chance. If it didn't…

 

Bulma bit into the tender flesh of her inner cheek, feeling her muscles clench against her worn-out bones. She couldn't let herself venture down the warped path of self-doubt, not after coming so far. She'd always been both impulsive and adventurous, far beyond the normal quota for her age band, but this was the first time she'd fought for something she truly believed in. She'd been raised on the simple notions of right and wrong and it had always been easier to hide behind them. But living with Vegeta had taught her things a rich girl like her was never meant know. She'd learned one irrevocable fact.

 

She'd never truly known desperation, and choice was never simple when you had.

 

She was so distraught in her personal cauldron of emotion she didn't have a chance to think or react. She was vaguely aware of metal scraping against metal and chains clanking heavily on the floor when she found herself flying back across the room, the searing heat of a masculine chest tightly pressed against hers.

 

Bulma landed on the floor hard on her back. The solid impact knocked the air out of her lungs and sent a black swarm of sparkling dots dancing behind her eyelids. She drew in a quick breath and flung her eyes open. She felt the relentless crush of a compact body spread over her, 200 pounds of iron muscle pinning her down with ease against the steel floor.

 

A grave growl, so slow it made her pores break into cold perspiration, strummed through her frame, vibrating like notes through a violin chord. She shuddered in response and gulped as the purr spread through his chest and into her body. His face was cast in dark shadows from which only his eyes glowed, feral and feline, like those of a night hunter. They looked at her with the voracious intensity of an ill-treated beast, a recently freed prowler left on the loose to terrorize the jungle.

 

His fevered breath feathered over her exposed throat and fear so intense her muscles ached with tension befell her. She pushed against his broad shoulders, taut with the tension of holding her still. This wasn't the prince with the critical mastermind she was used to. This was a wild and untamed creature, more beast than man and he had her at his mercy.

 

“Who are you?” He rasped, a wet gurgle of a sound low enough to make any grown man soil himself. He dipped his head so the tip of his nose slid down the tender flesh at the base of her throat, the very place her pulse fluttered. She curled her fingers deep into his shoulders but he remained as unmovable as a concrete wall and equally hard to the touch.

 

She thought she heard footfalls out on the hall but she became aware the sound was much too loud to be coming from the distance. It was her heart, thumping frantically against her ribcage and drumming away inside her head.

 

“Bulma… Bulma Briefs.” Her voice sounded incredibly thin to her ears, hoarsened by the lack of spit in her mouth. She had a frightening feeling that something was very wrong with him, that the vicious treatment he had been subjected to had somehow perturbed his mind. The snarling, feral version of her lover looked at her through the eyes of a stranger, not a flicker of recognition in their depths.

 

Bulma's breathe faltered. Temporary amnesia was a common side effect when exposing a subject to prolonged and unregulated neural charges, something she hadn't foreseen. His kiss had somehow wiped all sense from her and now all she could do was curse eloquently inside her mind.

 

“Hn.” He barely responded, a shadow of confusion darkening his red glowing irises and taming them to slow smoldering flames. Bulma's heart came to a full stop, knowing she had no true way out. She was as helpless as an agonizing doe, captive under the claws of a snarling jaguar. He was livid and deeply tortured. He was hungry for the blood of his enemies and he had no reason to trust her.

 

She wasn't sure she'd be able to keep from stuttering but she'd have to try. She had successfully saved her pretty behind from Frieza's brutish henchmen back in Namek. She'd just have to be equally resourceful with a hot blooded Saiyan.

 

“Vegeta, you may not remember me, but I'm here to help you. I'm here to set you free.” She whispered, desperately seeking reassurance. “The ki-specific charges the handcuffs release have temporarily wiped out your memory. I'm the only one who can alter their effect. If you kill me, you're damning us both.”

 

His eyes only obscured. She held her breath when she saw him easily ignore her, his blood-slicked muscles rippling as he lowered himself on his forearms so their midsections pressed together. He exhaled against the curve of her neck, scenting the fear that permeated her so enticingly. He didn't remember her, and he certainly couldn't tell if her words were lies but her particular aroma jiggled something in his brain. Something, hot and burning and oddly painful.

 

For the life of him he couldn't possibly fathom why a girl like her would ever want to help him. In fact, she was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to be placing herself in such peril. Perhaps she sought him out to gain protection from the monsters lurking outside, but he wasn't anybody's goddamned knight in fucking armor. He'd always looked only after himself and no other and he wasn't going to change that in the name of gratitude.

 

Or sex. Because her body felt like molten silk against his starved muscles and he was sure she'd be eager to fully repay him if he delivered them both from prison. He nearly lashed at himself in fury that a female would have any part in his triumph.

 

Where was Frieza? He could better take being freed by a much powerful being and not a weakling girl. But then he wasn't even sure what year it was. He wasn't sure about anything else for that matter. The last thing he remembered was sending Raditz off to retrieve his low caste brother. He wasn't certain who was holding him prisoner or the extent of their power. For all he knew his Ice-jin master had already forgotten him, leaving him to rot in his own filth after discovering his little ploy to dethrone him.

 

She gasped as his hand slid up over her hip and his fingers dug into her lower back, molding her to his body so she arched like a bow. She could feel him like hot steel against the thin fabric of her dress, her body awakening at once to his all too familiar touch. Muscles swelled in aching need in her deepest regions. They tingled instinctively, expecting the absolute fulfillment only he could bring her, associating his heat with the roaring release involved in their encounters.

 

“Vegeta, please.” Her voice wavered and she nearly bit her tongue at her poor choice of words. It sounded more like a bedroom plea than a request to be released from his arms. Her smooth soled high heels slid against the polished metal of the floor, her long legs brushing his thighs. “We don't have much time before dawn and I need to work on disarming your handcuffs.” He seemed more focused on the sharp angle of her waist and the soft slope of her hip, his hand smoothening slowly down the curve. She was pretty. Very much, but the woman talked too much.

 

“I've been under your care for months now. You brought me to this planet under your protection. I…”

 

She tangled her fingers on the hair at the nape of his neck and tried to pull him to her but she couldn't garner his attention. The force in her fists was enough to hurt any regular human but he didn't even flinch, his eyes tracing a fiery path over the tops of her thighs where the hem of her dress rested.

 

What would an unstable Saiyan do to a woman under these circumstances? Weren't they dangerous beyond human comprehension? His finely honed awareness, the part that made him man was buried deep beneath his animal side. She had no clue what to expect.

 

The sudden press of his nose against her lower belly nearly made her jolt. His energy was practically depleted but he remained far too strong for her. A thunderstorm wouldn't have been enough to separate them. She continued to pull on his long hair but his hands were firm as they gathered her hips to him for a deep inhalation.

 

“You made a promise to me.” She threw her head back in abandon, her long lashes fanning her cheeks. “You said you wouldn't take me against my will. You said you would wait for me.”

 

He could catch every individual note of honey that composed her tight little sex as he moved lower and pressed his nose to the gauzy triangle covering her. But he'd also caught a foreign whiff, something that signaled she'd been close to other men. Horny men for that matter.

 

He shifted upwards on his side, drawing her to him by the hip in a rough display of dominion. “You claim you belong to me?” He seethed, his eyes still glowing and his pointed incisors glinting in the wayward light. “You dare speak the words when the odor of two different men clings to you like some cheap excuse for a perfume.”

 

“I didn't…” She started, a tremor of fear curling down her legs to her toes. Didn't he smell his Saiyan mark on her? It had been months, but by Kami had they gone at it like rabbits when they had the chance. The man had a very virile seed. She'd blushed for two weeks straight after their first encounter, ridiculously afraid the entire staff at Capsule Corporation would somehow smell it.

 

She could see the conflict in his eyes, his deep distrust of her close to winning the battle. His full lips formed into a snarl, a large hand gliding up her side to sneak behind her tight dress.

 

“They didn't touch me.” She added in honest desperation, clinging to his hardening bicep as he drew her to him. His nimble fingers fumbled roughly with her lacey panties and pulled them down mercilessly, deciding he wouldn't let her complicate him. Only a flimsy barrier separated him from sure bliss, and though he'd never forced himself on any woman, this girl was special. She was… well, gods, she was the hottest piece of ass he'd ever seen. Pity she'd been forced to be a whore. Beauty was nothing but a curse in the hellish bowels of space.

 

She pushed against the heavy muscles of his chest, anxiety pitting low in her gut. “Vegeta, not like this. Please… Not like this. ” Not after so many months of holding out in perfect abstinence for a chance at something better. Tears rushed forth to burn her eyes. This man was a stranger. He couldn't remember the promise he'd made her, the one he'd committed to with his own brand of honor. The pride he commonly adhered to would never allow him to indulge in rape, especially not when it came to her but this darker version of him couldn't be contained. He was a savage force of nature bent on drinking his fill.

 

His fingers moved from her pulled down panties to the swell of her ass, his solid erection hard against her thigh. “Don't do this.” She pleaded, still pushing against the wall of his chest but ineffectually so. His eyes remained fixed on her with single minded focus, dark need singing through his veins as he bent to brush his lips against hers. Bulma trembled as she faced the truth. Even amnesiac, even half-maddened, he was completely besotted with her. He was bent on possessing her. One look, one kiss, had been enough to obsess him.

 

His hand seared the full curve of her bottom as he slid it down its length. “It's so obvious you don't know me.” He said, his dark eyes on her lips. “I would never make the kind of promises you claim I've made you. I would never bind myself to any woman in such a manner. Only a lovesick fool would.” His hand stroked her intimately, his rough handling tearing a whimper from her throat and a glittering tear from her eye.

 

His brow creased when a finger slid down to test her silken folds and found her dry and clenched. Women seldom opposed his advances. In fact it was them who often sought him out for a good, satisfying fuck. But she was closed to him and that rubbed at his insides for no good reason. He growled and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger so he could look her in the eye.

 

“Why would I deny myself? Why would I care about your needs, or give a damn whether you desire me or not?” His voice was dark and guttural but there was a trace of honesty to it. “Whether you want me inside you, the way you want me or when you want me?” He was one breath away from a kiss, close enough to snap the reins of his tattered mind and tear her lips in the wake of his lust.

 

“Tell me, woman.” He insisted, as if he truly expected a response. She wanted to scream to him that it was because he cared about her but the words died down in her throat as easily as they sprang in her mind. She would have given half a lifetime to indulge in that fantasy, to think that he wouldn't take her because he wanted not just her body but her soul. That in some twisted way he'd been courting her all these months. That every day they didn't touch they were doing something sexual, right below everyone's noses, but she only pressed her lips into a thin line, closing her eyes in defeat.

 

So she wasn't going to talk. Good. Better that way. He didn't care if he hurt her.

 

But he still didn't move. Vegeta growled, bunching his fist in her hair. He gnashed his teeth, unable to exact the release he craved from her body. For some God forsaken reason his very blood cried with the need to prove himself to her as a man, as a male that could awaken her wildest desires. It mattered deeply that she wasn't consenting but he couldn't afford the amount of time and energy it would take to make her pliable.

 

Then simply ravage her, you pussy.

 

Vegeta's entire body tensed like a wooden board, unable to function. She slid a tentative palm down the curve of his jaw, searching into his eyes, desperate for a respite.

 

“I killed for you.” She whispered. “I have little time to break you from your confines. Let me do this. I have the knowledge to undo the effect the manacles are having on you and I can bring your memories back just as well.”

 

He didn't want them. That was the first thought that crept into his mind but her voice was like an ancient rune, effectively taming the beast that wrestled within him. He could almost feel it receding back into its lair, the oozaru yawning and stretching before curling up to call it a night.

 

He drank the sight of her one last time, fascinated by his find. Her hair was a shimmery pool of blue satin beneath her, her eyes gazing up at him, brimming with light and intelligence, like she held the keys to his universe. The black eyeliner smudged around her eyes lent her the appearance of a ruthless goddess, her power only multiplied by the lushness and redness of her lips.

 

His wandering thoughts were abruptly cut by a sudden surge of fiery needles rushing forth from the handcuffs. The pain slashed through his spine, threatening to splinter it into a thousand fragments. He jolted back in agony, hitting the floor hard while his lungs strained to fill.

 

Bulma pulled her panties back up and sprang to her knees to hover over him. The muscles in his throat tensed with the pain that rode him, his agony evident as struggled to breath.

 

“You touch me, I kill you”. He snarled, pinned to the ground by the waves of disarming pain. He'd rather die than let himself be further disgraced by accepting her help.

 

“Well, then I guess I'll have to take my chances won't I.” She snapped. “We don't have the time to deal with your princely pride.” Bulma pressed the back of her hand to his forehead feeling the scorching heat of his fever. It was so bad, she was sure he'd start convulsing again. In fact he'd probably convulsed many times over already. Zarbon was leaving him a hollow shell, a shadow of the man he used to be so his spirit was already shattered by the time he was led to the gallows. But nothing could fracture his core. She admired how intact his sense of pride remained under the twisting claws of the fever.

 

She searched the room, a burden easing off her when she caught a rudimentary sink bolted to the wall and a rag hung over the chrome faucet. It was surely used to wash the blood off the hands of the torturers who coursed through the wing. She walked over and wet the piece of cloth in the icy water, then made her way back to him. A flash of white caught her eyes and she noticed the upper part of his uniform on a pile in a corner. At least he'd have something to wear once he left here.

 

She sank to her knees, knowing full well she'd have to give him a measure of dignity before he allowed her to work on his manacles. The gore streaking down his nose and marring the sides of his lips was bright and extensive, his chest bathed in sweat and blood giving him the appearance of a warrior slain in battle.

 

She tried to press the moist tip of the rag to his cheek but Vegeta slapped her hand away before she was able to. Bulma frowned in frustration and inched it close one more time only to have her hand knocked away in derision one more time. She knelt back and sighed, unable to understand his stubbornness. Men were insufferable, or was it just Saiyans. She reached out again, certain this time he would be more accepting.

 

But he slapped.

 

“Stay still for the love of Kami! You're such an impossible man! What the hell does it take to win you over!” She nearly gasped at her own outburst, uncertain where that had come from. She remained still while his black eyes slid to her under his eyelids. He looked like he wanted to say something but the fever was ransacking him and so he only closed his eyes and turned his head away.

 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. She deliberately avoided delving into her words and merely tried again, infinitely glad when her attempt was successful.

 

The muscles in Vegeta's face contracted as she gently swiped the blood away, leaving nothing behind but the gleam of his bronze skin. She swathed a wet path down the thick column of his neck, reaching lower to glide the rag smoothly over the supple muscles of his chest. She reveled in the feel of his body. He was hard and perfectly molded, steel that barely yielded under the pressure of her hand.

 

His lower belly jerked the moment the cool cloth made contact with it and he once again closed his eyes. It gave him something to concentrate on rather the screeching of the demons in his mind. It was soft and wet and delicate. Like nothing he'd ever experienced.

 

“What am I to you, Vegeta.” She questioned quietly. She was uncertain if he was able to hear her. Even if he could, at the moment he didn't remember her, and that allowed her tongue to loosen when it wouldn't have otherwise. “Am I a slave? A concubine or just another girl you met on a mission.” Her lips quirked in bitter amusement. “A failed mission at that…”

 

Bulma shifted, moving to carefully straddle him so she could better wash him. Her cloth left a humid trail as it slid up over the indentation of his chest and the swell of a broad shoulder. She worked her way back, brushing past the hollow of his throat to swipe his other shoulder.

 

“Am I more than that?” Or was that a foolish dream? She'd thought herself immune to the token childhood fantasies, those that spoke of faraway princes come to whisk their lady off into the sunset. But she obviously wasn't. A part of her longed for more than fleeting lust, for her man to feel the way she felt for him. She should have known sleeping with him was going to be detrimental to her heart. “Should I give into you?” She whispered, her words barely audible in the emptiness of the room.

 

She touched every ridge and depression that composed his ribbed stomach, marveling at its pore-less perfection. His skin was smooth like some impenetrable metal, iron poured over muscle and hardened into a woman's wonderland. And that sweet belly button…

 

Her tongue peeked out from between her lips as she dipped the cloth into the tiny crevice, his stomach going rigid at once. A stray sense of satisfaction curled around her as he let out a ragged gasp.

 

Vegeta remained on the aftermath of the seizure, forcing his way up to consciousness like wading through molasses but he was still aware of her hands playing riddles with him.

 

His eyelids fluttered as he breached that dark tunnel that separated him from awareness. He opened his eyes and saw her perched on him, soft blue waves framing her face like a halo. His eyes were glassy from the blazing fever that accosted him, his neurons bent on the path of insanity but he remained still, drinking in soothing beauty. She was a lifeline, an anchor to the present, the look of her right now, enough to last him a lifetime.

 

She tucked a straggling lank of hair behind her ear, noticing how his skin now glistened under the pale shower of the traplights.

 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, watching her intently under heavy lashes. She had tended to him like the prince he was, not a broken slave that lay impotent on his prison.

 

Bulma remained quiet. She pondered his words for a long moment but failed to articulate the kind of response he expected, and so she gave a little sigh. “You want me to give you a proper explanation, something that will sound logical to your way of thinking but I can't. Logic has never worked between us, no matter how hard we've tried.”

 

He merely looked at her, lingering on her as she spoke, bewildered that his mind wouldn't release her. Suddenly he wanted to know everything there was to know about her. Her name, the name of her world, the way she liked to be touched. Suddenly he couldn't think right.

 

“You're just going to have to trust me.” She continued, looking down from her place atop him. She remained there like she had a right to him, her brazenness alluring. “You're going to have to believe in me and in my ability to work on your handcuffs. You'll have to trust that I'm not the enemy.”

 

She swallowed down a gasp as he levered himself on an arm, staring at her studiously. Torture had left him looking worn out. The shadows beneath his eyes told a story of deep starvation but nothing could take away the handsomeness of his face.

 

His mouth was closed, lips well defined, as he thoroughly observed her. Could he remember her now? Was he reliving their many nights together? When he looked at her like that, he made her feel like the center of the universe. He made her stomach knot.

 

She gasped as his hand reached out to cradle her nape and pull her to him. Her eyes widened, heart fluttering in expectation of a kiss but he stopped short of touching her lips. “If I let you free me, I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you. I can't guarantee that I won't kill you.” He held her tight against him and she swallowed in torturous anticipation. “Worse, I can't guarantee we won't end up doing things together you might later regret. Do you understand this?”

 

She didn't move a muscle as he held her, only nodded.

 

The corner of his mouth lifted. “So I guess you'll just have to trust me.” He let her go and Bulma let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

 

She didn't linger, knowing time was of the essence. She promptly dismounted him, instantly missing the hard press of his slender waist under her thighs.

 

She reached for the dagger that lay on the metal floor, planning to use its fine tip to tinker with his handcuffs. Slowly she crawled past him, moving in silence, careful to avoid his gaze. She leaned back against the wall and he simultaneously shifted to rest his head comfortably on her lap. He lifted an arm, exposing a bonded wrist to her so she could begin her task.

 

She used the dagger as splicer and screwdriver, unraveling the mysteries of the contraption with the expertise of a skilled scientist. She toiled all through the night, relentlessly, undeterred by the obstacles. By the time she was finished, her fingers were a bruised and bloody mess, her nails completely destroyed. The bands, on the contrary, remained intact, blinking and untouched to the untrained eye.

 

He'd fallen asleep hours ago, a deep slumber allowing his cells to engorge with the energy so ruthlessly taken from him. His Saiyan body swelled with latent power, growing impossibly stronger after being driven to its limits.

 

She let the dagger slide off her weary fingers and leaned her head back on the metal wall, infinitely weary but unable to sleep. She couldn't find any solace. All she could do was contemplate his last words.

 

Her sins were waiting for her outside that door, eager to creep up on her like the ever approaching dawn. But it wasn't murder that bothered her the most, or breaking the law by freeing a convicted felon. Nothing was more powerful than the man now lying on her lap.

 

It was her previous rebellion to Vegeta's dominion that forced her eyes to remain half open. It was her personal debt to him that kept her awake, the unspoken carnal wishes between them. Tomorrow he'd remember her and all that had previously transpired between them. Tomorrow she'd have to face it all.

 

She knew she couldn't delay their date with destiny anymore, that the time for her to make up her mind had come. She'd waited long enough for the strength to forget him, to purge him out of her system but he was thunder made man, a force to be reckoned with. The Prince of all Saiyans wasn't the kind you could just forget.

 

Memories swamped her and confused themselves with dreams until her eyes gave way to tiredness. Slowly but surely she succumbed, completely unaware the moment sleep came over to finally sweep her in its arms.