Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Prelude ( Chapter 26 )

AN: *frets* Sorry for the delay!

 

Warning: bit gory…

 

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

Chapter 26.

 

Step 27: Prelude

 

 

 

“One move, and you're dead, bitch.”

 

The words sliced through the silence like a rusty blade, ripping it open and poisoning it. She winced at one of the many guards placed equidistantly along the walls of the spaciously somber hall. And she breathed in a lungful before closing her eyes.

 

Bulma wasn't sure how long she'd been kneeling on the arctic steel of the floor, but by the numbness in her legs and the way the cartilage in her kneecaps was threatening to liquefy, she was certain it must have been hours. Her arms hung limply at her sides as she endured her penance, her head thrown back under the glare of a single overhead light. All that kept her from crumbling down like a broken marionette was the callous words the guards kept hissing her way. They were the perfect reminder of death.

 

Well Zarbon was a right sadistic bastard when he was pissed, wasn't he? Well, he always was, but anger turned him positively hellacious. And boy, had she made enough merits to incur his wrath.

 

There she'd been, neck bent to the side as she dozed against the back-bruising wall on Vegeta's cell when the sound of boots had snapped her back to the land of what-the-fuck. A troika of guards had barged in, snatched her roughly from her job as Vegeta's makeshift pillow - one she'd thoroughly enjoyed for some reason - and dragged her fuzzy-eyed, badly mussed-up, half-dressed self away from him.

 

She wasn't sure that'd been the thing to fully wake the Saiyan. Not the heavy padding of the steel toed boots or the way he'd hit his head on the floor when they pulled her thighs from under him. No, what had fully woken him must have been the way she'd shrieked.

 

She remembered him springing to a sitting position in full alertness just as her wail had left her throat. He focused his red-rimmed glower on the guard who'd dared take his cushiony bed of a woman away.

 

Ah… hell. Ugly-ass, grimly, decadent hell. It'd been there in his eyes, a jungle of leaping flames braising the guard right where he stood. She'd felt the pile of hideous muscle holding her, tense like a frightened bulldog. And then Vegeta had looked at her… and the fire had turned soft and smoldering, and there had been alacrity in his every pore. While the other two guards slapped his face aside and manhandled him to the back corner until his spine rammed into the wall, he didn't stop looking at her. Her eyes, her lips, the necklace wrapped around her wrist, the seemingly empty linen bag at her feet. Cut. The rubies of his dagger peeking from a dark secluded corner…

 

He recognized her.

 

And why wouldn't he. The amnesia was surely gone. Yes, the cuffs looked intact, blinking pedantically to the audience, but she'd cracked them like Vegeta cracked a skull. Not that the morons holding her had a flipping clue. To them she had failed in her endeavor. But indeed the cuffs were nothing but gaudy bracelets on his thick wrists and he sure as hell didn't care for that kind of accessorizing.

 

A guard kicked him viciously between the ribs and she gasped, the savior in her needing to go to him until she remembered the facts. He didn't need saving anymore. Her work here was done. If anything, she was the one in deep shit now, while he was heavy and bursting with raw energy, the energy she'd given him back. He didn't make a move though, as they chained him, like he was assessing the situation. His eyes remained unreadable as the guards closed gates on him.

 

She did the usual struggle-struggle, get-your-hands-off-me-you-fucking-ass routine, not because she was faking it, but because trepidation had tightened her gut, and next thing she knew she was here, being made to remain kneeling by strict orders from above. The Lord of the dungeon had yet to show his mug but she could imagine wrath pulling his face into a bitter mask. To him the Saiyan nightmare remained effectively imprisoned, so there was no threat. That wouldn't cause him to huff and puff, but when it came to her? Well, she'd completely betrayed his trust. If he indeed had even trusted her at all. Perhaps this was all just a freaking mind game.

 

Pinpricks of perspiration needled at her forehead, the valley between her breasts damp as if she'd ran a marathon. God, her knees were killing her. Where was Vegeta? Shouldn't he be blasting his way through a firestorm right about now? Shouldn't he be whisking her away in his powerful arms amidst the thundering boom and crash of the whole compound? Wasn't this the part where the hero saved the heroine in a spectacle of a million, bedazzling colors?

 

A guard coughed. Another one spit. And she cursed under her breath feeling death inch ever closer. God, she truly was stupid wasn't she. He'd probably already eloped. Perhaps it would have been better that he remained amnesiac. Now that he remembered her, he had many reasons to leave her behind. He almost always acted like he didn't like her, after all. Like she gave him an itch or something.

 

Thus the mighty fall, she thought. A dazzling heiress born upon a gilded throne ended a cold-blooded murderess, and all for a man that didn't even love her. And the headlines would run like rivers: Bulma Briefs feared abducted by alien. Parents place blame on space fiend. Secret love affair suspected. Oh Gods. Wasn't her life over.

 

She was overcome with the need to blame Vegeta, to pin her fall from grace and subsequent death squarely on his shoulders, but she found herself unable to do so.

 

Passion. It was all she could the place blame on. Red-blooded passion, full and ripe, and heady like the best sex she'd had with him. That had been her main driving force as of late. It was that fire that only he could ignite that had pushed her to the very edges of hell. And by fire she didn't mean the sexual kind - although, good Lordy, was that good. No, but she meant the kind of the soul. The one that set your chest in flames until you felt you couldn't breathe. And as odd as it sounded, that somehow soothed her. After all, it was passion fraught with reason. She wasn't crazy. She was just in love.

 

Hold up. What? Her face scrunched like a mule had just kicked her in the gut.

 

With a vengeance.

 

Okay so she loved him. Fine. Nothing to worry about. At least she'd now die and never face him again. Talk about backwards, twisted logic, but it worked. Yes, she'd pass on to the next dimension without dealing with it at all. No weird relationship shit, no unrequited feelings to scald her already bruised ego. No debts to pay in bed. Instead she would pluck at the golden clouds all day, watching down on him like those chubby cherubs, seeing him kill and maim and go about his business. Hard-asses would be hard-asses after all and for what it was worth, at least she felt like she knew him now.

 

Though the universe condemned him, he was a victim himself. There'd just never been room for his own retribution. What about the wrongs done unto him? What about his justice? He was her prince of pain and unfairness, her child of war beaten into slavery and all-around abuse. There was infinite integrity to him even through the sins he had committed. As bleak as his existence was, he never pretended to be something he wasn't, and though that meant he was harsh and cruel, and plain…. BAD, she could always count on him to be truthful.

 

This morbid façade of a justice system was something else altogether. Absolute power corrupts absolutely and the puppeteers of the universe didn't seem to be an exception. There must have been a time when they wielded the sword of justice with a true sense of honor, but the absence of a true tyrant like Frieza seemed to have slackened their principles. She didn't blame them for tagging criminals like the Saiyan prince, but the absence of due process and their liaisons with the underworld reeked with the stench of personal convenience. They disposed of those they couldn't benefit from and eliminated anyone that posed a threat to their dominion.

 

Just as they were about to do with her…

 

Bulma flinched as a gate swished open behind her, the sound cutting through her thoughts like a knife through butter. Then the rapid click of heels on the floor filled the hollow room until she thought she'd go deaf. A number of guards drew themselves up in apprehension and she knew without a doubt who it was. A shadow stepped into her line of vision and before she could even blink, the world spun in a violent blur. Zarbon cocked her across the face with his closed fist, smashing the tender flesh of her lip into her upper teeth.

 

He fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and wrenched her skull back up as she blinked in pain. “You know, I actually suspected you were lying last night. You didn't think I was stupid, did you?”

 

Bulma closed her eyes, tasting the metal flavor of her own blood as it spilled from the cut on her lip. “I knew there was a chance you would use me to run back to your master like the good little whore you are. I knew you'd try to set him free.” Bulma gazed up at his dark angular face and found nothing but contempt in his golden eyes. Her head swam from the blow and although she wanted to fight, she knew she didn't stand a chance. Her small reservoir of energy was nearly depleted.

 

Zarbon breathed into her face, eerie confidence mixed with absolute derision. “I hope you managed to squeeze one last good farewell fuck from him last night, because that's the last you'll ever have.”

 

He pushed her head back, jerking her free and walking around to stand behind her. “I didn't care if you ended up being a devious little cheat and sneaking into his cell. I didn't even care if that cost me the life of a few expendable guards. I do admit their demise at the hands of a mere girl shames me, but here's the thing: I knew there was nothing you could do to save Vegeta.”

 

And that was that. He was confident he had her figured out to a tee. Hell, she was nothing but space trash to him. “The technology behind those handcuffs is nothing short of spectacular.” He continued “They're virtually indestructible. In fact, it would take a scientist… no, a genius scientist to decode its secrets. They're a marvel of hyper-advanced mechanical engineering. Not that you'd even know what that means.” And he snickered.

 

Bulma's eyes fluttered, and she stared on ahead, a glimmer in her eye that was completely lost to him. What an asshole.

 

“So whether you helped me kill him or you tried to free him, there was no way I wouldn't win. You've officially infringed the law now and it's two for the price of one.”

 

He truly wasn't coming for her, was he? God, he was probably on his way to Earth as she sat here dallying with the red-skinned snake in frilly clothes. She tried to be okay with it. Really, she did, but his absence weighted on her like heavy slabs of dry ice. She swallowed hard and sunk her nails on her palms until they left moon crescents on her dampened flesh.

 

“Now, before you think I'm nothing but a callous bastard, let me assure you I'm not here for the mere lust of blood.” She heard the soft whirring of a mechanism as the curved wall ahead peeled down to reveal a bank of gleaming monitors. A sundry array of important looking creatures stared at her from their recesses, some bulbous and repugnant while others looked as long and slender as Zarbon himself. Their perfect stillness and vacant eyes chilled her further than if they had uttered a word.

 

The judges of the courts. They had to be.

 

“I could simply kill you for attempting to free a convicted felon, but I'll let you choose your own fate in a rare show of mercy.” He leaned next to Bulma's face to gaze up at the monitors, his cheeks widening in self-pleasure. Then he glanced to the side. “See the reptilian in the corner?”

 

Bulma's eyes fell over a broad shouldered creature with soft, greenish skin that had walked into the room unnoticed. He had a long uneven row of sharp teeth that dripped with a viscous fluid and the slimy exterior of a toad. Her breath hitched in her throat and she decided to avert her eyes for fear that he would haunt her every nightmare.

 

Zarbon slid his fingers up over her nape and gathered her long strands of hair in a tight grasp, pulling back so she was forced to arch her back. “He's a slave trader and I'm sure he'd have no difficulty finding you a suitable owner, or a suitable use among his many clients.” Bulma's lower lip trembled and she bit it hard, nearly yelping when she clamped over the open wound.

 

“But you do have a choice. Slavery or death. Choose the latter and I'll slash your throat right here, right now. Your death would be quick, which is a bummer, but my audience here…” He nodded at the creatures “Sure like this sort of thing. Word of advice? Choose wisely, `cause payback's a bitch and no one's here to rescue you.”

Bulma's eyes widened, her scalp aching from the way Zarbon was pulling it tight. The choice was easy. Death. She preferred a quick death to a lifetime of torture and abuse that would leave her nothing but a shadow of herself. Her eyes darted back to the revolting toad-like creature that watched her with eagerness, desperate for her to choose the fate that would place her in his slimy claws for the rest of her life.

 

“D-d…” The word died in her mouth, unable to pull free. Although her brain chose the path of least resistance, her heart insisted in believing Vegeta wouldn't forget her, and lately her heart always won. He wouldn't abandon her to the hyenas of the universe without a second glance. He would appear before her in a halo of shimmery light like the fallen god he was and even if he didn't, that dream alone was enough to keep living.

 

“Slavery.”

 

At the sound of her word, the toad-like creature's giddiness became nearly tangible. Her stomach swam with nausea. The faces in the monitors remained unfazed, and although she couldn't see him, so remained Zarbon.

 

He would have enjoyed slitting her throat, feeling the warmth of her blood trickling from his fingers, but thrusting her into the arms of the reptile was nothing short of pleasurable, so in the end he wasn't too peeved. It sure was surprising though. Perhaps the bitch was a masochist? He shrugged and pulled tighter on her hair, unsheathing a gleaming knife from a holster at his thigh.

 

“Uh… well, suit yourself. By the way, female slaves have no identity and no worth, and as such they're not allowed to grow their hair.” With a motion of his wrist he sliced right through her glossy strands of aquamarine hair, right at the point where he was tensing it. She lurched forward, abruptly torn from Zarbon's grasp and feeling her head a million times lighter. The luscious locks fell to the floor in disarray, sprawling around Bulma's legs in dejection. Much shorter strands brushed forward, the ends touching her chin and leaving her neck and her shoulders bare to the coldness of the room.

 

“Now before I send you off, I thought I'd grant your request from last night. You did ask to witness Vegeta's execution and I'll be damn happy to oblige. After all, I did enjoy that wicked dance you did, what with the near nakedness and the way you practically fucked the entire room with nothing but your eyes. It got me hard. I swear it got every other fucker in there nearly blowing a hole through their pants as well.” Zarbon sheathed his knife and lifted his nose to a guard. “Send for Vegeta. The time for his death has finally come.”

 

At that, the characters in the monitors stirred like they could barely contain themselves, and Bulma knew this was what they'd truly been waiting for. The guard pressed a button on the control panel. After a second of nothing but silence, he tore his gaze away from the tiny security monitors on the panel and turned a wan face to his master.

 

She felt Zarbon go rigid, and without a single word exchanged, he marched up to the bank of portable-tv sized screens, like he had a blood curdling suspicion. He brushed the guard aside and focused on the images, each of which was being fed by the cameras that focused on the different areas of the base.

 

Zarbon took a step back, still transfixed but suddenly mute. He looked like a cocker spaniel about to piss on his master's expensive rug.

 

The guard he'd so contemptuously pushed aside spoke through all the weird-ass silence, but he didn't put anyone at ease with what he said. All he did was increase the weirdness by a factor of ten. “Their heads.” He breathed. “They are all… dead. And they got no heads, all the guards in the wings. All without their heads.” Bulma narrowed her eye and caught a glimpse of red from the monitors but she couldn't make much else. “No heads… only blood. So much blood.” Now there were two cocker spaniels in the house, Zarbon and the guard, and Bulma feared for the floor's integrity.

 

She saw Zarbon stand back and swallow, like he was tuning his ear to the very pipes hidden behind the walls and the soft buzzing of the flickering monitors. Like he was waiting for something.

 

Just like that a head dropped on the floor at his feet. It was Secha's.

 

His second in command, stared at him from half-hooded milky eyes, the body-less head rocking morbidly as it slowly came to a halt, all color draining from Zarbon's face.

 

“I confessed I would kill you, didn't I. Back at my suite.” Vegeta's voice, perfectly deep and controlled, sounded against Zarbon's ear. There was a cold trace of mockery in it, chilling it as it rang. “Well, good evening fucker, I think the time's right.”

 

She stared like an idiot. She couldn't for the life of her remember seeing him materialize, but there he was, a vision of navy and white, holding his dagger to Zarbon's neck. Blood coated the planes and crevices of his breastplate, glittering like rubies on his gloves. His eyes completely focused on his prey and his fangs drawn out. His control was so tight and perfected she had to remind herself to close her mouth. She was in freaking peril. She should be running, from the slave trader, from Zarbon's minions. Hell, she should probably even be running from Vegeta himself, he looked so pissed.

 

And then all hell broke loose. Guards flung themselves at him from all directions, tackling him like a hoard of football players from hell. Most were far taller and heavier built then he was, and that gave them a temporary advantage. Zarbon stumbled free from the hurdle, slamming into the bank of monitors and holding his own throat like it was going to come undone. His hands came away bloody but he wasn't mortally wounded.

 

Bulma scrambled away on shaky legs, the pain on her numbed-out knees nearly making her howl. As Vegeta struggled under the pummeling, the mountain of muscle shifted, like a pressure cooker about to burst. A wave of energy split forth, lighting the spaces between the heaving bodies and pushing through the atoms in the room until they squeezed against the walls. The massive burst thrummed in all directions, throwing Bulma against the wall until she crumpled down like a boneless doll.

 

The air got sucked out of her lungs but she wheezed, breathing in the sheer crisp power that was all Vegeta and that filled the room in a sparkling blue haze. He emerged free and a guard with a chest as wide a truck flung himself at him, nearly knocking him over. Vegeta rolled away to perch himself on one knee, assessing the giant while keeping tabs on every other creature in the room.

 

The people in the monitors stared in shock. And so would have Bulma, if only she hadn't been so worried about that big slimy toad that was slowly recovering from the blow and seeking her out with yearning eyes.

 

Vegeta plunged straight into the mass of muscle ahead of him, slamming his fist into the yielding stomach and punching through with ease. As he eviscerated the guard, he pointedly glanced at Zarbon, allowing him to relive that day in Namek where he'd pretty much suffered the same fate. Zarbon was still clamping a hand on his leaking throat but he remained inert, knowing the rest of the guards were crawling their way to the prince like a pack of rabid dogs.

 

Bulma remembered the green planet as well, except that was all children play compared to the carnage that ensued. Vegeta's eyebrows sunk and his lip curled at the side as he maimed, diced and tore every one of Zarbon's minions until they were left a bloody heap. He smashed his elbow into one last skull, not even breaking a sweat as the poor nameless bastard slipped to the floor after the others.

 

At his sudden loneliness, Zarbon snapped into a frantic escapade, dashing away and disappearing through a nearby hall.

 

That's when she tried to stand but her legs remained useless. She wobbled in place like a deer on an ice rink, hoping against all odds that she found the strength to carry her own ass. Instead, warm webbed hands pulled her into an equally sticky body as the toad dragged her off towards a different exit. Vegeta spun around quickly, glancing at the archway Zarbon had sprinted through but stopping in his tracks to glance at her.

 

She swung terrified eyes at Vegeta. She would have said something except her lungs felt as dry and shriveled as an autumn leaf. Her captor's foul breath fluttered her shortened hair as he held her, his sharp teeth nearly bruising the soft column of her neck as he carefully inched towards the exit.

 

And just like that Vegeta turned away, striding purposefully after Zarbon and freezing Bulma's blood right in her heart.

 

“Vegeta!” Came her one piercing howl, a sound so pained and heavy with anguish it carried across the room like the toll of a bell. He could have sworn she saw him hesitate, but he continued his stride, placing greater and greater distance between them. Death. She should have chosen death after all. Now she was saddled with slavery for having chosen blindly.

 

She wasn't sure how long it took the creature to weave his way through the gory corridors of the base but he finally breached the surface. And all through it she remembered Vegeta's dark eyes as he'd looked at her, how unreadable his expression had been. Had he listened to Zarbon's little tirade and his comments on her sultry stripper-like dance? Was he aware of her sinful performance for his enemies?

 

Outside, the amphibianoid thrust her into a wooden cage big enough to hold a small family, set on the back of a rustic vehicle that looked like a beat-to-shit truck. He locked it and jumped behind the wheel. The thing whirred to life and drove off, jumping over the uneven surface of the alien ground and sending Bulma's stomach bouncing against her ribcage.

 

As they retreated, the base begun to pop and shake in a series of explosions. The sounds were deafening yet somehow not enough to drown the sound of Bulma's breathing. She held onto the bars of the cage, becoming catatonic with fear for the first time in her life.

 

She couldn't breath, she couldn't think, she had gone numb.

 

Vegeta was a living nightmare of a man, a Saiyan powerful enough to inspire awe and terror but she'd never felt safer than when held in his arms. He had once vowed to protect her and she'd truly believed he would. She had feared herself, but she hadn't truly feared him. She hadn't even feared the dangers of space, all because he was with her.

 

Life drained from her face as the base disappeared behind the horizon, the haze of twilight cresting over the divide.

 

She was screaming his name in her head, screaming it over and over again, gut-wrenching cries that wouldn't stop but only multiply.

 

Vegeta… Vegeta, please.

 

A single tear spilled down her cheek until it touched her lips and it hovered there, like a hopeless kiss.

 

All of a sudden the world splintered into dust around her, the skies crashed, life did a somersault and the engines of the universe backtracked. She bounced violently, unable to find purchase in the midst of the chaos. A heavy crash right above her sent a thousand chips of wood raining down on her. Strong arms reached down to scoop her up towards a solid chest, holding her tight before dashing off in a streak of light across the velvet sky.

 

“Hold on to me.” He said against her hair and that she did, curling her arms over his shoulders with every once of strength she possessed. Her nails dug into his muscles and she buried her face against Vegeta's neck, the wind sifting through her hair as he flew. It carried the echoes of the last explosions, the sound more like a lullaby now as it wafted through the dusky skies. He flew her away from the crumbled prison and as he did, she lost track of time, her ear pressed to his body as she listened intently to the steady rhythm of his heart.

 

 

AN: Well, what do you know. Time for some lemonade. (lemons… lemons… ) I like mine sweet with just the right hint of sour.