Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, folks. I was about 90% done this chapter a week ago, and various fun circumstances have slowed down my rate of writing. This chapter's a bit longer than most; hope that makes up for it. And of course, thanks for all the reviews on chapter 16, and for your patience as well.

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic sex. If you would like to read an edited, M-rated (as opposed to NC-17) version, please visit my profile on fanfiction(dot)net. Same author name.

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PRESENT DAY

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Krillin stared nervously at the awkward array of pupils lined up before him, and swallowed the pounding heart that was threatening to leap up his throat and out of his mouth. “So...welcome to Sensing Ki 101,” he joked, and no one laughed.

“Get on with it, Baldy!” Master Roshi heckled from the sidelines, his own naturally bald head shining under the fluorescent lights.

“Yeah, Baldy!” Oolong, also quite hairless, joined in, and Krillin rolled his eyes. He'd asked Roshi to come along today and help because the old man had been his own teacher when he was young, but he could see that the aging master's particular brand of classroom skills might not go over so well with the saiyans, who were standing stock still and glaring most hatefully at him. Well, Gohan wasn't. Gohan was looking pleadingly at him, silently begging him to make sure the three adult saiyans didn't regret wasting their time on this.

No pressure.

“Well,” Krillin coughed into his hand. “Ahem. Anyway...sensing ki is easy once you get the hang of it. It's pretty much second nature; you don't even have to think about doing it. Learning how can be difficult for some, however, and we've found that you have to have a fairly substantial power level to be able to really properly sense the power in others. I, err, don't think this will be a problem today.” He shrugged at the line of saiyans, who all continued to stare, stone faced, at him. Why had he allowed himself to be bullied into this? Unlike Chichi, who'd chosen to remain absent from their little class, he had no problem with the saiyans learning to sense ki; he just didn't want to be the one to teach them! Earlier in the morning he'd allowed himself to wonder what would happen if they couldn't learn, and he'd nearly had a panic attack, imagining their reactions. They were smart, well Vegeta was at least, but all three of them were full of rage and fairly quick to let it be known.

“So,” he continued, “the first thing that I need all of you to do is relax. You need to clear your mind of other distractions so that you can concentrate solely on the energies around you.” He sat down and motioned for the others to do so as well. Gohan had his butt on the floor in under a second and Vegeta was surprisingly quick to follow. He saw the advantage in being able to sense ki without the scouter and that was the only reason the four of them were there, docilely listening to the diminutive human. Nappa and Radditz took a little longer to comply, the former rolling his eyes before lowering his massive body to the training mat.

“Relaxation!” Nappa muttered as he settled into the cross legged position that the others had adopted under Krillin's example. “No time to relax in battle.”

“Nappa...” Vegeta warned, his voice low and threatening, and the big one shut up immediately. Oolong snickered from the sidelines, but one dark look from Nappa let him know that he'd be dinner if he didn't keep his big mouth closed.

Krillin waited until all the grumbling and shifting subsided. When everyone was once more silent and still, he asked the saiyans if they had ever practiced any form of meditation, and was pleasantly surprised when they all admitted to having engaged in such practice. Some more than others, suggested the roll of Radditz's eyes, but it was an excellent start. Trying to teach the rowdy bunch to meditate was not on Krillin's list of fun things to do. “Okay,” he said, settling in to his role as instructor, “then I would like you all to relax your bodies and clear your minds.”

“Shouldn't be hard for Nappa.” Radditz interrupted, and Krillin was surprised to see Gohan elbow his uncle in the ribs. Brave kid.

“Drop down into that meditative state,” Krillin continued, “and think only of energy. Yours and that of the others in this room, on this station. Think of the ebb and flow of energy through the universe.”

“Ha-umm, ha-umm.” Oolong and Roshi chanted from the sidelines, and Krillin glared at them. Why had he ever thought they'd be able to take this seriously? Seeing the effect it was having on Krillin, Roshi added a new verse. “Ha-umm, ha-umm, chacka-cha, chacka-cha.” Oolong stumbled at first, but quickly caught on, and had begun to drum with his stubby fingers on the bench. “Shimmy-sha, titty-ta.”

Krillin's glare might not have made much of an impact, but Vegeta's sure did, and when it fell on them, both troublemakers quickly quieted down, sudden fear making their insides roil. Krillin resisted the urge to thank Vegeta, who he was sure would not appreciate it, and instead returned to the lesson with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Relax,” he instructed, trying hard to calm his voice into the soothing, smooth timbre of a proper monk. “Relax all of your muscles, feel the tension flow from you, loosen your whole body.”

And that was when Nappa farted; not just your every day fart, the kind that could be forgiven, even ignored, but that epic kind of fart that begins as a slow squeak and draws into the great, gasping burst of air as it struggles to free itself from the confines of the body. Fwaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeek. Just like that.

“Not that loose.” Radditz muttered as he scooted away from his red-faced superior, nose wrinkled in disgust. Gohan, ever obedient, remained miserably where he was, embroiled in fumes. Vegeta sat, still as a statue, grinding his teeth with rage as the vein in his forehead throbbed. Krillin doubted that even fart-stink would be so foolish as to invade his Royal Highness' personal space. Roshi and Oolong were rolling on the floor with laughter, absolutely unable to contain themselves even in the face of the painful death that was likely to come from laughing at a saiyan. Krillin sat, silent and open-mouthed, absolutely mortified at the awful turn that this whole session had taken. Vegeta was going to kill him, he was sure of it.

“Oh, lighted up Baldy!” Roshi hauled himself from the floor with surprising agility, even as his bones creaked and cracked. “It's not all flow of the universe and all that!” He tottered over to stand in front of the group. “It's all energy and feeling the crackle of power in the air around you, and the sense of it in your skin!” Roshi winked conspiratorially at the uneasy group of saiyans. “Krillin's a monk, you see. All in the head, never in the body.” He waggled his eyebrows and tapped his shiny cranium with the knobbed walking stick he often carried. “It's a profoundly physical experience!” Radditz sat up a little straighter; he was all about the physical experience.

“I'm sure you've all felt it before.” Krillin put in, a little miffed that he was being usurped by an insulting old man in a Hawaiian print shirt. Where did he keep getting those things, anyway? Surely you couldn't buy them out here in space!

“Explain.” Vegeta demanded, looking intensely interested for the first time since sitting down.

“Well, I'm sure you've felt the power of a strong warrior, right? You feel the crackle in the air when someone powers up, for example, the tingle in your skin, the pressure pushing against your lungs and heart.” He was pleased to see that all of the saiyans were nodding along, paying close attention now, with understanding written plain on their faces. “You might mistake it for fear or awe, but it's ki. I think you're probably all just too used to relying on your scouters to actually tell you an opponent's power level. Without them, you'll be forced to pay more attention to the feeling of the ki. Once you learn how, you'll be able to gauge power and, to some degree, intent.”

“So how do we do this?” Gohan asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Well, trial and error, really.” Krillin shrugged, apologetically. “There's no way I can really tell you what to do, but I thought we'd start by having you all relax and concentrate on my ki as I power up and down, so you can begin to feel the differences. Once you've got that down, we'll get Master Roshi in here so you can practice telling the difference between ki signatures.”

“Well let's get started then,” Vegeta groused. “We haven't got all day.”

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Three hours later, Krillin and Roshi were absolutely exhausted. The saiyans were quick learners, but mind numbingly thorough. Vegeta had stubbornly refused to let anyone rest, teachers included, until all four saiyan warriors were able to not only estimate power level, but also tell the difference between Roshi and Krillin's signatures in a blind test. They all had the basics down, and the poor, tired humans were only allowed to leave after convincing Vegeta that they could do nothing more.

“You just need to practice.” Krillin insisted, far too tired to be afraid of the saiyan prince's glare. “Take turns powering up and down for a while. Play hide and seek with each other. Challenge yourself to lock onto, and find, certain people on the ship. Just keep practicing. Everyone you see, make note of their power level and ki signature.”

“What is hide and seek?” Radditz asked, and Krillin took the opportunity to sneak out while Gohan was explaining. He was starving and his body ached from the effort of continuously exercising his ki for so long. A snack and a nap were in order, he thought. Roshi tailed behind him, eager to be away from the serious atmosphere in the training room.

“Well, they're stubborn, if nothing else.” The old man let out a jaw-cracking yawn and casually reached a hand down to scratch his butt. “Shoulda gotten out when Oolong did.” He muttered, and Krillin shook his head.

“Oolong was useless as far as the training goes.” He pointed out, “And now you can feel good knowing that you've yet again been a teacher to some of the most powerful beings around.”

“Well, never hurts to have another super-fighter under my belt.” Roshi straightened a little, though he still seemed permanently hunched. “Though those boys could learn a little respect!”

“Cool it, Baldy.” Krillin laughed, stopping to allow the aged master into the kitchen ahead of him. “I think you should just count yourself lucky than Nappa didn't kill you for laughing at him.”

“Too serious, the lot of them!” Roshi parked himself into a chair while Krillin pulled out some bread and meat for sandwiches.

“Hey Chichi,” Krillin greeted the dark-haired woman as she strolled into the kitchen, a pile of dirty plates in her hands. “We missed you at the training session.”

“Yeah, well...” she trailed off, shrugging with stiff shoulders before she set the dishes in the sink.

“They're not so bad, those saiyans!” Roshi declared as he kicked back, propping his feet up on the chair across from him. “Rough around the edges, yes, but not so terrible. How're those sandwiches coming?” He asked, completely unaware of the tension in the room, or just uncaring of it.

“Err, here's your food.” Krillin shoved a hastily constructed sandwich toward his old master. “Why don't you go and eat it in front of the television. I think Oolong's in there too.”

“Oh fine, fine, I get it!” Roshi raised suggestive eyebrows at his former student. “But just so you know, I think Sixteen is also interested. I know I wouldn't want to go up against that guy.”

“Oh shut up!” Chichi shrieked, her cheeks flushing red with anger and embarrassment. “You filthy old pervert!” She snatched a cup from the sink and whipped it at his head before yanking an unwashed frying pan from the stovetop. Grease from the morning's breakfast spattered the walls and floor as she swung, two handed, managing to catch the old man on the rear as he fled. “Dirty letch.” She muttered, face falling as she surveyed the mess she'd made. As he watched her reach for a sponge, Krillin briefly entertained the notion of offering to clean up for her, but the look of furious determination in her eyes stopped him before he even opened his mouth. That, and it was a really big mess.

“Chi,” he ventured after having watched her scrub for a few moments. “You're going to rub a hole through the countertop if you keep going like that.” Krillin braced himself for a glare and perhaps his own frying pan shaped welt, but she simply sighed and eased up on the pressure. No explosion? Slightly worrying. “Is something wrong?”

“I'm sure Gohan told you I was not in favour of today's little exercise.” She snapped, getting straight toward the point as usual. Chichi was blunt, if nothing else.

“Yeah, he did. And I kind of see your point,” Krillin admitted as he watched her move toward a large grease stain on the wall, “but I'd like to trust them. I think I do, actually, and if they're going to be on our side, I want them to have every advantage when it comes to fighting guys like Frieza and his cronies.”

“And has it occurred to you that you've just given them yet another advantage to use against us?”

“Chichi, don't be stupid.” Krillin tossed his sullied knife into the sink with a clatter and topped his own sandwich with a piece of bread slathered in mayo. “Ki-sense or no, they could still wipe the floor with us any day. You can feel Vegeta's power. Even at rest it would take the whole lot of us to even come close to taking him out.” He took his plate to the table and slumped wearily into a chair. For the first time since coming in, Chichi noticed how tired he appeared and she felt a little guilty about ambushing him with this. Not guilty enough, however, to drop it. “Look Chi, I know you've got some problem with them, but I honestly believe that Vegeta is our only real shot at defeating Frieza once and for all. How long have we been at this spy game, and we've barely even made a dent in his operation, much less any progress to taking him out of the picture. We steal some blueprints, he has more drawn up. A factory is destroyed, he builds two to replace it. We have no chance!”

“So we take down Frieza and then what?” Chichi demanded, throwing her sponge down in anger. “Vegeta takes over? We remove one evil only to install another to power?”

“If he's the lesser evil, then yes!” Krillin snapped, exasperated. “And I don't really think that Vegeta is evil, but if he is then so what? You'd rather Frieza go on indiscriminately killing and enslaving people?”

“Of course not, but I don't exactly like the idea of casting our lot with Vegeta and those monsters, either!”

“What's your problem with them anyway, Chichi? You've hardly even spoken to any of them aside from Gohan. How can you judge them?”

“I don't need to speak to them! And don't lump Gohan in with them either! Just look at what they've done to my son!” She burst out, furiously.

“What, you mean keep him alive?” Krillin cried, incredulously. “Fed him and cared for him when no one else would? I've seen them Chi, and they're his family now whether you like it or not!”

“I'm his family!” Chichi shouted, “I was his mother first! It's not my fault he was taken from me! It isn't fair!” She sobbed and deflated as suddenly as she'd begun to shriek, sinking down onto the floor. Obviously mortified at having burst into tears, she scrubbed hard at her face with the backs of her hands, unsuccessfully trying to wipe away the moisture in her eyes.

“Chichi, listen to me.” Krillin knelt in front of her, having gotten out of his seat and come around the counter. He took her hand, stroking the back of it gently with his thumb. “Of course you're his family, of course you're his mother. Everyone knows that. Even those saiyans know that. But you're the only one who can't seem to accept that they've become his family too. He'd probably have died without them, Chi, and even if you hate the way they've raised him, you have to understand that they are responsible for him being alive today. They could have left him to rot, but they took him in and made him one of their own. He's here and he's sane,” Krillin stressed, “and you don't see how lucky we are that they kept him that way.”

“You think I'm not happy he's alive?” Chichi sniffled, knowing that she was being irrational and yet clinging to her anger in the way that people who are deeply pained so often do. “You think I'd rather he was dead?”

“Nobody thinks that.” Krillin cooed, moving to sit next to her. “But I do think you're reaching for what could have been, when you need to hold onto what is. He belongs with them as much as he belongs with you. The only way you're going to get as much of him as they do is for us to end this mess with Frieza so we can all live in peace. If nothing else, cooperate with them for that reason. “ He brushed a stray hair back behind her ear and reached up to grab a sheet of paper towel for her to blot her face and blow her nose. “Rough, but effective.” He grinned, before getting up and reaching down to help her stand as well. “Go and rest, Chi. I'll finish this cleanup.”

“No, no,” she smoothed the wrinkles from her clothes, suddenly flustered and embarrassed at her outburst. She felt like a terrible mother and was mortified that Krillin had seen her cry about it. “I need to keep myself busy for now. There'll be plenty of time to think while I'm laying awake in bed tonight.” She smiled, trying to make light of the situation, but Krillin had known her for too long to not see through her charade.

“Sure.” He smiled anyway, letting her keep her pride, and grabbed his plate from the table. “I'm gonna go join Roshi and Oolong then.” She nodded and turned toward a small splash of grease on the counter, and he made his silent exit.

*

The problem with having learned how to sense ki, Vegeta thought, was that he hadn't quite learned how to not sense ki. When the bald man suggested they challenge themselves to search out and track certain people on board, he'd been irritated to find that only one person popped immediately into his head. He wasn't so out of touch with himself as to be surprised by it; no, he'd sort of expected it. After all, she flitted through his head at least a hundred times a day, with her big, stupid hair and her sweet, plump lips pulled into a pout as she offered to show him her tits. What a crazy bitch. What was her deal, anyway? What the hell did she want?

Well, Vegeta knew what he wanted, at least. He wanted to bend her over the nightmarish mess she called a work table and fuck her senseless, that's what he wanted! Knowing and understanding that fact was easy; the hard part was trying to figure out why the desire was so intense that it dominated at least eighty-five percent of his conscious brain at any given moment. Yeah, she was hot, another easy admission, but he'd come across scores of beautiful women in his time and while he'd certainly found them attractive and hadn't necessarily turned down any liaisons with them, none had ever made him burn like she did.

Fucking witch. He was sure of it.

Vegeta growled and punched his pillow in frustration. He needed to get her out of his head, or she'd surely be the death of him. She was damn distracting and distraction was not something he could afford. He needed to focus all of his attention on the game, the fight, walking the tightrope while discovery and death howled and snapped their teeth below him. He could not allow himself to fail at this. He had to find away to banish her from his thoughts.

*

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Bulma barely heard the footsteps over the sound of the rushing water, but she'd luckily poked her head out from beneath the spray for a moment in order to reach up and adjust the showerhead setting from full coverage to pulsing massage. She'd been bent over her workbench all day, sketching designs and reviewing schematics, triple checking calculations until numbers danced before her eyes, and her shoulders and back were screaming for some relief.

“Mom?” She called out nervously, for it was the middle of the night and Chichi was almost always in bed before midnight. If the dark haired woman was up and about at this time, it was because she was glued to the comm-link, listening for any information she could find that might help out their operation.

Bulma had first stepped into the shower just after 2am and that had been easily twenty minutes ago, if not more. The only other permanent station resident who routinely stayed up this late was her father and even he wasn't scatterbrained enough to accidentally enter the women's washroom. Anyone would notice the difference in layout immediately and realize his mistake. Aside from the fresh scent and the lack of urinals, there were half as many showers here and they ran along only one wall, facing a long bench beneath a giant stretch of mirror. “Chichi?” She tried hopefully, and wariness gripped her belly at the silence that followed. Bulma swallowed heavily and stepped out from under the pulsing water. She moved as quietly as possible over the short ledge that separated the shower from the relatively dry front chamber of the stall and quickly wrapped herself in the towed she'd left hanging there. It was a little damp - everything always ended up a little damp, which was why she'd left her clothes hanging up by the sinks - but it was comfortingly opaque, if a little skimpier than she would have liked.

Nice and covered, she tried vainly to peer beneath the stall door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her visitor's feet, maybe recognize the shoes. No such luck. All she could see was the faint shadow he cast, awkward and multi-limbed under the double row of fluorescent lights. Steeling herself, she grabbed the door handle, flicked the lock, and wrenched the thing open as fast as she could. She was hoping to startle whoever it was on the other side, banking on a few seconds of confusion to make her escape if it was needed.

From his position, feet far back and leaning forward, hands braced on either side of the door frame, Vegeta laughed at her. It was what seemed to pass for real amusement with him; that soft chuckle that sent shivers down her spine.

“I have decided that I am curious.” He said, straightening up and stepping forward to fill the doorway, thoroughly trapping her inside the stall. Bulma took an instinctive step back, nearly tripping over the raised tiles. She stumbled back a little but regained her balance once over the hump and again under the pulsing stream of water.

“Vegeta,” she gulped, clutching at the newly sodden towel as it threatened to slide away from her breasts. Heavy with water, it had already slipped down at least an inch and she struggled to tug it back up without further exposing herself.

“Let it fall.” Vegeta said, stepping fully into the stall with her. She stared dumbly at him, her mouth agape and her towel still stubbornly in place, but he watched a tremor race through her body and knew that she was not afraid. “Is your chip malfunctioning, woman?” He sneered, taking another step toward her. He was shirtless and barefoot, shiny with perspiration that had not yet become stale. She breathed in, absolutely sure that she could smell the testosterone wafting off of him. Her hands trembled and the towel slipped a little further.

“What...” she paused breathlessly as one hand reached toward her, fingers outstretched as though he were about to rip the towel off himself.

“Seventeen shades of orange, indeed!” Vegeta muttered, one finger tracing ever so gently over the top of her exposed areola, peeking out over the edge of the towel. He hooked his finger over the edge of the fabric and tugged downward to expose the full round of her nipple, hard and pebbled despite the heat surrounding them. She gasped and continued to hold the towel over her other breast, as though her modesty could be saved, but made no protest when he cupped her naked flesh in his palm.

“Yeah,” she whispered boldly, pausing to gasp as he ran his thumb over her nipple, slick with the water that was pounding her shoulders and running down her body. “I lied. Guess that makes two of us.”

“Drop the towel.” He murmured, “Maybe you're just lying about the one.”

“You think I have two different coloured nipples?” She nearly choked on her laughter, completely and utterly surprised by the joke. When he'd stepped through the door, she'd honestly thought that he'd tear the towel away, toss her to the floor, and be done with hardly a word.

“How should I know.” He was lowering his head, lips so near her ear that she could feel his breath on her skin. “I've never seen a naked human.”

“Touché.” She gasped as he ran his hand up her covered side, the tips of his fingers grazing the side of her breast through the soggy fabric. She let go, and it slid awkwardly down her body - catching on her butt for a few seconds - before falling to the floor with a squelching plop. She winced; that sound was the opposite of sexy, but Vegeta seemed only to have attention for her breasts, the full roundness of them spilling out of his hands as he cupped them with eager hands. All thoughts of unsexy towels flew from her mind when he bent his neck, crouching slightly, to run his tongue across her left nipple.

“Be quiet now.” He said, pulling the hard little bead into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingers, pinching it gently to make her squirm. Gods, he thought, his tongue trailing down to the underside of her breast, she tasted good. What had she washed herself with, sugar?

“Vegeta,” Bulma moaned, and she wasn't sure whether she was asking him to stop or pleading with him to go further. It wasn't every day that a man, a virtual stranger at that, barged into her shower and demanded to be shown some skin, and to acquiesce to his demands probably wasn't the classiest response. “I...uh...ah...” She squeaked as his teeth closed over her breast, gently tugging her nipple outward before releasing it.

“Hush.” Vegeta commanded, kneeling down in front of her, his hands skimming down to grasp her hips, fingers kneading the soft curve of her flesh. His mouth followed, planting kisses over the flat plane of her stomach, nipping the skin around her navel with sharp teeth that reminded her just how dangerous this man was. The thought sent a thrill up her spine and she dared to reach down, her fingers brushing shyly down his neck and across sculpted shoulders. His head dipped in and out of the shower's spray as he moved, the water trying in vain to beat back his wild hair. Encouraged by the hum that rumbled from Vegeta's chest, Bulma ran her hands up and into his mane, fingers tangling in his coarse, stiff hair.

“Ohhh, Ven,” she moaned, legs quivering, as his mouth swept down from her belly button. He nudged her legs apart and scooted forward, craning his neck just a little bit back, to find what he was looking for. Palms braced on her thighs, he ran his thumbs alongside her entrance and up into the neat patch of blue curls that adorned her there. He parted her flesh and leaned in, his tongue darting out to lap slowly at the swollen bud he'd revealed. His cock, still trapped within the confines of his soaked training shorts, twitched with desire at the moan she let loose, and he felt her body shudder at the sudden sensation. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he found her with his lips, thumbs working to massage the surrounding flesh. “Oooh, that's...that's...” She gasped, her head tilting back to rest against the cool tiled wall as he slipped a pair of fingers into her, expertly curling them inward to find the sweet bundle of nerves on her front wall. With his other hand, he steadied her before lifting her leg high to hoist it over his shoulder, forcing her to lean further back against the wall. Bulma's head was reeling, her body jumping and jerking with each thrust of his fingers, each expert swirl of the tongue. Through the open stall door she caught sight of herself in the mirror and was momentarily stunned, wondering at what had come over her. There she was, soaking wet and shrouded by steam, face flushed, eyes shining, naked and spread for all the world to see. She watched the muscles in Vegeta's back move as he shifted his weight, the smooth slide of them under skin marred by so much scarring. His tail coiled and uncoiled, writing in and out of the growing puddle on the floor; one of his knees was blocking the drain and the water had begun to pool.

“What am I doing?” She thought, frantically. “I should really put a stop to this...I should really...oh God, that feels good. But this is really bad. Really bad. Oh, what's he doing?” Vegeta had moved her back down to the floor, for all the good the trembling appendage did to hold her up, and was slowly getting to his feet, his tongue tracing its earlier path in reverse.

“You're watching, aren't you?” He was grinning at her in that devilish way of his, water cascading down over his body as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You dirty creature.” He nipped at her earlobe, his hands coming to rest once more on her hips, drawing her body away from the wall to press into his own, his jutting erection hard against her belly through his dripping shorts. She felt her breath catch in her throat, eyes hot as they ran over his body, taking in the water-slick muscles, the smooth contours of his lean frame. She wanted him badly.

“Fuck me.” Bulma breathed, her decision made, and as though he'd simply been waiting for her permission, he was on her in a second, his mouth crushing hers, arms surrounding her, pulling her close, suddenly frantic. She scrabbled mindlessly at his shorts, aching to have him inside her now that she'd officially decided to shut away her conscience and sense of propriety. He pushed her hands aside, her useless fingers making little headway against the tight, wet fabric, and pulled away to peel the shorts off himself, kicking them off with a wet splat. She caught sight of him only briefly before he was against her again, his mouth on hers, tongue demanding entrance between her lips.

“Say it again,” he growled against her lips, hardly pausing to breathe before claiming them again. His hands were all over her, unable to remain still, enflamed as he was with the mad need to touch every part of her.

“Fuck me, Vegeta,” she gasped when they parted once more. “I need you.” Her words seemed to electrify him; he pushed against her intently, his hands grasping her bottom, lifting her quickly off her feet while the pressure of his weight pinned her to the tile wall. She felt the tip of him nudge into her and she quickly wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him closer, further inside.

“Kuuushhhh,” he hissed into her neck as he drew slowly out, and she wondered whether it was simply a sound, or perhaps a word in the Saiyan language. She'd die, she'd just die, if it meant `tight.'

“What does that, ah!, mean?” She panted as he pushed himself back in, slowly stretching her, filling her up. His hands, supporting her bottom, squeezed as he angled her to meet him.

“Kush?” He chuckled into her ear, the slightest exhalation of breath to let her know he was amused. “It means,” he drew back and this time came into her with a little more force, “fuck.”

“Oh,” she arched into him with a small grunt of effort, “that's a good word. Kush.” She rolled it around her mouth, her perfect lips puckering to mimic his sound as she bucked her hips to meet another thrust. “How do you say `me'?” She was panting, her voice breathy in his ear, and he shivered with the overwhelming want of her. He didn't understand it, but was far past the point of trying and had crossed into just fucking do it territory.

“Quiet now.” He muttered, pressing a rough kiss to her lips as he increased his pace, slamming into her with every thrust and muffling her squeaks and moans with his own mouth. He was shaking with the strain of caution, his body unused to restraining itself, and yet from the way she jolted and bounced, he could see that he was probably being rougher with her than was wise. He tried to slow down, he really did, but his body just would not cooperate. Something more primal than his mind had taken over, urged on by her tight body and her panting breath in his ear to take it further, faster, deeper, and it was all he could do to restrain himself to the level that he was.

“Oh, ahhhh...Vegeta!” She moaned into his ear, her legs tightening so that her heels dug into his back, her hands clenching hard at his shoulders. He could feel her tightening around him, her insides spasming with her oncoming release. Vegeta braced himself, forced himself to keep pumping through it, to not lose himself before she was finished. He buried his face in her neck, gritting his teeth against her cries, and only when he felt her burst and heard her sigh did he allow himself to let go of that control and move, slamming into her wet body until he burst with a soul-deep groan.

Bulma felt him lose it, hot inside her, as all the tension and tightness seemed to slide out of his muscles. She heard him groan, felt the rumble of it up from his belly, through his chest and out his throat, their bodies still pressed together. He was breathing hard, his hands kneading her bottom in time to the last pulses running through his cock, still buried inside her; she could feel that, too. Slowly, so slowly, he lifted her body up and slipped out before setting her back on wobbly legs. She half expected him to step away but he remained stubbornly against her, pressing her still against the wall, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She was surprised to feel his lips press down in a kiss, before parting to nip her with gentle teeth. She moaned and he swore under his breath.

“Where is your room?” He asked, his hands skimming over her hips. She felt the beginnings of an erection twitch against her lower belly, and her hands ran over his shoulders, up his neck to bury themselves in the hair on the back of his head.

“Down the hall. Third on the right.” She whispered back, then yelped as he hauled her up into his arms. Stark naked and carrying her like a bride on her wedding night, he kicked the bathroom door open and strode into the hall, only to be met with a surprised gasp.

Bulma's head whipped round, her eyes wide and nervous, to see Puar drop to the floor in stunned silence. “Oh, hey...” She waved meekly from her position in Vegeta's arms, hoping that the cat hadn't gotten the full show. Puar waved back, his gaze darting back and forth between the red faced genius and the stone faced saiyan. “So...err...what are you doing up this late?” She shifted, trying in vain to cover her nudity . Hard when your butt's hanging down between someone's arms and the only thing keeping the air out of your slit is the effort of pressing your thighs together.

Puar pointed to himself with one stubby paw. “Nocturnal.” He managed, though the effort of talking seemed great. Vegeta shifted impatiently, though some small part of his mind noted that he had not heard the animal speak before. He wondered if the black one had language as well.

“Well, uh, I guess we'd better be going.” Bulma said awkwardly, feeling the prince's restlessness and the echo of it in her own mind. “Umm...goodnight.” Vegeta was glowering at her, but she ignored him as Puar waved and high-tailed it out of there.

“Are there any other visits we need to make?” He growled out, apparently unconcerned with the fact of their nudity, and merely bothered by the waste of time. Bulma blushed, thinking of what they could be doing with that time.

“No.” She crossed her arms and turned up her nose. “Now what are you waiting for? Third door on the right.” Vegeta didn't hesitate; he was shoving through her door before she could blink, slamming it behind him as he tossed her onto the bed. The light was on and she took in the full impact of his naked body as he stalked toward her, tail lashing impatiently behind him; the ripple of muscle and sinew beneath olive skin littered with scars, the twitch of his strong fingers as he reached for her, the proud stand of his jutting erection, hard and ready to go again. He crawled over her, the length of his body warm against her own, and claimed her mouth with a savage kiss, hand between her legs to test her readiness. “Wait!” she cried out as she felt the tip of his cock nudging at her entrance. “We should use...” She'd flipped onto her belly and scrabbled upward to reach into the drawer in her bedside table, coming out with a small packet. “You know...” She trailed off, seeming a little embarrassed as Vegeta snatched the condom from her fingers, pulling it from its foil prison and rolling it down over himself.

“Come here.” He said, hauling her hips upward and back so that she was kneeling on all fours. He knelt on one knee behind her, bracing his other foot on the floor, and pulled her backward onto himself. Bulma gasped and shuddered as he hit the nerve spot inside of her, dead on, in a way that he hadn't been able to in their earlier position. He stopped, pulled back a little, running his hands down her back with a quiet, questioning grunt - a wordless query as to whether she was okay.

“I think you hit my uterus.” She joked, resting her forehead against the mattress as she pushed her hips slowly backward, taking him deep again. He snorted and ran his hands down over her rump and around the side to grasp her hips, holding them still while he moved within her. He felt her muscles tighten around him as he increased his pace a little, emboldened once again by the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. “You can...” she panted, “harder...”

“Fucking temptress,” he muttered, taking her invitation. He controlled both of their movements, her body too weak to resist the hold he had on her hips, and he slammed into her, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought his instincts down to a level that she could tolerate. She cried out each time he drove home, her shrieks muffled in her pillow as their flesh clapped together, his balls swinging forward to slap the swollen, sensitive flesh that surrounded her clit. She pulsed tightly around him, but Vegeta knew that if he kept up, he'd come before she was ready. He tried to slow down but she begged him to keep going, so in desperation, he forced himself to look away from her naked back, the sweet curve of her buttocks as he hammered against her, the fall of her wet hair over glistening shoulders. He focused on the wall but too easily imagined pinning her there, so quickly forced his eyes elsewhere, his gaze flitting around the room as he tried to block out her moans, until it landed on the smiling faces of her and her former lover.

The picture on her nightstand taunted him. He growled, deep in his throat, to see them, Blue and Sable, arms across each other's shoulders, smeared with grease and laughing without a care in the world. Furious, he gripped Bulma's hips hard and tore his eyes from the photo, pumping with a strength and speed that were probably beyond what was good for her. He didn't want to look at her with that fool of a human while he was the one inside of her. Why did she have his picture there? Who was she thinking of, ass in the air, her face buried, squealing, into a pillow? He felt her shudder around him, her squeezing muscles urging him to come with her, but he resisted, his mind quickly working itself into a frenzy.

Snarling, he pulled out and quickly flipped her over onto her back before mounting her again, their faces inches apart as he drew her orgasm out, another quickly building in its wake. “Look at me,” he demanded, pinning her arms to the bed, his hips grinding frantically down into hers. “Open your eyes and look at me!”

She did, lips open and panting as she felt herself begin to crest again. Her eyelids fluttered and he growled, crushing his mouth to hers. His hips pumped hard, forcing her up the bed, her back arching splendidly each time he pushing into her, swallowing her cries as the savage kiss continued. She broke away, gulping air into her burning lungs. “Vegeta!” She yelped, helpless beneath him as she felt herself being driven once more over the edge.

`Yes,' something inside him crowed with joy and self-righteous anger. She'd called his name, not the one of that other fool. No one else's. Just him. Just him. Just HIM. She was his. She'd called his name. She was coming, shuddering and jerking and squeezing the life out of him, and she thought of no one else in the throes of her passion. Vegeta felt himself spill, more spurting forth with each breath, each pulse, each contraction of her muscles, but it wasn't enough. The beast within him, the one that wanted her all to himself, was still angry, still mad with the need to possess her. He lifted a hand, energy gathering in his palm, and before she could do anything to stop him, he'd fired on the picture, blowing it to bits in a shower of glass shards and ashes.

“Vegeta!” She shrieked in anger, jumping at the small explosion beside her head. She sat up, quickly dislodging him from her warmth, and scrambled over to the nightstand. Carefully, she picked at the glass, sifting through it for any signs of that foolish grin, while Vegeta sat back on his haunches and watched her. “What the hell?” She whirled around, breasts bouncing with the action, but he'd focused on her face.

“He has no place here.” Vegeta said, his body tense as though he was expecting attack.

“What are you talking about?” She yelled angrily, sudden fury overriding the effects of the last hour or so. “That was...it was my only...What business is it of yours?” She shrieked, making to stand. Vegeta stopped her, grabbing her wrist and yanking her forward.

“The glass.” He said, when she slapped his hands away.

“I don't care about the glass!” She snapped, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “You already took him away from us once! You didn't have to destroy the picture! It was all I had of him!”

“I did not kill him.” Vegeta said stubbornly, refusing to give voice to the petty animal in his brain that wanted to know why she needed to hang onto him.

“You let him die!” She shrieked, the tears running freely down her face. She snatched her robe from a hook on the wall and wrapped it quickly around herself, hiding her body from him. He tensed angrily, furious with her and with himself for allowing this mess to happen. “You could have saved him!”

“If he'd lived he'd be in Frieza's prisons, being tortured for information. I could not have allowed that. He did not wish it!” Vegeta roared.

“So instead you stood there and watched him die a coward's death!” Guilt crawled down her spine as the words tumbled out of her mouth. That was what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? This nameless anger and shame that she'd been unable to discuss with her friends, she was blurting out in fury to the heartless man before her. He'd died by his own hand, like a coward.

“A coward's death?” Vegeta sounded incredulous. “A coward?” Louder and angrier this time, because he didn't know what made him angrier; the fact that she didn't understand, or the fact that he was defending this dead and gone rival. “He chose that death, and if you think it is not brave to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger...” he trailed off, hands clenched by his sides, veins in his arms bulging with the stress. “He knew he was weak. He knew he would break and he chose death rather than to put everything in jeopardy, to put you in danger!” He snarled at her tear stained face as she huddled in her oversized robe and drove his hands into his hair, tugging furiously at the stiff strands.

“You destroyed everything I had of him.” Bulma said, stubbornly, though with less force as his words began to penetrate.

“If you cannot remember someone without a stupid fucking picture,” Vegeta grumbled, though he really wanted to ask the question that the monster inside was snarling, “then he must not have meant much.” He stood and strode stiffly out of the room, forcing his body to take each step even though what he wanted to do was turn around, pin her down, and fuck her until she forgot about him, forgot about everyone and everything but who was inside of her. “You've no photographs of me,” he snapped over his shoulder, “If I see you in the morning, will you know who I am?”

“Vegeta,” she called out, but the door had shut and he pretended not to hear her. It was just as well, because she had no idea what she'd planned to say, or why she even called out. Did she want him to come back? Did she want to tell him he was full of shit? Did she just want to submit to the chemistry between them and allow herself to be boned into oblivion? “KUSH!” She yelled, throwing her pillow at the wall, before realizing that she would need it to sleep. Mindful of the glass, she got up to retrieve it before slumping down into her bed and burying herself under the covers.

When she woke in the morning, the saiyans were gone.

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Kush is pronounced halfway between kuh and koo with a sh on the end. The emphasis is on the `k' sound with the `sh' fading into sort of a hiss. Ya know, just in case you were wondering.