Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 18

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 about the wait. I forgot to mention last time that I'd be leaving town for a few days, which really hurt the speed of this chapter, seeing as I do most of my writing on my days off. That said, next chapter may also be delayed. `Tis the season, you know. Work is about to get crazy, and I have a feeling that a lot of my spare time is about to be taken up for overtime and Christmas shopping. Thanks for your patience!

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME CONTENT YOU MAY FIND DISTURBING.

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PRESENT DAY

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So what that he'd left, Bulma thought boldly as she shifted in her chair. She was a modern woman, no stranger to sex and while casual hook-ups had never been her modus operandi, she'd not exactly ever recoiled at the thought of a night of hot, sweaty pleasure with no strings attached. In fact, she'd certainly fantasized about them before, especially during her frequent `breaks' with Yamcha. Well now she'd had one, she thought, and with the object of one of her dirtiest fantasies, which was another unexpected bonus. That was all this could be; a no strings attached, one night magic show. Vegeta did not seem like the settling type and his bolting after he'd been up close and personal with her had not exactly convinced her of his undying affection. Funny thing was that it wasn't exactly the `one night' part that bothered her; it was the fact that she'd been bolted on. If she'd been the one to up and disappear, her pride would still be fully intact, and she wouldn't be dreaming up awful scenarios in which Vegeta bragged about his conquest while the other saiyans laughed at her foolishness.

Bulma HATED being laughed at. She hated being tricked, looking like an idiot who should have known better, and she had an awful feeling that she'd become just that. Viciously, she tamped it down. She was only a fool if the sex meant something to her, if Vegeta knew the sex meant something to her. She clenched her fists. It didn't mean anything, she told herself ruthlessly. It was a night of fun, a release of the tension that had been building between them since that first awful time she'd heard his voice. It wasn't love or even like; it was just lust and she'd indulged in it. Let the universe think she was a slut, so long as they didn't think she cared.

Bulma felt like a real jerk as she forced herself out of her thoughts and back into the real world. She watched, hoping that sympathy showed on her face, as Chichi read the crumpled note for the hundredth time, at least. Her friend had bigger, more heartbreaking issues to deal with, and there she was, thinking about how she'd certainly been played. The note was written on a piece of paper towel, small rips and tears dotting the letters where he'd pressed the pen too hard; the kid obviously hadn't had time to find any real paper. Knowing Vegeta, they'd all been woken and ordered immediately into their pods with hardly time to piss between. Gohan had slipped it under Chichi's door in the middle of the night; a brief goodbye, sorry for not saying goodbye properly, don't be sad, I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, with his name signed at the bottom. At least Chichi got a note, Bulma thought bitterly, and then mentally slapped herself for the selfish thought.

“He'll be back.” Chichi said, wiping away a stray tear. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and though the waterworks had mostly stopped, the occasional drop was still making its way out. “I know he'll be back.” She repeated, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose.

“I'm so sorry, Chichi,” Bulma hesitated, not really sure how to broach the subject of why the saiyans had so suddenly taken off. “I...I'm pretty sure it's my fault that they left so suddenly.” She cringed in her chair, waiting for the burst of frying-pan anger that was sure to come, but instead Chichi was instead looking at her with concern.

“What happened?” She asked sharply, and Bulma had the oddest feeling that perhaps her friend already suspected something. Why did it seem, lately, as though she was always the last to know?

“Well, I'm thinking I definitely topped your `almost slept with Sixteen' stunt for stupidity.” Bulma sighed and rolled her eyes. “I...uh,” she couldn't look at the black-haired woman, “I slept with Vegeta. There. I said it, it's out. Twice.” She added, cheeks flaming. “And then we fought and he stormed out.” She rattled off, keeping a desperate hold on her emotions because beneath her tough woman bravado, she felt hurt and used, and she wasn't sure whether to be furious or just sad about the whole mess. “It just...happened.” She said meekly, finally daring to meet the other woman's gaze, and was surprised to see calm understanding instead of the indignant rage she had expected.

“I knew I should have warned you.” Chichi frowned down at the table, huffing out her own sigh. “Nappa, of all people, kind of let it slip that he was...well...eyeing you. Maybe if I'd told you what I heard...” She trailed off, daubing at another tear, secretly glad of the distraction from her own mess of a life. If she thought about Bulma's problem, she wouldn't have time to dwell on her own depression and sense of abandonment.

“It wouldn't have made a difference, Chi. He came at me in the showers and, well, it was...” She looked furtively around to make sure none of the other inhabitants of Red Station were around. “It was fucking amazing.” She hissed, making Chichi burst out with surprised laughter. “I'm upset because he just left, the creep, without a damn word as to where he's going or if he's coming back. I feel stupid because I'm pretty sure I just got played by the universe's primo bad boy, and I just let it happen. I just stood there and mewled like a pathetic little kitten while he...he...ravaged me!”

“Are we in a romance novel?” Chichi asked lightly, surprised by the sudden humour in Bulma's expression. She'd have been mortified to be in the other woman's position, but was hardly shocked by Bulma's admission.

“Shit, Chichi, there's no other word. I was helpless against him; he had his way with me and I'm embarrassed at how much I liked it. Geez. If I'd at least insisted on being on top or something, maybe I wouldn't feel so bad.” She lamented, her face pink with remembrance.

“Or,” Chichi grinned, “maybe your powers of sexuality just drove him into a frenzy. He was helpless against his desire for you.”

“Ahh, I like the way you think. Also, he bolted because he felt so strongly for me that he just couldn't handle it.” Bulma laughed. “And if that's true then we really are in a romance novel. Either way, I feel like I want to get really drunk and forget it. If we hadn't fought, maybe not, but now I'm worried he'll take his anger out on us as Vengeance, and that would not be good.”

“Do you think he would?” Chichi asked, and Bulma shrugged. Despite her ominous words, the blue-haired woman didn't seem overly concerned. “Have you apologized anyway, just in case?”

“Pfft, as if!” Bulma scoffed. “It's all his fault! He's the one who friggin' destroyed my only picture of Yamcha!” She crossed her arms stubbornly. Besides that, it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since the blow-up, and there was no way in hell that she was going to go grovelling to that bastard.

“He what?” Chichi sat back, a little bit stunned. It seemed a little too random to be coincidence, even for Vegeta's notable temper.

“Yeah, he fucked my brains out, and then out of nowhere he blasts the hell out of that picture of Yamcha! He's all like He has no place here!” She said, deepening her voice, “and I'm thinking, okay, so we just fucked, what do you think you own me now? We had sex. We didn't get married.” She huffed. “And then he left, which negates any kind of messed up fucking claim he thought he had.”

“Okay first, language!” Chichi shook her finger like an old school-marm as she shoved her chair backward and scooted out from the table. “Second, it sounds like he was jealous.” She stood and filled the kettle before setting it on the stove. Girl talk of this magnitude would require a nice, fortifying pot of tea.

“Okay first, you're not my mom.” Bulma mimicked her friend, and stuck her tongue out. “And second, what's he got to be jealous of? His only rival is dead; proof positive in front of his own eyes!” She averted her gaze, guiltily, as she recalled what Vegeta had said about Yamcha. She wasn't ready to think about that yet. “He's just a jerk. You know, I bet he was just looking for an excuse to leave.”

“I don't think Vegeta's the type to need an excuse.” Chichi said, setting out a pair of teacups. “If he was done with you after...erm...he was done, he would have just walked out without a word. I say jealousy, even if it doesn't mean he cares in the end.” When Bulma rolled her eyes, Chichi sighed theatrically and patted her friend on the head. “You know, you always say you got your dad's brains and your mom's looks, but really, I think you also inherited a bit of blonde.”

“No way,” Bulma shook her head. “My mom's a whiz when it comes to guys and they're alien to me. Why else do you think I was going to use the dragonballs to wish for a boyfriend? I was sixteen and hot! They should have been falling all over me, but I am useless at the opposite sex. That's definitely from Dad.”

“Bulma, as long as I've known you, guys have been throwing themselves at you and you're too busy with your head in some tech manual to notice. Besides what about Yamcha?”

“Yeesh, and look how that turned out. With each other for over a decade, but really I think we spent more time broken up than we ever did happily together. And now I've just bent over for a guy, for no other reason than he makes me salivate between my legs,”

“Ew.” Chichi threw her friend a disgusted look. “Couldn't you have picked a nicer euphemism?”

“Hush. Anyway, so I drop my friggin' towel just because he tells me to in that voice that sounds like Vengeance, and I let him have me, and look how it turned out.”

“Well considering the fact that he'll be back for that gravity room you promised, you really can't say how it turned out. It's still unfolding and could end up a million different ways.” Chichi shrugged, trying to make herself feel as comfortable with the idea as she sounded. “You should know that when Nappa was talking, he made it sound like you were some dog in heat, but maybe it's more.” Chichi really wished that Gohan hadn't changed the subject that day, effectively cutting her off from such important information. “Goku was...I don't know how to say it. I basically tricked the man into marrying me. We were two kids who barely knew each other, and yet once he became used to the idea that I was his wife, he never even looked at another woman. If nothing else, it seems that saiyans are loyal to their loved ones.” The kettle whistled and she plucked it from the stove to pour steaming water over her favourite blend.

“I don't think I can really compare my one-night, ass in the air, sex-fest to your marriage, Chi.” Bulma squirmed. Chichi always had to take things to forever levels and Bulma really wasn't looking for that. Especially not with Vegeta. Yeesh. Despite what her mother claimed, Bulma was pretty sure he'd make a terrible boyfriend and a worse husband. He was hot, they'd had fun, and she would have liked a goodbye at least, but his sudden bolt had really opened up her eyes. He was no good for her...so why did she keep thinking about him? “Besides, Vegeta's a jerk. I don't even know if I like him.”

“You're right, he's a jerk,” Chichi nodded, “worse than a jerk, but there's got to be something good if you let him into your pants. And despite what I've seen of him so far, Gohan seems to worship the ground he walks on...little troll.” She muttered, once again glancing at the wrinkled, tear-stained piece of paper on the table. She kept a hold of her emotions this time. If Vegeta liked Bulma, the saiyans would be back for sure.

“You're taking this surprisingly well.” Bulma said, nervously eyeing the other woman. Where was the frying pan? Where was the rant about the sanctity of one's body? Where was the fury over the fact that her best friend had slept with the man she saw as having ruined her son? Was this a sign of mental breakdown? Was she going to pick up a gun and go on a rampage?

“To be honest with you, Bulma, I don't like Vegeta. He seems selfish and hurtful and downright bad for you, but I can't make your decisions for you. And,” She said truthfully, “the more he's here, the more Gohan will be here. I'm sorry if that's selfish of me.”

“I...I don't blame you.” Bulma smiled at her friend's bluntness. One always knew one's place in Chichi's eyes. “But your calm `let it be' attitude is really freaking me out. I'm starting to wonder if Gero has replaced you with one of his androids.”

“Wait, you want me to yell at you? I don't think you could survive a frying pan to the head, the way the guys do. Besides, putting myself in bad sorts with you is really not beneficial, as I don't envision myself being best buds with your mom for the next couple of decades.” Chichi shrugged her shoulders and poured the tea, making an effort to control herself. “I'll take it out on Krillin and Tien in the training room later.” She laughed. “Maybe that three-eyes will stop acting so weird, now that the saiyans are gone. God, I wish Sixteen would fight me; he'd be a great challenge but he pulls all his punches.”

“Tien's been acting weird?” Bulma asked, “Like how?”

“I guess you've been so busy in your lab you might not have noticed, but he wouldn't set foot near the saiyans. Got all bristly whenever anyone mentioned them. I don't know, maybe they reminded him of his captors on the slaver colony? Either way, he's been really difficult since they got here, kind of picking fights over stupid things, being generally prickly. Krillin and I were talking earlier, and we're hoping he'll lighten up again now that they've left.”

“Weird.” Bulma frowned, but didn't say any more. Her brain was racing, trying to remember exactly what it was that Vegeta had said to her about Tien. Could he be the leak? She didn't want to believe it, but no one could deny the fact that he'd been odd since they picked him up. She hadn't noticed his withdrawal from the saiyans herself, but Chichi was right; she'd been busy and had hardly spared a thought for anyone but the saiyan prince...bastard. She remembered that he'd talked to Krillin though and thought that perhaps she should have a conversation of her own with the bald monk.

*

*

Vegeta's balls ached, and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd been replaying the event over and over in his brain, trying to figure out just what had gotten into him, and had only succeeded in thinking himself into a throbbing hard on. “Fuck.” He hissed, slamming his fist against the padded inside of his pod, as though it could relieve some of the tension he felt.

He'd been sensing her all day, picking her up with his newfound ability to sense ki. She'd seemed the natural choice to hone his skill, what with her weak, barely-there power level and his own natural proclivity to her. He'd kept tabs on her even as he practiced with the others, a part of his mind working to figure out where she was at any given moment. Bad idea. Knowing where she was had caused him to wonder what she was doing, which led to him imagining what she was doing. Likely: working on a project. Ideally: touching herself in naughty places.

He'd scented a real, honest invitation in the lab when she'd offered to show him her nipples, and the thought of it, of doing to her what he'd lain awake in bed thinking of doing to Blue, was maddening. Vegeta had thought he was being smart in turning down her offer; they were both in a dangerous situation and he really didn't need any sort of attachment to her. He didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize their shaky alliance, now that she held the power of his secret in her hands. As the day went on, however, he realized he was only delaying the inevitable and making himself miserable. It didn't have to be an attachment, he told himself. He'd never, ever in his life, felt the desire to attach himself to a woman he slept with, beyond possibly sleeping with her again, and this thing with Blue was certainly no different.

Vegeta snarled at his distorted reflection in the red glass of the pod's door. He'd thought that he could get her out of his system, like a fantasy obsession that falls short in real life. He'd fuck her, find out that she wasn't worth the trouble, and forget all about it. That had been the plan, damn it! Instead, he'd gotten himself so worked up that he'd needed her a second time, and he would have gone again if she hadn't started screeching at him. Fuck the picture, he thought angrily. He hadn't even really thought about it before he'd blown the damn thing up. It had just...happened. It made him angry, that's all he knew. It made his skin boil to see her, smiling and laughing, with that human's arm around her. Sable. Fucking Sable. What a mistake. He never should've gotten involved with that one. If he hadn't, he'd never have gotten involved in any of the operations of Red Station, he'd never have met Blue, and he'd be much more comfortable for it.

Damn woman. He'd thought her codename referred to her eyes or her hair, but it was really a hint as to the state of men's balls everywhere she went. Damn traitor body. He'd tried taking inventory of himself but for the first time in his life, the calming routine failed to do its job. Every tensed muscle held the memory of straining against her, the effort of holding them both up in the shower, the way her soft, warm skin slid against his. If he closed his eyes he could see her naked back below him, the smooth, round contours of her ass as it slapped against his pelvis, that stupid mass of blue curls hiding her head and neck from view. If they'd gone again, he thought he would have stood at the edge of the bed and had her on her back so he could watch her breasts bounce with every thrust. He'd missed that from behind. And after all that fantasizing about her mouth, he hadn't even put it to good use.

It had been a mistake not to shower again before leaving but he'd been in such a hurry to go, his mind so wracked with fury and lust that he just needed to get as far away from her as possible. He could smell her on his skin and was certain that his comrades would pick up on it as well. First one to tease him would get a kick in the teeth, Vegeta decided. And a yank of the tail. Nappa might have worked to deaden the pain receptors in his, but Radditz was the most likely to run his big fat mouth.

“What does it matter?” He asked aloud, as though hearing it made it truer. “I wanted her so I fucked her. It has happened before, it will happen again. That is all there is to it.” He paused. “So why am I trying so fucking hard to convince myself?” He wasn't willing to give voice to the part of his brain that insisted it was different with her.

Not for the first time in his life, Vegeta wished that he had at least been a little older when he was taken from his home and kin. Nappa had done well in his role as tutor, but there were some things that he'd never discussed with the young prince, who normally would have learned them through observing his own kind. Sex, lust, mating; he'd figured the first two out on his own - hard not to, growing up in the environment that he had - but the last was like a fairy tale to him. Vaguely, he remembered hearing talk of it, of adults taking life mates. His parents had been, he thought, though he hardly remembered his mother beyond the sound of her voice and the perfume of her hair. The King, Vegeta's father, had only made such an impression on him because he'd spent so much of his time trying to imitate the man. Could he really trust such memories?

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably in his pod. Why was he thinking of such things? If this attachment to Bulma was real, which he doubted with all the force of his will, he would break it. He would not allow himself any weaknesses to be exploited; there could be no sentiments until after Frieza was dead and the danger to his life and his remaining clan was extinguished. After that, perhaps. Of course, not with her. Of course not. Well, maybe if she hadn't turned into any more of a grizzled hag by then.

*

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“So...can I ask why we're making this trip now?” Puar asked, nervously watching as Bulma white-knuckled the steering controls, her body hunched over as though she was concentrating very hard on avoiding a crash. The ship was on autopilot. All Puar knew was that he'd been dozing peacefully on the back of the couch before being grabbed by the scruff of the neck, shoved into one of the smaller transport ships, and told to shut up.

“Because I barfed this morning.” Bulma grimaced, and the cat gulped. “I ate some sketchy leftovers in the middle of the night, and I'm pretty sure they're the cause, but I didn't use a condom the first time in the shower with Vegeta, and I've kind of entered panic mode.” She looked over, embarrassed both at the admission of her stupidity, and the memory of Puar's panicked face at having caught them naked in the hallway. “I'm sorry to drag you out on this one, but I need moral support of the non-judgemental kind. Chichi would fry my ass if she heard I didn't use protection, and my mother would probably start stuffing my food with pre-natal vitamins if she thought I was knocked up.” Bulma forced out a laugh; she really was in panic mode, and about one stray thought from tears. “I really don't want to be pregnant.” She looked pleadingly at Puar, as though the strength of her will could erase the existence of any potential life in her womb, or if she could go back in time and prevent sperm from reaching egg.

“You don't know that you are.” Puar floated over to her shoulder, his warm weight a comfort. “You said so yourself; dubious leftovers. Besides, it's only been a week since you defied the advice of safe-sex educators everywhere. Does morning sickness even come on that fast?” Bulma shrugged miserably and both of them wished they'd paid more attention in sex-ed.

“Ugh, I've never wanted food poisoning so badly in my life.” She moaned, reaching up with one hand to scratch Puar's chin. “What am I going to do?”

“How far along do you have to be for a pregnancy test to pick up on it?” Puar asked, and Bulma shrugged.

“The ones back on Earth, a few weeks I think. Or maybe it depends on when you are in your cycle. Who knows what kind of crazy shit they have out here?” Her voice rose a little as she lost her grip on the tethers of her hysteria. “I've never actually used one. Oh God, what if they don't have anything that's compatible with human hormones?”

“Relax.” Puar reached down and put a paw on her trembling arm. “It's going to be okay, Bulma. There's no need to panic yet. You're probably not even pregnant!”

“Oh Puar, I know.” Bulma gripped her armrests and took a few calming breaths. “Fuck me, though. They come hard.” She was blushing. “Did you notice...with Radditz? Their sperm is probably, like, ten times faster than a human's.” She continued, not waiting for the stuttering cat to answer her. “I know I'm being inappropriate, but you were there too, right? I know Goku was a saiyan and all, but I can't imagine him being the way Vegeta was. I can't talk to Chichi about this!”

“Um...”

“Oh God, Chichi probably got preggo her first time with Goku. Fuck. I should have asked her!”

“Whoa! Whooooooa.” Puar made ready to rein her in, wondering at the same time if there was a paper bag handy, should she begin to hyperventilate. “Nobody is asking Chichi about her sex life with Goku, and especially not while she's sitting at home, frumping around because Gohan left again, and CERTAINLY not because you think you might be knocked up by the guy whose fault that is.” He crossed his stubby arms. “You are freaking out and you need to calm down.”

“You're right.” Bulma swiped a hand across her face, her expression pained. “Of course you're right. How selfish and stupid of me. I'm probably not pregnant.” She said, confidently. “I just have to think positive. I do not have a half-alien bun in the oven. This girl?” She pointed at herself, “No way.”

*

In the end, Bulma bought one of every pregnancy test she could find, as well as several litres of juice. One of the kits had to pick up on the right hormone, and she'd be damned if she didn't have enough pee to soak them all!

“Why didn't I study biology?” She whined, heading to the bathroom with a fresh batch of wands and a full bladder. “I built a fucking space ship, but I can't figure out how to make a simple pregnancy test?” Puar heard the rattling of boxes through the door. “This sucks! Even if they all come up negative, I still don't know if they're accurate for my system.”

“Bulma, don't talk to me while you're on the can.” Puar shouted through the closed washroom door as he heard the sound of her tearing open packages. “I'm traumatized enough by this already.”

“Pfft.” Bulma snorted as she fought with another layer of plastic wrap. “This is payback for having to read your smutty emails.”

“Don't lie,” Puar joked, “you enjoyed it.”

“Well, it was certainly educational!” Bulma shot back, laughing. She came out after a few moments of fussing, water running, boxes being meticulously lined up alongside their tests for easy review of the results, more hand-washing. “Well, that's another round down.” Bulma sighed. “Still no positives, right?”

“Right.” Puar confirmed, looking over the used sticks, making sure that none had changed in the three minutes since she'd last asked the question. For all his image problems and pervasive lack of self-confidence, Gods, he was glad he was not female! Pregnancy was a topic that had never appeared on his radar, aside from the hypothetical “what if” conversations he'd had with Yamcha, ages ago when his best friend still thought he might one day settle down with Bulma. How odd, he thought, that he was now her confidant in this scare. He and Bulma had not been close before Yamcha's death, though they had of course been friends. It was as though they'd come together to fill the void he'd left. “Bulma,” Puar said, suddenly overcome with such thoughts, “I just want you to know that, whatever happens, I'll be here.”

“Puar, that's so sweet.” Bulma cooed, plucking him right out of the air and pulling him in for a hug. “And thank you. It means a lot.”

In the end, all of the tests came up negative. With no way to accurately confirm their effectiveness on human biology, however, Bulma's fears were not assuaged.

*

*

Vegeta awoke to the sound of sirens blaring through the space station, and knew it was not going to be a good day. He'd dreamt of Bulma again; was that the fourth or the fifth time in a week? He'd left her bed a nearly a month before and yet his brain would not let him forget. “Fuck.” He swore, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and rubbing his face. Lately he'd not been springing out of bed in his usual state of alertness, but rather dragging himself from beneath the blankets with the speed and energy of a sloth. The woman had done something to him, he knew it. Before meeting her, everything had been running smoothly, but she set him off track, distracted him and bred weakness in him. Briefly, he wondered if humans had magic, but dismissed the thought as silly. Perhaps she possessed some form of mind control or compulsion. He looked down at his dick in sudden panic. Had she poisoned him, somehow?

The blaring siren stopped abruptly and the sudden quiet distracted Vegeta from his thoughts for long enough that when he came back to them, he realized how utterly preposterous they were. Still though, the realization unsettled him. If she did not possess such powers, that meant that the problem lay entirely in him. Somehow, he'd become obsessed with her. He'd heard of it happening to other soldiers; men and women whose lives were nothing but service. An attachment to a particular slave or shop worker, or oftentimes to a certain prostitute. A compulsion in the mind, a need to own and possess and horde one's affections; it sometimes worked out but more often than not - and almost always in the case of whores - it ended in madness and pain.

Vegeta shuddered. He had too strong a mind for such a fate, too determined a will. The mere fact that she was on his mind was utterly unacceptable, and he simply wouldn't stand by and watch himself become a drooling lunatic for her. But how to stop it? He'd thought that having her would stop the wanting, but it had only made it worse. He had to erase her, find something better - someone better - to make himself see that she was not the be-all and end-all of his sanity.

*

The three saiyans sat up a little straighter when they heard Vegeta's door slam shut, and the prince himself stalked into the small common area that joined their sleeping quarters. They continued to play their game, though no one's mind was really on the cards. In the two weeks since they'd landed at this base, Vegeta's mood had been steadily darkening; he'd been more irritable by the day. They'd all smelled the reek of female lust and unsatisfied need wafting off him as he exited his pod that day, so they all assumed he'd been equally miserable during their journey and thanked their lucky stars for the invention of sleeping gas.

“Nappa,” Vegeta barked, stopping a few feet from the table. The big man nearly dropped his cards in shock. “I have a question.”

“Oh, finally!” Nappa heaved a sigh of relief. “I knew I had been remiss in my education of your highness,” he said formally, striving to make the coming conversation as businesslike as possible, “but I could not think of how to bring it up. Radditz, Gohan, you should hear this too.” Nappa stalled the two as they shifted in their seats, ready to bolt. “You see, there comes a time in a man's life when he feels his desires more strongly than ever; the time of the forever-mating is a -”

“Where's the best whorehouse on this planet?” Vegeta interrupted brusquely, and Nappa's whole head turned pink with embarrassment.

“My Prince, I don't think...”

“Answer my question, Nappa.” Vegeta snarled, and without a second to spare, the prince whirled on his heel and stalked out, Nappa's mumbled answer ringing through his ears. It didn't take him long to get there and as he handed over his card and watched the Madame deduct a humongous sum of credits, he tried to tamp down on the nagging thought that he'd never actually paid for sex before. He'd seduced plenty of women in his time, why now, of all days, wasn't he up for the challenge? Was it pathetic to admit to himself that he just wanted to get it over with?

“Best in the biz.” The Madame informed him, as she showed him to a lavishly decorated room and told him to make himself comfortable. “Isine will be up in a moment.” She smiled at him, all class with not a hint of baud in her expression, and closed the door, leaving him alone.

Vegeta looked around, his eyes taking in the sumptuous fabrics, the gilt-edged frames holding original paintings, and tried not to let his surroundings embitter him. Disappointing indeed that a prostitute's quarters were finer than his own barren rooms, and him a prince. Had the royal palace been stuffed with such things? He picked up a delicate statuette and frowned, unable to place it in what he recalled of his childhood home. Even among royals, he was certain it would have been smashed to shards in seconds. Replacing the trinket, he crossed over to the bed, running his gloved hand over the fine silk coverlet, watching the play of colours in the iridescent threads. There was too much lace for his taste, but there was no denying the cost of such an item. The men who frequented this place must be wealthy indeed. Idly, he wondered how much he had actually paid for the bitch he was waiting on, but shrugged it off. He had money to spare; his father had at least thought to set up a secret account for him, under Nappa's care, before sending his young son off into the clutches of the monster.

Thinking of his accounts, he remembered that he'd yet to buy the stupid regeneration tank for Bulma, and his thoughts soured so that when Isine finally entered the chambers, she was met with an agitated ball of frustrated energy. Well, even more so than he'd been initially.

“Took you long enough.” Vegeta snapped, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He stiffened as she approached, demurely smiling. She was dark skinned, her hair blacker than the furthest reaches of space. She had sharp, fine features, and was a pleasant contrast to the softly rounded woman that he could not get out of his head. Bulma never smiled at him like that, never lowered herself to looking up to him with subservient eyes. She dared to grin at him, as though they were equals. Fool woman. Witch woman. His fingers twitched, itching with the urge to strangle her for her insolence.

“Refreshment?” Isene offered, oblivious to Vegeta's dark thoughts as she opened a glass cabinet to reveal an array of bottles. Vegeta nodded and she pulled down a bottle of SiHo and poured a healthy tot into two tumblers before cutting it with sparkling water and a few ice cubes. She handed one glass to the man before her, who tossed it back while she sipped daintily at her own drink.

“Enough of this.” Vegeta slammed his glass down, starling Isine as it cracked against the expensive wood of the sideboard, alcohol pooling where it leaked from a dozen hairline cracks. She smiled uneasily, unused to such violence in her clientele, and made a mental note to have the Madame book this one for one of the other girls next time. Narrowing her eyes, she took in the bunched muscles, the tense way he held himself, the whipping tail that swayed behind his knees. She'd demand double her usual cut if he bruised her, she decided.

“As you wish.” She took one last sip and set her glass down beside Vegeta's, sorely wishing she could ply him with another cup or two of the potent alcohol. Then again, watching him stride stiffly over to the bed, she figured it would take the whole bottle, and more, just to calm his nerves. She wondered what his problem was; he was too old, too handsome, and too assured of himself to be a virgin. Job stress? He wore the armour of a higher-level soldier in Frieza's army, though even the richest generals usually didn't have the credit to afford Madame's prices. Perhaps if she paid attention to what was going on in the universe, she would have known him instantly as the Saiyan Prince Vegeta, but she was kept far too busy to ever pick up a news serial. She knew that the men she slept with were powerful and rich, though the clever Madame kept her girls ignorant enough that they would never have a clue how to use that power for their own devices.

Isene smiled as her companion began to divest himself of his clothing. Irritable and pushy he might have been, but he was certainly attractive, which was more than could be said of many of her regulars. She was used to the flabby stomachs and pale skin that living in excess tended to bring, but before her stood a well-cut specimen of masculinity. It was a treat that she intended to savour. “Lay down,” she purred, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, a thrill going through her as his black eyes focused intently on her actions. It was very rare that she was excited by her clients, but she could feel herself beginning to grow wet and she hadn't even taken any of her stimulant pills yet.

Vegeta stretched out on the bed, watching her toned body sway as nimble fingers popped buttons to reveal scanty lingerie beneath. Her voice was like caramel - sweet and smooth. So unlike Bulma's high keen. His cock jumped, and the whore - what was her name again? - winked at him and ran her tongue over red lips. His eyes raked her body, covered now only in scraps. She was very beautiful, lean and toned, long legs and rounded hips.

Her tits were half the size of Bulma's.

Snarling at the unbidden though, Vegeta reached for the woman, yanking her off her feet and onto the bed with a strength and speed that made her yelp in surprise. “Quiet.” He hissed, furiously pressing his mouth to hers to shut her up. He didn't want any more of this silly act, this fake seduction. He wanted to fuck her until his mind broke, until he no longer compared every facet of her to the blue-haired bitch. This woman was beautiful, sexy, and only here to please his needs. How could he find her so wanting?

Isene gasped as Vegeta tore off her bra, his warm hands immediately taking the place of that lacy scrap, thumbs running over her peaked nipples as he kissed the breath out of her. She moaned as he dipped his head to take one nipple into his mouth, and begged for more when he stopped.

“No more talking.” He snarled at her, furious fingers digging into her sides. “No more noise.” He didn't want to hear her moans. They were wrong. They were all wrong. He closed his eyes, too. No more looking at her. Vegeta closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply through his nose as he attempted to calm himself, to gain control of his mind. He bared his teeth against her neck - she smelled of perfume and powder, when he wanted sweet soap and machine grease. He shook his head and pulled away from her body.

Vegeta fumbled with her panties, yanking them off with all the grace of a fifteen year old virgin. He was going to fuck her; all he wanted was her body around his cock. He didn't want her sounds, he didn't want to see her face or her hair or her skin, all different. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Bulma, wet and trembling in her little towel, and felt his cock throb with need.

He pinned Isene to the bed, irritated with her attempts to participate. Couldn't she just lay still? He could hear her breathing. Too deep, too calm. Bulma had panted, short, quick little breaths, as though her brain could not focus on proper inhalation. He did his best to block it out. He didn't want to think about either of them, he just wanted to use this warm body to forget, without having to think about what was attached to that heat.

She opened her legs and the scent of her arousal hit him, shocking in its complete and utter wrongness. This woman was not what he desired, what he needed, and the thought slammed hard against his brain, forcing him to open his eyes and look down at her. She was ready and willing, he could see it in her eyes, smell it in the air. She would let him do what he wanted, with pleasure, and allow him to walk away without complaint. She didn't care if there was another woman on his mind. He could fuck her hard, until he couldn't think anymore, and then never see her again.

His cock twitched, and suddenly faltered.

She looked surprised to see him hesitating at her entrance, though she could not see that he had grown so quickly soft. She looked up at his face, hard eyes staring, and swallowed hard, feeling a little bit scared for the first time since she'd walked in. “What's the matter, love?” She purred, hoping to entice him beyond whatever hang-up he was stuck on. “It's just a little push more.” She smiled and Vegeta felt a black rage wash over him, sudden and strong.

How dare this bitch tell him what to do? How dare she be here, perfect and naked and wet, and completely undesirable? She didn't even compare! How dare she even try, he thought, irrationally. Snarling, he reached up and grabbed her hair, yanking her upward. “Pretentious cow!” he roared, “Living like a queen off the cocks of lonely men. You make me sick.” He snarled, thinking how ugly her dark hair was, thinking how her flawless skin could not compare with the pink flush on Bulma's pasty, sun-denied body. How could he have thought her beautiful? “Do you think you could be her?” He choked the words out, and Isene shook her head, crying mutely as she tried to figure out what she'd done wrong, what she'd done to provoke him. “You could never,” he hissed into her face, “be her.”

With a twist of his wrist, he snapped her neck, dropping her callously on the bed as her bladder and bowels loosed all over the fine cloth. Good, he thought as the stain spread and the smell rose, ruin this place. He stepped back, looking at her body as she defiled the lovely surroundings, and was suddenly overcome by the urge to destroy this pretty lie. He flung his fist out, connecting with a mirror on the wall, and smashed it into a thousand tiny pieces, before striding over to the statuette that he had examined earlier. He hurled it into the glass doors of the liquor cabinet and let loose a blast from his other palm. Not enough, he hauled the sideboard over, sent it crashing into the floor with a resounding smash as the scent of alcohol rose to permeate the air. He hurled a chair against the wall, tore at the paintings, put his foot through a glass table without pause.

Within minutes the entire room was in shambles, broken glass littering every surface, the reek of piss and shit and booze in the air; now it was more like a barracks whorehouse, he thought humourlessly. Vegeta looked around at the mess he'd made, his chest heaving as he struggled to gather his wits, tried to make sense of his sudden outburst. He felt like he had as a child before learning to control his Oozaru form, shrinking down from a monster back into a man to see the carnage he'd wrought while out of his mind. He was frightened to see what he'd done; not fear of the consequences, but fear that he'd lost control over himself and gone on such a senseless rampage. Viciously, he stamped the feeling down but it left him shaken.

Vegeta sneered over at the bed, at the body of the ugly woman that he'd killed. He felt an irrational hatred for her, and despite the fact that he knew she hadn't done anything to him, he was glad that he'd killed her. Not mate, seethed the wordless animal in his head, and Vegeta was inclined to agree, even though he didn't know it. “Kush!” He swore, and spat on the floor. He didn't understand the rage that bubbled within him, didn't know where it had come from or when it would leave him. He hated the power that it had over him, the way it stripped him of sense and reason. Even his hatred of Frieza was a carefully controlled burn, but this? This was madness, pure and simple.

“Calm yourself.” Vegeta said aloud, feeling the boil beneath his skin. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose it again. Trashing the room had been good, a physical release of the frustration he felt, but the uncontrolled fury made him uneasy in his own skin. Control was imperative. If he lost control, he would lose everything he'd worked for and live the rest of his life as just another lunatic in Frieza's ranks. With that thought in mind, he took a few deep breaths and eyed the mess around him, separating himself from it as though he were a stranger who'd simply walked into the grisly scene, rather than the sole cause of it.

Calmly, Vegeta exited the room and walked down the stairs where the wide-eyed Madame met him. She must have heard the noise. Vegeta didn't care. “I made a mess.” He said, with a shrug. “Take it off my credit, if you need.”

.

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Crazybastardsayswhat.

Vegeta: “What?”