Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yellow Roses ❯ Heated Glances ( Chapter 2 )

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

He stood on her minuscule balcony for a handful of restless, hesitant minutes which felt like endless hours. A shadowy, furtive hunter waiting patiently for the right moment to attack, making his presence known and letting his chosen prey find out that her time to surrender had come at last.

As he carefully watched the vulnerable sleeping figure with avid eyes, Vegeta tried to remember, unsuccessfully, just how many women he’d bedded in his life. He certainly wasn’t the devoted womanizer Raditz had been; after all, only the Gods knew how many females that horny idiot had fucked in his short lifetime, and neither was he the desperate fool Nappa was, chasing, mostly in vain, every piece of ass that crossed his way. But, of course, he was a man after all, a full-blooded Saiyan warrior, with a healthy dose of ravenous testosterone running through his veins, who basically needed a good lay every now and then.

The Prince wasn’t entirely sure how old he’d been the first time he’d been inside a woman but, by his estimations, it’d been perhaps on his fourteenth, or maybe his fifteenth birthday. The lucky lady had turned out to be an expensive whore paid for by his older Saiyan comrades. She’d been very beautiful, slightly older than his age and already fairly experienced; however, unlike the veteran women that inhabited Frieza’s numerous, infamous harems, she still hadn’t become the pitiful, washed-out creature that most of them sooner or later morphed into.

Even now, Vegeta wasn’t able to fully recall what her face or her body had truly looked like. The only memorable reminiscence he held from that bizarre night were the now distant echoes of the desperate screams of pleasure he’d proudly been able to steal from the young courtesan’s throat before the night was over. The nervous, inexperienced child who’d entered the lavish, heavily incense-scented room at the early hours of the night without knowing what to do or to expect, had abandoned the place as the first rays of sunrise had sneaked in through the thick, velvet curtains, leaving the shivering, sweaty woman lying completely spent between damp, rumpled bedsheets, and becoming a man in the process.       

Despite the very singular circumstances of his first sexual encounter, he’d never been particularly inclined towards prostitutes and, through the years, his taste had gradually evolved, developing a natural attraction towards regular but physically strong females. Frankly, the word ‘attraction’ was an overstatement; perhaps, ‘convenience’ would be a much more suitable term to describe what had always interested him in a woman.

His was a life of extremes, a duality of the violence and chaos he was forced to engage in during times of duty, when he performed the job of an efficient, merciless assassin, interlarded with scarce, almost peaceful times in between. During those rare, brief moments of freedom, he led an almost monastic existence dedicated to eating, training, resting and, very occasionally, indulging in a couple of drinks and a warm, willing body to spend the night with.

Female warriors were his preferred choice; strong, resilient women able to keep up with his savage, inhuman stamina and who shared a similar life to his own, a reality of loneliness, discipline and detachment, with no foolish sentimentalities, dangerous affections or pointless expressions of love. Vegeta had never spent more than one night with the same woman and, even though some of those nights had been more exceptional than others, he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember a single one of their names, for there wasn’t any significant quality about them worth the effort of imprinting such trivial matters into his already overcrowded memory.

The Saiyan’s sharp eyebrows scowled fiercely, clenching his sturdy fists in the dark in an odd mixture of anger and frustration as his black eyes kept scanning the fragile little female lying unconscious on the narrow bed.

He couldn’t remember the name of a single woman he’d spent the night with, but her colorful, exotic name wouldn’t leave his mind.

Bulma.

Bulma Briefs from Earth…

He couldn’t remember the color or length of those women’s hair as it’d cascaded over their naked bodies as they’d ridden him, or the shade or shape of their eyes as they’d wordlessly begged him for more in the heated throes of passion.

But those unruly, shimmery blue curls and large, turquoise eyes, bursting with life, rage and bottomless pain, wouldn’t leave his mind…

He couldn’t remember the scent of those women’s skin as they’d sweated on top or beneath him, or as they’d climaxed urgently right around his hard, swollen cock.

But the thick, lush aroma of her spontaneous arousal, blissfully laced in the rich, devilish perfume of the selfish climax she’d clearly pursued on her own, wouldn’t leave his mind…

Vegeta cringed at himself, his short nails digging so hard into the palm of his closed hands that he’d draw blood if he weren’t wearing his customary white gloves. He kept staring at her, analyzing his surroundings like the masterful tactician he knew himself to be, coolly evaluating the situation and wondering if the extraordinarily frail creature was worth the trouble of attempting to seduce her.

It’d been twelve days…

Twelve days ever since he’d last seen her, his last memory of her being those charming, flushed cheeks and glossy, parted lips admiring him, in utter shock, as he brought his enormous, idiotic subordinate to his knees with a single blow. He’d had to refrain from smirking in cocky satisfaction at the girlish look of surprise and obvious appreciation of his colossal strength, just as he’d earlier had to stop himself, with superhuman willpower, from ripping off those heavy, grease-stained overalls she’d been wearing, in order to satisfy his thirsty curiosity and take a good look at what kind of beauty the captivating girl was hiding underneath those exasperatingly baggy clothes.

Now he knew…

Ever since he’d silently landed on her balcony, catching a first glimpse of the stunning female, he’d been incapable of taking his damned eyes off her.

She was all curves and porcelain skin, with those wild blue curls splayed carelessly all over her small pillow and those pretty lips of hers pouting softly in her sleep. She was clad only in a pair of plain, white panties and what looked like an equally white, very old tight t-shirt with barely there, thin straps, the fabric of it so worn-out that the flimsy material had become almost see-through and he could perfectly discern the delicious spectacle of her pert, rosy nipples underneath.

The remarkably appealing woman was even more gorgeous than he’d imagined her to be, and the very thought confused him entirely, given how incredibly different her delicate frame was from that of his past conquests. His rare fascination with her was a warning, no doubt about it, a hazardous sign that he should turn on his heels, take flight and walk away from her, right now. But the forbidden promise of the dirty, mischievous things he could do to this woman’s flawless body and the pleasure he unquestionably knew that she’d bring him, made it virtually impossible for him to give up on the idea of luring the pretty little hellcat just yet.

Vegeta had cursed himself for his foolish stupidity the minute she’d recoiled from his dangerous, possessive touch back in her laboratory, when, outright incapable of controlling his Saiyan, animalistic instincts, he’d grabbed her arm and buried his sharp nose into her exquisite flesh. The heavenly vestige of the old climax lingering on her skin had made his red blood boil in madness, and the perfume of her new arousal, letting him know that, against all odds, she found him attractive, had evoked all sorts of sinful, illicit fantasies in his filthy, perverted mind. Fantasies he’d been dangerously close to pursuing if it wasn’t for how brave the earthling had turned out to be, managing to withdraw and literally escape from him as fast as she could. Unbeknownst to the defenseless woman, her rebellious actions had made things a lot worse for her, and incredibly more interesting for him.

Through her defiant resistance, she’d become an even greater challenge…

The tantalizing challenge of a woman whose body was irresistibly attracted to him, but whose mind was tenacious and smart enough to stop her from giving in to his obscure charisma and become a victim of his mysterious, masculine charm.

As a result, nearly every single hour of the lonesome nights he’d spent wide-awake during his last purging mission, had been filled with endless thoughts revolving around the blue haired beauty. Sexual, debauched fantasies in which Bulma would literally jump into his arms, spreading her long legs for him and freely giving herself repeatedly as he took everything she had to offer and more. Those depraved illusions were so frighteningly explicit that they’d often provoke a shameful and wholly involuntary physical reaction in him, and he’d have to end up relieving himself, jerking off disgracefully to the subhuman sounds of Nappa’s irritating snores nearby.

The Prince had reached the conclusion that he’d simply become infatuated with the woman, not because there were any unique or outstanding qualities about her, he kept reminding himself, but because the weak but exceptionally disobedient woman provided an interesting trial to his bellicose Saiyan blood. An exciting, stimulating test he’d be unable to dismiss from his mind until he finally earned her sweet surrender and got a little taste of her.

Just a taste, nothing more…

During his return trip to Bulma’s base, his clever, conniving mind had begun the arduous but exhilarating process of coming up with an astute plan, conceiving countless, imaginary scenarios in which he’d attempt to run into the striking woman and tempt her, charming her relentlessly until she’d eagerly submit to his wicked will and fulfilled his every prohibited desire in the end.

As it turned out, a rare but welcome stroke of luck had offered him his cute little target right on a silver plate, when the blonde madwoman who called herself her ‘friend’ had brashly approached him at one of the base’s many taverns, the one he’d often frequented at the time Raditz used to fuck the insane female.

From the moment he’d set his eyes on the terrified but gutsy blonde standing on the reception’s desk, he’d immediately identified her as one of his old comrade’s many lady-friends. He remembered her well, and for all the wrong reasons, of course. Out of all the crazy wenches Raditz had ever disappeared with in the middle of the night, this Launch woman was the one he’d bedded the most, to the point where Nappa had even referred to her, jokingly, as Raditz’s ‘mate’, a word signifying true commitment, very rarely used amongst Saiyans, and which had earned the older man a drunken punch from the long-haired warrior in the end.

As long as those two assholes did their job efficiently, Vegeta didn’t particularly care much about their sexual escapades, but even someone as indifferent towards his subordinates’ habits as him, had definitely noticed the special treatment that Raditz had given the woman whenever she’d been around. And, based on the obvious look of sorrow and disappointment that crossed the blonde’s face when Nappa carelessly informed her of Raditz’s death during one of their last missions, whatever feelings had been brewing between those two seemed to have been mutual.

Like a good sport, Launch had quickly recovered from her loss, and she’d soon reverted to her old ways, hanging out at the crowded night spots scattered across the base and drinking herself to oblivion every single time the Prince had seen her, without fail. With Raditz gone, she’d mostly avoided interacting with him and Nappa, and that was precisely the reason why the Saiyan had been so shocked to see her approaching him while the bald man was away ordering their first round of drinks for the night.

At first, Vegeta had momentarily expected her to try to get him to fill in Raditz’s old place as her lover but, instead, the blonde lunatic had asked him if he had any interest in seeing her blue haired friend any time soon, arguing that Bulma had been ‘talking about him non-stop’ ever since they’d first met and she’d be ‘really happy to see him again’. The highly suspicious, playful glint in her eye told him that the female was probably lying through her teeth, and she was simply trying to clumsily arrange some sort of set-up in order for him and the dazzling scientist to meet, but then again, the Saiyan had never been the type of man to question his extremely sporadic good luck when it hit him in the face. After all, he’d already been planning on seeing Bulma again, and Launch playing matchmaker was the perfect excuse for him to show up unannounced in the woman’s place and blame the blonde maniac if things went wrong and Bulma ended up rejecting him.

With his typical, arrogant nonchalance, he told Launch that he’d ‘think about it’, while quickly memorizing the address that the scientist’s friend was so freely, and dangerously, offering him. The blonde simply winked drunkenly at him, wishing him ‘good luck’ and promptly walking away, disappearing into the crowd just as Nappa was coming back, joining him at the table. Vegeta finished his first and only drink for the night, putting on a practiced show of indifference as he inwardly felt a level of excitement and hungry anticipation he’d never experienced before. After waiting a prudential amount of time, he left the joint without so much as a goodbye to the taller underling, eagerly taking flight in the direction of the third-class residential area Bulma seemingly lived in.

And now here he was, standing outside of her humble room, thoroughly confused and ludicrously mad at himself, as his slightly trembling fists nervously clenched and unclenched on their own.

It had never been like this…

Never had he hesitated when it came to picking a woman and making her his, if anything, it’d always been astoundingly easy for his old lovers to succumb to his parlous magnetism. Vegeta didn’t know exactly why that was, but he guessed it had something to do with him being the dark, exotic Prince of a practically extinct race and one of Frieza’s toughest and most implacable soldiers. Both of those qualities had earned him quite a deadly reputation throughout countless galaxies, the prestige of being one of the most destructive, lethal warriors in the Emperor’s forces. The irony was that, the dangerous, poisonous traits which had attracted that whole slew of female warriors in the past, might actually horrify someone like Bulma, a clearly fragile creature who belonged to a much weaker, and very possibly peaceful, race. For the very first time, the Prince found himself consumed by an unmatched fear of rejection.           

The warrior shook his head lightly, almost laughing inaudibly at his own stupid, irrational insecurities.

‘Nonsense…’

He was Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, and a Prince always got what he wanted...

Sure, the ravishing woman was proud and definitely selective when it came to bedding men, judging by the fact that he’d never, not even once, seen her prancing around drunkenly like her blonde, wacky compatriot, and that she’d obviously chosen to pleasure herself in solitude rather than letting some stranger do the honors for her.

But somehow, come what may, he’d have her trembling in his arms before the night was over…      

The fighter crossed his arms coolly, leaning casually on the frame of the balcony’s open door, ready to put on a show tonight. His plan wasn’t entirely outlined yet but, as always, he’d improvise as he went along. With that impish thought in mind, he knocked on her glass door with two of his fingers, gently enough not to break the shattery material, but with enough force to awaken the sleeping enchantress.

Just as expected, Bulma instantaneously woke up, sitting right up on the bed with a startle and automatically reaching down her pillow with frantic, shaky hands, grabbing what Vegeta immediately recognized as one of the weapons Launch had attacked Nappa with on the day he’d met the scientist.

“Wh-Who’s in there?” The woman asked loudly, meaning to sound intimidating, but with poorly concealed nervousness in her voice.

She looked around with disoriented, sleepy eyes, dropping on the floor a small object she’d been clutching against her chest while she’d been sound asleep, and finally setting her eyes on the masculine figure still leaning calmly on the doorframe. The impulse to promptly materialize in front of her and take away the blasted weapon from her hands was tempting, but Vegeta quickly figured out that the best plan of action right now was to appear as relaxed and non-threatening as possible.

“Is this how you greet your guests?” He inquired with unnerving casualness, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Tsk, tsk… I’m very disappointed, Bulma…”

Bulma recognized her intruder’s deep, husky voice straightaway. It undoubtedly belonged to the dangerous killer who’d been invading her dreams ever since their first encounter had taken place. Her name on his murderous tongue, pronounced with a touch of some unknown, mesmeric foreign accent, sent shivers down her spine. She kept nervously pointing her ki inhibitor at him, both terrified and excited by her visitor’s unexpected visit, her mind racing with frenetic madness, wondering just what in Heaven’s name was he doing in her small apartment in the middle of the night.   

As if reading her thoughts, the Saiyan took pity on her, finally appeasing her doubts.

“Your friend told me where you lived…”

“M-My friend?” Bulma questioned in bewilderment, her unsteady hands still threatening the Prince with her invention. “You mean Launch?”

“Mhmm…” He nodded in agreement, a devastating, roguish smirk drawn on his lips. “She said you’d be happy to see me…”

Bulma gawked in utter shock. She knew her blonde friend was trouble, and she’d been teasing her non-stop ever since she’d pointed out her noticeable blush at the sight of Vegeta’s unexpected display of strength, but she never thought she’d actually do something about it and practically invite a man who, by all accounts, was one of the most brutal mercenaries in Frieza’s mortal army, right into her own home.

“I’m going to kill her…” She mumbled angrily, shaking her head in disbelief.

Vegeta’s playful smirk visibly widened, thoroughly amused by the woman’s antics as his eyes wandered all over that magnificent body of hers. The sight of her enticing curves and that ivory skin, barely illuminated by the dim light of the small lamp by her nightstand, was mouthwatering indeed. And, even though that adorable, angry frown on her brow signified that that Launch woman had obviously been lying to him, those fierce, lively blue eyes and that pair of glorious, voluptuous tits pointed right at him were making him want to possess the woman more than ever.

He made his next move, walking carelessly into her room with poised arrogance, arms still stubbornly crossed in front of his chest, inspecting the woman’s humble nest, though there wasn’t much to see anyway. It was no different from any of those third-class apartments where most of the low-range technicians from Frieza’s science departments lived. He didn’t specifically know how many credits the woman earned monthly, but he was convinced that people like her were practically enslaved by the almighty lizard, making just enough to simply cover the bare essentials. Hers was a one-room dump, consisting on a couple of small beds and an equally small bathroom with a meager shower, not even a bathtub.

“What…? What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” A more shocked than irate voice suddenly asked.

Vegeta turned around, apparently unperturbed by her still rather hostile tone. He walked to the bed which he assumed belonged to Launch, empty and perfectly made, and he sat down, slowly removing his white gloves, eyeing the small object Bulma had dropped on the ground when she’d woken up. He bent down and cautiously picked it up, examining it with interest under the woman’s vigilant gaze.

Once she finally concluded that the Prince seemingly had no real intention of hurting her, she gingerly placed her weapon by her side, on top of her disheveled sheets, unconsciously biting her lower lip while the handsome stranger kept ignoring her, engrossed in the little trinket he held in his rough hands.   

“It’s a book…” Bulma revealed in a still hesitant but much friendlier manner.

The distinct change in her demeanor newly caught his attention, and the warrior looked at her once more, his conceited smirk now almost gone. “What is the purpose of it?” He asked intently.

“They… Uh… They’re objects we used in my home planet to… I guess… I guess you could say we used them to collect stories…”

“So,” he established, squinting imperceptibly as he put all the pieces together. “You were able to read a story in this ‘book’?”

Bulma assented shyly, a part of her still feeling as if none of this were real, as if she were submerged within one of the many feverish dreams which had lately plagued her agitated imagination. Indecent, lascivious delusions where this dark, secretive Prince had replaced the libertine strangers that used to ravish and take possession of her deprived body during those lonely moments in which she succumbed to self-gratification.

“What kind of stories?” Vegeta questioned again with honest curiosity.

“Um… I guess it… It depends on the book… Different books tell different stories…”

His black, unreadable eyes gave a quick, inquisitive glance to the small object in his hands before returning to Bulma.

“What is this one about, then?”

“The book? It’s… Uh… It’s the story of a man who dies,” she stuttered hesitantly, absolutely dumbfounded as to why the Saiyan had showed up uninvited in her place in the middle of the night, and why was he now showing any interest in her culture.

Vegeta couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. At first, he’d been pretending to be drawn to the woman’s peculiar object as a means to groom her somehow, to get her to relax a little by getting her talking about things she was familiar with, but Bulma’s revelation had definitely piqued his curiosity now. After all, a Saiyan like him had been raised amongst innumerable stories of powerful, celebrated warriors who died in glorious, countless historical battles, bringing honor and hope to his People.    

“Is that so? What battle did he die in?”

A tiny, coy smile tugged at her lips in response to his predictable question.

Oh, yes…

The indecipherable man sitting right in front of her was a warrior, alright…

“He… He didn’t die in battle…”

“Really?” Vegeta newly asked, his nosiness increasing by the second. “Then, how did he die?”

Bulma’s toes curled and uncurled anxiously on the cold tiles of the floor, wondering just how she could possibly explain such a story to an alien warrior who evidently knew no other way or reason to die other than fighting to the death during a brutal, honorable combat in some remote corner of the Universe.

“It’s not really… It’s not even clear how he dies…” She explained carefully. “You see? He… He had some accident…”

“What kind of accident?”

“It was just a minor… A minor accident in his home, he gets hit falling off a ladder, and he’s in pain… And it gets worse and worse…”

Vegeta frowned, absolutely nonplussed by the woman’s story. “So, he dies from this ‘accident’ in the end?”

“Not really… It’s not… It’s not really clear, actually. He sees a lot of doctors, and each one of them gives him a different diagnostic… So, in the end, it’s not clear. It’s kind of an open interpretation, I guess…”

His fingers tightened around the old book, his profound eyes lost in thought, realizing how vastly Bulma’s culture differed from his own, and wondering whether that would be a positive or a negative sign for both of them in the end.

“Was this a popular man in your society?”

“The character from the book?”

The Saiyan nodded sharply, still staring at the floor.

“Oh, no…” Bulma whispered, almost amused by Vegeta’s confusion.

“So, your people… They… They wrote stories about unknown people who died for no reason at all?”

‘Well, when he put it like that…’

“I guess…” She shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable about the way the warrior was describing her now bygone culture.

Vegeta’s perplex eyes met hers once again, a deep frown overtaking his stern, dignified features.

“Then, what was the point of such tales?”

“What do you mean?” Bulma questioned softly.

“Well, my people’s tales were…” He paused briefly, taken aback by the fact that this woman was making him feel comfortable, almost eager, to discuss his extinct race, something he very, very rarely ever did, and usually only in Nappa’s presence. “They were tales of honor and bravery, and parents told their children such stories in order to inspire and encourage them to work and train hard and get even stronger.”

“Is that…? Is that how your people transmitted their stories? Orally?”

The Saiyan assented gravely. “That is correct. And our tales served a purpose; we did not waste valuable time narrating stories of unknown, insignificant people. Only the victor deserves a place in history.”

Bulma remained silent for a moment, assimilating Vegeta’s solemn words. She didn’t know much about the Saiyan warrior, but during the past few days, she’d tried to gather as much information as she possibly could about this villainous, inscrutable man that wouldn’t leave her mind. Through the pillow-talk confessions that Raditz had made to Launch, the blonde had revealed to her that the entire Saiyan race had been exterminated when Vegeta was merely a child, and only the three of them remained. This revelation had triggered something inside of Bulma, a strange, indefinite emotion that made her comprehend that this heartless mercenary and her perhaps shared something in common, they were two people born into privilege who’d ended up losing it all because of Frieza’s despicable antics.

The Prince of no people and the wealthiest heiress of a non-existent planet…     

“Well…” She concluded quietly, her minute hands clutching the tattered bedsheets apprehensively. “In my culture we believed that every story deserved to be told, even the smallest ones…”

Vegeta ogled her, mesmerized by her unique blend of timidity and courage. She was, after all, in the presence of one of the strongest, most destructive men in the Universe and, by now, he was pretty sure that her insane friend had told Bulma everything about him and his background. The Prince knew just how loose Raditz’s tongue could get after a few drinks and a good fuck, and how easily he used to babble about his race and childhood adventures to any woman who was willing to listen.

It didn’t matter.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide anyway.

He was who he was, and nothing and no one would ever change that, not even this bewitching little creature with tousled turquoise curls and the most kissable lips he’d ever had the honor to crave in his entire, miserable life.

“So…” He muttered, his inexplicably lower, hoarser voice making her skin prickle in more ways than one. “You believe that the story of some unknown, insignificant man bears the same importance as that of a powerful warrior who died honorably in battle…”

Bulma assented, still somewhat coyly, but with unveiled conviction. “Yes,” she whispered, nipping her lip once more. “I believe that every story deserves to be told, because…” She paused for a split second, her words burning in her tongue. “Because every life has value…”

“Is that what your people believed?” He simply asked.

“Yes.”

“And is that what you believe?”

“Yes…”

“Even now?”

The earthling nodded, swallowing a tight lump in her throat. Even now, after witnessing the horror and cold-hearted cruelty that some inhabitants of the Universe were capable of, she still chose to believe, needed to believe, that every single being mattered in some way, and that every life, no matter how insignificant, was precious.

Even hers…

“Did you enjoy the story, then?” Vegeta questioned in a surprisingly sympathetic manner, noticing that the woman was understandably getting uncomfortable with the topic of conversation and cursing himself for upsetting her when he was, in fact, embarked on a very poor attempt at trying to seduce her.

“I did… It… It got me thinking…”

“About?”

“About how… I don’t know…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to make some sense of her chaotic thoughts. “I think… Sometimes I think he wanted to die, you know?”

“This fictitious man from your story?”

Her fingers kept fidgeting nervously with the wrinkled sheets, her anxiety growing at how strangely intimate this conversation was getting.

“Yeah…” Bulma muttered in an uneasy whisper.

“Why?”

“I don’t know…” She shrugged again. “Maybe he didn’t want to live anymore…”

“Why?” Vegeta asked suspiciously, unable to understand such a foreign, outrageous concept.

“I just told you that I don’t know,” the woman replied with increasing irritation. “Maybe he was just tired of living. How should I know? It was just an impression I got, that’s all!”

The Saiyan contemplated her words for a minute, both intrigued by her train of thought and tickled at how easily he’d been able to push the woman’s buttons.

‘Tired of living…’

That was a good one…

If someone had a good enough reason to be ‘tired of living’, that should undoubtedly be him.

The Prince of a dead race who’d recently lost one of its only three remaining members in some low-grade, butchering mission he’d accomplished under the orders of that detestable, slimy lizard who called himself ‘Ruler of the Universe’. The same loathsome bastard who’d convinced his father to hand over his oldest son to him in exchange of not destroying his home planet and his people, a futile promise that the abject creature hadn’t even bothered to keep in the end anyway.

Vegeta had lived the dishonorable existence of a man who’d lost the wealth and power he deserved by birthright, even before he’d had a real chance to savor and enjoy it. In return, he’d been raised and groomed by a vile monster who’d done his very best to, unsuccessfully, tutor and morph him to be just like him. The more the Prince had grown, the more he’d defied his betraying Master, a rebellion, both physical and psychological that wasn’t lost on the evil Emperor, who now found pleasure in assigning him the lowest, most dreadful missions his corrupt mind could conceive.

Every time Vegeta purged a planet, his desolate soul died a little, the pitiful look on the face of those hundreds of thousands of weak, defenseless creatures, slaying his prized Saiyan honor day by day.

Every unrewarding training session, pushing himself to the limit in some fruitless, desperate quest to increase his power and surpass his limits, trying to achieve the Legendary status promised to him by his own father, King Vegeta, without success.

Every single ruthless beating inflicted upon him by Frieza himself, most of the time for no reason at all, blamed for an array of imaginary misdemeanors he’d never even committed to begin with. 

And yet, in spite of it all, in spite of the hopelessness and shame which had become a day-to-day punishment for him, he’d never, not even once, wished to die. If anything, every painful loss and excruciating failure had made him push himself even harder, motivated by pure, unadulterated rage and a deep-rooted desire for revenge. That was his basal nature and, for some unexplainable reason, he knew that the beautiful woman shared that very same survival instinct which forced him to keep living, in hopes, no matter how unlikely, that someday his chance to get even with his enemies would finally come.              

Perhaps he’d just found his window of opportunity, after all…     

“Are you?” He finally asked, a spark of fascination swimming within his dark eyes.

“Am… Am I what?” Bulma answered, suddenly fearing where this conversation was going.

“Tired of living...”

When the openmouthed woman took alarmingly far too long to reply, Vegeta made his final move, proudly lifting his chin and smirking maliciously at her, getting ready to provoke and attack his poor, unguarded prey.

“Do you wish to die, little woman?” 

Her eyes widened in shock at the warrior’s boldly direct question, her knuckles now almost white from tensely clutching her bedsheets. She looked at him, that arrogant, cocky smirk igniting that vicious rage that she’d so wisely and masterfully managed to keep under control ever since her life had been forever turned upside down.

He was mocking her.

The proud, egotistical bastard was mocking both her raw, vulnerable emotions and her beloved race.

“Alright! That’s enough!” Bulma yelled at him, standing all of a sudden from the bed, stomping furiously towards him and yanking off her old, torn book from his hands with untamed fury. “I think you should leave right n…!”

Before she could finish her angry sentence, a flash of light blinded her and, in the blink of an eye, she found herself standing with her back against the wall and Vegeta’s large, calloused hand grabbing her possessively by the neck. On his rough visage, half-shadowed by the faint lights, his predatory smirk widened playfully, the hint of sharp, bare canines igniting something impure and forbidden inside of her.

“Careful, Bulma Briefs…” He whispered ferociously, his warm breath panting lightly against her wide-open mouth. “You might just get what you wish for, after all…”  

He pressed his strong body against hers, the implacable, rigid material of his armor indecently rubbing her already hardened nipples through the soft fabric of her old t-shirt.

“Wh-What…? What wish?” Bulma asked breathlessly, her hands automatically travelling to the wrist that owned the hand encircling her long, fragile neck.

Vegeta sneered, using every single ounce of self-control he possessed not to rip off her clothes and bury himself deep inside of her warmth. He got even closer to her, his regal nose almost touching hers. Her breath was warm and sweet, and his sharp Saiyan senses sensed in triumph that that glorious body of hers was reacting to his proximity already in an intoxicating combination of fear, arousal and a touch of something rich and feminine which he guessed was hers alone.  

“If you want me to leave, I might do just that, little earthling…” His eyes closed, inhaling deeply like a wild, famished animal, making Bulma unconsciously dig her dainty nails into the solid muscle of his arm. “But then… Then you might never get to see me again…”

Bulma’s creamy throat bobbed restlessly underneath his touch, his threatening warning awakening an even greater fear within her. She kept breathing heavily against his mouth, anxiously biting her lip when the Saiyan started running his thick thumb up and down across her pulse. His speed and strength were ridiculous, and the woman knew that the only thing stopping this insanely strong man from crushing her bones and snapping off her neck was his enviable, masterful self-control. His surprisingly big hand remained firmly but gently wrapped around her delicate neck, his obstinate thumb caressing her soothingly, just on the right spot, gradually comforting and relaxing her in some mysterious way.

“What…? What makes you th-think that I…? That I would like to see you again?” 

“Your body tells me, Bulma...” Vegeta’s gruff voice proudly declared, that blasted, disdainful smirk never evading his lips. “Your body tells me more than you think…” He chuckled softly. “Probably more than you’d like me to know…”

With new-found courage, sensing that the man mercilessly backing her against the wall, had no real intention of hurting her, she raised her chin with as much pride as she could muster, ready to find out just what kind of sadistic game this enigmatic, unfathomable warrior was trying to play with her.

“You lie,” she spat out confidently, her nails still clawing his hard-rock flesh. “My body won’t tell you anything I don’t want you to know...”

Vegeta grunted heatedly, the sight of Bulma’s renewed confidence, sparkling violently in those bright blue eyes of hers, sending a rush of thick, unbearable stimulation straight to his half-hardened cock.

There it was…

There was that maddening, irresistible defiance again, the one that made him want to spread her legs wide open and fuck her senseless until she lost her sweet voice from screaming his cursed name, over and over again.    

“Mhmm… I see you still have much to learn, Little One…” He whispered malevolently, his thumb never ceasing his infuriatingly soothing ministrations all over the smooth skin of her neck. “Your body tells me a lot of things… For example… It tells me that you don’t really wish to die…”

“H-How…? Wh-What are you talking ab…?”

“What did I do to you the last time we saw each other, Bulma?”

Bulma frowned in turmoil.

‘What had he done to her the last time they’d met?’

He’d saved her and her friend Launch from that wild beast Nappa, and then he’d asked her to repair that old, useless scouter he stupidly refused to get rid of. He’d pretended to supervise her work, even though it was clear as day that he knew absolutely nothing about technology, and then he’d annoyed the Hell out of her by asking her a bunch of personal, uncomfortable questions about her home planet. He’d then requested some new armor and, when she’d come back with it, he’d grabbed her arm and…

Oh.

Oh…

“Y-You grabbed me… And y-you…”

Vegeta nuzzled her flushed cheek with unexpected gentleness. “Mhmm…? And then what?”

“Y-You… Y-You…”

She couldn’t say it.

Her mind felt hot and dizzy, her small hands never letting go of his arm in some pathetic, pitiful attempt to remain grounded, to remind her dazzled mind that this was real, that he was real, and not the leading man of one of the countless, filthily obscene fantasies which had plagued her relentlessly ever since they’d first met.

Now she knew that, whatever he’d discovered when he’d buried his ravenous nose in her shivering flesh, it would be something awfully intimate, something that would put her at a clear disadvantage.

She knew nothing of this man.

And yet, his fiery, heated glances silently told her that he knew far more than she’d allowed him to…

“Oh? What’s the matter, Bulma?” He asked in a mocking whisper, his blood boiling by her delectably stubborn impudence. “Don’t you wish to know the dirty little things your body has told me about you?”

Bulma swallowed hard once more, her fearful, hypnotized eyes staring right into his own, and she shook her head slowly in negation, begging him to put an end to her misery and stop taunting her. The warrior hissed loudly in response, his fingers tightening around her neck involuntarily, making the frightened, excited woman draw in a sharp breath.

“Your body tells me you don’t want to die, Bulma Briefs…” He confessed, whispering passionately in her ear. “Your body… Your body tells me that if I squeeze your neck just a little tighter, I’ll have you on your knees and begging for mercy…”       

An unruly moan escaped her lips when the Saiyan’s sharp teeth gently scraped her earlobe, making Vegeta smile victoriously against her warm neck. Her fair skin was now faintly covered by a mouthwatering, thin sheen of perspiration, and it was all he could do not to run his famished tongue across her flesh and find out what her lust truly tasted like.

But he wouldn’t.

Not until the stubborn little creature surrendered, once and for all, gladly giving him what he so desperately needed…

“Your body tells me you love life, little Briefs…” Vegeta continued, looking her straight in the eye. “Because…” His large hand now moved upwards, carefully cupping her delicate jaw. “Because a woman who seeks pleasure is still in love with life…” His thumb travelled across her lower lip as he lazily licked his own. “Whether she likes it or not…”

“P-Pleasure…” Bulma whispered, a flood of crimson rushing to her cheeks. “Wh-What would you know about pleasure?” She half-asked, half-challenged, her knees shaking, feeling as if they’d give up on her anytime now. She wanted to lick it, a lewd, unexplainable desire to run her tongue across that depraved thumb of his and taste it, wondering wantonly how the Saiyan would react if she ever did.

“Oh… I know much about pleasure, Bulma…” He added with an immoral, promising smile. “I know you seek it still… I know you crave it, but you’re either too proud or too selective to fuck any of Frieza’s scum, so you just seek it on your own…”

The woman gasped softly at both the Saiyan’s disclosure of her most shameful, intimate secret and at the disarming sensation of something warm and furry wrapping itself around her nude thigh.

“Would you like to know how I know that, Bulma?” Vegeta asked amusingly, the tip of his furry appendage caressing the inside of her leg suggestively.

She nodded weakly, with the overwhelming conviction that her spirit wouldn’t be able to resist this man’s powerful advances much longer…    

Vegeta’s hand carefully squeezed her blushing cheeks, making Bulma’s plump lips pout temptingly, his mouth ghosting hers.

“I know it because I’m Saiyan… I can smell it on you, woman…” He paused briefly, bringing his body even closer to hers and pressing his now fully hard cock against her enticing womanhood. “I could smell you’d recently climaxed on the day we first met, just like I could smell that there was no other scent lingering on you, which tells me…”

“Oh… G-Gods…” She whimpered, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as the tip of the Saiyan’s diabolical tail reached her now soaked panties, libidinously caressing her core through the old, worn-out fabric.

He was an animal…

He was a dark, dirty, perverted animal that would do despicable things to her body and soul if only she let him…

Launch’s rowdy, drunken voice echoed loudly in the hidden corners of her dazed mind.

‘Life’s too fucking short…’

She should be mortified, utterly embarrassed about some vicious killer, a complete stranger, having access to her deepest, innermost secrets, and yet, somehow, she’d reached that treacherous, irrational point where it didn’t matter anymore.

‘Life’s too fucking short…’

In this cold, atrocious, impersonal Universe, filled with innumerable warriors fighting and struggling for power and control, and resorting to drinking and fucking as their only debauched means for achieving some kind of release, nothing really mattered anymore.

It was immoral.

All of it.

And Bulma prayed, every single goddammed day of her pathetic, insignificant life, to whatever Gods were listening, that her mind would never fully snap and her soul would remain intact by the end of it.

Her pure, incorruptible heart told her that she’d never be like one of them, not even like Launch, her one and only true friend. And yet, this deadly intruder made her want to throw caution to the wind and give up on every single principle she’d ever believed in.

This…

This alien…

This murderous, twisted alien warrior who was all alone in the world, just like her…

‘Life’s too fucking short…’

“It tells me…” His alluringly malicious voice continued, breaking her turbulent reverie. “That you need a real man to show you how it’s done…”

Their eyes met, her heavy eyelids, already drowning in feverish pleasure, and his own, looking at her as if she were the most succulent, heavenly delicacy he’d ever wished to sink his sharp, wolfish teeth into.

The cards were on the table.

Now it was her turn to make a choice…

‘Life’s too fucking short…’

It would be one night, just one night…

A long, decadent night of unrestrained pleasure and sweet, sweet surrender, where she could just give in and forget about who she truly was.

‘Life’s too fucking short…’

“Those…” She whispered with bated breath, her hands encircling his neck, impatiently bringing herself closer to him as she let the Devil himself speak for her. “Those are some big words, Prince Vegeta…” The tip of her tongue tasted his bottom lip softly, a quick, innocent gesture that proudly announced his exultant victory. “Are you sure you can back them up?”

The warrior grunted deeply, an animalistic, domineering sound that stirred something feral and primitive inside of her. He looked at the small, insolent woman, basking in the delicious way in which her eyes closed every time his wicked tail moved mischievously between her thighs.

His…

She was his…

“A Prince never lies, woman…” He promised heatedly, pressing his brow against her own and licking the spot on his lip she’d just playfully caressed with her reckless little tongue.        

“Then what are you waiting for?” She bravely challenged.

A rare spark behind those icy blue eyes ignited a scorching fire, and in that moment, in that very moment, the Saiyan knew without question that he was done for.

He was the attacker.

He was supposed to be the dangerous one…

But those murky, exasperating voices in the dark corners of his mind kept reaching out to him, warning him about this naughty little thing, a woman unlike anything or anyone he’d ever seen before, a woman who could bring unprecedented trouble into his life, a woman who could someday irreparably change it all.

Vegeta smiled impishly to himself.

‘Oh, well…’

That made it all the more interesting, anyway…

He roared in triumph, allowing his body to take control as his hands reached the swell of her ass, grabbing it, and lifting her body off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all. She gasped in excitement, immediately reacting to his expert touch. Her long legs wrapped themselves around his waist and her fingers clutched at the short hairs of the nape of his neck, moaning hotly while Vegeta’s tail kept working its magic through her soaking wet underwear.

Bulma closed her eyes, tilting her head back once more, gladly letting this wild, starving beast take control of her. His lips explored her vulnerably exposed neck, soft, gentle kisses that turned more and more volatile as he licked and run his teeth across the velvety skin, delighting in the moans reverberating underneath his sinful mouth as he traced a path of pure fire towards his next object of desire.

Her lips…

He wanted, needed, to savor her, to find out what that impudent, rebellious mouth of hers tasted like. His tongue and teeth kept ravaging her hungrily as her body writhed against his, her hips squirming desperately, moaning in fervent need...

‘Kami!’

He was going to make her cum…

He was going to make her cum and the filthy bastard hadn’t even laid his fingers on her yet…

Vegeta pressed his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut under Bulma’s dazzled, heated gaze. He panted heavily against her lips, his ragged breath reminding her that he hadn’t even kissed her yet, so she boldly took the initiative, slowly rubbing her moist lips against his as gently as she could. The warrior responded immediately, a rough, guttural sound vibrating against her chest as he kissed her, with shocking tenderness, over and over again.

The feathery, almost childish quality of his kisses surprised her, the staggering contrast of them, compared to the rugged, dominant way in which his body was acting, confusing her entirely, and it occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t kissed a lot of women in his life. After all, kissing and fucking were two fully different things.  

“Y-Your mouth…” She whispered shakily, her needy voice startling him and forcing him to look at her. “O-Open it… I… I want to… Oh! Kami!” She cried, nails clawing at his strong, corded neck and her hips grinding more and more against his, feeling that all too familiar heat pooling in her groin.

Vegeta grasped her hips harshly, trying to keep her in place as he pleasured her with his shrewd tail, knowing that if she kept rubbing herself against his cock she’d make him come undone far too soon. But the vulgar little creature kept bucking, working him, melting, melting against him, her divine mouth wide open as her flawless face contorted in pleasure, driving him over the edge just by looking at her.

“Your mouth… G-Give me your mouth… I want to kiss you!” She begged in a pitiful whimper.

And the Gods damned her, he did, in spite of hearing the scornful, mocking echoes of Raditz’s old advice floating in his out of control mind…

‘Kissing is for pussies! Never kiss a bitch on the mouth, Vegeta…’

Kissing was too personal, too intimate. It was one thing to give a female a few pecks on the lips, but sticking his blasted tongue inside her mouth was something else entirely. But this woman was making him lose control in a way he’d never anticipated before and, instead of letting go of the voluptuous hips which kept moving frantically against his own, he gladly sealed his fate, crushing his lips against hers and kissing her zealously, exploring her mouth with his hot, wet tongue and gratefully inviting her to do the same.

And, oh Gods, was she sweet…

Like the plump, juicy berries his mother used to feed him when they spent their vacations at their summer palace in Vegeta-sei. A golden, forbidden fruit deliciously ripened underneath the brightest sunrays, like thick, syrupy honey melting on his tongue as she screamed her release inside of him, trembling like a leaf washed away by an uncontrollable storm. Before he knew what was happening, his own insubordinate body rebelled against his will and he soon followed her, spilling himself like some pathetic, inexperienced adolescent, inside his painfully tight spandex pants.

Bulma’s lips broke their kiss as she urgently gasped for air, looking at him through long, thick lashes and the content, drowsy eyes of a well-pleasured woman. She was beautiful, so painfully beautiful that Vegeta couldn’t stand looking at her, not now, not right after he’d lost his much-prized control in such a shameful, disgraceful way. Never had he cum without actually being inside a woman’s body, except during the few times when he’d had to resort to pleasuring himself. As he nestled his face in the crook of her alabaster neck, drowning in the unbearably sensuous scent of the release he’d just brought her, he could almost hear the vicious, roaring laughter of his old Saiyan comrade, pocking fun at his childish antics from the Gates of Hell itself.

She was going to pay…

He’d make her pay for this, for doing this to him, for making his body betray him, reacting to her bewitching little charms like never before, and for the infuriating state of confusion and need his soul had just sunk into.

Her hands and legs kept holding onto him, but Vegeta could already feel her growing limp in his embrace, dipping into that somnolent lethargy he knew far too well. So, he tightened his hold on her, carrying her to the bed and inwardly cursing himself for the much too gentle way in which he’d placed her on top of the old, small mattress.          

She was a vision…

A statuesque vision of peaches and cream skin wrapped up in angelic bright blue, her exhausted body splayed on the bed, sleepy eyes curiously staring at him. Bulma was lying on her back, barely able to support herself on her elbows as she awaited expectantly his next move. She’d thought it’d be over already, after all, they’d both just reached an orgasm, and from past experiences, it was time for a good night kiss, rolling over on the bed and getting some sleep, but the Saiyan’s actions told her that she couldn’t be further from the truth.   

Vegeta stood by the bed, his onyx, impenetrable eyes fixated on her while he carelessly removed his armor, fighting suit and boots, standing completely naked in front of her with no sign of shame whatsoever, making Bulma’s dozy eyes widen in shock and girlish embarrassment.

He was perfect.

Bulma had to admit that she hadn’t thought much of him when they’d first crossed paths and she’d seen him fully dressed, but now she knew what a flawless, masculine specimen was hiding underneath his customary uniform. A perfectly built, virile body made out of hard-rock muscle, scrumptiously lickable bronzed skin and a secretive collection of battle scars she just wanted to run her long, clever fingers across, asking him about the story behind every single one of them.

He’d never tell her, she knew…

This lethal, enigmatic soldier would never reveal his most painful, bloody secrets to her, and, in the end, it didn’t matter anyway.

It wasn’t supposed to matter, she wisely reminded herself.

It was just one night, nothing else…

“Take off your clothes,” he simply ordered, already sinking one robust knee on the bed, making the old thing creak precariously under his surprisingly heavy weight.

His sharp, domineering command made Bulma’s still quivery, clammy thighs shut even tighter in one last, feeble attempt at rebellion. The sight of his nude body as he approached her menacingly, and his long, thick cock already responding to her presence one more time, suddenly made her realize that it was very possible she wouldn’t even make it through the night.

He was not human.

This rotten, beastly creature was unlike any man she’d ever encountered…

“I…” She stuttered uncertainly, her breathing already accelerating as his big hands grasped her knees, spreading her legs wide open just for him. “I thought… I…”

It was utterly surreal.

The bizarre contrast of those busted hands, knuckles bruised and peeling, on top of her flawless, unmarred translucent skin was sheer evidence of just how different they were in every single way.

Their past, their lives, their goals, their principles…

All of it.

It was pure madness.

They belonged to two fully different worlds, two opposite beings who were never even meant to meet, much less spend a night of intimacy together. And yet, here they were, with those blood-soaked hands savagely ripping off her underwear, leaving her sex completely exposed to his starved eyes.

Vegeta’s tongue saucily moistened his lips as he took in the view of her sweet little pussy; a mouthwatering spectacle of smooth, rosy glistening lips and that fascinating, tiny bundle of nerves in the middle, crowned by soft, feathery blue curls.         

He leaned over Bulma, supporting his weight with one muscly arm and downright destroying her old t-shirt with the other, freeing her marvelous, voluptuous tits once and for all.

“Yes?” He purred against her parted mouth in a low, playful whisper, his massive hand travelling from her sternum, where he felt her heart hammering excitedly underneath his touch, and slowly, painfully slowly, sliding across her glowing skin towards that tempting spot right between her thighs. “What did you think, little earthling?”

His hand halted right before he reached the erogenous destination, abandoning the woman’s body and choosing to touch himself instead, while Bulma remained perfectly immobile beneath him, trembling in anticipation.

“I thought… I… I thought we were done…” Bulma mumbled shyly, blushing furiously as the words left her mouth.

The Saiyan chuckled in reply, a low, mischievous laugh filled with unspeakable promises.

She was just adorable…

She was the most charming, endearing little thing he’d ever laid eyes upon, and by the Gods was he going to spend the rest of the night taking as much as he could from that immaculate body of hers.

“Did you, Bulma?” Vegeta whispered huskily, that roguish smirk returning to his lips as his tongue played lascivious games with her exotic name. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, working it with slow but powerful strokes, getting dangerously ready to teach this disobedient, blue haired vixen a lesson in obedience.

His smashed knuckles caressed her skin as he stroked himself, rubbing, pressing his hard wetness against her quivering tummy. Within seconds he was ready for her, the Oozaru beast roaring in triumph inside of him when her hips bucked involuntarily as the swollen tip of his shaft skillfully caressed her clit and he positioned himself to take possession of her.

“Trust me, woman… You will know when I am done with you…”