Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

[Dylan Thomas; ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’]

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She threw her head back as her climax approached, working her core with long, impatient fingers, selfishly pursuing her own gratification. She was so close she could taste it, so she chased it egoistically, a hand relentlessly caressing one of her full, ripe breasts as the other one kept greedily stroking her heated, glistening center.

Close…

So damn close…

When her eyes shut and her curved hips started bucking on their own accord, she knew her unrelenting pursuit had finally yielded its fruit, and her deprived lips parted softly, hissing and moaning in pleasure as her orgasm hit her like an unbridled shockwave.

She rolled on her side, her small hand firmly trapped between pale, clammy thighs, now drenched in her own slick juices, and she panted heavily, clutching the coarse, tattered bedsheets in a tiny fist and riding the pleasurable wave that had just smashed her mercilessly, washing away her countless sorrows, if only for a sweet, sweet instant...

Once she became too over sensitized to her own touch, her hand reluctantly abandoned her body, lazily reaching out for the torn, grey blanket now lying on a rumpled pile at her feet. She covered up her still slightly trembling figure, feeling temporarily sated as she curled up in a tiny ball, pressing her knees to her damp, bare chest, in a vain attempt at finding solace in the cold, miserable joke her life had become.

The woman remained in that position for a few minutes, her turquoise blue eyes still firmly closed in a futile act of rebellion; she dozed lightly, on and off, her breathing gradually slowing down, dreading the way the honeyed rush of solitary pleasure was sluggishly fading away like a betraying fugitive, fleeing and abandoning her, once more, to her own luck.

Her slumber was irritatingly interrupted by the annoying, taunting beeping of the electronic alarm clock, forcing a groan of frustration out of her exhausted body as she hit the off button way harder than she should. It didn’t matter. By now, she’d lost count of how many times she’d broken and fixed that infernal machine. She hid her pale arms and hands underneath the warm covers for a few more minutes, shrinking from the time when she’d finally have to find the strength to open her tired, swollen eyes and face the cruel reality.

Bulma Briefs was alone.

It’d been six months ever since her home planet had been destroyed by a deadly crew of bizarre alien warriors who worked for that Icejin bastard, Frieza, or at least, those were her approximate calculations so far. Truth be told, she’d slowly but surely started to lose count of how much time had really passed since those few infernal days of pain, chaos and destruction had taken place; those rotten times when she’d been obligated to witness, in horror and shameful impotence, how her beloved friends and family members cruelly perished, one by one. Not even Son Goku, who’d been both like a little brother to her and the strongest man she’d ever known, had been able to defeat the Emperor’s now infamous ‘Ginyu Force’ who, right after annihilating the majority of Earth’s population, had taken a ship full of slaves as mere spoils of war, with Bulma being one of the ‘lucky’ ones to join their twisted collection of exotic trophies.

Unsurprisingly, most of the prisoners had consisted on a wide variety of beautiful females, and the earthling had spent the majority of the long, arduous journey locked up in a tight, claustrophobic space, surrounded by terrified human women, incessantly sobbing and screaming uncontrollably in sheer panic. Her only rock throughout that dreadful experience had turned out to be one of Goku’s oldest friends, a peculiar woman named Launch. She was blonde, downright scary and tough as nails, something she’d been secretly grateful for. Bulma Briefs was no coward, and she certainly hadn’t spilled as many tears as most of the other females had, but she’d been severely afflicted with short-lived but intense spells of melancholy here and there, and having a strong companion by her side had been a blessing in the end.

When they’d finally been allowed to exit the foul ship, it’d been on some undisclosed location in the middle of space she could barely recall; her mind so dizzy and confused by the countless, sleepless nights during their trip that her memories were blurry and entirely unclear. All she knew was that Launch and she had somehow managed to sneak in inside a second ship which, unlike the one they’d been destined for at first, was filled with far less attractive women, children and very few men.

Bulma sighed wearily, laying on her back and dully covering her drowsy eyes with her forearm, prolonging her scarce time in bed as much as she could.

Not a single day went by when she didn’t acknowledge just how damn lucky both women had been to have escaped the sickening fate the other gorgeous females on that first ship had been dragged into. She’d heard stories, everywhere, of how fairly common pleasure slaves were across this shadowy, ghastly Universe which still remained relatively mysterious to her. All she knew for sure was that those women didn’t live long, especially those belonging to physically weaker species such as her own, and her brains, and Launch’s impulsive temper, had saved them both from despicable, horrifying acts that would have taken them into an early grave far too soon.

In the end, she’d landed a job at one of Frieza’s numerous space stations scattered across his vast Empire. Her job was mechanical and fairly simple, at least, for a technological genius such as herself. If she was capable of tasks way more complex than repairing malfunctioning scouters, torn armors and remote controls for those impressive space pods she still hadn’t been able to get her curious hands on, her superiors wouldn’t know, given how cleverly Bulma had hidden most of her scientific knowledge, sharing just enough of her skills to survive in a dull, hostile environment filled with daily, menial tasks.

It wasn’t that her ambitions had been forgotten, quite on the contrary, she’d simply chosen to remain discreet, learning as much as she could about her current social station before she’d choose to attempt to rise onto the next. Bulma knew that minimal wage workers, almost slaves, like her, could only be promoted to bigger and better jobs in time, and after they’d proven themselves to be trustworthy enough in order to be offered greater and more sensitive responsibilities. Thus, the little genius did her job and did it well; she was quick, efficient and above all, silent, spending more time listening than talking and generally minding her own business as much as possible.

Launch, on the other side, well…

The blonde hellcat was trouble, that was for sure. Her obvious beauty would have surely turned her into a high prized courtesan, but a furious, violent temper and the unashamed tongue of a sailor meant that she’d been labeled too wild to tame. Bulma’s boss, impressed by her technical skills, had pretty much accepted that both women always came together, and Launch had basically been assigned the unimportant task of handling the numerous warriors that daily visited their facilities in what was essentially a behind the desk job. Though she wasn’t the most professional of employees, the unstable female had somehow managed to survive in spite of her unusual disposition, even though Bulma lived with the sad certainty that someday, somehow, things wouldn’t end well for her intrepid friend.

Bulma sat tiredly on her small bed, still clutching her jagged bedsheets against her naked form with one arm as she stretched languidly with the other. For a woman raised amongst infinite luxury like her, the hard, ancient mattress was hell on her delicate body, and her back audibly popped as she turned to the side and checked up on the bed beside hers, already expecting it to be empty and perfectly made, as always, meaning that her best friend hadn’t even gotten any sleep tonight.

She wasn’t entirely sure as to what that blonde tsunami of a woman did almost nightly; all she knew was that Launch seemed to enjoy living her life to the fullest, keenly burning her candle at both ends as she drank and partied into oblivion almost every single night. If her daily, lunch-break stories were true, and Bulma surely had no reason to doubt their veracity, the bold woman also had a thing for bedding many of the warriors frequenting the planet, having already built quite an impressive collection of ex-lovers and displaying absolutely zero shame when it came to relating, in close detail, her plentiful, and apparently remarkably passionate, sexual escapades, leaving her gawking and completely speechless most of the time.

Bulma was no virtuous virgin herself; after all, she’d dated Yamcha, a man she’d met at the tender age of sixteen, throughout the greatest part of ten years, so she’d surely experienced the pleasures of sex and the warm intimacy commonly attached to it. It was only that, well, most of those experiences had taken place with the same man, after all.

Soft, sweet, innocent Yamcha…

When they’d first run into each other, during a recklessly surreal quest for a secretive set of magical Dragon Balls, her ex-lover had appeared to be everything she’d ever dreamt of in a man and beyond. He was tall, strong, handsome and, ironically, deadly afraid of women, which only contributed to his almost boyish, naïve charm. Despite having a bit of a dark, enigmatic past, he’d always been kind and respectful towards her, to the point of waiting almost an entire year before finally sleeping together and taking their relationship to the next level, at last.

Their romance had been quite pleasant and satisfactory for the most part, although she had to admit that things hadn’t been the same towards the end, ever since the scarred faced man had become a baseball player, acquiring a morsel of fame and money in the process. That first taste of popularity had also come attached to a considerable number of women suddenly feeling an irresistible attraction towards him, willing to do everything and anything so they could brag about having bedded some hunky, professional sportsman.   

Naturally, the temptation had been far too great to resist, and Yamcha had, more than occasionally, indulged in a little affair here and there. In retrospect, that was the beginning of the end; the first of his many infidelities had also been the origin of their countless, aching breakups and, eventually, their relationship morphed into a repetitive, vicious cycle consisting on furious fights and inevitable separations, followed by an endless tirade of sappy tears, excessively tacky bouquets of flowers, half-hearted apologies and passionate make up sex.    

Logically, her ex-boyfriend hadn’t been the only one curious enough to go out there and try to find out what else he’d been missing on. During the usually brief periods of time when she’d been officially single, Bulma had sampled the odd man here and there, mainly consisting on a couple of drunken one-night stands she could barely remember, and a resoundingly failed attempt at dating the heir of a rival company. The last one, strongly encouraged by her nosy mother, had concluded in less than two months, once the former heiress discovered his boring personality, the lousy way in which the idiot treated his employees and how low in his list of priorities she really was, way below his beloved luxury car collection and sleep-inducing golfing sessions.

All in all, Bulma had never pictured a life beyond Yamcha, and despite the on and off status of their relationship, she’d always chosen to believe that his indiscretions were nothing more than a guy trying to get all of those years of sexual repression out of his system and that, in the end, he’d be faithful and loyal to her once they finally tied the knot and settled down.

She’d never, in a million years, anticipated the miserable Hell her life would become…

Her last memory of him was that of him dying in an arid, bloody battlefield by the hand of enemies, countless times stronger than him. Out of all her friends, Yamcha had been the first one to pass away, for what he lacked in physical strength, he more than made up for in courage and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, such qualities hadn’t been enough in the end, and Bulma could have sworn that her name on his broken, bloodied lips was the last word the defeated warrior ever pronounced before his last, dying breath.

She’d witnessed most of the fight through the magical crystal ball of a cryptic, greedy fortune teller, a choice she’d grown to regret and resent. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her at the time, but now she knew that the blood-stained, terrifying images of her dearest friends perishing, one by one, would forever remain imprinted in her mind, no matter how much time went by and how much effort she invested in trying to forget. The brutal, filthy murder of her first and only love had killed something inside of her, numbing her heart and soul and locking them up within some foreign, secret part of herself she didn’t fully comprehend or even try to access anymore.

Love, desire and opulence had coldly given place to silent rage, survival and austerity and, for a long time, she’d grown to believe that such frivolities would never again be a part of this unfriendly, hostile existence of tedious hard labor and incessant danger.

Day… After day… After day…

But, as soon as they’d begun to adapt to their harsh circumstances, her new best friend had become living proof that it was actually possible to combine this precarious, severe reality with a tad of fun, here and there. In fact, based on Launch’s tales of drunken depravity, it was way more than just a little bit of harmless entertainment; the main issue was whether Bulma would ever be interested in imitating the blonde’s actions.

She wasn’t.

Loneliness had undoubtedly been creeping in, slowly, very slowly, like an icy, dreary blanket malignly enveloping her desolate soul. But, regardless of how temptingly exciting her friend’s stories could be, it simply wasn’t in Bulma’s nature to get blind drunk and fuck every single soldier she bumped into on an almost daily basis. And it wasn’t as if she was waiting for a marriage proposal either. Gone were the days of girlie, childish dreams of the charming Prince riding a white horse, killing the Princess’ tormentors and rescuing her from her reclusively high, lonesome tower. But she also knew that she wasn’t the kind of woman to embark on some sleazy affair with one of the many killers that frequented the sordid space station that had grudgingly become her new ‘home’. She didn’t judge Launch for her careless actions, if anything, a small, forbidden part of her, envied her thoughtless, carefree attitude towards life, and she wouldn’t blame anyone for trying to seek whatever consolation or comfort they could get while being forced to live a life such as this one. 

In the end, Bulma had resorted to taking matters, literally, into her own hands; indulging in her own forlorn touch in order to put down the heated fire burning between her thighs. What started as an isolated incident slowly grew into an almost daily routine, a sad ritual of selfish caresses and blurry illusions. Conjuring her dead lover’s face, or the countless, tender moments they’d ever shared together was so extremely painful that she completely blocked him, forever banishing him from her mind and choosing to evoke a myriad of hyper-sexual, filthy fantasies instead. A limitless series of erotic imagery picturing herself utterly ravished, fucked senseless in the most dangerous, outrageous situations by a wide variety of dark, impersonal men, mercilessly dominating and possessing her as her body quivered in need and desire and her mouth went dry in thirst, in that voracious quest for pleasure she avidly chased with unfulfilled success.

Every single time, the end result would, unhappily, be the same. Once she’d ridden and prolonged that wave of gratifying release for as long as she could, the heavy weight of her ruthless reality would fall over her frail shoulders, crushing her with its open cruelty.

A single, disobedient tear fell down her still slightly flushed cheek, and she quickly wiped it off with the back of her hand, as if it’d never existed, taking a deep, shaky breath as she wondered if she should take a shower and go to work, or just stay in bed, hiding underneath the false protection of the cozy blankets.

Today was one of those days, she could feel it…

One of those days, which were unfortunately becoming more and more common, where she had to push herself to make a choice: the choice of whether she wished to live or die. In all honesty, she didn’t know for sure if she’d ever make it too far into the future, but she could keep fighting until the very end or sit down and die. She could lose all hope for a better life, or hang on to her own little ball of hatred, that tiny, poisonous spark of revenge stubbornly floating inside her chest, constantly reminding her of who she truly was, of her unique talents and intelligence and of how far that intelligence could someday take her if she remained patient and played her cards right.

As a young girl, Bulma Briefs had been full of life and vitality, and she’d embarked on the most dangerous and extreme adventures; voyages which had always paid off, in one way or another, in the end. She’d even witnessed magic, miraculous objects capable of bringing people back from the dead with their supernatural power.

So, with the profound belief that her minuscule, at times neglected, spark of hope would always stay alive for as long as there was air inside her lungs and warm blood pumping through her veins, the courageous earthling made her choice, hopping off the bed and jumping right into the shower.

********************************************

Bulma removed her safety goggles, softly massaging the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes, giving them a much-needed rest after several hours of non-stop work. Her entire morning had been mostly spent disassembling an immense pile of tattered armor, separating the parts which could be re-used from the ones that couldn’t. Even though it wasn’t an intellectually challenging task, handling the extremely resilient material was physically exhausting for someone with as little strength as her, so she finally decided to sit down a bit and take a break, sipping on a small bottle of cold water as she rubbed her stiff neck resignedly.

“Look, buddy! I said no!” A loud voice yelled, back at the end of the corridor.

Great.

It looked like Launch was having one of those days…

A strong, masculine voice spoke something unintelligible, to which the crazy blonde responded even louder.

“What part of no don’t you fucking understand?! You stupid asshole?!”

Just when Bulma was about to roll her eyes at her friend’s colorful use of language, an unusually loud bang got her attention, instantly making the hairs on her neck stand up. Getting a really bad feeling about whatever it was that was taking place outside her lab, she hurriedly got off the chair, running across the corridor only to find Launch standing on top of her desk, pointing at some huge guy menacingly with her ki inhibitor.

The man was lying on the ground, shaking his head in confusion. Even though he wasn’t standing, Bulma could tell that he was tall, extremely large and surprisingly human-looking. He was completely bald, maybe in his late forties and, from the unbelievably quick way in which he was recovering from Launch’s ki blast, he was seriously, dangerously strong.

He stood up precariously, running his massive hands across his sweaty face and looking at the blonde woman with the creepiest murdering look either one of them had ever seen. Even a normally unafraid woman like Launch seemed to be hesitating as to what to do next as her unsteady hands kept pointing the weapon Bulma had fabricated for her at the violent warrior.

“You…! Little bitch!” The brute roared, aggressively cracking his knuckles, approaching the woman with the obvious intention of attacking her.

Unwilling to give in to intimidation, Launch kept threatening the fighter, getting ready to shoot at him again. “Back off, fucker!”

The gigantic man smirked evilly, quickly catching on on the woman’s noticeable bluff as he kept walking in her direction, now fully recovered from the physical shock she’d previously subjected him to.

“I will teach you to insult a Saiyan warrior, you little cunt…”    

Bulma’s blood went ice cold and she stood still as a marbled statue, absolutely petrified in horror; anxious flashbacks of the lethal battle from Earth quickly flashed through her dizzy mind as she got mentally prepared to lose the only friend she still had left by her side.

One step...

Another one…

Getting closer and closer to his feebly defenseless pray…

“Nappa!” A commanding voice boomed in the air, instantly making the terrifying man freeze in the spot.

Both women looked, in absolute astonishment, in the direction of the sound capable of stopping the deadly warrior with such ease. To their total surprise, it belonged to a much smaller, younger male. He was quite short, barely taller than Bulma, with a muscular but compact body and a distinctively original mane of black, flame-shaped hair, matched by a pair of severe, ebony eyes framed by a chillingly fierce scowl.    

The smaller man threw a quick glance at the two weak females with clear disinterest, turning his sights on the giant brute who was now facing him, sheepishly awaiting his Master’s orders.  

“So…” he declared, raising an eyebrow menacingly with a remarkably arrogant air of superiority. “I see we’re killing women now, for no reason…”

“Ve-Vegeta… It was… It was for good reason…” The older warrior stuttered as the two earthlings witnessed the scene in sheer shock. “Sh-She questioned me, and disobeyed my orders…”

“You seem to forget that you are not the one giving orders around here,” he carried on with aloof calm. “I am.”

The bald man assented self-consciously, slowly stepping away from Launch as Bulma gave her a helping hand, assisting her so she could safely get down from the desk. Her heart was still rabbiting furiously inside her chest, but she kept reminding herself that the worst was probably over by now, and that the shorter man clearly had no intention of hurting them, at least, she hoped so with all her might.    

“Get out of here. Now.” He instructed, never losing his cool temper as he waited patiently for Nappa to leave the place before turning around and taking a good look at the still slightly frightened women. “Who is in charge of this station?” He asked with odd civility.

Launch opened her big mouth to speak, but Bulma, already fearing a new disturbing incident, quickly interrupted her. “I am. How may I help you?” She enquired with equal politeness, unable to suppress an unfamiliar tinge of curiosity towards their mysterious visitor.

“I require new armor and some repairs on my scouter,” he demanded firmly, looking her right in the eye with rare intensity, a flawless combination of power and indifference that made a peculiar, agitated feeling pool in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s fairly easy,” Bulma answered, intrigued as to what all the previous fuss was all about. The request seemed uncomplicated enough, so she offered the man a simple solution to his troubles. “I can get a new scouter and a set of armor for you in no time.”

“No. I did not ask for a new scouter, I asked for repairs on my own.”

“I already told the other asshole that we never do that…” Launch interjected, finally feeling confident enough to join the conversation. “And then he got mad at me when I told him, and the idiot just kept asking…”

“That’s true, though,” Bulma cut her off, stopping her open insults before things got dangerously heated again. “We don’t usually make repairs on old scouters, most of the time, it’s easier simply to replace them…”

“No,” his firm voice erupted, leaving room for no further discussion on the matter. “I will have my own scouter repaired.”

Bulma exhaled in frustration, internally counting to ten before losing her legendary temper. She knew it. She knew today would be just one of those days when it would have been better to just stay in bed but, of course, it wasn’t as if she could afford such a luxury these days, so she decided to just play along with the stubborn prick that kept piercing her with those dark, bottomless eyes.

“Fine,” she simply replied, already extending her hand in silent request. “Just give it to me and I’ll see what can be done…”

“No. You will take me to the head of your department and I’ll oversee the reparations myself,” his low, virile voice inflexibly retorted.

“Fair enough,” she shrugged, already turning around and stepping into the long corridor. “Follow me,” she requested without even looking at him, glad to feel his presence walking right behind her, leaving Launch alone at the reception desk.

Bulma entered the white, almost clinical laboratory which had become like a second home to her by now, and she sat resignedly on the tall chair, switching on a potent reading light, and holding her magnifying glasses with one hand as she patiently stretched the other one to her enigmatic guest.

“Alright,” she requested quietly. “Give it to me.”

“Woman,” he asked sternly, his arms firmly crossed across his powerful chest. “I asked for the head of your department.”

“I am the head of the science department in this installation,” her voice replied with cool self-assurance, wholly unaffected by his apparent surprise and holding his fierce gaze with newfound confidence. “Now give it to me,” she repeated, wiggling her fingers slowly as she kept unwearyingly extending her hand to him.

He raised one eyebrow in interest, and she could have sworn that the ghost of a smirk had crossed his lips when he finally surrendered and approached her, reluctantly handing over the scouter to her.

The scientist put her glasses on and initiated the meticulous task of opening the small but technologically complex device and trying to detect what exactly was wrong with it. She could feel the warrior’s potent presence, standing right beside her as he kept supervising her work, and she rapidly guessed that a fighter like him most certainly had no clue as to what she was doing, and he was simply employing some kind of intimidation technique in order to make her do her job more efficiently.

“There’s a chair to your left, you may sit there if you like,” she finally spoke, her focused eyes never abandoning the broken apparatus. “And it’s Bulma, by the way…”

“What is?” He asked, squinting imperceptibly, flabbergasted by the woman’s sudden impertinence.

“My name,” she explained, raising her wide, observant eyes and looking at him. “You called me ‘woman’, and my name is Bulma. Bulma Briefs.”

She turned her sights back to the task at hand, noticing just how shocked the man had been by her confident behavior, and she finally relaxed a little, realizing that, whoever this austere, intimidating warrior truly was, he most likely had no interest in killing a small, insignificant woman such as herself.

After a few unnerving seconds, the man swallowed his pride and sat on the chair unenthusiastically, standing straight and holding his protective stance at all times as he scrutinized the most outlandish, bewitching little creature he’d ever encountered.

She was very petite, probably around his same height, with large blue eyes and shimmery long hair tied up into a messy bun of curls atop her head. It was hard to tell exactly what her body, infuriatingly hidden underneath those heavy overalls, looked like, but he could tell that her built was delicate, and infinitely more feminine than that of the female warriors he was used to dealing with. Her highly unusual coloring, combined with those pale, tiny hands and thin, skillful fingers working diligently on his scouter, and an exquisitely refined face, frowned in careful concentration, turned her into a charming sight indeed.

“Bulma Briefs from…?” He finally asked, breaking the awkward silence and trying to find some stupid, pitiful excuse to keep the woman talking. He usually loathed small talk, but an out of the ordinary curiosity was starting to get the best of him.

“Bulma Briefs from Earth,” she replied with manifest detachment in an almost monotone voice.

“Earth?”

“Earth.”

“In what quadrant is your planet located?” He enquired, already guessing what her answer would be.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, inadvertently biting on her lower lip, and visibly dreading this particular topic of conversation. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Was it destroyed?” He prodded against his better judgement. The woman was trying to conceal her agitated emotions, but clearly doing a very poor job at it.

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

Bulma took a deep, angry breath, exhaling sharply through her nose as she clutched her screwdriver a little harder than she should. “About six months.”

That explained it…

“That loud female outside…”

“Her name is Launch,” Bulma corrected, bitterly grasping that the nosy son of a bitch wouldn’t let the matter rest easy. “And she’s my friend…”

“I assume she’s from the same planet you originate from?”

“That is correct…”

“Well…” He cautioned, wondering how the peculiar little female would react to his following warning. “Your friend is going to get herself killed very soon if she keeps acting this way.”

The earthling raised her gaze deliberately, taking off her glasses and fixing those dreamy blue eyes, brimming with scorching rage, right on him. She then lifted her chin up in a gesture of pure defiance, spitting out her unpredictable, fearless reply.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

The most unsettling of silences floated heavily in the air while she patiently waited for him to either come up with some nasty, witty reply or blast her right on the spot.

He did neither, rendered positively speechless by the diabolically beautiful woman. Once it became evident that neither one of them was going to break the discomforting impasse, Bulma stood from her chair, reaching for a large toolbox filled with loose pieces and rummaging through it in concentration.

“Your scouter seems to be fine,” she finally informed. “A couple of chips got burnt, I assume during a fight. I can replace them, but honestly, this is a very old model and the new ones are far more efficient and resilient. Perhaps it’s time for you to consider replacing your…”

“I will not,” he cut her off sharply, making Bulma momentarily cease her search and look back at him. He was the proudest, most exasperatingly obstinate man she’d ever stumbled upon, and she had to bite her tongue like never before so as to not keep pushing her luck with him.

“Suit yourself…” She concluded, shrugging in disregard as she sat down once more, ready to replace the missing pieces on the warrior’s ancient relic.

The Saiyan smirked knowingly, unbeknownst to Bulma, who kept her clever eyes focused on the repairs, working skillfully with deft hands and trying to finish the job fast so she could get rid of him as soon as possible.

Oh, yes…

There was more to the woman than met the eye. Something in her rebellious insolence told him that her cool, collected demeanor was nothing more than an elaborated farce, a rampant fire finely laced in excruciating pain that he knew, oh too well, struggling to be released behind those deceitfully icy, turquoise eyes. After all, he’d suffered through the grief of loss when he was only a child himself, and the obliteration of her home planet and race was far too recent for the woman not to still feel afflicted by it.

Her ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty, could have turned her into one of Frieza’s favorite pet whores in no time, and yet, here she was, in some shithole station in the middle of space doing a kind of technological work that should have been far too advanced for a woman like her, which meant that she was intelligent, perhaps too much for her own good, or for the good of the Galaxy anyway.

He had to admit that the blonde nutjob out there was also a fairly attractive creature, but she was too crass, too unrefined and out of control, and she’d soon pay the unescapable price for it.

He knew it.

And Bulma Briefs, from Earth, knew it too…

“Here,” she said, abruptly interrupting his train of thought and catching him by surprise when he found her standing far too close to him, without him even realizing it. She was holding the patched-up scouter on the open palm of her hand, waiting expectantly for him to finally pick it up. He grabbed it, incapable of repressing an annoyed frown at having allowed himself to let his guard down around her so easily.

The warrior put his scouter on, switching it on and testing its different functions, calibrating the efficiency of its performance and pleased to see that the unique woman had seemingly done a pretty good job on it. He pointed it out in her direction, intrigued about what the female’s power level truly was.

Zero point five units.

It was a goddamned miracle that the puny woman was still alive…   

“So?” Bulma asked with a meaningful smile, crossing her arms cockily and knowing full well just how flawless the quality of her work always was.

“Acceptable,” he replied neutrally, unwilling to inflate the woman’s already overblown ego even more. “Armor,” the Saiyan requested with rude frankness, making her roll her eyes in irritation, unsurprised by the warrior’s lack of praise; after all, it wasn’t as if she’d actually expected him to thank or commend her in any way.  

Bulma walked outside the lab and in the direction of the storage facilities, not even bothering to ask the conceited fighter what size of armor he required.

Small.

The scientist was fuming by now, grouchily mumbling an angry tirade of nasty curses under her breath as she kept delving through the wide variety of armor samples available, trying to find something that would satisfy the smug asshole waiting for her in the near room. And to think that she’d found him attractive, if only for a hot minute, back when she’d first laid eyes on him.

Perhaps it was the first sign that she was, finally, going utterly insane…

She eventually decided on a design extremely similar to the one her visitor was wearing, having already guessed, after the scouter incident, that she was dealing with a frustratingly irksome creature of habit. Carrying the new, full set of armor in her arms she impatiently marched back into the room, absolutely thunderstruck by the unexpected vision awaiting her.       

The majority of the warrior’s clothing, his armor, gloves and boots, laid stack up on a messy pile on the ground as he stood in front of the laboratory’s small sink, clad only in the tight pants of his combat suit.

He was washing his face, giving her his back, and his well-built, naked torso was a sight to behold; an unusual spectacle of hard carved muscles wrapped in caramel skin and a wildly intriguing road map of multiple sized scars engraved all over it. The whiteish tone of most of them gave away their old age, with very few still displaying a more recent, pink color. Some were large and deep, others followed a sadly familiar pattern, as if they were the ruthless consequence of a brutal whipping.

Bulma shivered, both in horror and in an exhilarated mixture of anticipation and rapture. By Earth’s standards, scars were usually something to hide, a shameful imperfection most people struggled to conceal; but this arrogant and powerful alien warrior, now standing right in front of her with rivulets of glossy droplets running across his face and bare chest, seemed to wear them proudly, like dignified batches of honor it’d taken him an entire lifetime to earn.

The Saiyan kept staring at her with that perpetual, puzzling scowl, those boundless black eyes pinning her to the spot without touching her, even as he wiped the moisture off his bronzed skin with a small cloth. Her arms tightened anxiously around the robust armor she still held firmly in her possession as she waited for him the make his next move, which he did, carelessly throwing away the damp rag and stretching his hand to her in silent demand for his new attire. It took Bulma a few interminable seconds to muster the strength to get her legs in motion again, moving towards him as cautiously as a tiny mouse would a sleeping cat.         

“There’s…” She muttered, her mouth embarrassingly dry and her tongue clumsy, strangely hypnotized by the man’s domineering presence as she pointed right behind him with a trembling finger. “There’s a… A changing room over th…”

At the speed of light, the Saiyan forcefully grasped her arm, clutching it tightly and making her drop his new armor at once in alarm. Bulma’s eyes widened in fright when he yanked her, obligating her to hold onto his naked shoulder for balance. He held her delicate wrist mere millimeters away from his mouth with a rare, starved look in his gaze, and then…

The Gods helped her…

He approached his nose to the inner side of her wrist and buried it into her velvety flesh, inhaling sharply, deeply, like a famished man about to devour his first appetizing meal in months. The scientist’s fingers instinctively curled into a fist, her short nails anxiously digging into her palm as she stood still, absolutely paralyzed.

‘What the Hell was he doing?’

She didn’t know…

She was blissfully unaware of how awaken the alien warrior had just become to her most guarded, intimate secret with the little help of his hyper-sensitive Saiyan senses. The minute the woman had raised her arm to point him in the direction of the changing rooms, a sweet, creamy scent had suddenly pervaded his nostrils and he’d felt the unexplainable need to further explore it to his blackened heart’s content.      

It was made up of a mouthwatering, syrupy rich smoothness, and he instantly recognized the unmistakable hint of arousal, giving away that the stunning creature had enjoyed the sight of his semi-nude body way more than she’d probably like to admit. His most delicious discovery, however, were the older, succulent traces of the potent, distinctive aroma of sexual release.

Well, well…

As it turned out, the lovely, wicked female had recently experienced the throes of an enticing, heavenly climax. The fact that he could discern absolutely no sign of any male pheromones lingering on her fair skin filled him with an atypical sense of satisfaction, and told him that there was only one way in which the woman could have pursued such a blissful sensation.

The warrior finally raised his head, looming over her as an irresistibly lazy smirk drew itself on his lips, making Bulma’s heart thump painfully in return. Not only was she entirely oblivious to the impish thoughts crossing his treacherous mind, but that hungry, playful glint in his eye, as chilling as it was bewildering, made her want to run away from this dangerous assassin as fast as she humanly could.     

He was depraved to the core…

And the worst part was that he was evoking foreign, forbidden sensations inside of her that she had neither the courage, nor the strength to battle right now. So, she chose to follow her first, most primitive instinct by slowly, very slowly, pulling away from his fiercely possessive touch, relieved when he released her arm without offering any further resistance to her defiant act of insurrection.      

“I… I’ll wait outside…” Bulma mumbled breathlessly, swallowing a hard, thick lump in her throat that nearly prevented the shaky words from coming out of her parched mouth.

Surprised by the absolute immobility of the awfully handsome Saiyan warrior, who remained perfectly still except for that roguish, irresistible smirk on his face; she massaged her sore wrist soothingly, walking a few nervous steps backwards until she found herself at a distance she deemed safe enough to finally turn around and briskly leave the laboratory, in a futile attempt to escape from his disconcerting presence.

By the time she reached the reception, Launch was already sited on the office chair behind the large desk and, judging by the relaxed way in which she was nursing a small bottle of liquor, she had seemingly calmed down from the previous, hair-rising incident. Bulma stood by the table, supporting her light weight with one trembling arm while anxiously rubbing her forehead, now thinly covered in cold sweat, with the other.

“Everything alright?” The blonde asked, taken aback by the scientist’s manifest nervousness. She knew Bulma wasn’t quite as brazen as she was, but it was unusual to see her friend in such an agitated state.

“Uh?” She asked at once, looking at her with a disoriented look on her face. “Uh… Yeah, yeah… I just…”

“The guy’s an asshole, isn’t he?” Launch questioned perceptively. “Those fucking Saiyans, I swear…” She mumbled angrily, taking a large swig from her palliative beverage. “Just look at the bastard,” she suggested, subtly pointing in front of her with her head, forcing Bulma to look in that same direction.

Through the entrance’s large glass doors, she discerned that grotesque, giant beast, Nappa, leaning on the dirty wall of the building across the street, probably waiting patiently for his superior to finish. He kept staring at Launch with a bitterly ferocious look on his rugged face, the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to murder the vulgar, impertinent earthling but knew he couldn’t afford to, not unless his Master gave him his blessings.    

“Man…” Bulma whispered, sitting tiredly on the desk, so incredibly exhausted from the day’s events that her legs could barely support her anymore. “He’s still out there, uh?”

“Oh, yeah…” Launch snickered half-drunkenly. “Waiting for his mighty little Prince like a poor, scolded puppy…”

Those final words definitely caught Bulma’s interest. “Prince?”

“Yup…” Her gutsy friend replied, leaning back on the large chair and idly resting her legs on the table. “That scouter guy you’ve been dealing with… He gives everyone that ‘I’m Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans’ bullshit speech…” She revealed sardonically, her tone deeper and lower in a crude, mocking imitation of the Prince’s voice.

“Wait,” Bulma questioned, blinking rapidly several times in confusion. “You already knew those guys?”

Launch laughed a husky, malicious laugh. “Know? Yeah… I guess you could say that… I used to fuck one of them. He was a lot of fun, let me tell you…”

“Which one?” The woman asked is awe.

The idea of her crazy, unpredictable friend fucking Nappa was utterly revolting, and the image of her doing it with Vegeta was equally disgusting, but for entirely different reasons, of course. As preposterous as it obviously was, a sharp pang of jealousy kicked her right in the gut, an ugly, inconceivable feeling she quickly struggled to swallow up.

“Another one. Some guy named Raditz… Man… It’s too bad he’s gone, he was pretty good in the sack, you know? Big dick, and he knew how to use it. Just my type…”

“So, you knew these two through that Raditz guy?” Bulma concluded, attempting to put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Kind of… I used to see the three of them at the tavern sometimes. Some shithole on the other side of the station…” Launch stopped talking for a moment, looking so remarkably lost in thought that, if the blue haired woman hadn’t known any better, she could have detected a hint of melancholy hidden in there, somewhere, as if this Raditz had actually meant something more to her other than just a good fuck.

“Anyway… Yeah…” The blonde carried on, languidly licking a few spilled drops off the neck of her bottle. “I used to drink with Raditz sometimes, you know… A few drinks before we left together… The other two guys were usually with him, and that Nappa guy is a total asshole, dumb as a box of rocks…”

“And Vegeta?”

Launch shrugged with palpable indifference. “I don’t know… I could never read that guy, I guess. All I knew is that he always looked so goddamn stuck-up…”

“In what way?” Bulma kept asking, incapable of controlling the odd curiosity rising towards this dark, inscrutable Prince.

“Like, he barely ever drank. One or two drinks and he’d disappear… And trust me,” she emphasized, looking at her friend with slightly raised eyebrows. “Those guys can hold their liquor… But he just, I don’t know… He was different. Raditz used to say he was very disciplined, just really obsessed with training and fighting…” 

“A warrior obsessed with fighting? How shocking…” Bulma joked, chuckling softly as she shook her head.

“I know, Blue… But it was more than that, apparently. Like… It wasn’t even to fight in the name of Frieza or anything like that. It was for himself...”

There was a brief pause as Launch polished off the bottle and dropped it carelessly into the bin. She then stood from her chair, kneeling in front of their mini-fridge in search of her fourth drink for the day, making Bulma inwardly cringe a little at her dangerous recklessness.

“Something about a legend…” Launch continued, sitting on the chair again and opening the bottle, generously offering Bulma its first taste. The scientist immediately declined, not only because she’d never been much of a drinker to begin with but, also, because she hadn’t even had any breakfast yet, and the last thing she needed was putting both of them at risk by getting blind drunk while she was supposed to be doing her job.

“What…? What kind of a legend?” Bulma asked shyly, desperate to keep learning as much as she could about this intriguing Prince Vegeta.

Launch shrugged again, drinking half the contents of her mini-bottle in one large gulp while her friend awaited her reply expectantly.        

“I don’t know… Some legend… The Legendary something…”

The blonde groaned drunkenly, running her hand drowsily across her face under Bulma’s watchful eye. At moments like this she was reminded that, behind her tough exterior, it was very possible that Launch was suffering too, and she’d simply chosen to handle the inexorable agony of loss in her own disturbing way.

“Anyway… Who gives a shit? He’s gone now…”

“Who?”

“Raditz.”

“Where did he go?”

“He’s dead,” Launch finally confessed in a much lower voice, subtly, but unmistakably, wrapped up in bitter pain.

Both women shared an arduous, awkward silence, only interrupted a few moments later by the sound of firm, vigorous steps walking steadily across the long hallway separating them from the lab, announcing that the Prince was finally about to join them.

Which he did, setting foot into the small reception and walking around as if he owned the place. He was impeccably dressed in his brand-new armor, his scouter firmly attached to his ear as he adjusted his pair of spotless white gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists several times in order to make sure they fit him to perfection. And just like that, with no more goodbyes other than a quick, arrogant glance and a sharp nod, he left the place.

Vegeta crossed the crowded street with titanic confidence and, as soon as his gargantuan underling stood straight in his presence as a sign of utmost respect, he viciously sank his fist into the giant beast’s stomach, bringing him down on his knees without a hitch.

“Damn…” Launch happily roared with laughter. “That was a good one!”

Bulma’s eyes widened in wonder, amazed by the incredible display of sheer physical strength of the sphinxlike Saiyan Prince and his smooth, agile movements, flowing effortlessly like those of a sexy, lethal panther. And her face didn’t change a bit when he riveted his onyx eyes on her one last time, silently devouring her with that maddening, mystifying gaze, before walking away from her forevermore.   

“I think my little Bulma is blushing…” A tipsy voice whispered good-humoredly in her ear.

The scientist looked at Launch in shock and embarrassment, feeling her softly flushed cheeks burn even more furiously, if that was even possible, but crossing her arms petulantly in denial nonetheless. “Who? Me? I am not!”    

“You like him, don’t you?”

“For your information, I tend to dislike arrogant, stubborn, conceited assholes who have a tendency to kill people for a living, you know?” She replied in an extremely offended tone.

Perhaps too offended…

“Well… What can I say? Most guys around here with a functioning cock kill people for a living, you know?” Launch answered easily, as if it were just the most natural thing in the world, and no big deal at all.

“Ugh! You are insane, did you know that?”

“Maybe…” The blonde spitfire confessed, completely unperturbed by her friend’s outraged words.

Launch wrapped her arm amicably around Bulma’s shoulders and, taking advantage of her newfound liquid courage, she decided to give her beautiful, flustered friend a little push, sharing an essential piece of wisdom the scientist seemed to have already forgotten, far too long ago.

“Seriously, Blue… If you like His Royal Shortness so much, I suggest you fuck his brains out the next time you see him. Life’s too fucking short…”    

Chapter Text

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…”    

Chapter Text

Vegeta walked hurriedly through the crowded streets, packed with faceless, uninteresting warriors who seemed to be getting ready for a well-deserved night of drinking and fucking after returning from whatever meaningless mission they’d been assigned to.

He was late already, mad at himself for having been stupid enough to agree to have a drink with Nappa for a couple of hours, not even knowing what exactly had made him relent and accept his subordinate’s insignificant invitation to begin with. The only explanation he could find was that he’d simply chosen to indulge the old man, who was getting unusually sentimental lately, particularly so ever since Raditz had died mere weeks earlier. Their last purging mission had been filled with Nappa’s annoying chatter about their extinct race and long-gone home planet. Insipidly dull nights spent sitting by the fire, surrounded by the sickening odor of the dead bodies both Saiyans had left piled up all over the place. Repetitive legends of mythological heroes and courageous, formidable warriors floating tediously in his mind as he chewed on the rubbery, tasteless meat of the revolting dead alien a little harder than he should.

The Prince had finally come to the realization that he didn’t care much for his people’s legends anymore, certainly not as much as he used to back in the good old days. As a child, Vegeta had worshiped those men, memorizing such tales word by word, and even begging his caretaker to narrate them repeatedly before going to bed, falling into a deep sleep invaded by buoyant dreams featuring idolized conquerors and epic battles.

But things were different now…

The child had become a man, and those bright, hopeful dreams had slowly, but implacably, morphed into the darkest of nightmares. As he’d grown older, bitter cynicism had taken over, and the list of matters that Vegeta genuinely cared about had been basically distilled to two very simple principles: survival and revenge. Gone were the days of naïve, optimistic foolishness, after all, no one in their right mind would give credit to such tall tales after having been exposed to the chaos and torture the Saiyan Prince had been raised amongst.

In his life, there was no room for any more fantasies, other than the only one that truly mattered, that of him surpassing himself, crossing the barriers of his own strength and ascending to the Legendary status which was meant to be his birthright.

Super Saiyan.

Everything else was superfluous, and absolutely nothing else mattered. There was no past and no future, no whims or illusions except for that which was tangible, real, and nothing would ever be more real than the sound of Frieza’s cold, slimy neck cracking triumphantly beneath his lethal hand when he ultimately became strong enough to end his Master’s repugnant life. Frieza’s death was now the sole purpose of his existence, the golden goal that motivated him to keep going whenever things got hard and the whole world crumbled around him, burying him underneath its crippling weight and making him feel as if he could barely breathe anymore.          

That is, of course, until she’d walked right into his life…

Bulma.

The ravishing woman who was supposed to be a meaningless one-night stand and, in the end, had turned his bleak, monotonous world upside down. All he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first laid eyes on her was to conquer her, to possess her, to take as much pleasure as he could from that flawless, supple body and then leave her behind evermore once he’d had his fill of her.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Surely, Vegeta’d had the unnerving suspicion, right from the start, that this unique creature was unlike any other female who’d ever crossed his path. But his oversized Saiyan ego had taken charge, as usual, lying to him, slyly tricking him into believing that he had matters under control and that, even if he ended up enjoying the exotic little earthling too much for his own good, he’d be strong-willed enough to turn around and walk away before trouble ensued and he irreparably lost himself in her.

But one night had turned into two, and two nights had become three and, before he knew it, he’d seen Bulma on five occasions; every single time he’d been off-duty ever since their first intimate encounter had taken place.

She’d developed into an addiction…

A shameful, uncontrollable addiction he’d gladly succumbed to without even bothering to put up a real fight, like a nectarous, poisonous drug coursing wildly through his veins and hopelessly pervading his senses.

The erotic dreams he’d fantasized about, before he’d had his first chance to take her, had now been replaced by the dangerously vivid memories of the enthralling way in which the woman had instinctively responded to his wicked touch. While Nappa spent his nights nostalgically reminiscing about some ancient tales no one even cared about anymore, Vegeta had become frighteningly good at mastering the art of disengaging from reality, evoking every impurely explicit detail of the nights he’d shared with Bulma.

The magnetic siren had come to be his most cherished distraction, a blazing spark of blue erupting into his consistently grey world. Discovering the comforting warmth of her body had made his lonely nights seem a little colder, and everything felt flavorless after having run his depraved tongue across every delectable curve of her anatomy, her distinctive, honeyed taste forever imprinted in his mouth.    

All he’d ever looked for in a woman was release, just a single night of wild, mindless sex, with no names, no explanations and no promises; a few mind-numbing hours where he could unleash his pent-up rage and forget about the outside world and the cosmic joke of a life he’d been forced to endure.

But this time, things were different.

It’d always been exceedingly easy for him to let go of a woman, often forgetting their humdrum names before he was even done getting dressed in the morning. But, when it came to Bulma, the more he took, the more he wanted, and nothing seemed to ever appease his gluttonous Saiyan appetites. His life was now a bizarre routine of death, destruction and the almost masochistic obsession of recalling those ardent, unbelievable nights of pleasure, with agonizing wealth of detail, over and over again. 

By the end of their first encounter, he had her trembling in his arms, madly screaming his name…

The Prince would never forget the way she felt underneath him, trembling like a leaf in nervous anticipation. Bulma’s distinctive scent told him she wasn’t untouched, but her oddly charming timidity clearly revealed her inexperience and, for some strange reason, knowing that she hadn’t been with too many men before him, pleased him immensely.

“Remember, this is just a fuck. Nothing more…” he whispered hoarsely against her lips, secretly wondering whether he was actually warning the shivering belle beneath him or himself.

Bulma’s eyes widened slightly, but she immediately nodded demurely in agreement, the tiny palms of her clammy hands pressed against his broad chest, silently begging him to move gently as she felt his thick cock entering her. He gladly obliged, making use of his masterful self-control, furiously clenching his teeth at the tight wetness engulfing him, fitting him like a warm, delicious glove as he took his time with her. He fucked her slowly, excruciatingly slowly, proudly taking pleasure in the heavenly way in which her soft form gradually relaxed, moaning and shuddering in need as she took all of him and begged for more.

By the end of the night, the nails of those shy, insecure little hands ended up fervently scratching his muscled shoulders, clinging to him for dear life as he frantically thrusted into her, again and again, in feverish desperation. Morning found them with Bulma’s head hanging off the edge of her narrow bed, a waterfall of damp, turquoise curls touching the floor and her now raspy voice repeatedly hollering his name, sounding like the sweetest of melodies to his ears.

When the first rays of sun brightly entered her small apartment, cruelly announcing that the fantasy was over, he finally let go of her, with the dejected reluctance of a child who was being forced to stop playing with his new favorite toy.

No words were exchanged while Vegeta got dressed and, as he exited her place, he stood for a few hesitant minutes on her balcony, unable to leave her behind without shamefully taking one last look at her. He found her still lying indolently on the bed, staring at him with exhausted but questioning eyes and that gorgeous, voluptuous figure temptingly half-covered by the torn sheets.

She was perfect.

And in that moment, as they exchanged that final, silent glance, both lovers knew he’d come back for more.         

By the end of their second encounter, her inhibitions had loosened up…

He’d met Bulma in her lab, too impatient to wait until night came in order to see her again. Much to his dismay, the woman wasn’t alone anymore after having been assigned some kind of assistant due to how remarkably pleased his superiors were with her work. So, the Saiyan sat quietly by her side, pretending to inspect her craftsmanship as she worked on his scouter with skillful but a tad edgy hands. Vegeta couldn’t help but smirk crookedly at the woman’s excitability, both relieved and elated to see that his presence still had such a potent effect on the beautiful earthling, knowing that she’d undoubtedly still be willing to give herself to him once again.

This time, when the scientist was done fixing the small device and it was time for him to request a brand-new armor, Vegeta chose to join her instead of waiting for her in the main area as he’d done in the past, muttering some pathetic excuse about him wishing to ‘choose the model himself’. The knowing look in her impatient blue eyes and the adorable way in which she unconsciously bit her lower lip, told him that she’d cleverly understood his impish intentions, and she simply assented, asking him to follow her in the most formal, collected manner she was able to muster in the presence of others.

The warrior walked through the cold hallway, following her closely like some silly, lovesick teenager as her unique scent overwhelmed him, luring him and making him feel, in some peculiar way, as if he were coming home, returning to something that belonged to him and him alone. Once they were at a safe distance from privy ears, Bulma halted her steps and, for a fleeting moment, panic and disappointment overcame him when he saw her actually looking through the countless sets of armor hanging from the metallic walls. But, when her shaky hands gripped one of the hard objects for far too long and she finally turned towards him with that irresistible mixture of coyness and desire swimming in her eyes, he knew triumphantly that his first instinct had been right.

“You… You came back…” Bulma whispered shyly, blushing prettily at the sight of the victorious smirk already adorning the Saiyan’s lascivious lips.

Vegeta wasted no time, grasping her wrists possessively and pushing her back against the cool walls, just the way he’d done it back in her apartment.

“Did you miss me, little Bulma?” He asked huskily against her lips, lifting her arms above her head and kissing her hungrily, grunting in satisfaction when she immediately responded, eagerly opening her mouth for him and delicately caressing his tongue with her own, making him realize in shame just how much he’d truly missed her.

Once he found the strength to let go of her thin wrists, he expertly unzipped her heavy overalls, devouring with dark, predatory eyes, the sight of her almost naked body underneath, clad only in a lace black bra with matching panties. Bulma’s shabby underwear had definitely seen better days, but the mouthwatering body wearing it was looking better than ever. She gasped in avid anticipation when one of his rough hands travelled across her abdomen, tracing a sensuously slow path towards that secret place he’d come to know so well, right between her thighs.

“You didn’t answer me, woman…” Vegeta whispered mockingly, leisurely running his middle finger over the old fabric of her panties, his eyes never leaving hers. “Did you miss me?” He asked again, delighting in the way her body quivered and her full mouth anxiously gasped for air, already too excited to form a coherent sentence other than the desperate moan that escaped her lips when he introduced one thick finger inside of her, lazily moving it in and out and savoring the indecent sounds of her wet little pussy while he worked her mercilessly.

Oh, yes…

She was ready for him.

She’d always be ready for him…

“Oh, Bulma… I’m hurt…” Vegeta kept taunting her in a hushed whisper, having far too much fun tormenting the sweet, innocent woman now clinging precariously to his shoulders with desperate hands. “You don’t want to confess that you missed me?” He asked again, curling his diabolical finger and hitting just the right spot. Her head instantly fell back, hitting the wall with a loud bang as a chocked sob left her throat and her tiny fists clutched the fabric of his shirt. “That much… Uh?” He chuckled proudly, never ceasing his torturous ministrations.

“Y-Y-You… Y-You a-asshole…” She groaned pitifully, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, knowing that if he kept fingerfucking her like this she’d cum on his hand any minute now.

“I knew it…” Vegeta smirked maliciously, covering her blasphemous mouth with a large, calloused hand. “I fucking knew it…” He whispered once more, pressing his already damp brow against her own and looking her right in the eye. “You’re just a vulgar little wench, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened in shock and offence, and her small teeth sank furiously into the palm of his hand, her sudden defiance surprising even her. Vegeta hissed in a frenzy, his cock already hard as a rock as he pressed his big hand even harder against her angry lips. “You’re going to pay for that…” He threatened heatedly, removing his fingers from her warmth and yanking at the collar of her work clothes with one hand as he kept her mouth shut with the other. “Take your fucking clothes off for me, Bulma…” He ordered menacingly.

And she did.

Jittery hands reluctantly letting go of him, knowing that her wobbly legs wouldn’t support her weight much longer. Those very same hands clumsily removing her dirty overalls while he kept her pinned against the wall, forbidding her from muttering a single word against him.

She couldn’t even remove her boots when he lifted her off the ground, grabbing her by her plump little ass and waiting until she’d firmly trapped his hips between that glorious pair of long legs before he released her, pulling her damp underwear to the side and ramming his swollen dick into her, thrusting madly inside of her as she kept groaning and whimpering against his hand.

He couldn’t understand it.

It was impossible for such a woman to exist...

That small, fragile body holding onto him, writhing and squirming underneath his savage touch; her otherworldly blue eyes, furious and wild, but begging, begging for him to never stop this, this… Whatever this was that was happening between them… So he kept going, pushing, shoving, plunging viciously into her with bruising force until her climax hit her like a tidal wave and her insolent mouth bit his hand again, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, getting lost in the uncontrollably intense pleasure. He soon followed her, her tight, wet cunt greedily milking every single drop of his hot cum as he spilled himself violently right inside of her. 

Vegeta held her against the wall for a moment, waiting for both of them to cool down before reality would force them to let go of each other yet again. There was a strange satisfaction in losing control like this, in knowing, with absolute certainty, that he held just as much power over this woman as she held over him. When he finally uncovered her mouth, he feared the words that would come out of her, but Bulma remained silent instead, smiling idly at him and grabbing the neck of his shirt, pulling him closer for one final, languid kiss.

The most delicious part was seeing her getting dressed and rearranging that shimmery mass of blue curls, composing herself in order to face her assistant again. It was as if they both shared the most forbidden of secrets. When they returned to her lab and she gave him his old scouter back under the astonished eye of the stranger in the room, their fingers touched for an instant, and she smirked lewdly at him, letting him know that, this time, she was the one who wasn’t done with him yet.     

And she wasn’t.

When he landed on her balcony on that very same night, she was already waiting for him, ready to seek some sweet, sweet revenge. The moment she tugged him by his armor and demanded that he took it off, he knew he’d awaken a brazen, carnal side of her that no other man had ever had access to. And he gladly complied, quietly undressing for her and offering no resistance whatsoever when she pushed him on the bed and crawled atop of him, like an obscene little kitten getting her claws ready to embark on a dangerous hunting session.

She rode him indecently, her hips grinding, flouncing like the most exotic of dancers. Hazy blue eyes gazing defiantly right into his, nails raking across his hot, drenched chest, playfully grazing and pinching his hardened nipples as she kept pushing his body relentlessly, driving him over the edge. And just as she felt his cock twitching, ready to burst inside of her, she stopped, her tight balminess cruelly abandoning his engorged arousal and making him whimper pitifully at the loss of her warmth.

“Do you miss me now, Prince Vegeta?” She whispered provocatively against his panting mouth.

His entire body trembled in need, shaky hands itching to touch her, to grab those creamy hips of hers and lift her body, impaling her right on top of his dick and show her who was truly in charge here.

He could kill her. He knew it, and so did she, and yet she kept playing with him, staring at him with unnerving confidence, as if she knew he’d never hurt her for some unexplainable reason, a reason his dazed mind didn’t even wish to consider right now. But he found himself taking pleasure in the sensual enjoyment of her radiant face, and in the fact that such a powerless creature would defy him in such a bold manner. So he waited, lusting for her, enduring the torture of her smooth slickness as she kept rubbing her clit against him, selfishly seeking her own gratification and tempting him, caressing his inflamed erection with her womanhood and ultimately denying him that final taste of release over, and over, and over again, until his pride gave up on all resistance and he surrendered to her wicked witchcraft.

“W-Woman…” Vegeta groaned gruffly, his lips dry, fingers digging so hard into the top of her milky thighs he could almost feel the bruises forming in her soft flesh. “F-Finish it…”

And sweet Heavenly Gods, that smile…

That smug, glorious smile of triumph on her lips was worth every single second of suffering and humiliation he’d agreed to be subjected to. She graciously lifted her hips once more, allowing him to enter her, chewing on her lip as she rode him, his tail possessively wrapped around her narrow waist, its tip taunting and stimulating her bud as he filled her up completely, screaming like a wild beast when her tight little pussy contracted around him, fiercely squeezing him as she orgasmed and he finally let go, savagely cumming inside of her.

Payback had never been sweeter…

By the end of their third encounter, he’d made her laugh…

They’d been lying on the bed, dozing lethargically, utterly spent after a particularly mind-blowing session of steamy, passionate sex. At some point during the night, Bulma had rolled on her side and he’d lazily imitated her actions, pressing his chest against the lush skin of her back, one of his large hands on top of her hip and his mischievous tail treacherously encircling her tiny waist, a gesture of intimacy he’d very rarely, almost never, allowed himself in the company of a woman.

And then it happened.

The tip of his tail twitched during his light sleep and she giggled sleepily, the cheerful, luminous sound awakening him like a flash of lightning, evoking a warm, foreign emotion inside of him. He’d never heard her laugh. Vegeta had seen her frightened or angrily disobedient, he’d caught glimpses of her aching sadness and the gloriousness of her sumptuous arousal, but he’d never truly seen her happy, not like this, not with him.

The Saiyan briefly wondered, for the very first time, if she’d always been like this in her past life, that peaceful existence so viciously stolen from her. Perhaps laughter had been common for her back then, and the more serious, subdued personality he’d been privy to was just a mask she’d chosen to wear in order to survive in her brutally hostile environment.

His suspicions were proven right when, just as she felt him reticently unwrap his furry appendage off her petite form, Bulma looked at him from above her shoulder, smiling softly at him.

“No… Please…” She pleaded in a childish whisper, scrunching her nose charmingly. “Do it again… It’s so cute…”

Cute.

The blasted word he’d also heard for the very first time that night, and which he quickly learnt was one of her favorite terms when it came to describing him. Apparently, everything about him was ‘cute’, from his ‘cute little butt’ to his ‘cute grumpy frown’, and slowly but surely, the Prince was privileged enough to become the only one able to share and, much to his shame to enjoy, a more relaxed, joyful side of the beautiful woman.

After a few unsure minutes, as soon as Bulma’s deep breathing announced that she’d fallen back asleep, he hesitantly wrapped his tail around her midriff once again. And when the naughty, fuzzy tip tickled her, this time on purpose, and his lover’s girlish giggles inundated the room, Vegeta was unable to erase the ghost of the smile drawing itself on his lips as he brushed them against her velvety shoulder.        

By the end of their fourth encounter, she’d stolen a secret from him…

He’d seen her stand languorously from the bed, the sound of her bare feet padding softly on the cold tiles as she walked to the bathroom, grabbing an empty glass and filling it up with tap water, drinking thirstily from it.

Even though he’d been covering his face tiredly with his forearm, pretending not to be paying her any mind, he couldn’t take his damned eyes away from her. Every insignificant thing Bulma did or said, every feminine movement, every graceful gesture, every soft word that came out of her pretty mouth made him secretly marvel that this odd little creature had somehow become a part of his dreary world.

So, she’d come back to him, still holding the now half-empty glass in one hand and cutely wiping off the moisture from her lips with the back of the other. After Vegeta grunted in quiet refusal when she’d offered to share her cooling drink with him, Bulma simply shrugged, leaving the glass on her nightstand and laying back on the bed. She stretched languidly, with no inhibitions and a deep, satisfied hum, completely relaxed by her lover’s side as she closed her eyes and reveled in the sweet remnants of her last wave of intense pleasure. It’d become almost a routine for them, those few moments sharing long, comfortable silences until they were ready to engage in another round of senseless fucking and dirty talk.

But this time, Bulma turned slowly to the side, reaching for the scouter that rested patiently on her small piece of furniture, and she held it in her hands, her fingers twirling and exploring it, examining the old relic with snooping, almost amused eyes and shaking her head with a tiny chuckle.

“So…” She finally whispered, breaking the silence in the room, her eyes never leaving the small device in her hands. “What’s the deal with this old thing? Why won’t you get rid of it?”

Whatever made him answer the way he did, he didn’t know, but Vegeta’s secret escaped his lips before he actually had the time to consider the consequences of his fiercely guarded revelation.

“It was my father’s…” He confessed in a voice so low she could barely hear it, almost immediately cursing himself for letting his guard down. When Bulma didn’t utter another word, he finally caved in and opened his weary eyes, grudgingly looking at her with curiosity.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he discovered, for the way the soft-hearted girl was staring at him, looking at him in a way no one, absolutely no one, had ever looked at him before. Is was as if she were seeing him for the very first time, as if he’d just unveiled a part of himself he’d never been fearless enough to bare in front of anyone.

They remained that way for countless minutes and, by the time Bulma’s misty eyes returned to the only object Vegeta’s father had ever left for him, she looked at it with brand new eyes, carefully running her long fingers across it one final time before depositing it on top of her nightstand with utmost care, as if she were handling the most precious treasure she’d ever come across.

When Bulma crawled on top of him, her tousled blue hair cascading over his chest and framing that gorgeous face of hers, she leaned down and kissed him lovingly, engaging their mouths in a long, drawn kiss. And if he hadn’t known any better, if he hadn’t had the absolute, inalienable conviction that a murdering bastard like him didn’t deserve such a gift, he could have sworn he could taste the compassion pouring from her lips and right into his blackened soul.

By the end of their fifth encounter, he did the one thing he’d never done, not even once, in his entire lifetime: he made her a promise…

Bulma’d been standing by the doorframe of her small bathroom’s entrance, freshly showered, glistening water drops dripping from her still damp hair and an old pink towel enveloping her perfect naked form. She’d been gawking at him the same way she always did in the morning, with that girlish fascination that made his chest shamefully swell with pride, admiring every single muscle of his vigorous body as he got dressed, and with that unnerving tinge of disappointment that Vegeta had come to know far too well by now. The woman made him believe, even without words, that she’d miss him, almost as if she missed him already way before he’d actually parted from her.

And then Bulma muttered a question she’d never risked asking before, the one question that would truly and irreparably change things between them from that moment on.

“When are you coming back?” She whispered shyly, her pale hands anxiously clutching her towel as she expected his reply, like a prisoner awaiting a sentence that could potentially shatter her life.  

Vegeta inhaled sharply through his nose as he adjusted his boots, his mind racing at a million miles per hour, trying to choose his words wisely as he attempted to come up with some excuse he deemed acceptable enough. In theory, it shouldn’t have been hard. It shouldn’t have been hard at all to ask her to mind her own goddammed business, letting her know who was really in control around here and spitting out that he owed no explanations to anybody, especially to some wretched female who didn’t mean a thing to him. Every single woman he’d fucked in the past had known better than to presume that they’d ever see him again, much less having the gall to demand an exact date on when their next encounter would take place.

A date was tangible, something that could be numbered, limited, something that would make things real between them.

The promise that he’d return to her…

So, the Prince took a deep breath, getting ready to give the presumptuous woman a piece of his mind. But, one look at those turquoise eyes, simulating indifference but drowning in hopeful expectation, made him instantly bite his tongue at the painfully shocking realization that he’d genuinely hurt her if he just dismissed her the way he would if she were just some common hussy.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t hurt her.

And he didn’t even want to know why he was incapable of causing her any pain. All he knew was that there was only one possible response that would alleviate his lover’s apprehension.

‘Target: Planet Quo-148 – 3 Days to reach destination – 2 Day purging mission – 3 Days to return’

Vegeta stood in front of her, drinking in her ethereal beauty with unreadable eyes, as he always did right before he was about to abandon her, fearing that this would be the last time he’d ever see her. After all, if there was one piece of wisdom he’d acquired through the years, it was the total inevitability that nothing lasted, and that a warrior like him should never, under any circumstances, take anything or anyone for granted.

“Eight days,” he finally revealed in the most neutral voice he could muster.

The sheer joy in Bulma’s eyes, her gentle smile and the maddeningly tender way in which she caressed his cheek, making his skin burn in sweltering need, made him realize he’d made the right choice.

“Be careful…” She whispered with honest concern in her voice, her fingertips indolently tracing the contours of his jaw one final time, as if she were committing them to memory until they’d be reunited again.

Careful.

He was about to annihilate the entire population of some godforsaken rock in the middle of Space and she was worried, worried about him.

And the most preposterous thing was that it felt good. It felt surprisingly good to know there was someone, anyone, but particularly a kind-hearted creature like Bulma, who was truly and deeply concerned about him. Wishing him well, in spite of knowing just what kind of a heartless monster he was and the horrible, despicable acts he committed for a living.

It felt unbelievably good to know that she’d be waiting for him to come back to her…   

And now here he was, proudly standing by the door of the building where Bulma’s lab was located, his arrogant, indifferent stance poorly concealing the skittish nerves that fluttered in his stomach whenever he was about to meet his flirtatious little minx once again.

At the beginning of this peculiar arrangement, when their illicit affair had first started, he’d often hesitated for hours on end before finally caving in and visiting the woman, like a rowdy brat about to play mischief, but secretly knowing just how wrong his actions really were. But now, as Vegeta walked confidently into the edifice, he did so with the full acceptance of the humbled addict who’d given up on any resistance, gladly surrendering, sealing up his fate and desperately seeking to get his fix, the poisonous nectar that emanated from her and her alone, helping him fall into oblivion, getting lost within her welcoming body and making his demons go away, if only for a few blissful hours at a time.

The place’s ambiance felt different, definitely quieter than usual. And the first thing the Prince noticed, not without a sigh of relief, was that his lover’s friend, the blonde psychopath who pretended to work there too, was not sitting by the reception’s desk, which was now oddly empty instead. ‘No matter…’, he thought to himself, shrugging carelessly. The crazy woman’s absence didn’t bother him just as long as he found Bulma right where she was meant to be, eagerly awaiting him and ready to fall into his arms. Besides, ever since his first night together with the blue haired scientist, and based on the cheeky looks that Launch threw him every time he visited his lover’s workplace, Vegeta’d had the unnerving suspicion that Bulma had shared certain details about their private affair with her best friend. The Saiyan didn’t possess much knowledge on what was it that females discussed when they were alone together, but he figured that perhaps they had a thing for disclosing intimate information to each other about their personal relationships with men.  

With great self-assurance, he stepped into the long corridor that separated the hall from the cold laboratory, only to grimly find out that the woman wasn’t there either, discovering only her new assistant, that small green alien who’d been assigned to work by her side some weeks earlier, in her place. At the sound of the warrior’s footsteps, the shorter man quickly turned around, immediately recognizing the Saiyan killer, something he’d done way before he’d gotten used to seeing him hanging around Bulma whenever he needed repairs done in his scouter. Vegeta was regarded, after all, as one of the strongest, most dangerous members of Frieza’s army, so the petrified manner in which his woman’s subordinate was observing him was something he was quite used to by now. 

“P-Prince Vegeta,” the alien stuttered, greeting him with utmost respect as he bowed slightly. “W-What can I do for you, Sir?”

The Saiyan walked a few steps into the room, arms firmly crossed over his chest as he examined the place angrily, his sharp eyes twisted in a scowl so fierce that would put fear into the heart of the King of Hades himself.

“Where’s the woman?” He simply asked.

“Th-The woman? Wh-What woman?” The assistant replied nervously, swallowing a thick, uneasy lump in his throat.

“The woman,” he snarled menacingly, already losing his patience as he struggled to ignore the sensation of pure panic arising inside of him. “The woman who works here! You stupid moron! Where is she?!”

The green man’s eyes widened, his fear towards the murdering warrior standing beside him growing by the second as he nervously stammered his reply. “Uh… Oh! Uh… Sh-She… Uh… Sh-She… W-Well something… S-S-Something happened... And… Uh…”

“Alright! I’ve had enough of this shit!” Vegeta roared furiously, grabbing the man by his short neck and lifting him off the ground. “Where the fuck is the woman?!”

“Sh-She’s d-dead!” The alien yelled in fright, eyes squeezed shut, terrified, waiting for the Saiyan to end his life any minute now.

Silence.

The most unsettling, chilling silence floated in the air while the warrior’s hysterical mind assimilated the disturbing news.

She was dead.

Bulma, his Bulma, was dead...

He should be thankful, grateful that fate had finally made the choice to get rid of the alluring woman for him, because the Gods knew he’d been too pathetically weak to walk away from her on his own. She’d been a distraction, a mere diversion who’d been meant to be just a sexy little dolly to play with for a night, but who’d slowly but implacably taken control of him, disrupting his life in ways he’d never imagined.

And now she was gone.

That was it.

It was time to go, time to turn around, exit this blasted place and get ready to forget. And yet, he felt sick, literally physically ill at the thought of never seeing Bulma ever again; and he wanted, needed, to know what exactly had happened to her, as if the knowledge of every scabrous, morbid detail would somehow keep the woman still close to him.

“How?” He demanded in a gruff, intimidating voice, still holding the green alien by the neck. “How did she die?”

“Sh-She… She was k-killed, my Prince…” The smaller man susurrated, still shaken and utterly confused as to why this terrifying mercenary showed so much interest in the particulars of the murder of such an insignificant being.

Vegeta took in a big breath, his mouth dry, fighting to keep his murderous instincts at bay. He knew that Frieza’s scientists were usually off bounds, which meant that killing the dwarf idiot in cold blood was, most likely, not a very bright idea.

“Who?”

“Wh-Who…? Wh-Who what, my P-Prince?”

The Saiyan’s lethal fingers dangerously tightened around the alien’s neck, who was now precariously gasping for air, his short legs wriggling frantically in the air.

“Who killed her?! You idiot!!”

“Oh… Oh! I… Uh… I don’t know, m-my Prince! J-Just some… S-Some warrior from L-Lord Frieza’s a-army… I… I’d never… N-Never seen him bef-before…!”

Vegeta’s dark eyes squinted in rage and skepticism, slightly cooler than before but not yet satisfied with the dwarf’s vague replies.

“How?”

“Wh-What?”

“How did she die?” He enquired once more, throwing the man on the ground, his mouth curling into a repulsed sneer at the deplorable sight of the man nervously running his shaky hands all over his throat and releasing short puffs of air, relieved to have been spared by the Saiyan Prince.

“I… I don’t know, S-Sir… We just… We heard some noise, j-just some people y-yelling and it just… We j-just run to the… To the entrance... But it was too late…” The green alien sighed erratically, shaking his head in frustration. “It… It was too late… There was blood… Blood everywhere and she… She was gone… Just… Just gone…”

Vegeta run his hands crossly across his face, molars grating, chest tightening at the thought of his lover’s radiant, lifeless body, laying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood, brutally murdered by one of his Master’s soldiers. He was livid, both at the news of Bulma’s death and at the incredibly foreign emotions flowing through him right now. He should be pleased that the woman, a mere liability, had left his life for good, but all he could feel was an unprecedented fury taking over, not only at the depressing thought of never seeing that adorable face ever again, but at the impotence of not being able to, at the very least, find out who her killer was so he could avenge her death.

He truly was the most pathetic excuse for a warrior who’d ever lived…  

“Prince Vegeta,” the alien interjected, regaining some of his confidence back now that the Saiyan seemingly had no intention of ending his miserable life. “Is there…? Is there any way in which I may assist you, S-Sir?”

The warrior’s lips twitched in disgust, wanting nothing more than to leave that lousy laboratory as soon as possible. The entire goddamned place still smelled of her, of that balmy, enticing scent he’d never be able to drown into ever again…

“No,” he replied stoically, turning on his heels and heading for the exit door.

“If… If it makes you f-feel any better, Sir, it was just… Just a matter of time…”

Vegeta stopped dead in his tracks, his nostrils flaring irately. Perhaps he’d end up killing the green prick after all. “What did you just say?” He asked quietly, his back still turned on the alien dwarf.

“The woman. Sh-She was trouble…” He whispered timidly. “Always… A-Always yelling and swearing at everyone. I… We… We always thought that she’d… Well… I guess she finally crossed the wrong person…”

Vegeta set his eyes on the assistant one final time, entirely perplexed by the fool’s description of his dead lover.

It didn’t make any sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He spat out in angry disconcert, a rare spark of hope emerging within his soul. “Always yelling and swearing at everyone?”

“Y-Yes, Prince Vegeta… Th-The woman…” The shorter man carried on, not fully understanding what was happening anymore. “Th-The blonde… The b-blonde woman…”

The Saiyan’s ruthless eyes widened, finally comprehending what had actually transpired in his absence and feeling that tiny spark of faith grow bit by bit.

“The blonde woman is the one who got killed?” He asked, hardly able to hide the expectation in his tone.

“Y-Yes Sir, I believe… I believe her name was Launch, my Prince…”

“What happened to the other one?”

“Wh-What other one?”

“The other woman! You stupid asshole!” Vegeta yelled impatiently, his rage planting fear in the green dwarf’s heart once more. “The one with blue hair!!!”

“Oh! Right! Yeah… She… She must be at home I suppose…” The weaker man promptly explained.

“At home?” The Prince asked distrustfully, a doubtful scowl crossing his stern face. “You mean…? You mean she’s still alive?”

The alien nodded anxiously in confirmation. “Oh, yes Prince Vegeta! Very much so!”   

Vegeta’s eyes closed fleetingly as he exhaled a harsh, ragged breath, his body slumping slightly as he digested the good news in disbelief; disbelief that the Gods, the very same Gods who’d humiliated and made a game out of his entire existence had, for some inexplicable reason, chosen to be lenient this time.     

Alive.

His Bulma was alive...

“She saw e-everything…” The assistant quietly clarified, fidgeting restlessly with his hands. “When we… When we heard the noise, sh-she run and she saw her…”

“What happened to her?”

“They s-sent her home for a… For a few days…” He stuttered. “Th-Those weaker races… Y-You know how it is… Th-They get attached to each other…”

He knew.

He knew it oh too well…

Vegeta knew just how strong the emotional bonds formed between certain beings from weaker races could be. He’d witnessed them himself, more often than he cared to admit, during his unceasing purging missions. The terrified faces of those deplorable creatures, pathetically clinging to each other, at times, even offering themselves, willing to sacrifice their own miserably insignificant lives if their beloved ones were spared instead. To a Saiyan warrior like him, such attachments were incomprehensible, a mere nuisance, a heavy burden that could only slow someone like him down. The only sentimental bond he’d ever believed in, somehow, was the Eternal Saiyan Bond he’d heard Nappa chronicle whenever the old man had shared his old tales with him. Even then, the concept itself was so amazingly foreign and outlandish to the Prince that he’d never even considered the possibility of being involved in such a union, especially taking into account that there were no more Saiyan females left in the Universe anyway.

And yet…

He conjured up the image of Bulma’s discovery of her best friend’s dead body, her shock and grief sickeningly real in his mind. He himself had recently experienced the loss of one of the last remaining members of his race and, despite the fact that he’d always treated Raditz as being inferior in status, he grudgingly had to admit that it’d been a significant loss indeed. Especially considering that Nappa’s skills in combat had been less than stellar lately, and whether the old man was slipping due to his age, or because he’d long ago lost some of his Saiyan fiery passion for battle, Vegeta lived with the haunting premonition that sooner or later he’d end up completely alone.

But he wasn’t alone today.

Not yet…

Before the irksome dwarf opened his irritating mouth again, he left the lab without a single word, taking flight as soon as he exited the building in the direction of his lover’s home, unable to elude the fearful thoughts of what he’d have to face when he was finally reunited with her.

*********************************************

He found Bulma on her small balcony, sitting on an old chair, her feet on top of the seat, slender arms wrapped around the long legs pressed against her chest. The night was falling, and she seemed to be trying to make the most of the few sunrays left before darkness would force her to retreat into her modest apartment.

She was the living image of melancholy, not even flinching when his dusty boots touched the ground and he stood impassively, arm-crossed, by her side. Reds, oranges and purples embellished her translucent skin as she kept staring at the horizon with the most heartbroken eyes he’d ever chanced upon. And yet, despite her painfully evident sorrow and those lightly swollen eyes, reddened from crying, there was a quiet dignity about her, a delicate gracefulness in the way she carried herself; in that swan-like neck, her back standing straight and those sad blue eyes which kept avoiding his, lithe fingers softly clutching the sleeves of the timeworn, pink sweatshirt that could barely conceal her natural elegance.

“You know…” Bulma finally whispered, a forlorn sigh escaping her lips. “My place has a door. Maybe you could use it sometime…”

Vegeta’s lips remained sealed, feeling entirely out of his element as his stormy eyes kept piercing the alluring woman with transparent curiosity.

There was something about her…

Something he couldn’t quite grasp, but which was driving him absolutely insane. Those brief moments when he’d thought her dead had ignited a sizzling spark within his soul, a scorching fire consuming him at the mere idea of losing her.

Loss.

Loss was something he’d endured only once in his lifetime, so many years ago that the grief itself had faded away by now, its harrowing fervor vanishing, seeping through his criminal fingers until all that remained was his own solitude. He liked it that way, because a man who owned nothing had nothing to lose, no pain, no heartache, no troubles. And this woman, this bewitching little creature was not his to lose.

She belonged to nothing and no one, just like him.

And yet, as ludicrous as it sounded, he’d started to think of her as his property, his own private piece of Heaven, a secluded, sacred place he could retreat into, seeking that reassuring, peaceful oblivion only she could bestow upon him. And that unfamiliar selfishness did nothing but grow and grow, like an overpowering, greedy monster, unforgivingly taking control of his already broken spirit.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…” Bulma confessed in a somber murmur. “I always knew it would happen eventually, I just…” She shrugged with gloomy dejection, shyly lowering her eyes. “I don’t know… I guess I wasn’t ready…”

Vegeta’s silence stretched awkwardly, his crossed arms tightening. He felt like a fool, like a useless, unworthy fool as the sheer agony in her voice punched him right in the gut. He wanted her to look at him, to set those marvelous blue eyes, the very same ones which had been haunting his darkest fantasies for days on end, on him.    

When she did, taking mercy on him at last, he suddenly wished she hadn’t.

She smiled at him...

A devastatingly warm, understanding smile, as if she knew just how incompetent a warrior like him, a man of deeds not of words, was feeling in that moment. And the fact that she was the one trying to make him feel better baffled him, making him feel even worse.

“Prince Vegeta with nothing to say…” Bulma joked sadly, pressing her cheek against her bare knee, never erasing that pained smile off her lovely face as she looked him right in the eye. “You’re not even going to say ‘I told you so’?’”

This time it was his turn to avoid her gaze, like the coward he really was, unable to withstand those tender, compassionate eyes. He turned his face to the side, deepening his fierce scowl in a foolish attempt at hiding his bewilderment. Night was taking over, those flaming sunset colors gradually morphing into the coldest of blues, losing their warm spark, the same bright spark his woman seemed to have lost since the death of her one and only friend.  

“I see…” The earthling sighed with quiet acceptance.

Bulma stood on her feet, stretching languidly as she took in a deep breath, calmly savoring the crisp air of the night. “I guess it’s time to get down to business, then…” She concluded with discomforting casualness, already leaving the warrior’s side without even granting him one final glance. “Just let me take a shower…” She whispered as she walked into her apartment.

She couldn’t get too far.

Before she knew it, Vegeta’s fuzzy tail had wrapped itself around her minute wrist, holding her firmly in place.

“What is it?” Bulma asked softly, turning to face him with eyes filled with curiosity.

Their eyes met for an instant, but her anguish kept plaguing him, unnerving him, making him fear all of a sudden that perhaps he shouldn’t have even showed up in her place to begin with.

“I could leave…” He muttered, the hesitation in his rough tone betraying his self-doubt as he shamefully fixated his tormented eyes on the floor.

The earthling observed the furry tail gently twined around her arm, her sad smile widening slightly at the sight of it. Her Saiyan lover hadn’t disclosed much about his past, his race or his culture. In fact, he’d barely talked at all, except for the teasing, dirty bed-talk they’d both grown to enjoy and indulge into during their times of passionate intimacy. But something told her, based on how tightly Vegeta kept his tail wrapped around his waist at all times in public, that this was a sign of intimacy, a rare gesture of affection he only displayed in private and which she’d quickly grown to love immensely.

Despite how deeply mysterious the man who shared her bed was, there were times when Bulma could read him like an open book. Tonight, this rare insecurity of his moved her, and her heart warmed up at the incredibly considerate way in which this fierce soldier was treating her. A man in his position could have forced himself on her a thousand and one times, and yet, she’d always known Vegeta would never make her do anything she didn’t truly wish to do.

“No…” Bulma pleaded in a whisper, stepping forward and allowing her fingertips to dotingly caress his hot cheek. “I don’t want you to leave… I just…” She let out a shaky breath as her hand travelled to his masculine jaw, lifting it, delicately compelling him to look her in the eye. “I just need a moment… Is that okay?”

Vegeta nodded wordlessly, finally gathering the courage to brave her wistful gaze, cursing the moment that dainty hand abandoned his skin as she turned around again and walked into the bathroom, leaving a sloppy path of clothes behind as she openly exposed her statuesque body to him. In the past, whenever she’d undressed in his presence, she’d done so with a lascivious hint of sensuality, her slender arms removing her garments with deliberate idleness as she’d wantonly swayed her hips for him, inflaming his very soul. But this time, there was an honest indifference in her actions, as if she actually didn’t care, leaving his presence looking like a beaten soldier who’d just been defeated in the most significant battle of her life.

He sat stiffly on Bulma’s slept-in bed, noticing that Launch’s cot was now nothing more than a bare mattress, and knowing how painful facing that lugubrious sight, day after day, must have been for her. He scanned the room tiredly as the faint sounds of the running water lulled him into an odd stage of trance, running his inquiring eyes over the scarce selection of books his lover kept piled up on top of her modest nightstand. Bulma had once confessed to him that she’d already read them all, and that she kept re-reading them over and over again simply because she often suffered from acute insomnia, and burying herself into her old human stories helped her fall asleep sometimes.

Vegeta run his hands glumly over his face and wild hair, his inner agitation rising by the second as the steam of the hot shower inundated the minuscule apartment. By his woman’s bed, he discovered a half-filled glass of what he quickly identified as the only alcoholic beverage Bulma ever drank on occasion. A bittersweet, purplish drink the female had sometimes compared to an Earth drink called ‘wine’. For a passing moment, the Saiyan feared that the woman would surrender to excess, but something told him that, in spite of her obvious sorrow, she was just too smart and too goddamned stubborn to succumb to self-destruction the same way her late friend had done in the past.

As minutes grew, so did his concern and, seeing that Bulma wasn’t coming back to him, he finally chose to take a look and see what the blazes was taking so long.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pitiful spectacle awaiting him.

There she was, standing in the middle of the small shower-plate, her back facing him as she pressed her brow against the tiled walls, her thin arms wrapped protectively around herself in the same way as when he’d first found her sitting on her balcony. She was trembling all over, soft, heart-wrenching sobs leaving her lips. He could tell she was trying to avoid being overheard by him, desperately struggling to conceal her grief in a vain attempt at keeping some of her pride intact.

He should leave.

He should leave right now.

It’d been a bad idea, a stupidly bad idea, to show up in her place knowing he’d find her in such a poor condition, and yet, even though every fiber of his being implored him to walk away before this woman would end him, in one way or another, Vegeta found himself unable to do it.

He couldn’t abandon her.

Not this way.

Vegeta’s fingers kept twitching, his brain pondering restlessly about what he could possibly say to make her feel better. A warrior like him had never handled such a nerve-racking situation. He’d never had to. He wasn’t one for dealing with survivors, except the ones from his own race. He was the killer, the one who made absolutely sure that not one single being made it out alive every time he was assigned one of his sordid purging missions. The Saiyan kept reminding himself that it was for the best, that death was infinitely better than life as a slave for a monster like Frieza, and that delusional thought was the one stopping him from losing his mind whenever times got rough and he was faced with the dishonor of the appalling acts he frequently perpetrated.

Perhaps he could yell at her, demanding her to be strong and to forget all about those pathetic, weak emotions she was so clearly submitting to. He could tell her that life, being alive, was the only thing that truly mattered in the end. And, maybe, just maybe, he could lie to her, letting her know that the angst of loss would someday disappear, despite having the positive conviction that loneliness was a dark, merciless ghost that would haunt them both for the rest of their lives.

But words failed him, as usual, and before he had the chance to overthink too much, Vegeta’s hands took over, quietly undressing him, hoping that his actions would bring her the comfort his words never would.

He paced slowly in her direction, joining her inside the hot shower, both lovers surrounded by a cocoon of warm steam as he brought his naked form closer to hers. Even though the Prince kept a safe distance between their bodies, Bulma’s shivers ceased almost instantly at the sheer heat that radiated off him, that superhuman, animalistic heat she knew so well by now. Her breath hitched in her throat, deeply ashamed of her vulnerability, terrified about her lover mocking or scolding her for it.

But he did neither…

No disdainful words were pronounced by his sharp tongue. Instead, Bulma felt his large, roughed hands on her skin, his thick fingers caressing her arms, up and down, in a tenderly soothing motion. 

At first, she tried to fight that inner battle, the never-ending battle between heart and reason, instinct and intellect, which she’d always been such a slave for. There was no logical explanation behind her lover’s strangely affectionate actions and, for once, she didn’t even care. The only thing she really wanted was to forget, to escape far away from her hellish reality, losing herself in the calming touch of her dark Prince.

Vegeta’s hands kept working their magic, exploring Bulma’s petite, still lightly trembling body. Her struggles made her look so small and frail, yet so warm and inviting, that he wanted nothing more than to both protect and bury himself inside of her forever. A new sense of pride overcame him as he felt her relax, slowly surrendering to his doting ministrations. He run his calloused palms across her pale, silky back, her skin so soft and delicate that he sometimes feared his mere touch would mar it. But the way her breathing gradually slowed down, silently telling him that she liked, that she loved the forbidden things those evil hands did to her, kept him going.

His loving, unrelenting touch now reached his favorite part of her anatomy, that maddeningly feminine curve on her narrow waist. So womanly, so unlike any other female he’d ever laid his hands on, that at times he wondered whether this woman, this little earthling that fit against his muscular body as if she’d been specifically designed just for him, was even real or just a figment of his shattered imagination. But his fingertips told him she was real, here, with him, so deliciously ticklish that her skin broke into delightful goosebumps in response to his tainted touch.

And then it happened…

A quivery sigh escaped her lips and she threw her head back, succumbing at last, exposing her sumptuous, creamy throat to him as she leant against his solid chest, accommodating the nape of her neck on the curve of his shoulder. Bulma closed her exhausted eyes, the salty scent of her tears blending with the unmistakable aroma of the arousal he was stealing from her. Vegeta’s luxurious tail hugged her waist as one of his arms embraced her shoulders and his other hand wrapped itself around her throat. He traced the shell of her ear with his famished tongue, wolfish teeth carefully scraping her appetizing earlobe, making her moan and shiver in delight.

‘It would be so easy…’ He thought evilly to himself.

It would be so goddamned easy to break her little neck, snapping it in half and ending her suffering. If he had a heart, if he had any decent, merciful bone in the flawless killing machine that was his body, he’d make good use of his deadly skills and put an end to her misery in the blink of an eye, as coolly and painlessly as possible.

But he wouldn’t.

He’d never, ever, get rid of her, because he was a greedy bastard from Hell and he wanted her all to himself; eager, longing, impatiently waiting for him to come back to her whenever he left her side. It was insane, utterly irrational, and the worst part was that he knew it, just as he knew how extremely dangerous this taboo game he was playing with her could be for the both of them in the end. But, then again, nothing about the vile madness which had been his life had ever made any sense. After all, a life without danger wasn’t a life worth living.     

Vegeta felt her pulse accelerating, furiously rabbiting underneath his touch. Her life, wild and glorious, held, literally, in the palm of his hand. Bulma’s mouth opened, gasping for air the minute he pressed his half-hardened cock against the round flesh of her bottom. She tormented him in return, rubbing herself against his erection as he grunted urgently, sinking his sharp teeth on her shoulder.

She’d be the death of him, she had to be...

The way her dainty hands covered his massive ones, boldly guiding them towards her breasts, encouraging him with indecent wantonness to have his way with her. And he gladly indulged her, manly hands cupping her soft mounds of flesh, exploring, caressing, fondling them, luxuriating in her exotic warmth. His thumbs grazed her nipples, the rosy nubs hardening at his feathery touch as she kept her hands atop of his, as if she were wickedly touching herself through his own fingers.

Her sorrow faded away little by little and, when she finally looked at him again, the sad, sensual need within those oceanic eyes made his hands freeze in the spot.

“Don’t stop…” She pleaded in a desperate whisper, her hands reaching for him. She pulled him closer, petting his face and shutting her eyes, hungrily nuzzling his flushed cheek as she raised her other arm behind her, holding him and burying her hand in his hair. “Please don’t stop…”

She was begging.

Begging for him to take the pain away…

Vegeta captured her lips with his own, drinking in her sobs of bliss as his hands kneaded her breasts with more fervor, playfully tweaking her nipples in a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. Her breathless mouth left his, raining light kisses all over his jaw, her eyes closed, completely lost in the moment as he glanced hungrily at her.

She was so painstakingly beautiful. Porcelain skin now turned into a mouthwatering flushed pink from the heat, droplets of hot water cascading all over, tracing the contours of her carnal body while she devoured him, thirstily kissing and licking his caramel skin. 

“Vegeta… Please...” She whispered pitifully, her back arching under his heated touch, wriggling, twisting, rubbing herself against him in aching need.

“Please what, Bulma?” He asked hoarsely, an honest question lacking the playful tone he usually teased her with whenever he knew just how much she wanted him.

“P-Please…” Bulma whimpered again.

Vegeta licked her bottom lip, nipping it softly and piercing her with starved eyes and a raw intensity that made her knees weak with desire.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you…” He demanded in a fierce whisper, his sinful voice arousing her even more.

“I… I want you…” She begged impatiently, her fingers clutching a fistful of his hair, sending a rush of heat right into his excruciatingly hard cock. “I want you inside of me…”

The Prince kissed her again, savoring her sweetness as his hardened hands reluctantly abandoned her lavish breasts. His tail tightened even more possessively around her waist and he bent over slightly, gently encouraging his frail lover to do the same, relishing the way she moved underneath him, meshing her body beneath his own as if they were one.

He stretched his arm, firmly placing one hand on the damp tiles, looking for balance. Instinctively, Bulma did the same, her hand on top of his.

‘They were both so different…’ A wild thought hit him abruptly at the sight of her luminous hand, so tiny and delicate on top his scarred, bronzed one.

They were so incredibly different from each other that Vegeta couldn’t help but dread the day life would inevitably take her away from him, once and for all.

But today, she was all his.

And today was all that mattered…

Bulma’s short nails dug into his open hand while Vegeta’s mouth kissed and nibbled the sleek nape of her neck after she lowered her head submissively, gracefully offering herself to him as she rubbed her sex against him, allowing him to do as he pleased with her. He grunted ardently, her docile compliance feeling like the last straw, the final push he needed to take the next step that would finally bring them both release.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, teasingly caressing her smooth, rosy labia with its swollen tip. Her breathing accelerated as she raised her hips for him in silent plea, her entrance soaking wet already, tempting him, teasing him, driving him crazy with want. He’d sought to take his time with her, to fuck her slowly, delectably slowly, just as he’d done the very first time he’d taken her, but his body had other plans for him, and instinct took over when he sank into her, burying himself to the hilt deep inside of her.

“Kami!” She cried breathlessly, tightening around him immediately as she struggled to get used to the delicious pain of his immense girth.

Vegeta’s teeth clenched agonizingly, holding still for an instant, a dominant hand grasping her hip as he waited for her to take all of him. His tongue traced a slow, soothing path across her shoulders, savoring her lust and the incredible way in which she quivered underneath him. After a few moments of unbearable wait, her hips started moving leisurely against him in silent encouragement, asking him to continue, to give her what she so desperately needed.

He happily complied, tightening his hold on her and thrusting gently into her tight depths, in and out, slowly at first and, before long, increasing his pace as Bulma’s excitement grew, moving faster, begging for more as she slammed her soft bottom against him. Hot water kept pouring over their heated bodies, wet noises intermingling with the indecent sounds of their flesh touching, smashing against each other in a frenzy that grew and grew without control.

“Oh Gods… Oh… Oh Gods…!” Bulma cried, her hand squeezing the one angrily grabbing her hip. “R-Right there… Kami! Right there!”      

Her feverish words made Vegeta’s cock twitch, realizing he wouldn’t last long and, judging by the heavy sobs leaving her mouth, neither would she.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asked in a low, ragged whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

He kept fucking her, his rhythm faster and more passionate, literally taking her breath away. And all Bulma could do was assent silently, pitifully, her eyes squeezed shut as she reveled in the possessive, yet intimate way in which he was taking her.

“Good…” Vegeta replied, his husky tone laced in satisfaction, the satisfaction of seeing this gorgeous creature unraveling, surrendering to his filthy touch. “I want you to do something for me…” He demanded hoarsely, panting loudly in her ear as his cock kept slamming into her, never ceasing his punishing pace. “Will you do something for me, Bulma?”

The way he pronounced her name, almost caressing it with his lecherous tongue, ignited the flame already consuming her even further, making her nod breathlessly again.

“I want you to touch yourself…” Vegeta ordered, forcing a loud hiss out of her as he bit her earlobe. “Can you do that for me, Bulma?”

She didn’t even question him, her hungry, trembling hand abandoning the one now almost bruising her hip, reaching the swollen, deprived center of pleasure between her legs and stroking it with desperate need.

“Good girl…” Vegeta whispered approvingly. “You’re a good girl, Bulma...”

She wanted to hate him…

Oh, how she wanted to hate the bloody bastard for his blasted arrogance, for teasing her, for seducing her, for controlling her in a way he only knew how. But he felt so goddamned good she didn’t have any strength left in her. She needed him inside of her, plunging into her, stretching her like nothing and no one before and whispering those domineering, indecent words to her ear, gladly sinking her to his depraved level.

“I want you to cum for me…” Vegeta commanded, her tightness around him increasing dangerously, temptingly inviting him to join her, to spill himself inside of that irresistible body. “And I want you to tell me when you do…”

She whimpered, unbearable heat pooling within her as desire overwhelmed her, anxious fingers chasing, urgently chasing that explosion of pleasure as he rammed wildly in and out of her.  

“I… I…” She stuttered, gasping for air, getting closer and closer…

“Are you cumming for me, Bulma?” He whispered harshly, wrestling to keep whatever sense of reason he had left in his dazed mind.         

“Oh…! G-Gods! Yes… Yes!”

“Then tell me, woman…” He ordered, his hot breath on her neck, voracious teeth grazing her wet skin.

“I’m c… I’m cumming…! I…!” A hoarse cry escaped her throat as climax viciously hit her, her fingertips rubbing her clit, riding that heavenly, explosive wave for as long as she could.

In the back of her faint mind she could barely distinguish his wild noises, the triumphant roar erupting from his chest as his hand left her hip and enveloped her trembling waist before her legs gave up on her and she fell to the ground. She mewled helplessly as he kept fucking her through her orgasm, like putty in his hands, feeling him grow, swell inside her pussy as he thrusted uncontrollably, crashing his hips against hers until his last spark of self-control vanished and he finally let go, shooting his hot, thick cum inside her tight little body.

He was being punished.

He had to be…

The way she felt in his arms, growing limp in his embrace and welcoming his touch with such naive gratitude. It had to be a punishment, a terrible, grueling punishment for all the worlds exterminated and all the lives ended without a single hint of remorse.

He was a monster, a raging, despicable monster destined to spend an Eternity in the Underworld…

And now, it was payback time. Only this time, this time, retribution had chosen the diabolical shape of a small, fragile creature who was making him act and feel like some pathetic, sentimental fool.    

Vegeta pulled her even closer, holding her against him as she gradually recovered from her all-consuming climax. It was the strangest sensation, his powerful chest pressed tightly against her back, feeling, not only her heart beating strongly in unison with his, but also a rare energy, as if he could sense her spirit interlacing with his own. He’d heard stories of foreign races with the ability to sense and read each other’s ki, and he’d always dismissed such rumors as mere idiotic fantasies, and yet, he could almost feel Bulma’s life essence flowing right through him.        

Once she recuperated, she carefully helped him pull out of her warmth and she turned around, still trapped in his fierce embrace, finally facing him. The Prince took in all of her beauty, from those glossy full lips to the lovely way in which her slick hair framed her flawless features. With infuriating despair, he noticed that, as the remnants of her pleasure slowly dissipated, sadness owned her once more, dimming the light in those ethereal blue eyes that kept staring at him with girlish enthrallment.  

“May I?” Bulma asked in a shy whisper, reaching for a bar of soap and holding it in front of him in silent offer.

Bathe him.

The Holy Gods of War be damned, she wanted to bathe him…

The Prince nodded wordlessly, stunned by such an intimate proposal, and he let go of her, standing still and watching her in quiet fascination as she deftly rubbed the small object, lathering up her hands. He could hear the aching, distant echoes of his Mother’s nurturing voice, the only other woman who’d ever done this for him, singing and sharing her old Saiyan stories as she cared for him.

Bulma’s tender hands kept touching him, delicately smoothing soap bubbles all over his robust frame, tracing every hard-carved muscle, every battle-worn scar and imperfection, even his oversensitive tail, making Vegeta involuntarily shiver in enjoyment. After she was done with his body, she gently encouraged him to throw his head back and let her wash his hair. He had absolutely no idea what it was that came out of the little bottle she’d been holding, but its mild herbal scent and those long, skillful fingers massaging his scalp and detangling his black, wild mane made him feel like he’d just died and gone straight into Heaven. Once she was done, Bulma assisted him in rinsing off, her eyes widening lightly in surprise when Vegeta turned around and took the bar of soap in his hands, proceeding to do for her what she’d just done for him.   

It was utterly disturbing the way he felt, so clumsy, so inept, fearing his disfigured hands would feel too coarse on her silken skin as he bathed her. But Bulma kept smiling at him, that sad smile that disconcerted him so, making him avoid her compassionate gaze and focus on her soft body, cleansing and caressing it, exploring it in a way he never had before with any other woman. Vegeta didn’t know why, but he wanted to do this right, to make her feel just as good as she’d made him feel, and he allowed himself a tiny smirk of contentment when she closed her eyes and sighed peacefully, the sensation of his thick fingers running through her turquoise tresses bringing a blissful smile to her face.  

They finished their shower, and Bulma handled him one of her large, worn out towels, picking one for herself as well. Both lovers towel-dried quietly, sharing a long, oddly comfortable silence until the beautiful earthling offered him her hand, which he took without hesitation, cautiously lacing his fingers with hers as she guided him into the bedroom and towards her narrow bed.

Bulma lay on her side and he did the same, imitating her actions and facing her. She kept looking at him, her eyes glowing brightly in the dark, vaguely illuminated by the moonlight sneaking in through her small balcony. For countless minutes, they simply stared at each other, both drowning in confusion, realizing something was arising between them, something new and terrifying, something neither one of them had anticipated when they’d first chanced into each other’s life.

“I…” Bulma whispered timidly, a shaky voice so low even his sharp Saiyan senses had trouble hearing it. “I have to go back to work tomorrow…”

Vegeta squinted imperceptibly, that daunting sense of incompetence coming back in full force as he saw the aching sorrow written all over her. His hand reached out to her, tentatively brushing a rebellious lock of hair off her pretty face, his fingertips languidly drawing the contours of her pale cheek, cupping it with surprising tenderness.

The intimate gesture broke her at last, and the Prince witnessed in silent horror the way Bulma’s lower lip began trembling, burning, salty tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her face, now painfully etched in grief.

Finally swallowing her pride, the brave little woman got even closer to him, curling up against his broad chest and breaking into soft, quiet sobs, shuddering and hugging him shyly. Vegeta tensed up immediately, never having found himself in such a foreign situation. But soon, a rare, protective instinct took over, and he gingerly wrapped his arms around her, inwardly relieved when her arms tightened around him as well, letting him know that he’d done the right thing.

He closed his eyes and brought her closer, knowing, not only that there was nothing he could do or say that would ever ease her suffering, but that there was no rational reason why he’d ever even want to do such a thing.

She was just a fuck. Nothing more.

But this once, just this once, he could pretend. He could lie to her and to himself and pretend that he cared, and that his hands, those deadly, blood-soaked hands forged by years and years of warship and chaos, also held the mysterious power to comfort the devastated woman crying herself to sleep in his arms.

Chapter Text

She swirled the half-drunk glass of hard liquor absent-mindedly, taking one final sip before depositing it on top of the table as she got mentally prepared to accept defeat and go back home on her own.

Stupid.

Stupid Bulma…

She never thought she’d ever experience such emotions ever again. That hideously familiar oppression in her chest as she held back the tears of humiliation, and that old sense of dread and disappointment which had grown to be so common during those last few years in her relationship with her now departed fiancé.

Neglect had become the norm back then, whether it was due to her boyfriend not truly listening to her whenever she’d try to have a real conversation with him, the faded but unmistakable traces of other ladies’ perfume on his old baseball uniforms, or those mortifying moments when his eyes would lecherously wander towards other women, sometimes as she’d be literally sitting on his lap and his hands would be distractedly caressing her thighs at the same time while they had a drink at one of those grotty pubs they used to frequent so much. In the end, even after Yamcha’s marriage proposal and the consequent official announcement of their engagement, Bulma had been outright unable to get rid of that troublesome voice in the back of her mind, that niggling echo which kept haunting her, warning her, letting her know that perhaps tying her life to his would turn out to be the greatest mistake she’d ever make.

To this day, Bulma still wanted, needed to believe that Yamcha hadn’t known just how degraded he’d made her feel in those days, and that those syrupy words of affection and atonement that’d come out of his lips during their incessant lover’s quarrels were filled with real honesty, regret, and the promise of a greater understanding of each other’s needs, in hopes of building a happier future together when the time came for them to finally tie the knot.

Bulma sighed tiredly as she drew the contours of the rim of her glass with a lazy finger, her mind suffocating in gloomy, melancholic thoughts at the sad memories of a merrier life, a promising existence forever gone to never come back. When the crisp breeze of the night made her break out in goosebumps, freezing cold, she relented once and for all, leisurely standing from her chair, grabbing her small clutch and wrapping her worn shawl around herself, proceeding to walk in the direction of her small apartment in resignation.

She was a fool, a delusional, silly little fool…

There was no other rational explanation that could possibly justify the unbelievably embarrassing way in which she’d ended up deceiving herself when it came to her expectations of her Saiyan lover.

The earthling could still recall the way he’d made her feel the last time they’d been together, when he’d quietly landed on her balcony, waiting patiently for her to make the first move. Vegeta’s unusual silence told her, right away, that he’d already heard the ghastly news of her best friend’s vicious murder, and yet, he’d still chosen to visit her anyway.

Much to her shame, Bulma had to admit that the prospect of her Prince’s return had been the one thing keeping her from losing her sanity ever since Launch had abandoned this world. And yet, in spite of that tiny flicker of hope burning brightly within her soul, a big part of her had still had qualms about the way in which her mysterious Prince would react to her new circumstances, fearing him to be his usual cynically aloof self, and perhaps to mock her, even reprimand her, for yielding to her pathetic human sensibilities.

Against all odds, instead of disdainful ridicule or malicious reprove, Vegeta had revealed a side of himself she never even knew he had in him. From the incredibly considerate offer of leaving, giving her some alone time if that’s what she needed the most, to the poignant tenderness in his touch, as if he were desperately attempting to comfort her, to assuage her pain the only way he could, through actions instead of words. With one single look at him she’d noted his discomfort, how useless and inadequate a warrior like him must have felt as he’d witnessed her state of mourning. And yet, he’d tried, he’d tried the best way he could to make things better, to try to make her forget about the outside world and the sheer madness her life had become.

But it wasn’t his astounding display of physical affection what’d startled her the most, it was his heartbreakingly moving inexperience when it came to dealing with any kind of emotion. That raw vulnerability in his usually remote eyes, and his confusion when she’d shyly offered to bathe him, his athletic body tense as a bow as she’d soaped him up, cleansing him with kind hands and then, much to her surprise, seeing him trying to reciprocate, making the effort to do for her what she’d just done for him.

Bulma knew just how exposed Vegeta had felt in that moment, his helplessness being such a vast contrast with that boundless arrogance of his, that vainglorious satisfaction that she knew he experienced every time he effortlessly bent her to his will with his wicked touch. The frightening ease with which he’d awaken her sensual appetites, hopelessly giving herself to him over and over again until he’d leave her come morning, utterly sated and completely spent, like a well-used rag doll, shamefully counting the days until their next encounter would take place.     

‘This is just a fuck. Nothing more…’ He’d whispered against her lips the first time she’d volunteered to share her bed and her body with him, the brutally honest words forever engraved in her memory.  

Bulma couldn’t forget.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget the crude terms of the agreement she’d signed up for when she’d eagerly agreed to spread her legs for him, embarking in a ‘relationship’ she never, in a million years, thought she’d ever be a part of.

After all, she was Bulma Briefs, heiress to the wealthiest, most technologically advanced company on Earth. A woman like her, born and raised in affluence, had grown accustomed to the finest things money could buy, including an ample selection of eligible bachelors literally trampling each other in the pathetic hopes of getting some scraps of her very selective attention. The earthling was no fool, and she knew too well that most of those men had only seen her as a trophy, an opulently beautiful little trophy they could proudly parade around, trying to compensate for their own deplorable shortcomings. She’d detested each and every one of those idiots back in those days, regarding them as nothing more than a bunch of feeble-minded social climbers and, yet, she’d now reached a point where she’d almost kill for a gaudy bouquet of flowers, a man opening the door of some nouveau rich designer car or some tediously cheesy conversation over a medium steak and a fine bottle of red wine at a lavish restaurant.

Her Saiyan lover had done neither of those things...          

Vegeta had wasted no time in corny seduction techniques, cliched lies about eternal true love or melodramatic promises. Instead, he’d literally barged into her life, ramming his way into her body with nothing more than a roguish smirk and a pair of large, dangerously skilled hands, taking her breath away in ways she’d never thought possible. And the most terrifying part was that she loved it, she’d loved every single goddamned thing he’d ever done to her, going against her pride and her principles, arousing and exciting her again and again and leaving her begging for more. She’d wanted to blame it all on him, for taking advantage of her loneliness and naivete, but deep down Bulma knew that she had no right to do such a thing and that, in truth, she’d freely given herself to him with as much passion and intensity as he’d given himself to her.

And now here she was, drowning in a sea of confusion, questioning herself and her very integrity, wondering if that moral sense of superiority she’d been priding herself upon was nothing more than an illusion and if, in reality, she was just as immoral as all of the riffraff inhabiting that blasted place.

On their first night together, Bulma had agreed to his debauched conditions, not only because she’d frankly thought she’d never even see him again, but because her own treacherous body had betrayed her, practically doing the talking for her. When the grim light of day had finally brought them both back to reality, a flagrant tinge of regret had gotten the better of her, and she’d proudly resolved to reject him if he ever chose to come back asking for more. But, in the end, all it’d taken for the dapper Saiyan Prince was a second visit to her laboratory and a silent invitation, making her buckle under his lustful touch as he fucked her mercilessly against the cold walls. If Bulma hadn’t already known just how fiercely protective of his privacy her lover was, she could have sworn that, not only he didn’t seem to give a damn about someone, anyone, walking in and catching them in the act, but that in some twisted, egotistic way, he’d actually wanted people to hear them, to know that she belonged to him and him alone.

She shut her eyes tightly as a new rush of cold air enveloped her, a ragged breath drawing out of her lips as she battled the tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill down her pale cheeks.

It’d been so much easier…

So much easier to simply embrace this strange arrangement of theirs, grudgingly accepting that all she’d ever be able to expect from Vegeta was a handful of libertine nights filled with the most unbelievably ardent sex of her life.

But then, out of the blue, her best friend had died, and the warrior had come back to her, changing his own rules with the marvelously tender way in which he’d made her his that night.

As if he’d been making love to her…

When dawn had arrived, she’d woken up in his arms, the protective cocoon of his fierce embrace making her feel safer than anyone ever had. She’d blinked sleepily, humming softly in satisfaction as she rubbed her rosy cheek against the heat of his scarred chest, relishing in the soothing way in which one of his arms held her zealously against him as his other hand kept petting her feathery hair in a silent plea, letting her know without words that it was time for them to let go of each other at last.

It’d taken a few seconds for her recollections of their past night to fully return to her, her cheeks flushing crimson at the memories of the wondrous intimacy they’d both shared. It’d been the first night she’d been able to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber, free of the chilling nightmares and hallucinations which had become her constant companion ever since her home planet had been destroyed.

And it was all because of him...

When she’d finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye, the raw intensity in Vegeta’s gaze almost took her breath away. He was fully awake but somewhat tired, as if he’d been guarding her in her sleep, watching over her to make sure she was all right while she got some much-needed rest. They both stared at each other with the same odd curiosity of the preceding night, with the absolute certainty that something extraordinary had taken place between them, but deeply insecure about the new boundaries of their still too fragile bond.         

Bulma’s fingertips caressed his cheek with indolence, cupping it delicately and savoring these last few moments of closeness before her lover’s duties would irreparably steal him from her as they always did. Vegeta remained immobile for a few seconds, bewildered onyx eyes swimming in a deep sea of adoring blue, allowing her to do as she wished with him. When he made his next move, his massive hand gently covered hers, holding it with maddening tenderness as he slowly brought it to his chest, close to his heart, and giving it one tiny, affectionate squeeze before finally releasing it with disturbing reluctance. He let go of his little lover, gently laying her on the bed as he sat on the hard mattress, rubbing his eyes groggily and leaving Bulma’s side as he lazily picked up his old, dirty armor, still scattered all over the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

A peculiar silence floated in the air as the warrior embarked in the tedious process of getting dressed for battle. As usual, his gaze averted hers as the couple went through this strange morning routine which had become almost a ritual by now. The earthling observing him in quiet captivation, both entranced by his perfectly chiseled body and those smooth, alien movements, and Vegeta carefully constructing his galling mask of indifference, that wall of detachment he’d wisely perfected through innumerable years of practice, and which clung to him with the sleekness of a second skin.

Only this time, things were surprisingly different...

This time, as the Saiyan completed his pre-war ceremony, Bulma could sense his inner turmoil as if it were her own. His muscular frame impossibly tense, and the unsettling, quiet struggle behind those impenetrable eyes still evading her, fighting a pitiless war against himself, as if by merely looking at her, he’d actually become powerless to ever leave her side again. The entire scene had felt so surreal, so dreamlike that, against her better judgement, she’d allowed herself the dangerous luxury of letting her guard down. 

“When are you coming back?” She asked in a coy, raspy voice, her dainty fists anxiously clutching the bedsheets against her bare breasts as she sat on the bed.

It was the second time, the second time she’d ever dared to ask such an improper question, and a great part of her still couldn’t believe she’d ever mustered the courage to voice it in their last encounter. She’d almost been able to hear the wheels turning in his head that first time, the blatant rage in his frantic eyes, nostrils flaring, lips pursed in the tightest of lines, making Bulma truly fear she’d irreversibly crossed some fatal, invisible line and she’d never get to feel her lover’s touch again. In the end, her dark Prince had taken mercy on her, offering her an unexpected gift in the shape of a promise, the promise that he’d come back to her.

“Eleven days,” he’d promptly replied as he put on the breast plate of his battered armor, his stance infinitely more relaxed in this occasion, unconsciously inviting her to cross yet another line in their unusual relationship, daring her to ask for more.

“Really?” Bulma asked in breathless expectation. “So, you’ll be back in time to see the Lunar Eclipse?”

Vegeta couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow in response, both at her bizarre request and at the heartbreaking anticipation in her tone. “The Lunar Eclipse?”

“Yes…” She whispered with a timid nod. “There will be some kind… Some kind of celebration…” Bulma explained bashfully, folding her long legs and bringing her knees closer to her chest protectively as her little toes wiggled nervously underneath the messy sheets.

After a few moments looking lost in thought, the warrior assented sharply, finally recognizing the events his woman was speaking of. She was referring to the tribal dances that the very scarce native population which still worked and resided on the base was allowed to perform occasionally during their few annual festivities. Vegeta had never paid much attention to such ceremonies, often dismissing them as pointless frivolities, but he knew Frieza permitted such nonsense for two very clever reasons. One of them was to give the natives the illusion that they were still allowed to keep some of their own traditions alive, and the other one was to offer his violent, overworked troupes some much-needed entertainment, a mere excuse to socialize and indulge in even more fucking and drinking than usual. In the end, the Machiavellian goal was to give them just enough to keep them satisfied, tricking all of them into believing that they were more than meager slaves under the iron boot of some repugnant, Evil Overlord.  

She’d awaited his reaction as she always did, with the eagerness of a little girl who was about to open her brand-new presents on a sunny Christmas morning, and her prayers were finally answered when a hint of hope left his lips.

“We’ll see…” Vegeta concluded, hitting the floor a couple of times with the heel of his foot as he adjusted his boots, looking around in search of his indispensable white gloves. When he quickly located them, he grasped them in his right hand, finally daring to give his little coquette one final glance before he had to make the increasingly harder choice to walk away from her. “No promises, Bulma..." He warned her at last, with soft but firm conviction.       

The earthling nodded in understanding once more, those stunning blue eyes bursting with happiness as she extended her arm lovingly to him, waiting patiently, with the warmest smile on her face, for him to reciprocate. Vegeta’s hesitation stretched for countless seconds, and his frown of confusion soon morphed into an expression of utter shock when, after complying and holding her small hand, Bulma’s lips brushed his fingertips reverently, planting an airy kiss on his hardened skin.

“Be careful…” She implored again, her mouth curled into a smile so sweet that would bring the Gods of Wrath themselves to their knees.

Vegeta’s sturdy fingers twitched involuntarily at the balminess of her breath, and Bulma had to refrain from bursting into laughter at the sight of his throat bobbing, and those sinful lips of his openly gaping at her in surprise. When his discomfort grew to unbearable levels, she took pity on him, letting him go with one final little squeeze, just as he’d done before.

He left her side with a curt nod, an awkward clear of his throat and a pair of black, perplexed eyes, standing on her small balcony as he put on his white gloves and taking flight, breaking her heart a little at the same time, just as he always did.

‘No promises, Bulma…’ He’d said.

No promises.

At least he’d been sincere, for if there was one thing the scientist could always count on when it came to her Saiyan Prince, it was pure, unadulterated honesty. A man like him had no reason to lie; perhaps he could do so in combat, as part of some sly battle stratagem, but certainly not to a woman, much less to some puny, insignificant creature like herself, and yet, if his attitude towards her had always been acutely honest, Bulma figured that the vulnerable sensitivity he’d gifted her with during their last night together must have been real too.

Or at least, she hoped so with all her might.

‘No promises, Bulma…’

No promises.

She knew that keen overexcitement might very well end up in terrible disenchantment if her lover never showed up. Still, she’d been incapable of stifling the unexpected breath of fresh air that Vegeta’s presence had brought into her life.

So, every single night for the past three days, she’d tried to look her best, substituting greasy stains and baggy overalls in favor of an old white dress and a pair of sparkly sandals she still had stored in one of the few tiny capsules she’d been able to pack before her home world had been turned into scorching ashes.

And every single night for the past three days had turned out to be a disaster of epic proportions. Three calamitous nights spent in complete loneliness, sitting on her own and nursing a much-too-strong drink she’d never been able to finish anyway as she tried to focus on the exotic tribal dances, struggling to ignore the sinking feeling of disillusionment dreadfully tightening her chest. To make things worse, the beautiful woman had also had to deal with innumerable lewd glances, disturbing sexual propositions and a couple of alarming incidents where she’d had to resort to using her ki inhibitor in order to get rid of a couple of idiots with frisky hands. After the second episode, word had spread around that the blue haired female wasn’t someone to be messed with, and most of those randy warriors had finally stopped bothering her.

And now here she was, on the last night of the colorful celebrations, clumsily going back to her place by herself wearing a pair of high heels she couldn’t even walk in anymore as she held back her tears, feeling like the biggest simpleton in the entire Galaxy.

Maybe it was for the best…

Perhaps, this was an essential lesson to be learnt, a lesson to remind her that, in the end, she was all alone in the world, and that the only one who’d ever be worthy of earning her full trust would be herself.

Bulma walked in the dark, the half-lit streets becoming a blurry vision as those stubborn, rebellious tears burnt in her eyes. She quickly wiped off the moisture with the back of her hand, proudly refusing to be seen this way even though there was no one around to witness her humiliating defeat. As she closed her eyes to get rid of the evidence of her grief, she tripped on the rocky pavement, her body harshly bumping into a solid wall of muscle on her way to the ground.

“Kami!” She yelped in fright, a large hand suddenly seizing her by the arm in a firm grip, instantly catching her fall. “I’m… I’m sorry…” She stuttered in embarrassment at her gaucheness as she blinked nervously, pressing the chest of her mysterious savior with her small hands in an effort to distance herself from him, but the man kept holding her forearm in a forceful grasp, unwilling to let her go just yet. “I… I wasn’t looking… I just…”

The earthling’s apologetic words got stuck in her throat once she raised her gaze and met the playfully amused eyes of her rescuer.

“Vegeta…” Bulma whispered in an odd mixture of shock, anger and relief.

“Going somewhere, little earthling?” The Saiyan asked teasingly, his lips curling into that impossibly attractive smirk that’d gotten her in trouble more times than she was willing to admit.

He was here…

He was here, right here, with her, confidently standing in her presence and looking as handsome as ever. Even though at first sight Bulma could tell that something about him looked slightly different, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she still found herself overwhelmed by that appalling feeling of abandonment. She knew it was unfair, utterly irrational, but all she wanted to do right now was leave, leave his side before this dissolute man would seduce and charm her, making her fall right into his arms as he always did.

“Yes,” she replied with whatever remnants of pride she still had in her. “I’m going home…” She mumbled timidly, her sad eyes avoiding his, pulling her arm away from his possessive touch until he let go of her half-heartedly, watching her step away from him with determination.

Well, this wasn’t certainly how he’d envisioned things to go that night…

She was leaving, leaving, walking away resolutely in a pair of the strangest shoes he’d ever seen in his entire life. Vegeta stood in his spot for an instant, gawking at the strange little creature dressed in some kind of flimsy white dress that flowed around her as she moved; those glorious, voluptuous hips swaying temptingly with the help of those glittery high heels, which made her shapely legs look even more marvelous than usual, as she left him behind, abandoned like one would a stray animal.             

He should let her go and he knew it. This could be the perfect opportunity for them to part ways forevermore. One single look at the woman had already told him that she was mad at him, and that there were probably other sentiments running through her enigmatic mind that he was too emotionally obtuse to comprehend.

He should let her go.

And yet…

Before he knew it, his legs were moving on their own volition, catching up with her with little effort and walking by her side cross-armed, matching her pace as he observed the woman in total stupefaction.

“What’s the matter?” Vegeta finally asked, his curious tone betraying that false mask of aloofness which was getting harder and harder to maintain whenever she was around.

“Nothing…” She promptly replied, haughtily keeping her chin up as she walked, obstinately refusing to acknowledge his presence by looking at him. “I just told you I’m going home…”    

The Saiyan kept watching her through the corner of his eye, opposed to letting the matter rest until he knew what exactly had made his lover behave towards him with such exasperating indifference.

“I did as you asked, didn’t I?” He enquired once more, wondering if this whole thing had to do with him not attending those blasted ritualistic dances she’d invited him to.

A husky, scornful laugh left her lips, shaking her head in disbelief at just how infuriatingly clueless a warrior like him could be. “No, you did not,” she answered sharply.

“What do you mean?” Vegeta questioned in aggravation. “I am here, woman!”

“You’re late…” Bulma muttered icily, in such a low voice he couldn’t quite catch her words.

“What did you just say?”

“I said you are late!” She yelled at him, clutching her slight shawl a little tighter as she kept furiously trying to ignore him.

“Wait a minute…” He demanded, his anger growing by the second at the way the devilish woman kept treating him, with such viciously cold disregard that, when he saw her increasing her pace instead of obeying him, his self-control shattered entirely. “I said wait a goddamned minute, woman!” He yelled back, yanking her by the arm so sternly that he made her delicate body lose balance, gasping in shock and falling right into his chest once again.

His hands found her bare shoulders, his breath hastening as his body started to respond to the woman’s proximity. With prodigious willpower, he managed to overcome his most primal instincts, grabbing the woman by her upper arms in a strong grip and pushing her away until she was at a safe distance.

“Look at me…” Vegeta demanded in a low, imposing tone. “I said look at me, woman!” He shouted in frustration, shaking her body slightly when Bulma kept staring into the ground, stubbornly rejecting to follow his orders. His physical actions caught her attention straightaway and, when she eventually relented, lifting her head to meet his raven eyes, the Prince was instantly taken aback by the mystifying sight.

There she was…

The woman she’d been the very first time they’d met, back in her laboratory. Her defiance, that aggravating defiance of hers, written all over incensed, turquoise pools as she held his gaze, her entire frame shivering in rage and impotence. And there, at the bottom of those eyes, he could see her pain, the smashed pieces of her broken heart scattered all over as she struggled to conceal a new, foreign emotion which the Prince understood, at last, he was responsible for.

Disappointment.

“Bulma…” He whispered tentatively, his roughed hands gently encircling her face as he frowned in confusion.

“Don’t…” She begged pitifully, shaking her head slowly, fearing that his unanticipated tenderness would soon bring her surrender. “D-Don’t… Vegeta please…”

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t possibly do this to her when she was still so infuriatingly mad at him…    

“I said no promises, Bulma…” He insisted quietly, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as the hot tears spilling all over them pierced his heart with the violence of a thousand thunderstorms.

“D-Don’t…” She sobbed shakily, mad at herself for losing her composure so easily in his presence.

“Bulma…” Vegeta whispered again, trying in vain to wipe the moisture off her face as her tears kept falling. “I said no promises…”

“Don’t you think I know that? I know, Vegeta!” Bulma cried hysterically, her face flushing red in anger and mortification as she wildly slapped his hands, getting away from his unnervingly gentle touch and taking a few steps back. “I KNOW!”

She knew…

She knew that this lonesome alien warrior had made no promises to her, and that she’d simply pretended to be mad at him for not coming back to her in time, solely because blaming him for abandoning her was much easier than admitting that, in truth, she was mad at herself and her newfound delusion that whatever she had with this man was something more than a purely physical relationship.

It wasn’t.

There’d been no romantic declarations, no vows of undying love, not even the prospect of faithfulness or exclusivity of any kind, and that was precisely what was eating her inside; that rotten feeling of stupidity and impotence, impotence at knowing, with unwavering certainty, that she had no right whatsoever to demand or expect anything from him.

In the past, whenever her human lover had failed her in any way, she’d brutally chastised him, throwing his broken promises back at him like a heartless slap in the face, simply because she could, because he owed her every single oath of love and commitment that had ever come out of his filthy, lying lips.       

Vegeta owed her nothing.    

Nothing.

The Prince stood still, looking at her with wide, flustered eyes. Her splendid body was now trembling in pure wrath, her fists clenched furiously at her sides as a waterfall of livid tears kept falling freely down her flushed face.

“Then, what…?” He stuttered, anxiously running his hands across his wild hair. “What the Hell is the problem, woman? I don’t understand… What…?”

“The problem?” She chuckled with sadness and angry disbelief. “The problem is that I’m Bulma Briefs! I’m Bulma fucking Briefs!!! That’s the problem!!!”

Vegeta said nothing.

He didn’t know what to say…

He just kept staring at her, his bewildered mind running in countless directions as he frowned in confusion, not even bothering to hide his more than evident puzzlement anymore.

She’d spoken her full name as if it meant something, as if she was someone. And he figured, not for the first time, that perhaps that’d been the case indeed. The warrior had never asked her any questions regarding her past life, not because he hadn’t felt any kind of curiosity about such matters, but simply because he considered that getting to know even more personal details about her would only complicate matters further.

It’d been hard enough for a rebelliously solitary man like himself to finally come to terms with the fact that he’d become physically addicted to this fragile little creature, the only woman he’d ever come back to. But, so far, he’d been able to fool himself into believing that, as long as he didn’t know much about her, they would still manage to keep the emotionless terms of their sexual agreement intact.

With the very few exceptions of those rare revelations they’d furtively exchanged, Bulma had kept her part of the deal pretty well, always respecting his privacy and independence without bombarding him with too many privy questions. Still, Vegeta would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that his curiosity towards his gorgeous mistress had been growing to dangerous levels, every so often spending his sleepless nights wondering about who she really was, and what kind of an existence she’d lived before her whole world had been taken away from her.

She was so painfully different, so utterly gifted and refined, that it wouldn’t surprise him in the least to discover that his Bulma had actually been a person of importance back on Earth.

In a different life, a life that was fair, she could have been Queen…

Her exquisite beauty would have blinded everyone around her, bringing admiration and adoration upon her path as her brilliant intelligence secretly did the rest of the job for her. She would have made a fine consort indeed, her strength, patience and wisdom turning her into the best companion a powerful leader might ever desire, and any man would have been proud to have her standing by his side.

But life wasn’t fair, and here, in this dark, forgotten corner of the Universe, she was nothing more than a sad girl in an old white dress and impossible shoes, with windswept hair the color of the deepest oceans of Vegeta-sei and heartbreaking, glistening tears streaming down her beautiful face.

And it suddenly hit him that she was haunted, haunted by the memories of a life that wasn’t hers anymore, stubbornly clinging with fraught fingers to a past which seemed to have been infinitely happier than whatever hellish misery she was being forced to endure right now. And most possibly humiliated by her new status in life, as nothing more than a mere slave serving under the yoke of the tyrant responsible for the destruction, not only of her home planet, but of her very own identity as well.

His Bulma was too good for this world…

And the worst part was that Vegeta was damn sure she knew it, and that isolation and powerlessness would be the things which would truly break her in the end.

“I’m going home…” Bulma sighed tiredly, breaking the silence after a handful of agonizing minutes when she realized, as always, just how different she was from her Saiyan lover, and how challenging it was for him to handle any kind of emotional impasse.

It was pointless.

She finally bent down, picking up the clutch she’d dropped during her physical confrontation with Vegeta, turning on her heels and jadedly walking away, leaving an extremely dumbfounded man behind.

“Bulma…” He called again, following her right away as a bizarre sense of abandonment took hold of him. “Will you wait just a minute?! We’re not done here!”

The earthling kept walking determinedly. It was unlike her to ignore someone’s pleas, especially those of a man she was growing to care about far too much for her own good, but feeling as though there genuinely was nothing left for her to say to him.

It was impossible.

‘They were impossible together…’

“Go away…” She pleaded in a fluttery voice, shaking her head to herself and sniffling as she inelegantly rubbed her wet eyes with her shawl. “Just… Just leave me alone, Vegeta…”

“Like Hell I will!” He roared irately, his head throbbing, burning, burning, still incapable to believe that a meager creature like Bulma had left him reduced to act like some pathetic, lovesick idiot, literally chasing after her in the middle of a public place. He could only thank the Gods that no one was around to witness such a pitiable spectacle, even though he could almost hear the voices of a thousand generations of Saiyan warriors malevolently roaring in laughter in the darkest side of the Otherworld. “I said we’re not done here!” He yelled, grabbing her arm with enough force to bruise her delicate flesh.

He didn’t have to wait too long for Bulma’s immediate reaction. “I said leave me alone, you idiot!” She cried, swiftly turning around and hitting him in the arm with the back of her fist, trying to make him let go of her.

Which he did, but not in the way the woman was expecting.

Much to her surprise, Vegeta instantly released her, hissing loudly and cursing under his breath unintelligibly as he took a step back, his big hand travelling to the spot Bulma had just hit and clutching it the way a man in excruciating pain would.

Bulma’s body froze instantaneously, her eyes wide in abject horror at the inconceivable thought of someone as physically weak as she was being capable of hurting such a powerful warrior.

“Ve-Vegeta…? What…?” The paralyzed woman faltered in a horrified whisper, her rage at the Prince and at herself instantly evaporating as an unsteady hand cautiously reached out to him.

“Back off!” He yelled proudly, taking another step back, attempting, in vain, to hide his arm from her prying eyes.        

But the earthling, being just as annoyingly persevering as he was, discovered his shameful secret in the blink of an eye, as soon as thin rivulets of crimson sipped through the white gloved fingers unsuccessfully covering his wound.

“Kami!” She exclaimed breathlessly, covering her mouth in shock. “You’re bleeding!”

Vegeta remained quiet, the arrogant, fierce scowl crossing his brow poorly concealing his surprise at the sudden change in the woman’s attitude. If he didn’t know any better, he could have been fooled to believe that she was sincerely concerned about his well-being.

“Let me see…” Bulma pleaded in a soft, worried tone, her small fingers shakily covering his own blood-soaked ones.

“Don’t!” He muttered, irritably removing her hand away from him, fearing that her doting touch would undo him as it constantly did.

She was making him feel, the damned woman was making him feel, and he didn’t know just what to do about the disturbingly foreign emotions she’d awaken inside of his soul anymore. But the tenacious little creature wouldn’t give up easily on him, stubbornly refusing to accept his rejection and getting even closer instead, pleading with him once again.

“Vegeta, please… Let me see…” Bulma begged gently, her heart breaking at the sight of him, so painfully distrustful that he suddenly reminded her of one of the abandoned animals her ditzy mother used to bring into their home every now and then, so used to being unwanted and mistreated that it would take a lifetime full of love for their wariness to go away.

This time he didn’t remove the unbearably kind hand benignly placed atop of his own, but he’d be damned if he understood just what in Heaven’s name was crossing his lover’s mind.

“Why?” Vegeta finally asked, his voice calmer but laced in cold skepticism.

“What do you mean, why?” She asked with sad frustration. “Because I care about you… Now, please let me see it, okay?”

She kept looking at him with those immense blue eyes, her face falling sadly like an adorable little puppy looking for its master’s devotion, but what unnerved him the most was the candid concern in her suppliant gaze, a concern that he felt entirely undeserving of. No one, absolutely no one had ever looked at him in such manner, and he realized that he secretly loved her attentions just as much as he hated being the cause of the sorrow behind those gorgeous eyes.

The warrior relented at last, reluctantly removing the strong hand still covering his wound as he cursed himself for his weakness when it came to his human mistress. It was absolutely terrifying to see just how easily he surrendered to her every desire, how desperately eager he felt to please her, to give her whatever she wanted. What daunted him the most was knowing that there was no malice whatsoever in her actions or in her words, no womanly charms or bewitching manipulations, just the authentic concern of a pure hearted creature who’d inexplicably grown fond of a barbarous assassin like himself.

None of it made any sense…

Just like the maddeningly affectionate way in which she ran her long fingers across his muscular arm made absolutely no sense at all. There wasn’t much for her weak human eyes to see in the dark anyway, especially with his combat suit still clinging to his skin, but she kept examining him with inquisitive eyes, grimacing sadly as his cerise blood tarnished her porcelain skin.          

“This is nothing, woman. I’ve had much worse…” Vegeta explained patiently, feeling as if he had to say something, anything, in order to appease the woman’s worries and take away that heart wrenching look of grief from her face.

“What…?” Bulma whispered warily, her eyes never leaving his arm as her fingertips grazed the dried-up blood in his sleeve, which stated that he must have been injured for quite some time by now. “What happened?”

“Bulma…”

“Vegeta…” She pleaded softly again, now meeting his sight, her hands holding the one from his injured arm, delicately entwining her fingers with his own. “What happened?”

“There was an ambush,” he explained, turning his face to his side, both in shame at the dishonorable events he was about to narrate and incapable of withstanding the compassion written all over her girlish features. “We were… We were sent to placate a rebellion, but they… They had some kind of weapon… A type of technology we’d never dealt with in the past, so there were some complications...” There was a brief moment of silence as the warrior kept staring into the night, still evading her. “Frieza had to send a support squad to help us fully complete our mission.”       

Bulma swallowed heavily, squeezing his hand lightly as she listened to his story with avid ears. She’d always had a pretty good idea of what it was that the Saiyan did for a living, but never had he shared any specific details about the missions he was assigned to do. It was one thing to have an abstract image of the terrible biddings she was convinced he had no choice but to successfully accomplish, but it was something entirely different to sense his hot, thick blood spilling through her fingers as she felt the real danger Vegeta had to face, every single day of his life, literally with the touch of her hand.

“And then…?” The earthling prodded gently, touched by the astounding honesty in his words. She knew just how proud her Prince was, and she couldn’t imagine how incredibly difficult it must have been for him to open up in such manner, sharing his humiliating downfall with her.

His severe scowl deepened as his mind wandered broodingly, lost in the petrifying recollections of his latest assignment, which had turned out to be one of the bloodiest battles he’d ever partaken in. It was such a sharp contrast with the tingling sensation her fingers, caringly interlaced with his own, were evoking in him, that his spiritual turmoil just grew and grew, overwhelming him with such force that he felt as if he didn’t know what was real anymore.

“After the mission was completed, a ship was sent to evacuate our forces. There were…” Vegeta paused for a split second, mad at himself for still feeling so shaken about the recent events. “There were many casualties, and a large amount of wounded men.”

“I see…” Bulma whispered in understanding, a cold chill running down her spine as she tried to picture the bloodcurdling images that her man must have had imprinted into his mind for life. Still, something about his story didn’t make sense to her, and it was just in her scientific nature to try to get her answers. “Then, why are you still hurt?” She asked reservedly.

Her question newly caught his interest, and he couldn’t help but set his eyes on her, narrowing them inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I… I thought those emergency ships had healing tanks, right?”

“I believe you meant to say regeneration tanks,” he quickly corrected her, all of a sudden loathing where this conversation was heading.

He knew it.

He knew that the blasted woman was just too smart for her own good…

“Yes,” Bulma quietly assented, nodding in agreement. “That’s what I meant… You guys didn’t have one of those in the ship?”

“We did.”

“So? Why didn’t you use it?”

The Prince inhaled sharply through his nose, his distress reaching dangerously uncomfortable levels by now. “Because there were only two tanks in the ship and seventeen wounded men, most of them on the verge of death!” He whispered ferociously. “And those are always the ones who have priority; the rest of us had to wait our turn!”

“I don’t get it, Vegeta! Why?” Bulma shook her head once more in total perplexity. “Why didn’t you just wait your tur…?”

Her words froze in the back of her throat as her eyes broadened in awe, her mouth parted, lips moving almost comically without being able to form a coherent thought anymore.

For her.

Vegeta, her Vegeta, had chosen to sacrifice healing his wounds only so he could hop on some grimy space pod and come back to her in time to join her in some stupidly pointless celebration which, in reality, meant absolutely nothing to her. And all because of her ridiculous desire to play pretend with him, to help her delude herself into believing that it would ever be possible for them to have something, anything, that could remotely resemble a relationship consisting in something other than sexual release.

And he’d done it all because of her…

“Gods…” She murmured shakily, jittery arms enveloping his tense neck as she held him in a fierce embrace. “Gods! Vegeta!” Bulma sobbed against his hot skin, drowning in guilt and feeling like a silly teenage girl who’d selfishly put her own needs above her lover’s. “I’m sorry… I’m… I’m so sorry…”

Vegeta stood still, not knowing what to do. His arms shaking, trembling at his sides as the moisture roaming down his neck violently stabbed his heart. He’d been planning to give the woman a piece of his mind, to demand that she didn’t get any wrong ideas about this regen tank issue. He wanted to deceive her in order to keep some of his precarious pride intact, to tell her some fabricated story about him being so resilient that he didn’t need to get inside the blasted thing anyway because of some insignificant arm injury such as this one.

But now she was hugging him, crying, crying, and he didn’t even understand why. He knew she’d had no right to get mad at him for being late, after all, one of the few things he’d ever be able to offer her was honesty and, as far as he could tell, he’d always been ferally honest with this frail woman. And yet, he couldn’t comprehend just why he was feeling so damn remorseful about not having been able to join her in time for the stupid celebrations if he’d never even made her any promises to begin with.

“Y-You… You shouldn’t have… You shouldn’t…” She whimpered pitifully, her tiny frame wrecked in tremors as she cried quietly with her face hidden in the crook of his neck.

It wasn’t long before Vegeta couldn’t take it anymore, swallowing his pride and taking her in his arms, exhaling a long, ragged breath that he didn’t even know he was holding when she tightened her possessive hold on him in instant response, her weeping intensifying. It was then that he learnt that Bulma’s tears were guilty ones, that she felt responsible for a choice he’d made on his own, and that, in his arms, as he soothingly run his hands across her back and pulled her even closer, she’d found forgiveness for her foolish expectations of him. She was blissfully oblivious to just how equally relieved the Prince himself was in that very moment.

He’d almost lost her tonight.

And seeing her disdainfully walking away from him, giving up on whatever it was that was happening between the two of them, had hurt him infinitely more than any of his Master’s most sadistic whippings. The thought of her ignoring him, leaving him behind, had been almost as horrendous as the choleric emotions running through his mind on the day he’d thought her dead, probably even worse, since death would have been something that Bulma had no control over, but the idea of his woman abandoning him by her own will was almost too much to bear.

But she was here, right here in his arms, standing in the dark in the middle of the half-lit streets, not even worried or ashamed about being seen in the company of a monster like him. Vegeta didn’t know how to even call the bond that was rising between them, all he knew is that it felt right, it felt frighteningly right to have her all to himself, and he didn’t want this to ever end.      

“Can you fly?” She susurrated, shyly looking at him, now feeling calmer after a few minutes of emotional release in the Prince’s shielding embrace.

“Then take us home…” She whispered when he assented, offering him a loving smile as she lay a long, indolent kiss on his flushed cheek.

Home.

It was the sweetest proposal anyone had ever made him…

****************************************************

Minutes later, Vegeta was sitting on her cramped bed where, following her instructions, he’d positioned himself near her small night lamp so she had better light in order to take care of his injuries. The very thought of a woman tending to his wounds brought him both curiosity and uneasiness. In Frieza’s army, medical care basically consisted in someone throwing one inside a regeneration tank, sometimes quite literally, and letting the proficient machine do the rest of the work.

As always, the warrior had trailed, with devoted eyes, every single one of Bulma’s intriguing moves ever since they’d arrived in her apartment. From the way she’d bent down slightly to remove those fascinating shoes she’d been wearing, offering him a glimpse of those mouthwatering creamy thighs, to the appealing way in which she moved around the place as that white, flowy dress, which reached just down to her knees, flooded around her, caressing her every curve as it played games with her anatomy. His eyes had followed her to the small bathroom, where she’d uncovered the delicious nape of her neck just for him as she’d tied back her hair into a bun so she could better wash her face with cold water.

After a few moments of listening to her rummaging through the small cabinet of the bathroom, she’d come back, placing a chair in front of him and a bucket of warm water and a first aid kit by her side.

“Alright…” Bulma said softly, sitting down as her eyes assessed his arm with a troubled frown. “Let’s take a look… We should take off your armor first…”   

And he let her, as docile as a little child raising his arms and allowing her to do as she pleased with him as she helped him remove his chest plate. He winced subtly in pain, trying his best to hide his discomfort so as not to exacerbate the disheartening look of genuine concern in that cute face of hers. She waited patiently for him to get rid of his bloodied gloves on his own before carefully grabbing the hem of his tight shirt, lifting it leisurely until his upper body was fully exposed to her.

It was positively horrifying.

Vegeta’s entire torso was covered in purple bruises and painfully swollen cuts, revealing the brutality of the battle he’d barely managed to escape from in one piece. Bulma knew that his armor had probably buffered most of the impact, which was why his unprotected arm had taken most of the damage instead, his upper arm in particular. A thick, deep gash run across his sinewy bicep, and the scientist guessed that the burns must have been provoked by this new technology the warrior and the rest of the army hadn’t known about, by the severe look of it, perhaps some kind of laser-like weaponry.

“Kami…” Bulma hissed to herself in a hushed whisper, unable to hide the worry in her scowled brow, in spite of knowing that the proud Saiyan sitting in front of her abhorred any kind of pity. “Alright…” She finally declared after analyzing the situation. “I have nothing to stitch you up with, but I can clean up and disinfect the wound and bandage it applying a bit of compression on it, I believe that would at least keep it protected for a while. What do you think?” She asked looking him in the eye, so candid, so goddamned sincere, that Vegeta could do nothing but assent wordlessly at her, rendered absolutely speechless by the sheer generosity in her actions.

The earthling soaked a small cloth in the water and proceeded to get to work under her lover’s watchful eye. He kept watching her, getting lost in those feathery, loose curls framing her immaculate face, her bright blue eyes, still slightly swollen from crying, and her full lips, pursed in concentration as she assisted him. He’d never been treated like this, with such care, such utmost care that it was as if she could feel his pain herself. She was feeling sorry for him and he knew it, still, he didn’t seem to mind much, the only thing that mattered in that strangely intimate moment was the alluring way in which the corners of her pretty mouth raised in a tiny smile as she felt his tail endearingly wrapping itself around her bare knee.

“I like your dress…” He whispered at last, trying to find something, anything to say, to distract her from the dark thoughts crossing her mind.

“Thank you…” She replied softly, the odd compliment instantly catching her attention as she kept cleansing him. Once she was done with the damp rag, she put it aside, drying him with a dry cloth, gently patting his broken body.

“I’ll just apply some ointment first, and then I’ll put on the bandages…” She explained as she massaged the anti-inflammatory unguent, her kind, silky hands, all over his hot skin, newly awakening his senses.    

“You seem to have quite an experience doing this,” Vegeta muttered, shocked at how skilled the woman seemed to be, as if she’d done this many times before, even though she appeared to come from a purely technological background.

His clever observation made a sad chuckle slip from her lips, her hands still working diligently.

“I guess you could say that, yeah…” She uttered, awkwardly clearing her throat. “My boyfriend was a fighter...”

The most unnerving silence floated in the room, with Bulma inwardly cursing herself for sharing that tidbit of personal information and a very, very flabbergasted Saiyan warrior feeling, for the very first time, the desire to ask, to learn more about this remarkable little creature who’d completely changed his life.

Boyfriend.

Vegeta had absolutely no clue as to what that word meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it.

Not one bit…

“What…?” He inquired warily, secretly terrified, for some ludicrous reason, of the woman’s impending reply. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” She asked back, surprised by his unusually cautious tone.   

“Boyfriend,” Vegeta answered simply.

Bulma couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, her cheeks feeling shamefully hot all of a sudden. “Oh… Uh… A boyfriend? He’s… He’s someone you date, you know? A man you spend a lot of time with… Like, um…”

“Like a mate?”

“A mate?”

He nodded knowingly, finally getting an idea of what this damned boyfriend thing was as his fuzzy tail unconsciously tightened his hold around her leg, a possessively dominant gesture that Bulma couldn’t ignore.

“A mate,” he explained further, struggling to keep that murderous jealousy monster in check without much success. “A lifetime companion.”

Bulma stopped her actions entirely, wiping the ointment off her hands as she watched him with intoxicating fascination. Never, in a million years, would she have expected the words ‘lifetime companion’ to come out of a Saiyan’s mouth, and yet, here they were, having what was perhaps the first real conversation they’d shared ever since their lives had crossed paths.

“Is that…? Is that how it was in your culture?”

“Yes,” the Prince assented. “Back in my home planet, when a male and a female made the choice to become mates, they created an Eternal Bond, remaining together until the end of times, both in this life and in the one beyond this physical realm,” he explained, literally paraphrasing the stories Nappa had shared with him far too many times to count, but actually paying real attention to its true meaning in this occasion, wondering, for an ephemeral second, what it would be like to spend the rest of his existence bonded to a woman like Bulma Briefs.

The enchanting glow in her curious eyes, together with the infuriatingly tempting way in which she kept biting her lower lip, told him that perhaps it wouldn’t be such an unpleasant life, after all.

“That’s very… Very beautiful, Vegeta…” She whispered, almost in awe at how incredibly romantic that concept was to her. “I guess we had something similar to that on Earth, but I never… I never bonded with my boyfriend in that way…”

Bulma lowered her gaze for a moment, her throat tight and her eyes burning as she clutched the small cloth with anxious fingers. She felt dizzy, drowning in confusion while the warrior’s words sank in.

She was going crazy, she had to be...

The earthling had avoided thinking of Yamcha for so long that, now that she’d actually gathered the strength and the courage to do so, a rush of panic flushed through her mind when she realized that it wasn’t truly her relationship with her dead lover what she missed anymore, but her experiences with him, all the fun, pleasurable times which had now vanished from her life forevermore.

She’d never again get to be a part of a relationship with a man where they’d just go for long walks as they held hands, or watch a movie on a rainy Sunday afternoon cuddling underneath the warm protection of a cozy blanket. There would be no more luxuriously expensive dinners, no sunny afternoons lying lazily by the pool in a brand-new bikini. She’d never experience what it would be like to get married, or to have children, creating a family and proudly watching it grow the way her parents had in their own lives.

The only thing she’d ever have the right to enjoy, would be a handful of passionately desperate nights with a villainous man who literally danced with the Devil for a living, a man who owed nothing to no one, much less to someone like her. A man who would someday die in some ruthless battle, on some godforsaken corner of this infinite Universe, and she’d never ever hear from him again.

And yet, when he’d pronounced the words ‘Eternal Bond’, she’d wrongly allowed herself the forbidden luxury of imagining what it would be like to have a life, a real life, and a future with a man like Vegeta. And one look at those dark, impenetrable eyes, that looked at her as if she were the only woman in existence, told her that perhaps it would be quite a stimulating experience after all.

Both lovers remained silent while the earthling patiently bandaged his wounds, the distant sounds of all the inebriated warriors still living it up at the singular festivities echoing in a world that seemed to be far, far away from the snug intimacy taking place between the four walls of Bulma’s humble home.

“Okay…” She susurrated, taking one final look at her craftsmanship. “I think we’re done here…”

Bulma closed the first aid kit and stood from the chair, secretly lamenting the loss of the warmth of Vegeta’s luxurious tail when he reluctantly unwrapped it from her leg.

“I think you should lie down and get some rest...” She suggested softly, already walking to the bathroom to put away her limited medical supplies.

By the time she stepped back into the room, Vegeta had already removed his white boots and seemed to be getting ready to follow his woman’s advice. However, before he could lie on the bed, he watched in enthrallment the way Bulma stood in front of him, slowly sinking one knee into the old mattress, half-sitting by his side as her hand daintily cupped his jaw.

“Will you do something for me?” She whispered lovingly in his ear, making her plea before he had the chance to respond. “Next time you have to choose between a regen tank and coming back to me like this… Will you…?” Her lips brushed his tanned cheek. “Will you please choose taking care of yourself first?”

She kept kissing him, raining kisses all over his warm skin as he closed his eyes, relishing that excruciating tenderness only his Bulma could offer. She was begging him, begging him to put his own safety before her selfish desires, and there wasn’t a single being in the Universe who’d ever done such a thing for him. But she was different, so painstakingly different from the monsters inhabiting his world that Vegeta knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that he’d never find another woman like her.

Much to his shame, he’d enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed having her taking care of him, tending to his wounds with such demonstrative care that it’d made him believe, as preposterous as the very thought of it was, that she truthfully cared about him, that a murdering bastard like himself actually mattered to a pure-hearted creature like Bulma.

Her attentions had felt vastly better than any of Frieza’s healing machines ever would but, for reasons he couldn’t even explain, he owed her at least the promise she was asking for. So, he finally yielded, nodding with a tiny grunt, opening his eyes and admiring her glorious reaction: a stunningly dazzling smile brighter than a sparkly Sun.

“Thank you…” She whispered again, grazing her lips amorously against his as she traced the line of his jawline with her fingertips one final time, before standing once more, slowly leaving his side.

Vegeta lied naked on the minuscule bed, rolling on his side and tiredly clutching the woman’s pillow, admiring the splendid spectacle brazenly unfolding before his famished eyes.

Bulma stood by her balcony, staring into the night for a brief eternity as the crisp nocturnal breeze toyed with the few unruly curls which had escaped from her messy bun.

It was then that he saw them, those unmistakable bloodstains tainting her immaculate white dress, and he couldn’t help but smile bitterly to himself at how grotesquely perfect the metaphor was. His crimson blood had ruined her spotless clothing in exactly the same way in which his depraved touch would end up ruining her.

She was too good for him.

Probably too good for that fool who used to be her ‘boyfriend’, whatever the Hell that blasted word meant.

The Saiyan knew that his lover wasn’t a virgin when he’d first bedded her, but the very thought of another man calling himself her mate and laying his hands on his woman was utterly revolting.   

She then stretched dreamily, and her small hands reached for the zipper of her dress, slowly unfastening the mesmerizing garment, revealing that she hadn’t been wearing a brassier underneath. The fabric slipped across her feminine body as the soft glow of the moonlight sensually caressed her every curve, the dress sliding like liquid silk until it touched the ground and pooled at her feet.     

His mouth felt dry, his ravenous fingers tightening on her pillow as he admired her incredible perfection. She was doing it for him, putting on a little show for his eyes only, even after he’d failed and upset her earlier, even after going through the trouble of taking care of him tonight, she still wanted him, still wished to keep playing this hedonistic game of seduction with him.

Bulma carefully untied that exotically hypnotizing waterfall of blue curls, idly running her long fingers through them as she arched her back, giving him a delectable foretaste of her magnificent breasts as she kept playing with her hair. She was now clad only in a minute pair of black panties and, when she looked at him slyly from above her shoulder through heavy lidded lashes, she smirked in naughty triumph when she saw those black, starving eyes fixated on her. Without even bothering to put any clothes on, she joined him, crawling on the bed by his side.

At first, the warrior had imagined that she’d be willing to engage in some serious foreplay, as they always did right before taking things much, much further. But this time, much to his surprise, the woman reached for her tattered bedsheets instead, pulling them over their bare bodies and covering both of them up as she lied quietly by his side.

Apparently, she’d been dead serious when she’d suggested that he got some rest and some much-needed sleep. But he simply couldn’t, and Vegeta knew that it would be impossible for him to fall into a deep slumber until he got the answer he needed, the one and only answer that would ever placate the fuming, insatiable beast of jealousy which had been torturing him ever since his woman had alluded to her now vanished past.

One of the Prince’s hands sneaked in underneath her body, his arm grasping her petite waist as he pulled her closer, pressing her seductively nude form against him. Bulma couldn’t stifle the tiny gasp leaving her lips at Vegeta’s unexpected gesture, thinking him already half-asleep after a few minutes of complete silence, but, as always, she instantly welcomed his dominant touch, wrapping her arms around his neck as she delighted in the animalistic heat emanating from him.

His hungry, predatory eyes shone in the dark, staring right into her soul as he kept her firmly pressed against his chest with one arm, caressing her blushing cheek with the back of the other.

“Bulma…” He rasped, running the tip of his wicked tongue languidly across her lower lip in a silent plea for her to open her lovely mouth just for him. And she did, her needy lips parting as she invited him in, moaning and exhaling loudly through her nose when the warrior crashed his mouth against hers, slipping his hot tongue inside of her and possessing her, savoring her as a starved man would his last meal.

He was so different, her blurry mind thought, so vastly different from the man who she’d had to beg for a real kiss from not that long ago. The shadowy, deadly man who was so frighteningly skilled when it came to pleasuring a woman, that he’d made her cum literally without laying a single one of his immoral fingers on her, but who lacked the emotional experience to know how to properly kiss his lover. A sharp pang of irrational jealousy always hit her whenever she tried to think on just how many women Vegeta would have had sex with before they’d run into each other, and her heart broke at the thought of him never having experienced the true intimacy of a man and a woman engaging their lips in a deep, visceral kiss. But, at the same time, she also perceived a rare sense of pride at the thought of being the only one who’d ever succeeded in getting close to his heart.

“Ve-Vegeta…” She whispered raggedly, already feeling herself coming undone beneath his touch. Her fingers clutched the nape of his neck as she brought herself even closer, leaning her brow against his and reveling in the way their bodies seemed to react to each other’s proximity in the same desperate way.

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” He whispered feverishly, his lips pronouncing his furious question before he could even think about the real implications hiding behind it.

“W-Who?” Bulma mumbled in excited agitation, her hands cupping his face as she locked her lips with his once more, her delicate tongue heatedly caressing his own as they newly engaged in a sensual kiss.

He gladly indulged her, his impish tail enveloping her thigh, and both arms now hugging her fiercely, rubbing himself against her the moment she threw her leg above his, the enticing friction dangerously pushing him over the edge.

“That man…” He muttered threateningly, tightening his arms around her with such fierce possessiveness that a harsh rush of air escaped from her lungs, literally taking her breath away. “Your Earth lover…” One of his large hands encircled her face, lifting her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. He could feel her heart racing, rabbiting furiously against his chest as her anxious lips kept seeking his mouth, but he had to know, needed to know, that the memories of any other man had forever been erased from her body already by his own filthy touch. “Did he ever make you feel like this?”

Vegeta knew what her answer would be the second her brow furrowed in bewilderment, her eyes, already hazed in pleasure, looking at him as if he were crazy, as if the very thought of her old lover feeling better than him was completely and utterly insane.

“N-No…” Bulma replied in a trembling voice, her fingertips digging deeper into his cheeks when she felt the tip of his mischievous tail lazily stroking her inner thigh. “N-Never!”

The Saiyan growled hotly at her shaky response, rolling them over and positioning himself on top of her, quickly taking hold of her frail wrists and pinning them above her head, effectively trapping her underneath his robust body.

“You lie!” He whispered viciously, trying to ignore just how good it felt to have that pair of long legs firmly wrapped around his waist all of a sudden. “You still long for him… I saw it in your eyes… You miss him still…”        

He grinded his pelvis against her, his half-hardened cock rubbing against her sex, the thin fabric of her damp underwear being the only thing separating their ravenous bodies from the release they so desperately needed.

“N-No… No! It’s not… It’s not him who I miss… It’s… Kami!” She cried, throwing her head back as soon as his sharp teeth nipped at her neck, oblivious to just how badly the Saiyan was struggling in that very moment with the mindless, instinctual desire to bite her, to sink his fangs into her tender flesh and mark her, making her his once and for all. “It… It’s everything… Everything else… M-My life…”

“Why?” He asked huskily, one of his hands letting go of her wrist, cupping her radiant face once more as their lips met in another lustful kiss.

“I guess I… I just… I want it all…” Bulma whispered, whimpering pitiably at the sensation of Vegeta nuzzling her cheek with great tenderness.   

He run his thumb over her lower lip, already inflamed by their obsessive kissing, pressing his body even closer to hers and luxuriating in the lush way in which she seemed to melt beneath him, trembling in need like some pure, inexperienced virgin.

“If he never made you feel like this…” He mumbled against her quivery lips. “Then perhaps you never had it all…”

Vegeta’s tongue invaded her hot mouth one final time, swallowing her sobs and groaning at the way the little minx run her fingers through his scalp, clutching his wild hair as she tried to bring him as close to her as humanly possible. When they finally parted, thirstily gasping for air, his insatiable mouth traced a sensually torrid trail from her lips to her neck, kissing and licking her ivory skin as if she were the most heavenly nectar, a morsel for the Gods.

“Let go, Bulma…” He demanded, his ardent whisper ghosting her skin, igniting a deeper fire within her. “You need to let go…”   

The Prince finally released her other hand, embarking in a sensuous journey with the only purpose of exploring and feasting on every inch of her opulent form, while Bulma’s trembling hands kept possessively caressing his hair and shoulders. As Vegeta’s mouth travelled across her body, his tongue drawing rousing, sinuous paths all over her skin, two unruly tears pooled at the corners of Bulma’s eyes, squeezing them shut, finally understanding what her alien lover was asking of her.

He wanted her to let go…

To let go of her past and embrace the present, because the aching truth was that the present, as crazy and unpredictably arduous as it was, was all they’d ever have, and perhaps her past romances hadn’t even been as perfect as she’d thought them to be. Tonight’s events had reminded her of all the pain and disappointment her late fiancé had caused her, and just how much she’d idealized the memories of her past life, simply because it didn’t exist anymore.

Because nothing was more beautiful than what was already gone…

Because what was gone could be polished, embellished and put up on top of a golden pedestal, and one could ignore every single flaw and imperfection, choosing to forever live in a land filled with faded memories and half-truths.

And the truth would never be more real than the breathtaking sensation of Vegeta’s tongue languidly twirling around her rosy nipple, his hungry mouth meticulously licking and kissing her skin, treating her as if she were the only woman in the world, the only other being who mattered to him. Through his heated touch, he was communicating, begging her to understand that they could both be dead by tomorrow and that nothing, absolutely nothing, really counted but this very moment, and that they should both enjoy and savor it to the fullest.

So, she let go, getting lost in a sea of lust as her lover kept caressing her pert breasts, delicately fondling the tantalizing flesh with rugged hands, her nipples hardening scrumptiously inside his burning mouth. Her back arched alluringly, offering herself to him as he kept working her, playing her body like the finest instrument as he swept his moist tongue all over her. Only he could do this to her, touching, stroking, squeezing her soft form, holding onto her like a drowning man to a lifesaver. 

Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt him descend upon her quivering body, his warm breath flowing over her heated skin, lathering it with insistent kisses as she felt a raging, lust-crazed beast awakening inside of him.  

Vegeta’s mouth skimmed down over her flesh, finally reaching his forbidden destination, the mouthwatering heat between her satiny thighs. The scent of her arousal was unbearable, calling out for him as her light panting, and the way her hips impatiently squirmed and wriggled, endangered his self-control, making him feel as if he’d burst.

He ripped off her tiny underwear, hands grasping her legs in a firm grip and fingers furrowing into her flesh, struggling to keep her in place as his devilish tongue swathed a path of fire across the vulnerable skin of her inner thighs, hovering over her tempting center. He run his textured tongue over her rosy nether lips, finally succumbing to the starving, violent animal inside of him, smirking lazily when her hips bucked involuntarily in the most delicious response to his touch.

“Ve-Vegeta… Oh Gods…” She mewled as he kept licking and tasting her, languorously suckling on her swollen nub as she moaned and writhed beneath him.

It was terrifying, terrifying just how easily he could push her, building up her ecstasy and driving her to the edge of release. He’d pleasured her in this way before, but this was the first time Bulma truly felt that he was doing it for her, just for her own satisfaction, and not due to some proud, manly craving to prove himself and his steamy skills. Tonight, he was doing this for her, simply because he wanted to make her feel good.

She muffled her screams into her pillow, hands stiffened in his hair and hips thrashing frantically as pleasure pooled into her center, like a wild spasm of electricity roaming her body, shooting bolts of sizzling desire right through her.

Vegeta grunted in pure satisfaction as he felt her cum in his mouth, his fingers digging deeper into her thighs and his tongue working relentlessly, never ceasing his teasing ministrations as the fragile creature shook and quaked uncontrollably in his arms.

He gradually slowed down, but he still kept tasting her unremittingly, lapping up her juices long after her climax had viciously claimed her, and relishing the way her body submitted to him, knowing, with utmost certainty, that he was the only man who’d ever driven her mad with want like this.

After countless minutes of idyllic oblivion, waiting patiently for his woman to come back to him, he felt her stir underneath him, and he lifted his gaze, intense obsidian eyes locked with a deep-sea of blue as she unsteadily raised up on her elbows, offering a dainty hand to him.

“Come here…” She asked in a pleading whisper, the idlest, sweetest smile curling naughtily on her lips.

And the Gods helped him, he did, sluggishly crawling towards her, hovering over her earthly sated form until his mouth ghosted hers, groaning in surprise when she captured him, engaging them in a dreamy, messy kiss as she tasted herself on his lips.

“Does it still hurt?” Bulma whispered in alarm, eyeing his bandaged arm and shoulder after noticing the slight grimace of pain crossing his face as he kept supporting himself with his arms so as not to crush her with his heavy weight. When the proud warrior shook his head in negation, clearly stunned by her concern, she smiled perceptively at him, knowing that he was vainly attempting to conceal his discomfort.

“Lie on your back…” She prodded gently, slowly encouraging him to roll over and positioning herself on top of him.

She straddled his hips dominantly, running her playful little fingers impishly over the ridge of his shaft, smirking in cocky approval when it twitched painfully beneath her touch. He was hard already, just for her, and Bulma couldn’t help but slid the tip of her tongue salaciously across her lips at the knowledge that it was driving her to climax what had made him like this.

Vegeta waited meekly, letting her do as she wished with his body, his face contorted in need, groaning pathetically as she toyed with him, her fingertips glistening with the drops of precum already oozing from his cock. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for bringing a powerful man like himself to his knees. But he couldn’t, not when she kept staring at him like that, with those shimmery, turquoise eyes, as if he were the only man in the world, the only one that truly mattered to her.

Bulma placed one of her hands by his neck, propping herself above him as she kept pleasuring him suggestively with the other. She nuzzled his nose, her sweet breath dancing over his dry lips while she worked him, a husky laugh vibrating in her throat when he pitifully lifted his hips at last, unable to take it anymore.

“B-Bulma…” Vegeta grumbled, his massive hands travelling to her curvy hips, squeezing the provocative flesh as he thrusted against her slick warmth, rubbing his hardness against her still pulsing womanhood.

“Ssshhh…” She shushed him softly in a voice laced in sensual naiveté. “I just want to make you feel good…” Bulma pouted, brushing her plump lips against his own. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?”

Vegeta had no time to answer, the only response that came out of his mouth was the ragged sigh of relief when she gracefully raised her body and took him in, finally becoming one with her dark Saiyan Prince.

His hands remained on her hips in a tight, greedy grip, allowing her to set her pace, wheezing loudly at the infernally obscene way in which her hips rolled on top of him, grinding, inviting him to bury his engorged cock deep inside of her as she kept those scintillating, half-lidded eyes sensually locked with his.

She moved him.

The divinely beautiful creature moved him like nothing or no one had before. 

In a different life, a life that was fair, she could have been Queen…

But life wasn’t fair, and here, in this dark, forgotten corner of the Universe, she was nothing more than a lonely girl seeking solace in the arms of a killer, a man whose hands were so covered in murky blood, that he lived his days with the tragic inevitability that there would be a special place in Hell reserved just for him.

Her body kept moving temptingly atop of his, the rich aroma of their arousal, unbearably thick and heavy, wafting in the air as the moonlight kept illuminating her flawless figure, her pale perfection making her look like a resplendent apparition, an otherworldly creature specially designed just to castigate him, pushing him over the edge of insanity with her charms.

His hands encircled her back as he came undone, possessed by the agonizing pressure, his balls tightening, his climax getting closer and closer. Knowing his body as if it were her own, she gladly leaned into him, her hips meshing against his as she let him take control, hastening his pace and thrusting desperately into her as she mewled and cried into his mouth. One of his arms kept her firmly pressed against him, glorying in the maddening friction of her softness melting on his hardness, while his other hand sneaked right between her thighs, stroking her fervently, wanting nothing more than to feel her joining him in his insatiable quest for release.

And then it happened, dark eyes rolling back into his head, bright sparks of white light exploding, piercing his lids as the unreal rush of ecstasy overcame him, spilling himself inside of her tight little pussy as he whimpered hoarsely, grunting in bliss as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Bulma’s trembling hand found his, her hips gradually slowing down but still moving rhythmically on top of his spent body as she caressed her inflamed, over sensitized flesh, chasing her own gratification with the help of his roughed touch. A few moments later, she joined him at last, her inner walls milking him deliciously as she swore a litany of indecent, incoherent words of pleasure in his ear, collapsing on top of him complete and utterly drained.    

Both lovers lay on the bed, sharing a long, contented silence as they basked in the feeling of just being in each other’s embrace. Vegeta wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose into the enticing flesh of her shoulder and inhaling deeply, suppressing the gloominess of his troubled mind underneath the exquisite scent of her climax, and that sumptuous, feminine sweetness that was only hers. Bulma smiled lazily against the heat of his neck in sleepy amusement, placing a soft kiss on his damp skin and secretly loving that primal, animalistic side of him that always made him explore and savor her in ways no human man ever would.

The warrior kept staring at the ceiling with his lover in his arms, feeling his member softening inside of her but dreading the moment he’d have to pull out and leave the comforting warmth of her body. His hands kept petting her luminous skin, that rare emotion, the very same one he’d experienced when he’d taken her in the shower, returning to him as he felt her own life’s essence interlaced with his own.

“I have a three day leave this time…” He whispered in the dark as her breathing blearily slowed down beneath his calloused fingertips.

“Really?” Bulma murmured tiredly, raising her head slowly and looking at him, her eyes lethargic but shinning in childlike excitement. “Does that mean I’ll see you again tomorrow?” She asked longingly.

The Prince nodded, his hands reaching out to her angelic face, brushing her tousled hair aside as he rejoiced in the smile of joy that the news of his stay brought to her pretty lips.

“That’ll be nice…” She whispered happily, chastely kissing the corner of his lips one final time before resting her head on his good shoulder, already feeling herself drifting off into the land of dreams, safe in the warmness of his shielding embrace.

When the cool air of the night made Bulma shiver in her sleep, the Prince quietly reached for her white bedsheets with one hand, keeping her tightly pressed against his body with the other as he covered both of them up, smiling proudly to himself when a sigh of relief emanated from her lips in response to his protective gesture. 

“Thank you for coming tonight…” His little lover mumbled against his neck as her fingers sleepily caressed the flesh of his broad chest.

Vegeta instinctively tensed up at the unexpected words of gratitude, feeling, not only unaccustomed to them, but wholly undeserving of her thankfulness. After all, he had failed her tonight.

“I was late…” He finally answered in a hushed, almost ashamed whisper.

“But you still tried, Vegeta…” She explained softly, as if she’d already been expecting his self-deprecating reaction. “It meant so much to me…”

The Saiyan remained silent after those last affectionate words, a tight lump bursting in his throat at the way his skin tingled when she snuggled against him as sleep overcame her. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he pulled her closer and wondering, not for the first time, just what the Devil was he going to do with this unique, frail woman.

The only woman who’d ever apologized to him.

The only woman who’d ever cried for him.

The only woman who’d ever thanked him.

He glanced down at her one final time, staring at the weak sleeping figure in his arms, awed by the sheer amorousness and acceptance hiding behind her every word and every gesture. She cared for him, in spite of knowing, in the inmost depths of her untainted heart, that he was fully unworthy of it, that he’d never be able to give her what she wanted and that he’d never, ever, become the man that a woman like her truly deserved. 

In a different life, a life that was fair, she could have been Queen…

Chapter Text

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

[Dylan Thomas; ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’]

******************************************

Bulma carefully twirled the little capsule between her anxious fingers, a tiny spur of impatient excitement burning within her at the thought of Vegeta’s potential reaction to her newest invention when she’d finally give it to him.

Not that long ago, the scientist would have found it absolutely impossible to picture the day when she’d even dare to contemplate manufacturing a capsule anymore. After all, the small but highly valuable item was her late father’s greatest invention, the one he’d built his entire technological empire upon, and the very first piece of technology she’d ever learnt to create on her own as a young girl. The impressive creation held such a significant, sentimental meaning in her life, for so many different reasons, that it was hard to believe that she’d now finally been able to conjure up the emotional strength to fabricate one. Then again, ever since the annihilation of her home planet had taken place, she hadn’t been brave enough to imagine the prospect of feeling true joy or optimism anymore either.

Not until Vegeta had walked into her life…

The scientist yawned loudly, resting her feet on the table as she took a short break from her always strenuous work, allowing her mind to wander, getting lost in her vivid imagination and the memorable recollections of her last encounter with her Saiyan lover.  

True to his word, Vegeta had stayed with her on the base for three whole days. Bulma wasn’t entirely sure about what it was that he did during the daytime, all she knew was that, every single evening without fail, the warrior had shown up at her laboratory to pick her up and join her on her way back to her apartment. She could still recall her initial shock at the sight of that austere, lonesome figure awaiting her patiently by the door, almost as if they were a regular couple, just a man taking his woman back home after a long day’s work.

Bulma let out a tired sigh, making the colossal effort to remind herself that, in spite of the more than obvious tie which had developed between them, her home wasn’t really his home, and this man wasn’t really her man. If she was truly honest with herself, she wasn’t even sure if an inscrutable man like Vegeta would ever have the emotional skills to be a part of anything that would resemble a real, authentic relationship with anyone, much less with a highly sensitive woman like her.

There had been no romance of any kind in those slow, calm strolls on their way to her place, certainly not the public displays of affection that couples used to engage into back on Earth. Instead, those long walks had been spent in complete quietude, both lovers sharing a comfortable silence as they walked side by side in the dark, with Vegeta walking a couple of steps behind her like a warm, protective figure, following her with quiet devotion. There had been no passionate kissing, no sappy holding of hands or inane parades of amorousness and, yet, despite the awkwardness of it all, Bulma had enjoyed every minute of it, every single minute of his discreetly earnest presence, and the thrilled butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach in exhilarating expectation at what was to come.

As soon as they’d reach their destination and the Saiyan would wrap one of his strong arms around her waist, flying her right into her balcony, all Hell would break loose, and this man, this distant, broody warrior, would instantly become her man. It was as if their bodies had a mind of their own, as if they shared an irrational connection, a maddening bond that would take over as soon as they isolated themselves from the outside world, freely giving into each other with everything they’d got. Lips crashing fervidly, kissing and devouring every inch of the other’s flesh as their shivering, heated bodies meshed together. Hands that wouldn’t stay in one place for too long, stroking, caressing, squeezing each other’s form as if the world were about to end, as if this time would surely be the last, their last chance to enjoy this mind-blowing carnal experience they’d never be able to rejoice in with anyone else. And as painful as it sounded, that was the truth anyway, because every single ardent night, and each one of those sensuously desperate kisses could be the last. The very thought of never getting to feel her lover’s touch ever again filled her with poignant despair but, oddly enough, Vegeta’s words seemed to have gradually sunk into her subconscious.

“You need to let go, Bulma…” He’d whispered zealously as his unremitting, skilled mouth brought her to the edge of ecstasy and beyond. “Let go…”

Her mysterious Prince had opened her eyes inexorably, tempting her, inviting her to reconcile with her new station in the world, this uncertain, inhospitable world that was still so new to her, but which the warrior knew like the palm of his lethal hand. If this man, a man whose inviolable eyes had clearly witnessed horrors she had yet to see for herself, had in some way managed to survive years and years of subjugation under the dominion of that wretched lizard Overlord, then so could she. She was Bulma Briefs, and knowing that Vegeta, a fighter who played with the fires of death for a living, had somehow found a way to make peace with the madness inhabiting this vast, chaotic Universe, had brought her a newfound sense of confidence and fortitude, the hope that perhaps she’d make it after all. That maybe, just maybe, those rare moments of happiness would make her life worth living in the end, and the earthling had resolved, once and for all, that from now on she was going to squeeze every single ambrosial drop of sheer bliss that she’d get to enjoy by her lover’s side.

And oh, what bliss that was…

The cocky bastard who found immense satisfaction in undoing her and bending her to his twisted will was still there, no doubt about it. The arrogant man with depraved hands that could bring her to climax with a single caress, and a foul mouth that would whisper filthy words of dark desire in her ear, kindling a fire within her soul that only he held the power to put down with his expert touch.

But then, there were those moments...

Those reserved moments of idyllic intimacy, so new to the both of them, when her lover would let his guard down, just for her, unwittingly letting her know that perhaps she meant more to him than he was willing to admit, not only to her but to himself. Those private times when he’d pull her closer after climax had claimed them both, lying behind her as he pressed his body against the smooth skin of her back, his furry tail lovingly curled around her thigh as he idly nuzzled the nape of her neck. At times, his embrace would be so tight that he’d literally take her breath away, and it occurred to her that he looked like a child, an abandoned little child clinging to the one thing which could bring him comfort, assuaging the rage in his heated blood and soothing the nightmares that plagued his restless sleep at night.

Even though no promises had yet been exchanged between them, and Bulma was still struggling to accept that ruthless fact, a part of her had started to feel as if they both genuinely belonged to each other. It was a foreign sentiment, an unspoken vow which emanated not from Vegeta’s mouth but from his actions.

Every time he’d lazily run his calloused hands across her spine, tracing every curve and every hollow of her softness as she rested her head on his well-built chest, his warm touch told her that he’d never touch another the way he touched her.

Every time his lips pursued hers, his famished tongue violently twined with her own, tasting and exploring her with voracious thirst, told her that he’d never kiss another the way he kissed her.  

And every time he stood on her balcony at the break of dawn, locking his impenetrable gaze with her own giddy one, the hopelessly possessive look in his eye quietly told her that he’d never, ever, look at another the way he looked at her.

Bulma’s fingers stiffened around the minuscule capsule, a tinge of worry crossing her curious mind, pondering, not for the first time, if perhaps it was still too early for her to make a gift to her lover, and wondering just how he’d possibly react to receiving a present from her. But a rush of hope soon encompassed her as she evoked the unbelievable way in which Vegeta had said his goodbyes to her after their last encounter.        

The earthling had always been the one initiating contact in the morning, the only one bold enough to ask when he’d come back to her, or shyly requesting one final kiss before his agonizing departure would ultimately take place. But this time, as he’d exited her bathroom, fully dressed in his new armor and ready to go into battle, he hadn’t halted his steps, hesitantly waiting in the middle of the room for one of her familiar final requests. This time, Vegeta had walked right towards her, standing by the bed and aggressively yanking off the crumpled bedsheets still covering her naked form, fully exposing her and literally taking her in his arms, impetuously slamming his lips against hers as he stole one last kiss. Bulma’s sleepy eyes instantly opened wide, utterly shocked by his unusual actions but promptly giving in, wrapping every available limb around him and gratefully kissing him back, relishing the incredibly sensual way in which her Prince growled and squeezed her flesh hungrily in return. His hard armor felt deliciously cold against her nakedness, and she moaned in need as one of his gloved hands held her soft bottom in a firm grip while the other one buried itself within her disheveled blue curls, pulling her even closer as if he desired nothing more than for their starved bodies to merge into one.

It was then that she felt it...

It was then that she felt that Vegeta loathed this just as much as she did, and that he too was conflicted, fighting a silent battle as he urgently dived into their heated kiss in a futile attempt to prolong the inevitable. Bulma could still evoke the heartbreaking sob itching in her throat, her eyes burning as she held back the tears, and how impossibly hard it was right then to bite her tongue so as not to ask him to stay, to send everything to Hell, his duties, his infernal mission and his obligations to his Master, and never leave her side.

And, the Gods helped her, when their mouths finally parted, their lips swollen and avidly gasping for air, and he sank his all-consuming eyes on hers, she sensed that he would. She didn’t know why or how such an absurd idea could even be possible but, in her heart, and in those raw, exposed eyes of his, she believed that, if she ever asked him, if she ever mustered the courage to reveal her selfish desires to him, he’d give up on everything and everyone and follow her to the end of the world and back.

“Seven days…” He whispered huskily in her ear, breaking the silence in the room but still refusing to let go of her.

She nodded wordlessly, shamefully hiding her face in the crook of his neck, her arms tightening around his robust neck, struggling to keep her teary emotions in check.

“Be careful…” She pleaded softly, her shaky breath ghosting his skin as she laid one final, indolent kiss in his jaw.

Vegeta kept her securely trapped in his embrace a little longer, burying his nose in her creamy shoulder as he took in her heavenly scent one final time, entirely basking in it, as if he were trying to imprint it into his memory for life. Bulma didn’t know just how long they remained that way, all she knew was that, when he eventually placed her back on the bed, kissing her pale forehead with astonishing tenderness, he took a piece of her heart with him as he left her side at last, walking into her balcony and flying away from her.

Bulma closed her eyes, taking a deep, cooling breath and realizing in embarrassment that she’d been nervously chewing on her thumbnail during the countless minutes she’d spent completely lost in thought as she’d obsessively recreated, over and over again, every single moment spent with her Saiyan Prince.

She’d fallen for him.

She’d fallen for him hard and she knew it...

What she didn’t know was what the blazes she was going to do about it. Her lover’s affectionate displays, even that barely hidden adoration in his ebony eyes, told her that he’d grown inexplicably fond of her, but Bulma was no fool, and she sadly suspected that perhaps it simply wouldn’t be enough. For all she knew, the raw intensity in his actions was still nothing more than some kind of animalistic, physical infatuation and, even though she wanted to believe, with all her heart, that Vegeta had developed truthful feelings towards her, she had no idea as to how he’d react if she ever dared to pronounce that always terrifying four-letter word.

Love was a frightening concept indeed, an intimate notion that even regular human males had had trouble accepting and fully embracing, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how Vegeta would respond to an honest declaration of affection coming from a woman. 

The scientist peeked at the large clock hanging from the wall, begrudgingly acknowledging that it was time to return to reality and get back to doing her job. She put the tiny capsule inside of one of the small pockets in her greasy overalls, carefully zipping and patting it, making sure it’d be safely protected until she found the right moment to give it to her lover. The Saiyan Prince was coming tonight, and even though her little present wasn’t much after all, she’d put a lot of thought and work into it, and she very much hoped that Vegeta would like and make good use of it.

Just as she was standing from her chair, she heard the familiar sounds of a shy voice awkwardly clearing her throat right behind her.

“Um… M-Miss Bulma?” The young receptionist coyly asked, uncomfortably standing by the lab’s door as she fidgeted with her hands in clear edginess.

“Yeah?” Bulma quickly replied, turning around so she could face her, suddenly surprised by the girl’s shyness. The young woman, who’d been hired to replace Launch, had been doing a more than acceptable job at it, and even though she’d always addressed the scientist with utmost respect, the girl seemed to be way more nervous than usual, even by her own standards.

“What’s the matter?” The earthling inquired as she tiredly rubbed her sore neck.

“Uh… Um… There’s… There’s a man w-who wants to see you…” The girl stuttered in half a whisper.

“See me?”

“Uh… Yes… H-He asked for you by name, Miss…”

Bulma squinted subtly, both intrigued and disturbed by the youngster’s words. There was only one person who knew her by her own name, and that was Vegeta. But, whenever the warrior visited her, he simply walked into her laboratory with that unique arrogance of his, totally uninvited and behaving as if he owned the place. As far as she was concerned, no one else should have been able to address her by name, certainly not someone intimidating enough to instill fear in the young girl’s soul, as he obviously had.

“Alright…” Bulma sighed audibly, walking in the girl’s direction and placing a kind hand on her trembling shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze in an effort to reassure her as well as she could. “Let’s see who this mysterious man is, shall we?” She muttered, already stepping into the hallway and leaving the girl behind.

She walked at a slow pace, her heart in her throat and her mind elucubrating a thousand and one horrifying possibilities behind her false confidence. And her worst fears became a reality as soon as she arrived at the entrance, setting her eyes on the secretive visitor, a man she’d hoped with all her might that she’d never get to see or interact with ever again.

Nappa.

“Bulma Briefs?” The giant beast asked gruffly without so much as a formal salutation.

Bulma swallowed heavily, faintly lifting her chin as she approached him, knowing that the best thing to do under the present circumstances was to stay as cool and collected as possible. The memory of the hulking animal threatening and cursing at her late friend still remained firmly engraved in her memory but, this time, Vegeta wouldn’t be around to save her if she got in trouble with the older Saiyan.

“That is correct,” Bulma calmly informed, standing behind the large desk and casually leaning on it with her now clammy hands. “What can I do for you?”

The bald man smirked malevolently, a deep grunt erupting from his throat as he leisurely uncrossed his arms, revealing the enigmatic object he’d been hiding, held in one of his massive hands.

A small, white box which he immediately offered to her.

“This is for you,” he stated cryptically, handing over the minor item and placing it in her hands with surprising care for a savage like him.

The earthling promptly took hold of it, watching it in concentration with a puzzled frown on her face. “Ummm… Th-Thank you… I guess?” She stammered uncertainly. “But, what…?”

“It’s Vegeta’s scouter,” Nappa explained neutrally, solving her doubts before she even had the time to fully state them. But a mysterious gleam in his chilling eyes quickly told her that, behind his apparent disinterest, the fighter was keeping the woman under close scrutiny, analyzing her every word and gesture. “He asks that you fix it for him.”

By now, Bulma could barely mask her consternation. The first time she’d gotten her hands on her man’s scouter, she’d almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, finding it absurd for anyone to keep such an antiquated model around. But, after her lover’s confession, in the secrecy of their private little world, she’d discovered the astoundingly sentimental reason behind it, and it was then that she’d finally understood just how valuable the old relic was to the Prince. Ever since she’d learnt that the ancient object belonged to Vegeta’s late father, she’d manipulated it with absolute care, and she found it hard to believe that the Saiyan would easily hand it over to someone like Nappa.   

“Did…? Did something happen to Prince Vegeta?” Bulma asked cautiously, a rush of panic overwhelming her at the thought of her man becoming the victim of some horrible outcome during his latest mission, or, what would be infinitely worse, the idea of Vegeta refusing to see her anymore, and choosing to handle his business with her through the taller idiot from now on.  

“What did you just say?” The brute asked in malicious offence, instantly making the hairs on her neck stand.

“I asked if something happened to Prince Vegeta,” the scientist guardedly repeated, trying to pay the gigantic man a modicum of respect but still refusing to show just how utterly intimidated by him she was feeling at the moment. “Since he usually chooses to supervise the repairs himself…”       

Nappa’s smirk curled evilly, tilting his head to the side as he peered at her askance. And then, then he took one step forward, towering over her, his nostrils flaring with poorly concealed curiosity, as if he were taking in her scent just the way Vegeta had when they’d first met back in her laboratory. Her body’s natural reaction, however, couldn’t have been any more different. Whilst her lover’s brazen actions had literally set her body on fire, awakening her lusty desires and making her yearn for his touch, Nappa’s mere presence made her wish for nothing more than to soak her full body in pure bleach.

Luckily for her, the older man soon stepped back, that evil smirk never leaving his putrid mouth, and he basically turned on his heels, leaving the building without a second glance.

“That’s none of your goddamned business, wench!” He barked at her, already giving her his back. “Just fix his fucking scouter if you know what’s good for you!”

His insulting words would have offended her if it weren’t for her state of extreme confusion, her mind blank, shaky hands holding the small box against her chest as she drowned in cold sweat. And she remained completely still, standing in her spot long after the bastard had left her presence, her eyes travelling to the baffling item, fingertips enfolding it gently, incapable of gathering the courage to open it and unveil its contents.

“M-Miss Bulma?” The girl’s voice timidly asked, somehow bringing her out of her dazed reverie. “Is… Is everything okay?” She enquired in a whispery voice.

“Uh?” Bulma frowned, quickly realizing that the young receptionist had witnessed the entire exchange and was now clearly ogling the object in her hands with nosiness. The scientist knew that she had to get out of there at once. Whatever that box contained, it certainly wasn’t something she was willing to freely share with anybody, much less with some girl who was still hardly more than a stranger to her.

“Yes,” she answered with feigned self-assurance, passing the snoopy girl by as she walked into the hallway in the direction of her lab. “It looks like I’ll be busy. Please make sure that no one bothers me for a while…”         

Bulma sat by her worktop once she reached the place, secretly grateful that it was her assistant’s day off while she placed the small package on top of it. She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting fretfully, finally taking off the lid and making the appalling discovery.

There it was.

Vegeta’s scouter.

“Kami…” She whispered to herself, anxiously biting on her lower lip as she examined the distinctive object with dread. By now, she’d fixed it for Vegeta enough times to know it like the palm of her hand, but never had she done it without his presence, both solemn, yet strangely supportive, by her side.

Something must have happened.

Something bad…

Bulma grasped it at last, running her trembling fingertips across its timeworn, cracked surface just as she’d done when Vegeta had disclosed how important the object was to him. She could feel it coming, that old, familiar dread, the frightful tightness in her chest that pounced on her whenever she pictured the possibility of her lover’s absence in her life. She switched the on button, testing its many functions, her distress rapidly intensifying once she realized that the small apparatus appeared to be doing its job efficiently.

The scientist carefully deposited the scouter on the table, right in front of her, planting her elbows on the hard surface and tiredly resting her head on her hands as she stared at it through blurry, misty eyes.

It made no sense.

None.

She was pretty sure that her man would never get rid of the object by choice, and he certainly wouldn’t go on a mission without it, which could only mean one thing: that Vegeta was on the base but was refusing to see her. And the worst part was that she couldn’t figure out how or why that was even possible, given how incredibly affectionate he’d been towards her during their last encounter.

Perhaps he regretted it all...

Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally opened his eyes and he’d understood just how absurd, how utterly insane this relationship, or arrangement, or whatever this madness that had erupted between them was.                        

Perhaps he’d met someone else…

Her eyes squeezed shut at that particular probability, battling an inner turmoil she’d never faced before as jealousy and abandonment ate her alive, hot tears pooling at the corner of her eyes, quivery fingers digging into her scalp, pondering, wondering why, just why had her Prince chosen to put an end to their affair. And how could he have been so cruel to do it in such manner, without so much as an explanation or a goodbye, and choosing to rub, quite literally, his most prized possession right in her face instead.   

Bulma froze in that position for countless minutes, time going by unbearably slowly as her mind meandered in agitation, travelling a myriad of dark, gloomy trails, always leading to the same destination.

Loneliness.

In the end, it was the all too familiar noise of her alarm clock, announcing that her working day had come to an end, what brought her back to reality, a miserably lonely reality she wasn’t brave enough yet to face.

‘Seven days…’ He’d whispered in her ear as he held her prisoner to his fierce embrace.

Seven days.

Tonight was supposed to be the night, the night of her much-anticipated reunion with her lover. But now, as she stood from her chair with dejection, she had to reluctantly accept that the chances of Vegeta making one of his furtive visits to her balcony tonight were slim to none.

Bulma rubbed her now swollen eyes tiredly, wiping off the moisture with the sleeve of her dirty overalls as she grabbed the empty box with the intention of placing the scouter back inside so it’d remain protected from any outside elements until she had time to take care of it tomorrow.

And then she saw it…

Her puffy eyes widened in shock when she made her discovery: a flat, rectangular object awaiting patiently for her to reveal its secrets. It was lying at the bottom of the box, its color and size so similar to the package itself that Bulma had completely missed its presence. A shaky hand reached out for it, her breath hitching in her throat, berating herself for her own stupidity. She’d been so engrossed, so focused on Vegeta’s absence and on his scouter, that she hadn’t even taken the time to properly inspect every part of his message.

“What…?” She muttered absentmindedly, her suspicions proven right when she flipped it, seeking its frontal side and confirming, indeed, what the secretive object was.

An envelope.

A large, white envelope that Bulma opened with such restless anxiety that she almost ripped the whole thing apart as she frantically discovered its contents, consisting on a small magnetic card and a simple white note.

Constellation-X Hotel

Room 980

After Work

“Gods…” She whispered in relief, a surge of enthusiasm engulfing her once again.

She closed her eyes and pressed the note to her lips, exhaling a ragged breath of pure liberation, immediately recognizing both Vegeta’s handwriting and his scent all over it. She didn’t even know how, given how much weaker her human senses were compared to his overdeveloped Saiyan ones, but she could, nonetheless; that earthy, musky aroma that belonged to him and him alone, and his handwriting, small, slightly angular, and surrounded by an unmistakably regal touch.

At her insistence, and much to her surprise, he’d relented to her pleads once, agreeing to write a few words for her on the inside of the back cover of one of her poetry books. It’d happened during their last encounter, after admitting to the curious woman that, even though he mostly handled any kind of written information through a wide array of digital formats, and his people hadn’t used books as means to store data per se, he could indeed write by hand, and Bulma had been so fascinated by her lover’s revelation that she’d managed to steal a few written words from him. The words had been written in Standard Galactic, and when the earthling, feeling especially bold, had enquired whether he could write in any other language, he’d confessed to still being fluent in Saiyango but, to her disappointment, he’d refused categorically to share anything having to do with his long dead language with her.    

But now, none of that mattered anymore, the only thing that truly mattered was the object in her tremulous hands.

An invitation…

Her Prince had sent her a clandestine invitation, and even though she’d never visited the particular spot he was inviting her to, she’d surely heard of it before, and a naughty, sneaky voice told her, not without mischief, that tonight would be a night to remember.

Bulma carefully placed the scouter back in its box and, after making sure that the magnetic card and the note were safely hidden inside the very same pocket where her tiny capsule rested, she parted in the direction of her Saiyan lover, her heart giddy with excitement at what was still to come.

******************************************

The night was falling by the time she arrived to the mysterious hotel and she watchfully parked her air-bike in the designated area. Despite still owning a few of her old capsules containing a couple of Capsule Corporation vehicles, she’d chosen one of the standard ones provided for Frieza’s employees instead, fearing that her esteemed possessions would, not only get her excessive attention, but put her at risk as well. Bulma had been extremely cautious when it came to hiding most of her technological abilities, and she definitely didn’t want her skills or her talents to fall into the wrong hands. Just the mere fact of making a capsule for Vegeta was already placing her in great danger, yet she knew, undoubtedly, that her Saiyan Prince would take whatever secrets she shared with him to the grave.

Constellation-X Hotel was located at the center of the base’s most expensive residential area, the district where only the Emperor’s most celebrated warriors could afford to stay. The neighborhood wasn’t exactly isolated from the rest of the military station, but there was basically no need for it to be. In the lizard’s empire, every single living creature knew their place in the food chain, and Bulma, as much as it pained her to admit it, still quietly abided at the bottom of the barrel, and she was convinced that she’d stay there for a really, really long time.  

The earthling stood in front of the lavish entrance doors, taking a deep breath and battling a painfully tight knot in her stomach as she bravely walked up the long flight of stairs. Once she set foot into the massive halls, she had to force herself to clench her jaw, refraining from gawking like a silly little girl at the opulence swimming before her wide blue eyes.

The whole place reeked of luxury, with walls and floors extensively covered in polished stone, bizarrely similar to her planet’s finest marbles, and extravagant, thick burgundy rugs. The large golden lamps hanging from the high ceilings screamed excess, and a scent of cleanliness floated in the air, together with a rare aroma of rich incenses and a waft of the distinctively expensive herbs that high-class soldiers used to indulge into smoking.

Bulma walked through the over-the-top corridors, both nervous and excited about her foreign surroundings, holding her small white box in one hand and the magnetic card in the other. She’d feared that someone, at some point, would stop or interrogate her about her whereabouts, but in spite of the sidelong glances that some of the workers shot in her direction, she was pretty much left alone right until she reached the elevators.

As she pushed the button and waited patiently for her turn, she couldn’t help but peek in the direction of the roaring laughter coming from the back of the hall. To her right, in the distance, she clearly discerned the hotel’s bar, filled with tables brimming with appetizing foods and overpriced liquors. And at the tables, indulging in the wasteful feast, sat a wide selection of the most grotesque fighters, all dressed in their high-rank armors, enjoying the company of what Bulma rapidly recognized as expensive escorts, most of them sitting on the soldiers’ laps.

It wasn’t that different from Earth, she thought as she examined the obscene situation from afar. The heiress was no stranger to the extensive variety of posh hotels she’d sought accommodation in during her past work trips and Capsule Corp. conferences, and she knew how a lot of those business men who her father used to make business with operated. Surely, they used to handle their affairs with a little more discretion, but the principle remained the same, and now she knew why no one had questioned her about her intentions as she’d stepped into the place. Whether it was on her home planet, or on some long-forgotten corner of the Galaxy, the ‘look the other way’ policy seemed to apply with no exception.

Launch had described endless stories about those women before, and about just how many credits any decent looking female could quickly accumulate as long as she was willing to set aside her principles for a night. But, thankfully, even the intrepid blonde hadn’t been able to stoop to that level, and all of those tales had ended up in nothing more than strange anecdotes, just another footnote to add to the sheer insanity that had become her life.

“That would be the day…” Bulma mumbled, shaking her head to herself as she entered the ornate elevator, thinking on how she’d much prefer to starve to death rather than ever putting herself through such degrading circumstances voluntarily.         

It was inside the elaborate lift that her nerves truly started to get the most of her, clutching the box a little tighter against her chest as her fingertips fiddled with the shiny, magnetic card. It was always like this, that jittery anticipation that invaded her whenever she felt his presence nearby. And she could feel him, she didn’t know how but she could. Like a warm, captivating energy hopelessly attracting her, pulling her towards him with no way to run, and the most frightening part was that she knew, as clear as the light of day, that she’d never, ever run away from him or try to resist this magnetic temptation in any way.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating…

Her wobbly legs walked her throughout the lavish corridor of the hotel’s last floor on their own accord, her heart hammering furiously in her chest and, when she ultimately reached her journey’s end, her hand slid that slick card through the slot without the shadow of a doubt, knowing that her dark Prince awaited her on the other side of the mahogany wooden door. The gate opened straight away, unveiling its secrets, a deliberate invitation for her to make her entrance and to embark in a new, secret adventure. And Bulma couldn’t help but gape in pure wonder at the magnificence she discovered inside, a plush luxury which perfectly matched the one she’d already witnessed outside.

It was splendid, the biggest hotel suite she’d ever set foot into. Extravagant yet fairly elegant, flooded in white and royal blue tones and sensually illuminated by quite a few strategically placed bright candles. A king-sized bed fit for a queen, impeccably made and covered in black, satiny sheets, announced the forbidden promise of the erotic pleasures that would arise on it and, in the back, staring out the window with his back still facing her, stood the only man capable of bringing her such thrill.

Bulma walked a few steps into the room, the door gradually closing behind her as her gaze greedily roamed all over the fine Saiyan specimen standing before her very eyes. He was clad in nothing but a white towel from the waist down, his torso fully exposed to her, proudly exhibiting the fascinating atlas of ruthless scars that he called his body, and which she now knew by heart.            

She wasn’t quite sure just how long she waited for him to notice her, completely lost in the spellbinding trance of his presence. All she knew was that every single drop of air left her lungs the moment Vegeta turned around and fixated his eyes on her, walking in her direction with the smooth, menacing calmness of a lethal jaguar.

Her man.

Her Saiyan Prince...

He was a living enigma, a walking contradiction, with those unfathomable eyes piercing her to the spot, both confident yet oddly uptight. He always did this to her at the beginning of their clandestine encounters, staring at her with an intensity that made her blush like some foolish schoolgirl, as if he were scrutinizing her, trying to steal her most precious secrets so he could keep them all to himself.

Bulma waited on her spot like a cat on a hot tin roof, admiring his flawless form. The faint droplets of water still running across his skin and the few rogue tendrils of hair clinging to his shoulders told her that he was just fresh from a shower. And a stream of self-consciousness swamped her when she thought, all of a sudden, of how deplorable her appearance after a long day of labor must have been to him.

“I believe this is yours…” She whispered shyly, offering his scouter back to him when he stood in front of her at last.

Vegeta said nothing still, never losing eye contact with her as he simply grasped the white box with one hand and deposited it on a small console table nearby without much care. Before the dazed earthling could mutter another word, he grabbed her by the collar of her large overalls, aggressively pulling her closer and smashing his lips against hers.

Her body instantly responded to his passionate onslaught, her hands reaching for his built neck, nails digging into his flesh as her lover’s tongue delved deeper into her. It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying just how little need there was for words between them. Whatever it was, whatever this was, it worked. All they needed, all they’d ever need, was a hideaway, just a recondite, secret sanctuary where they could both retreat into, hiding away from the rest of the world and allowing their famished bodies to do the talking for them.

His insatiable lips soon found her neck, running his wet mouth all over the warmth that was Bulma. Her luminous skin both spicy and sweet, hot blood pumping underneath his slick tongue, making him groan in pure lust at the sensation of her little nails poking into his resilient skin as he explored her. His hands skillfully unzipped her, sneaking into her work-clothes and wrapping themselves around her waist as she trembled in need.

“Ve-Vegeta…” She gasped breathlessly, dropping her head back in submission, letting him do as he wished with her. The rich scent of her arousal darted straight to his groin, the booming beast inside of him roaring in exultant pride at just how dangerously easy it was for him to inflame her, to stir her desires and make her submit to his will.

“Ve-Vegeta…” She huffed once more, her hands now on his chest in a poor attempt at reining in her appetites. “P-Please… I…”

The Saiyan’s only response was a deep, guttural grunt, his lips nipping at her mouthwatering collarbone, hands tightening around her midriff as he brought her even closer, his thirst rising at the sound of his name on her lips.

Only she could do this to him, making him swell and yearn for her like a starved animal, invading his agitated sleep at night, those long, ghastly nights that felt interminable without her in his arms. His only comfort during those solitary times was thinking of her, reminiscing, with frightening detail, every single instant spent in each other’s company, all the libidinous things they’d done together, and the innumerable new ones he’d do to her when they’d eventually reunite again.

And the most disconcerting part was that the more he’d gotten to know her, the deeper their bond had grown, and so had those lonely fantasies featuring his blue-haired vision. It wasn’t her flawless body the one thing he evoked anymore, it was that myriad of minute details, that slew of idiosyncrasies that made his woman who she was. From the way her pretty brow would frown in concentration while she was patching up his old scouter, to the charming manner in which her face would lit up whenever she’d cutely scrunch her nose just for him. Not to mention the hypnotizing twirl of her fingers, playing with her hair during those enigmatic times when she’d allow herself to get lost in thought in his presence, her dreamy eyes half-closed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about only the Gods knew what while her other hand soothingly scratched his scalp in the darkest hours of night.

“Vegeta… P-Please… Can we…?” Bulma whimpered again, her hands still pressing his broad chest, her nails lightly grazing his nipples as she wrestled a losing battle with herself. She never wanted this moment to end and yet, she couldn’t help the horde of conflicted emotions surging within her right now. “C-Can we…? Can we stop for just…? For just a minute…? I-I just…”      

His lips froze on the spot, his large hands, still hidden beneath her clothing, instantly turning to stone on her hips. Vegeta’s mouth reluctantly abandoned her enticing neck, lifting his head until his eyes met hers, desperately attempting to keep his body under control and putting on a false masquerade of confidence as he privately feared the worst. Out of all the steamy, despicable things he’d ever done to his woman’s body, she’d never once asked him to stop, if anything ‘more’ seemed to have become her favorite word during the ardent times they’d shared together.  

“I just…” Bulma whispered timidly, her small hands gently cupping his face. “I was just wondering if… If I could take a quick shower? I… I’ve just been working all day and…” She shrugged slightly, her eyes meeting the floor alluringly. “I just…”

“Of course,” Vegeta replied, a knowing smirk thinly drawing itself on his mouth in both relief and amusement. For a second, he’d been afraid that his little minx would have finally come to her senses and leave him, but her passionate reaction to his kiss and that adorable blush on her cheeks let him know that she was just feeling self-conscious about still being dressed in her dirty overalls.

He gave her tiny waist one final, affectionate squeeze before ultimately letting go of her, surprising her once again when his hand reached out for hers, delicately intertwining their fingers together in a meager attempt at imitating her past actions, on that night when everything had irreversibly changed for them. She didn’t pronounce a word, meekly following right behind him as he walked across the extensive room until he made it to a white door, pressing a button located beside it and revealing the most opulent bathroom the earthling had ever set her eyes upon.

“There are fresh towels inside,” Vegeta quietly explained, letting go of her hand and staying outside, waiting by the door for Bulma to enter. Once she did, he nodded in the direction of a shelf hanging on the walls by the polished sink. “And this is for you…” He added in a significantly lower tone, laced with a tad of reserve.

The door closed behind her once again, and she simply stood still for a moment, her mind almost dizzy by the extraordinary luxury surrounding her, a lavishness which had once been so prevailing in her life, but that now felt as foreign as the cryptic man patiently awaiting her on the other side of the door. In front of her, resting on top of the shelf her lover had pointed at, laid what appeared to be a stylish giftbox. Bulma approached it with cautious steps, feeling as if she were immersed in a surreal dream and fearing that, by moving too fast, she’d wake up from her delusions all of a sudden. But her fingers, gingerly exploring the black, satiny box, told her that it was real, just as real as the blush flushing straight to her cheeks when she finally dared to open it and she discovered its lewd contents.    

******************************************

Vegeta stood cross-armed by the door, his left eye twitching in impatience as his concern for his woman grew to treacherous heights.

Half an hour.

Bulma had spent more than half an hour inside the bathroom already, and judging by the lack of noise coming from the other side of the wall, she showed no signs of coming out of there any time soon. At first, he’d thought that she’d simply be prolonging what he’d expected to be a pleasurable time inside the copious shower, but the sounds of the water streams had ceased long ago, and he hadn’t heard a peep out of her ever since.

He still couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, the dangerous levels he’d chosen to go through just so he could indulge and charm his little earthling. Never had he set foot inside one of these places before, choosing to seek accommodation in more modest inns instead. In spite of being one of the greatest, highest paid soldiers in Frieza’s army, the Saiyan had always lived a frugal life for himself, a life of simple pleasures where his only real treat had been keeping his ravenous stomach well-fed at all times. Everything else was dispensable, especially anything having to do with the females who’d entered his life just as quickly as they’d abandoned it, and he most certainly would have never spent a single credit in any one of them, whether it was with the intention of bedding them or, what sounded even more preposterous, of sweeping them off their feet. As a result of his thrifty existence, the Prince had accumulated a small fortune, a fortune that he was now gladly choosing to spend on the only creature he’d ever deemed worthy of his attentions.

Even though their last encounter had been, without a doubt, their best one to date, he’d still found himself haunted by his heartbreaking memories of her. She’d looked so sad and vulnerable, standing in the dark, in the middle of the empty streets, dressed in her old white dress and with those wistful tears streaming down her beautiful face as she evoked her former, idolized life, that he’d wanted to do something for her, however small the gesture, to enliven her spirit.

So, ever since he’d landed on the base in the morning, he’d spent the entire day looking for the right place to invite her to, painstakingly supervising every minute detail, from the best hotel to the finest suite, even disgracing himself to the point of buying that little present for her, the type of item he’d never cared much for anyway.

All because of her…

And now the goddamned woman wouldn’t even exit the bathroom.    

“Bulma?” He asked at last, discreetly knocking at the door after having waited what he considered a sensible amount of time.

Silence.

The most unnerving silence filled the air until a subdued voice finally offered him a reply.

“Y-Yeah?” Bulma answered shakily, her clear distress instantly putting him on guard.       

“Is everything alright?” Vegeta inquired in the least intimidating tone he could muster.

There was no response this time but that disheartening stillness, driving him to the brink of insanity until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m coming in…” He announced softly, already pushing the button and opening the closed door, gawking in utter shock at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

He found her sitting on the edge of the tub, already showered and dressed in the attire he’d purchased for her. Her curly hair was still damp and recently untangled, yet she kept fretting nervously with the small comb in her hands, her little toes wriggling anxiously on the cold, tiled floors. But it wasn’t her agitation what confused him the most, it was the way her back slouched slightly, her shapely thighs shut tight as she looked at him with the most crushed look on her perfect face. She looked sickly pale and defeated, definitely not what he’d bargained for when he’d made plans for the night, then again, he already had the conviction that the bewitching woman would forever remain a mystery to him.

“Bulma…” He whispered with hesitation, taking a few steps forward, approaching her slowly, very slowly, as one would a terrified kitten, fearing that one false move would make her jump and run away.

“Are you alright?” Vegeta newly asked, standing in front of her as he took in her appearance. Despite her obvious anguish, the woman was looking as gorgeous as ever, and it was getting harder and harder to repress his most primitive instincts in her presence.

She assented doubtfully, a rosy tint spreading on her cheeks at the hungry way the Saiyan kept staring at her, both concerned yet visibly fired up, which only served to confuse her even further.

“Come here…” He demanded softly, offering his hand to her and inwardly relieved when she took it without vacillation, slowly standing from the tub. Vegeta tenderly cupped her face, savoring that darling blush on her face as she shyly avoided his gaze, still looking to the ground. “Then, what’s the matter?”

Bulma took a deep breath, wondering how she could try to explain to her lover the alluvion of emotions overflowing her when she couldn’t even gather her own thoughts. She couldn’t puzzle out her sentiments, all she knew was the way she’d felt inside of that immense shower as she’d lathered up her jaded body in expensive, fragrant soaps, and the way she’d felt afterwards, standing in front of the mirror, dressed in the sumptuous lingerie that the Prince had acquired for her.

It’d been the first time in many months that she’d had the opportunity to look at herself in a full-length mirror, and a surge of pain had viciously hit her when she’d sadly realized that she could barely recognize the image of the woman emblazoned in her reflection anymore. That drained, spiritless woman couldn’t possibly be Bulma Briefs, the wealthy heiress who’d once held the world in the palm of her hand, the one who used to believe that everything and anything was possible, and that there wasn’t a single thing in the entire Universe that couldn’t be hers.

She’d run her long fingers across the alien, red fabric clinging to her body, both slightly transparent and unbearably soft, trying to remember when was the last time she’d worn anything other than baggy overalls and her worn out Earth clothes. She’d contemplated her wet, lackluster tresses, her ivory skin, still soft but lacking the suppleness of former times, the good old days when she could afford to spoil and pamper every inch of her body.

And, above all, she’d thought of him…

Vegeta.

The man calmly waiting behind the door, the deadly warrior who’d orchestrated this entire rendezvous for reasons she couldn’t even comprehend. Bulma’s mind had flown to those women she’d just seen downstairs, in the lobby, the ones willing to sell their bodies for a handful of extra credits, powerless to restrain the acrid pang of jealousy and insecurity abruptly burning in her chest. She’d never even considered such a possibility in the past, but now, immersed in the middle of such overindulgence, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of panties and that flimsy negligee, she couldn’t help but wonder if this type of life was something attractive to her lover, a side of him she’d never been exposed to before.

Bulma was no fool, and she knew that the warrior was unquestionably, sexually experienced, yet she’d never actually pictured him as the type of man who would indulge in such females. He’d never appeared to be bothered by her lack of resources or her unsophistication, but now she worried that he’d grown tired of devoting his time to a mere mechanic, and that perhaps this was some kind of twisted game of his, trying to groom and spruce her up in some sick attempt at trying to turn her into something, into someone, that she was not.

His fingertips kept encircling her pale face, the sensual body heat of his proximity making her heart flutter as he kept piercing her with those eyes, the frown on his masculine face wanting nothing more than for her to make her most intimate thoughts known to him.

“Do you…?” She finally dared to ask, her voice barely a whisper and her eyes looking at him demurely. “Do you come to this place often?” 

Vegeta couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, using everything in his power to try to understand just what in Heaven’s name was wrong with the woman. He’d never really taken the time to intimate with a woman on any kind of an emotional level before, but he was fairly confident that the comfort he was showering her with was something which most females would enjoy.

“Never,” he replied with quiet conviction. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Bulma’s blush intensified, wanting to believe his words more than she’d ever wanted to believe anything in her whole life.

“Th-Those…” She stuttered timidly, lowering her eyes once more, her hands gently getting hold of his wrists, almost as if she were struggling to remain grounded. “Those women… Do you…? Have you ever…?”

“No,” Vegeta promptly answered, finally grasping where those jumbled emotions really stemmed from.

Idiot.

He’d been a complete and utter idiot…

He’d been so focused, so compulsively engrossed in his obsession with planning the perfect day to spoil and satisfy her, that he’d forgotten just how incredibly intelligent Bulma truly was. He’d overpassed the fact that the woman would wisely analyze her surroundings and get a flawed impression about him and his way of life. For all she knew, he could have lived a debauched life whenever she wasn’t around, an existence dedicated to decadence and excess, and the worst part was that he had no right to complain or get offended by her wrong assumptions, given how severely tight-lipped he’d always been with anything regarding his private life.

Surprisingly, the deeper their bond had blossomed, the fonder he’d grown at the idea of opening up to her in the future, even entertaining the thought of sharing some of his old life stories with her, but her rare candor made him feel so inept, so inadequate, that he didn’t know if he’d ever find the courage to bare his soul to her. But tonight, there was one thing he could do, tonight he could bring her the reassurance that she so desperately longed for.          

“Bulma, look at me…” He pleaded, his hand carefully lifting her chin in encouragement for her to set those glorious eyes on him. “Never!” He whispered heatedly against her lips, letting her know, once and for all, that she was the only woman he’d ever catered to in this way.

His firm tone and the honesty in his stare left no room for argument, and the Saiyan was soon rewarded with a still somewhat shy, but flirtatious little smile. Bulma nodded, her eyes lighting up like the brightest of stars, wrapping her arms around him as she pressed her brow against his.

“Okay…” She whispered sweetly, her fingernails soothingly scratching the nape of his neck, reveling in the way his tail immediately found her waist and pulled her even closer.

“If you…” He wavered, his thumbs lightly brushing her cheeks. “If you do not like it, we could still go back to your apartment…”

She silenced his qualms with her lips, placing a tender kiss upon his as she shook her head in denial, her lovely face still pressed against his and her amusement growing by the second when she soon realized that now it was his turn to blush like an insecure adolescent.  

“I really like it, Vegeta…” Bulma muttered, kissing him chastely again. And again. “I do… I was just… I don’t know…” She shrugged sheepishly. “I guess I was just… I wasn’t expecting all of this…” Her arms tightened around his neck, literally jumping into his arms and effectively trapping him between her long legs, clinging to him as if his warmth was all she had to keep her alive.

Vegeta’s arms were on her at once, his hands ardently wandering all over her smooth back and that pert little ass of hers, sighing in relief as he felt her gradually relax in his embrace. She kept kissing him repeatedly, those nervous, adorable pecks she always broke the ice with whenever they reunited after their increasingly painful times apart.

Those innocent kisses which would end up bringing his downfall...  

Both lovers stood in the middle of the marbled room, getting lost in one another, the pressure intensifying as her legs constricted possessively, wound around his solid waist as her hands clasped a fistful of his wild hair. Her mouth kept hungrily exploring his, opening wide and happily welcoming him, letting him drink and consume her, giving herself to him like never before.

Now she knew, now she finally knew that he’d done all of this for her, and that he’d never given a damn about her lack of wealth, or status, or about always having to spend the night in her cramped, creaky bed. This man, this stormy, untamed man, hugging and crushing her yearning body against his as he grunted savagely into her mouth. Vegeta didn’t care about her blotchy overalls, or those stubborn little grease stains which sneaked in underneath her short nails and she couldn’t quite get rid of after a strenuous workday. Nor did he mind that her hands were no longer as soft as they used to be, once upon a time when the whole world laid at her feet and she could endlessly spoil herself rotten.

When he’d first invited her into this experience, she’d feared for a split second that he’d tired of her impoverished life, that it wouldn’t be enough, that she wouldn’t be enough. But the doubt in his gaze and the reserve in his voice when he’d offered to take her back to her home if such extravagance overwhelmed her, told her that he’d simply chosen to indulge her for her sake.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

It made no difference when or where their encounters took place, whether it was in her modest apartment, in the backroom of her laboratory or inside the most exuberant hotel suite ever conceived. Time would stop when they were together, and nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered but that raw chemistry, hopelessly pulling them towards one another.

Just a man and a woman, trying to steal whatever vestiges of joy and pleasure there were left for the both of them in the cold, miserable Universe they’d been thrown into.

In his arms, she was just his Bulma…

“Vegeta…” She whimpered longingly, rubbing her lust-hazed body against his as she became dangerously aware of the bulge hardening beneath his towel. “T-Take me to bed…” She begged feverishly, her teeth scraping his earlobe, enjoying the way the Saiyan groaned when she then licked that sweet spot below his ear.

His hands kept a firm grip on her bottom, a cocky smirk of satisfaction crossing his lips, inflamed at the sight of her neediness.

“Mhmm…” Vegeta moaned, playfully nudging the glowing skin of her neck with his sharp nose. “Is that what you really want, little woman?”

She nodded wordlessly, her moist lips brushing his jaw as she kept grinding against him. One of her arms tightened her hold on him while the other reached his muscular chest, her fingertips sensually tracing a hot path of fire across his delectably tanned torso until it reached its destination.

“I’d say…” Bulma’s sultry voice whispered wickedly to his ear, a widening smile ghosting his skin when she boldly wrapped her devilish fingers around his hard cock through the towel. “I’d say I’m not the only one who wants this, Prince Vegeta…”

“Lustful wench…” He hissed loudly through his teeth, his throat bobbing, swallowing heavily when she shamelessly squeezed his manhood. He instantly clutched her frail wrist, fearing that if she kept taunting and teasing him like this, it wouldn’t be long until she had him entirely at her mercy.

Bulma giggled in delight as he carried her back into the room, teetering like an untried young boy, his knees weak with desire, cursing himself for his weakness when it came to the woman shivering in his arms. When they made it to the impressive bed, he settled his precious cargo on it with utmost care, taking a step back so he could admire her in all her glory.

A thick energy stirred the air as his eyes contemplated the stunning woman carelessly splayed all over the black satiny sheets. The sharp contrast of her porcelain skin against the silken darkness, twined with the crimson of her provocative attire, turned her into the most appetizing spectacle his eyes had ever feasted on. He took in the delicious way in which the indecent negligée clung to her every curve, her ripe, luscious tits straining underneath the red fabric as her breathing accelerated.

She looked unreal, unattainable, like a kittenish little doll especially brought into existence to fulfill his every fantasy…     

One of his thick fingers hooked at the edge of his bath towel, and Bulma’s tongue licked her lower lip with naughty defiance when the white cloth casually touched the ground, fully exposing her lover to her starved gaze. All she could think of, as the glow of the candlelight fiddled with his anatomy, enhancing every ridge and every plain of his vigorous physique, was that he truly was the most handsome man she’d ever come across. She stretched her arm to him, her need taking over, the unbearable pressure building within her at the sight of his shaft, fully erect and jutting between his powerful thighs, and the knowledge, the maddening knowledge that every single bit of that perfection was hers and hers alone.

Vegeta soon accepted her silent invitation, carefully holding the trembling hand she’d so eagerly offered and bringing it to his mouth. His lips grazed her delicate knuckles, his face oddly stoic as his eyes desecrated every curve of her body, walking towards her and sinking his strong knees on the plush mattress, one knee at each side of her thighs, straddling her with dominance in one sleek, controlling move.            

He let go of her hand, his lips twisting into a devastating smirk at the sight of her slim arms folding in front of her, prudishly covering up her breasts, suddenly intimidated by the fierce intensity in his look. She was such a contradiction his little woman, such an amalgam of lovable paradoxes, the way she could blush like a maiden yet still pronounce such vulgar, despicable words in his ear in the throes of passion, would never cease to enrapture and amuse him.

His rugged touch found her thighs, gliding across her softness until it reached the rim of the glossy fabric still hiding her flesh from his greedy eyes. Her hips swayed in anxious need when his hands slid the nightdress upwards, revealing the tiny scrap of red still covering her heated core. His fingertips skimmed her hipbones, her milky skin breaking into delightful goosebumps in response to his feathery touch.

“Vegeta…” She whispered brazenly, trying urgently to free her legs from the merciless trap that were his thighs without success. She was going mad, she had to be. The excruciatingly slow way in which he was touching her, exploring her, and the way his jet-black eyes kept staring at her, his pupils dilated like those of a wild animal, were nothing but an invite for her to dangerously walk over the edge of reason.

The wantonness in her voice and the unmistakable scent of her arousal sent a jolt of excitement right to his cock, his jaw clenching, sharp Saiyan teeth chewing on his inner cheek until he could taste copper, and it was all he could do not to rip off those goddamned panties and ram into her, fucking her senseless until she’d beg him to stop. But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He wanted to take his time with her tonight, to taste her, to savor her, to luxuriate in her every word and every gesture, to engrave each and every instant devoted to her and keep it locked within the insanity that was his mind forever.

Because it would never be enough, now he knew. All of those nights spent in doomed solitude, fantasizing about the alluring creature, all of them, plotting, conspiring, brewing, envisioning every obscene fantasy, every impish, dirty trick they could plunge into, only to freeze in the spot when he finally had her in his arms, missing her already long before he’d even had the chance to lay his dirty hands on her.

He’d never tire of this little spitfire of a woman…

Vegeta’s hands resumed his erotic journey, leisurely travelling upwards as he undressed her, revealing her immaculate figure bit by bit. Bulma keenly raised her arms, her entire body wriggling in anticipation when he finally removed the garment, carelessly throwing it on the royal blue carpet. His plans for taking things slow with her started to crumble as soon as her hand grasped the minute waistband of her lacy panties, frantically attempting to get rid of them while still captured beneath his solid weight.

“You really are an impatient little thing… Aren’t you Bulma?” He susurrated against her open mouth, her name sounding like a sinful prayer on his lips as he forcibly grabbed her thin wrist, pinning it above her head.

She said nothing, panting breathlessly as she writhed and squirmed underneath him. Her only free hand mischievously reached down to his lower back, and his groin tightened when her clever fingers wrapped themselves around the base of his tail, stroking it just the right way, enough to drive him absolutely mad with desire.

“F-Fuck!” He roared hotly. The blasted woman had gotten to know him and his weaknesses far too well for his own good.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

A deep, husky laugh burst from her throat when he brutally ripped off her minuscule panties, parting her slender legs with one knee and positioning himself right between them. He viciously took hold of her other hand when his hips bucked wildly as she kept those mischievous fingers disobediently running up and down across the sensitive fur.

“You want this, don’t you?” He rasped, his lips curling smugly when his Bulma nodded with agitation. He trapped both of her hands above her head, sliding his swollen cock between her velvety folds.

The Gods damned her…

She was wet already, her sweet little hole contracting every time he wickedly teased her nub. Vegeta smirked evilly when he saw her fighting the fierce hold he had on her, knowing just how much she loved to touch him, to run those lovely nails of hers all over his marred skin, sinking them zealously into his flesh. But he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her caught, utterly helpless. He wanted her defenseless, right beneath him, wide open and willingly taking every single thrust he’d unleash upon her tight body tonight.

He wrapped his thick fingers around his member, drinking in her pitiful whimpers when he lazily rubbed its dripping tip against her clit, cruelly taunting her while his other hand kept restraining her arms. Bulma’s legs bound tightly around his waist, her hips writhing against his in a silent plea to put an end to her misery and give her what she wanted, needed, the most, the one thing that would bring them both release.

The Saiyan finally had mercy on her, placing himself at the entrance of her saturated sex and gradually moving inside of her. He gritted his teeth at the delicious resistance, her taut little pussy squeezing him hard as she struggled to take all of him, inch by agonizing inch. His hands met hers, carefully interlacing his fingers with her own in a rare gesture of intimacy, and her eyes closed, tilting her head back as she surrendered to the breathtaking sensation of her man rocking his hips back and forth in a slow, agonizing rhythm.   

“Bulma…” Vegeta muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Look at me…” He demanded, already feeling himself coming undone as he kept moving, thrusting, sinking her rounded hips against the mattress, crushing her with his weight in a desperate quest for their insatiate bodies to become one.

She defied him still, her eyes tight shut, getting lost within him as his essence filled her up entirely. There was something in him, in that overwhelming, animalistic presence, that made her wish to surrender, to give herself to him with no boundaries and complete abandonment to the masculine power he exuded.

“Look at me or I’ll stop!” He whispered viciously in her ear, emphasizing his demand with one final, ruthless thrust, burying himself to the hilt within her depths, forcing a searing cry from her lips as she took him in.

Her eyes shot wide open, a look of sheer terror swimming in her hazy blue eyes at the thought of him stopping.

She’d die.

If he stopped, if he ever stopped, she’d die…

“Good girl…” He mumbled approvingly, suckling on her lower lip as he draped his fuzzy tail around both of their waists, literally melding his body with hers.

Her knees stiffened, her tongue playing with his when he picked up his maddeningly slow pace, pressing his forehead against hers and never taking his turbulent eyes away from her. There was a madness in his gaze, a primal insatiableness in his touch, in the way his fingers crushed with hers, his muscular body grinding, heated skin rubbing, imprinting his earthy scent all over her as he tortured her.

“Vegeta… P-Please…” She begged, feeling breathless, boneless, narrowing her hold on him with her legs, hooking her ankles together at the base of his spine and pushing with all she had. “F-Faster… Faster! Please!”

He laughed evilly, incensed by her neediness. “Like this?” Vegeta asked maliciously, his hips bucking harder, forcing a ragged scream from her throat. “Mhmm? Like this?” He demanded, thrusting ferociously into her again. And again. “Tell me, woman!”                

“Oh Gods… Oh!” She mewled pitifully, her nails delving into his hardened hands. There was something unbelievably exciting in being trapped underneath this man, in feeling powerless beneath his touch. “Yes! L-Like that…!”

He kept fucking her mercilessly, his rhythm accelerating, his eyes never leaving hers, secretly marveling at how this tiny, fragile thing could take all of him and keep begging for more. Bulma twisted, squirming under him and panting loudly, both lovers breathing heavily into each other’s mouth. She was sweet and zesty, fire and ice, the sexiest goddamned creature he’d ever had in his entire, miserable life.

“Fuck!” She whispered with bated breath, those turquoise eyes still fixed on him, her gorgeous face contorting in pleasure. “I’m… I’m close! I’m…!”

Vegeta’s tail tensed up, its furry tip reaching down to her soaked little nub. She was quivering, shaking in preparation for her release, her soft, tight cunt already clenching around his cock, greedily inviting him to join her in her egotistic pursuit of pleasure.

It was glorious.

Seeing her like this, having her like this. Her eyes closing, her head thrown back, thighs avidly tightening around his body, trembling like a flame blown by the wind. He kept moving, pushing, ramming against her, their sweaty bodies clashing, feeling that it was too much, that she was too much as he fell to pieces, his warm essence pouring inside of her as he came, his body jerking wildly, rumbling a choked cry against her skin.

All thought ceased when he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his fingers still intertwined with hers while his hips continued to move leisurely inside of her, trying to prolong their ecstasy for as long as he could in a slow, sensual dance.

Vegeta didn’t know how long they lay like this, all he had was the vague awareness of his Bulma softly rebelling against his touch, kindly freeing her hands from his fierce grip and wrapping her arms around him, gently encouraging him to let go, to abandon himself to her.

Her fingertips stroked his back with heart-wrenching lovingness, petting every wound and every scar, every single imperfection, taking away every vestige of the chaos of his existence until all that remained was her…                  

******************************************

Vegeta awoke in the middle of the night, startled and slightly disoriented, just as he always did whenever he found himself boxed in in foreign surrounds, especially after one of his usual, spine-chilling nightmares. When he rolled to the side, stretching his arms drowsily in search of the warm comfort of his little woman, he was met with nothing but an empty bed and a bundle of bedsheets still impregnated with her hypnotizing scent. Her unexpected absence sent a flash of panic right through him, making him sit on the bed all at once, tensely looking around in search of her heart-warming presence.

He didn’t have to look too far, for he found Bulma right there, in the lounge area, sitting on one of the plush sofas with a book in her hands and a silvery bowl of berries on her lap. She was wearing one of the white silken robes he’d left for her in the bathroom, but the soft garment was much too large for her petite frame, turning her into an enjoyable spectacle indeed. Her long legs were resting atop of a small coffee table, her smooth thighs fully exposed, just like one of her shoulders as the fabric fell down, revealing a delicious glimpse of creamy skin. At first, he briefly wondered how the woman had managed to get hold of one of her books in this place, but seeing her overalls lying in a heap by her side, he soon deduced that she must have been carrying it around with her in one of her pockets.

Her exotic eyes were glued to the small book, carefully holding it in one of her hands as she read its colorful contents with a lovely frown on her face and the aid of a single floor lamp, while the rest of the room remained only illuminated by the faint glow of the burning candles. Every now and then, she’d bring one of the juicy fruits to her lips, chewing on it slowly, with such incredible leisureliness that Vegeta couldn’t help but marvel at how vastly different her way of eating was from his own. In spite of the apparent look of concentration dancing in her gaze, it was more than obvious just how much his lover seemed to be enjoying the small, yet ridiculously expensive, purple berries. He’d ordered them expressly for her, and the warrior experienced an odd sense of accomplishment at being the one able to bring her that fleeting moment of satisfaction, especially as he recalled the look on her pretty face the very first time he’d watched her eat.

It’d been in her laboratory, back during one of his now habitual visits, precisely at the time of her daily lunch breaks. He’d caught her chewing on one of those ghastly protein bars that most of Frieza’s employees were issued instead of regular food, a type of nourishment which the Prince was certainly no stranger to. He’d subsisted on those blasted green things more times than he cared to admit, back when he was nothing more than a young, low-rank soldier, without access to enough credits that would enable him to buy a proper meal.

“I hate them…” Bulma had openly admitted, swallowing with difficulty as she washed down the repugnant meal with the help of a glass of water. “But I force myself to eat them anyway. I’m trying to keep my weight up now…”

She’d shrugged nonchalantly back then, trying to belittle the situation, but the use of the word ‘now’ had been enough to let Vegeta know that she had struggled to maintain a healthy weight not that long ago, no doubt as a result of her new life conditions. And, in that moment, he’d had to bottle up his words so as not to act like a stupid, infatuated fool and offer to buy her some decent food.

‘It was probably for the best…’ He’d later thought.

His lover still remained the most perplexing enigma to him but, if there was one thing he’d learnt by now, it was that Bulma Briefs possessed a stubborn pride which mirrored his own, and something told him that the woman would have willingly chosen starvation rather than becoming someone else’s twisted charity case.

He observed her soundlessly for endless minutes, mesmerized by the picture unfolding before his weary eyes, priding himself in having been able to provide a pleasurable respite, however brief, for her, allowing her to get a little taste of the best things life could offer her still.

“Another one of your human stories?” Vegeta asked with quiet amusement, breaking the enthralling silence in the room, unable to wait any longer to have his woman by his side once again.

Judging by the calm way in which she turned in his direction, smiling softly at him, it seemed like Bulma had already known of his state of alertness for quite some time, perhaps secretly enjoying having his adoring eyes on her.

“No…” She shook her head slowly, her gentle smile never abandoning those luscious lips. “It’s a poetry book.”

The Saiyan said nothing, entirely unfamiliar with the concept, and his ignorance must have been written all over him, since Bulma soon kept talking in an attempt to further explain such a foreign notion to him, her face beaming with kind understanding.

“Poetry is…” She popped another berry into her mouth, chewing on the juicy treat, pouting charmingly as she tried to come up with an explanation that could satisfy her curious lover. “I guess you could say… Ummm… I suppose you could say that poetry is about beauty…”

Vegeta remained silent, squinting imperceptibly as he futilely tried to grasp such an incredibly alien idea.

“It’s about creating beauty through words…” She resumed patiently, stirring his very soul with the girlish way in which she distractedly licked her fingers. “Sometimes a poem can tell stories too, but… I believe it’s more about beauty… About emotion…”

“Read one for me,” he simply requested, without even bothering to overthink or to question his bizarre request any longer.

His old self would have never dared to make such a wish, deeming the mere notion of someone employing words in order to create something as useless and superficial as beauty as utterly ridiculous, even laughable. But this ‘poetry’ thing was something that the little earthling seemed to deeply value, maybe, just maybe, by listening to her words he’d be able to understand her better in some way. After all, his Bulma was beauty, and perhaps a celestial logic would hide behind such foreign words, allowing him to steal a piece of her spirit, so he could forever keep it for himself.                        

This time, it was Bulma’s turn to express surprise. “Really?” She asked in naïve bewilderment, her eyes widening candidly. “You really want me to?”

A stoic nod of his head was enough to make a smile grace her mouth for a second time, inviting her to forget just how unlike each other they truly were. For all their differences, she’d already been privy to a side of Vegeta that she knew he’d never had the guts to expose to any other living creature. The man sitting on the bed, ravaging her with his eyes as she slowly approached him, was a far cry from the cold, conceited asshole who’d barged into her home in the middle of the night, wholly uninvited and with nothing more than an arrogant smirk and a now long-forgotten warning of turning her into nothing more than a sexy little toy to play with for a night.

Seeing him like this, making the effort to spoil and content her, even going so far as to show an interest in something as pointless to a pragmatic warrior like himself such as poetry, gave her hope, feeling as if a revitalizing breath of fresh air had rushed into her cloudy world, making it a little brighter.

“Okay…” She whispered to herself, switching on the tiny night lamp and laying on her belly by Vegeta’s side, skimming through the pages of the thin, worn-out book in search of her all-time favorite. The warrior rolled on his side, leaning on his elbow as he watched her silently, resisting the potent urge to slid his depraved tongue all over that tempting shoulder, still fully uncovered by the sleek fabric of her white robe.

“Are you sure?” Bulma questioned once she found the treasured poem she’d been looking for. She gave him a coy side-glance, unsure of what he’d actually think of the grave words she was about to share with him.

“Go on…” Vegeta murmured calmly, thoroughly intrigued by his woman’s choice.

She run her rosy tongue across her lower lip for an instant, taking a deep breath and letting the powerfully lyrical speech flow freely.

“Do not go gentle into that good night…”

Her sweet voice permeated the air, that feminine, melodic tone that always made his demons go away, retreating into the darkest recesses of his troubled mind. She spoke words of compelling bravery, solemn words of courage and heroism, an inspiring, encouraging ode to fearlessness and survival.

‘It wasn’t that different…’ He thought astonishingly to himself.

It wasn’t all that different from Nappa’s old Saiyan tales, or from the ancient songs his late Mother used to sing for him during those ephemeral but meaningful times they got to spend together. Even from the motivational speeches that his Father, King Vegeta, used to pronounce in front of his troops right before a significant battle, those inspirationally invigorating words which made his soldiers’ blood boil and rage in glorious triumph.

There was something oddly familiar in his woman’s magnificent poem. A rampant ode to prowess which made him realize that maybe those humans had possessed some kind of a backbone after all. Based on the female’s extreme lack of strength, and in the extermination of her race’s existence, he’d always pictured her people as being ludicrously weak but, now, it suddenly occurred to him that they might have compensated for their physical shortcomings with an outstanding fighting spirit. Vegeta had no access to the exact circumstances in which the destruction of Bulma’s planet had taken place, but he clearly remembered her referring to her old human lover as a ‘fighter’. It was very possible that those weak earthlings had abandoned this world giving everything they’d got, and if that was the case, it would positively be something that would warrant them at least a modicum of his respect as a warrior.         

“So… What did you think?” Bulma asked in a low whisper, genuinely interested in the unreadable look in his gaze, a rare spark swimming behind his recondite eyes. 

Vegeta brought his calloused palm to her cheek, his light touch lingering on her skin, impressed, as he always was, by just how much this fragile woman seemed to trust him. His fearsome presence, even the mere mention of his name, were enough to instill the most paralyzing terror in the heart of every fighter in the Galaxy, yet his blue-haired beauty never flinched, never feared or backed away from him, not once, not ever.

“It suits you…” He answered at last, idly twirling one of her unruly blue curls between his fingers, enraptured by its extraordinary color.     

“Really?” Bulma asked, frankly amazed by what had probably been the greatest compliment she’d ever received. “You really think so?” She whispered, breaking into a shy, yet satisfied smile, and leaning towards him in pursuit of a kiss.

“It does…” The Prince affirmed, gladly kissing her back, his craving lips languidly melting against hers.                  

It was the truth.

The poem fit his lover like a glove, certainly much more than some idiotically asinine tale about a man who wished to die for no reason at all. There was a gutsy little hellcat hiding behind her painful fragility and that immeasurably sensitive heart, an iron soul draped in the finest silk. It was the only reason he could conjure up, the only explanation that could possibly justify why a woman as feeble and emotional as Bulma had managed to stay alive for as long as she had. There was more, infinitely more to her than what met the eye, and a wise, hidden voice told him that his woman would survive anything and everything that life would throw at her, come what may, or that she would die trying.

Bulma grudgingly broke their innocent kiss, offering him one final smile twined with sadness and bliss, as if Vegeta’s words had brought her both joy and gloom at the same time. She then placed her old book on the nightstand, switching off the light and laying on her back, resting her hands on her abdomen as she stared at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. The Prince kept his gaze on her, his sharp Saiyan senses selfishly devouring the woman now lying by his side. She remained completely still and slightly heavy-eyed, lost within her own thoughts, somewhere between dreams and reality, as if her mind was spinning in a million sensations at once, hopelessly attempting to make some sense out of them.

“He wrote it for his father, you know?” She muttered at last, her eyes still avoiding his as she stared into some imaginary distance. “He was old… Very old… And he was dying…” Her girly brow scowled lightly, and she took a deep breath before speaking again. “Kicking and screaming… That’s what he meant, I believe… He…”

“Bulma…” He gingerly interrupted her, vainly attempting to break the woman’s melancholic train of thought, fearing it would get her into a much too dangerous place.

“That’s how we’re born, isn’t it?” She continued, apparently unperturbed by his words. “When we’re children, that’s… That’s how we come into this world…” Her long fingers found the belt of her robe, languorously toying with it. “Kicking and screaming…” She repeated in a breathless whisper.

Vegeta remained silent, gawking at the outlandishly splendid creature lying between ruffled bedsheets. Her turquoise eyes were still fixated on the high ceilings, and the white garment which she was supposedly wearing was now barely covering her marvelous curves. A perfectly rounded breast threatened to escape from its captivity as the glow of the candle lights kept playing games with her figure. At a different time, the warrior would have wasted no time in throwing himself at her and making her his, but this time, this time the woman was baring her soul, freely offering him a glimpse into her mind, the one part of her he’d never thought he’d ever have access to, the one part of her that fascinated him the most.

“My father…” Bulma murmured at last, after an excruciatingly long pause. “My father was a scientist. A brilliant… A brilliant man... He taught me everything he knew…” She exhaled a long, ragged breath. “Everything…”

‘That explained it…’ Vegeta inwardly thought.

That explained the woman’s intelligence, and her many incalculable talents, even the ones which he was pretty sure by now that she was hiding from the rest of the world, including from himself.

“He had nothing. Nothing, you know? He… He started from scratch, and he built his own company from the ground up…”

“Was he a successful man?” Vegeta quietly asked, gently encouraging her to proceed with what he knew was the hardest confession his woman had ever made. Perhaps it would do her some good to open up, to share a part of her past, as painful as it was, with another being. The Prince was no stranger himself to the torment of solitude, to those tearing emotions which would sooner or later end up rotting one’s soul if they were left buried for far too long.

“Very successful…” Bulma further explained. “My father’s company became the most successful business in our country, and then it expanded from there, and it just grew, and grew…”

“So, you came from wealth…” Vegeta deduced, more a conclusion than a question at this point.

“My family was the wealthiest family on Earth,” she quietly confirmed. “And I was the sole heiress to its fortune…” 

The Saiyan’s chest constricted achingly as the words she’d spoken, not that long ago, came back to him in full force. Words of rage and humiliation which had burst from her furious lips on the night he’d failed her, that dark night in which she’d felt so utterly consumed by abandonment and disappointment.   

‘I’m Bulma Briefs!’ She’d proudly declared into the night, burning tears spilling down her striking face. ‘I’m Bulma fucking Briefs!’

Now it all made sense.

All of it.

Now he knew what he’d suspected all along, ever since she’d pronounced her name as if it were a grand proclamation, the proud announcement of a woman who’d been someone once upon a time, a woman who’d once held a place of value in the world.

It was at times like this that he was reminded of how much the loss of his wealth, his planet and his people, at such a tenderly young age, had been both a blessing and a curse. The poisonous curse of a man who’d lost it all, his fortune, his home and his family, long before he’d even had a real chance to enjoy it. And the blessing in disguise of losing it all way before any real memories of such prosperity could have been strongly imprinted into his mind. His sense of identity had remained immovable, the treasured understanding of where he came from, of who he was and who he was supposed to become, yet his actual recollections of the past were terribly vague, nothing more than the faded notes of a cherished song he’d never quite learnt how to play.

But this, this lonesome little creature laying on her back and staring at the ceiling with the elegant solemnity of an alabaster statue, knew. Bulma actually knew what it was like, what it felt like to have it all, to savor and revel in it before it could all be viciously snatched away from her hands. She knew what it was like to have a family, to love and to be loved, to have a father who’d built an empire with the sole assistance of his own talents, a father who’d then taken the time and the personal effort to impart his wisdom, to share it with her, so that she could one day continue and, undoubtedly, honor his legacy.

Vegeta was indisputably a Prince, and no one would ever dare to question the thousand generations of Royal Blood coursing wildly through his veins. But, in the back of his mind, in that secreted, recondite place that no one else had access to, he knew that, in reality, the wide majority of his life had been spent in servitude, like a giant standing on feet of mud. A slave to an immoral Master he despised, the very same devil who’d eradicated his whole reality forevermore. But his Bulma knew, she knew what being ‘Bulma Briefs from Earth’ felt like, the exultance of an existence lived standing on top of a golden pyramid, only to feel it violently crumbling beneath her feet, kicking her to the ground without a single flicker of hope.

Bulma Briefs knew…

“But it’s the little things, you know?” Bulma muttered, breaking the unsettling silence floating in the room, almost as if she had the magical ability to read his thoughts. “It’s the little things I miss the most…” She murmured in a hushed whisper

Her mournful voice broke at last, and Vegeta witnessed her quiet struggles in silent dismay, the proud way in which she tried to resist, obstinately fighting the tears brimming in her eyes as she eluded his gaze in mortification.

“I’d give anything to smell a rose again…”

The wishful longing in her voice was soon followed by two disobedient tears, two shimmery pearls falling down the flawless sides of her face, hiding within an ocean of glossy blue. It was then that she grasped just how absurd it would be to try to keep her composure anymore, and she turned to look at him, rolling on her side and facing him, curling up into a little ball of defeat.

“You don’t know what a rose is, do you?” She smiled sadly at him, her tears now flowing freely, and her eyes filled with understanding and compassion, as if she deeply pitied him for never having had the honor to know what a rose smelled like. “A rose is a type of flower. It… It grows in the ground… They came in many colors and shapes…” She paused briefly, wiping off the wetness in her eyes with the long sleeve of her robe, even though the tears gave her no respite yet. “Most people preferred the red ones… But yellow roses were my favorites… My Mom, s-she… She used to grow them in her garden, and w-when they bloomed she’d… She’d put vases filled with yellow roses a-all over the h-house… And in my room and my lab…”

Bulma’s voice shook in grief, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, profoundly overwhelmed with anguish and remorse, the deep regret of a woman who truly wished she’d valued and appreciated every single morsel of all the love and beauty she’d once been surrounded by.

“My Mom…” She whispered regretfully. “I used to mock her sometimes… I… I used to ask her to stop tending t-to the garden herself… That we… That we were rich and sh-she should get someone else to do it for her…” A loud sob shattered in her chest, her sad smile still scorning her lips. “She just smiled at me… She just smiled… She told me th-that… That she simply enjoyed doing it herself… And that someday… Th-that someday I would understand…”

She was collapsing.

Falling into despair before his very eyes, into that dark abyss of desolation and repentance that he unfortunately knew far too well, and from which he’d never been fully able to escape. But, despite his poor limitations, and his absolute lack of skill regarding anything having to do with emotions, Vegeta knew only one thing.

He wouldn’t let her fall…

Not on his watch.

His arm slipped under her waist, bringing her quivering body closer to his in one smooth motion. He cuddled her tenderly against him, amazed and grateful when Bulma immediately responded to his touch, her trembling hands encircling his neck, staring at him with a rare mixture of wonder and shame. One of his arms kept her possessively pressed against his robust body, while the other delicately cradled her head as his eyes drank her in in all her splendor.

She’d never looked more beautiful.

Never more beautiful, more heartbreakingly real than trapped in his tight embrace, her face flushed, lips inflamed from crying and a naked heart, wide open for him to see.

He kissed her slowly, painstakingly slowly. Soft, fluffy kisses raining all over her balmy skin, the tip of his tongue tracing the curves of her cheekbones and her gleaming eyelashes, licking off the salty tears from her face, like a wild animal would lap at another’s wounds in a desperate attempt at trying to help them heal. He warmly kissed her closed eyes and that graceful forehead, erasing the pained frown tainting it as he felt her breathing slowing down, gradually relaxing under his excruciatingly loving ministrations.

His errant mouth then embarked on a sumptuous journey, from her temples to the tip of her tiny earlobe, suckling on it lightly and triumphantly stealing a blissful moan from her lips. He kissed her succulent throat, the honeyed scent of their lovemaking still clinging deliciously to her skin, and he sank his perverse tongue in one of his favorite spots, that feminine little hollow at the base of her neck which he’d never discovered in any other woman.

Vegeta rolled them over slowly, taking a dominant position atop of her, supporting his weight with one arm as the other took hold of the silken belt of her indecent robe, languidly pulling from it, untying it and allowing the lustrous fabric to fall to her sides, erotically unveiling her naked form to him. He then pressed the palm of his hand on her abdomen, her breathing hastening beneath his calloused skin, her temperature rising as he glided that very same hand upwards across her skin, from her midriff to her sternum, briefly wrapping itself around her neck and finally cupping her jaw, brushing his eager lips against hers in a silent plea for her attentions.

Bulma opened her eyes, iridescent blue drowning in sheer gratitude, thankful, as she always was, to have her Saiyan Prince by her side. He may not have been the most romantic, or even the most talkative of lovers, but he was the one, now she knew. The one man who’d slowly but implacably stolen her heart, the one man who’d never failed to remind her to stand on her feet, even when her strength faltered and she felt the entire Universe crushing her into nothingness.

Her hands touched his tanned cheeks, gently pulling him towards her for a passionate kiss, smiling into his mouth when he gladly indulged her, parting his lips for her and willingly inviting her in. His devious tail swiveled around her thigh as their tongues met, sensually caressing and exploring each other, igniting an all-consuming desire, that red flame always burning between them, never extinguished. When Vegeta broke their kiss, he did so with the hint of a pleased smirk curling in his mouth, a novel kind of pride swelling in his chest when he comprehended that he now held the extraordinary power to take away his lover’s pain.

“I wish I could show you…” Bulma whispered at last, a breath of nostalgia still trapped within her voice. “I wish I could show you what a rose smells like…” She lazily run her thumb over his lower lip, holding his gaze with a spellbound look in her sad eyes. “Baby… How I wish I could…”

“Kicking and screaming, Bulma Briefs…” He declared gravely, bringing his brow against hers and looking at her with a fervor he’d never shown before. “That’s how a warrior leaves this world…”

“Kicking and screaming…” She agreed with the ghost of a watery smile, earnestly accepting the new kiss he so generously offered.

He made love to her that night, long and slow, their bodies flowing, moving in unison, giving and receiving everything they possessed, hiding from the world and leaving all behind, creating an Eden of their own, a private refuge with no sorrow and no loss, no horror or regret.

Just a man and a woman, fighting to remind each other of those preciously unique moments which still made life worth living.   

After reaching that feverish pinnacle of pleasure, the secret lovers fell into a deep slumber, utterly sated and completely spent, entangled in each other’s arms. Neither one of them knew yet that, at the break of dawn, Bulma would make Vegeta a special gift, followed by a heartfelt confession that would forever change their lives.     

Chapter Text

The cheap liquor stung his throat, spreading like a crazed wildfire, burning his guts to a crisp until nothing remained but the sinister cloud of regret he was so desperately attempting to vaporize.

If only he could disappear.

If only he could vanish forevermore, hiding away like the filthy coward that he was in some bottomless, recondite pit of the Universe where no one would ever find him, not even himself.

He knew.

He knew just what a pathetically solitary picture he must have been painting to the outside world, slouching on a decrepit old chair, sitting all by himself in the corner of some shithole tavern in the middle of nowhere. In the back of his half-drunken mind, he knew how stupidly dangerous this disgraceful display of vulnerability was, how open it left him to others, how frighteningly easy it would be for any of the losers hanging out around him to realize that he’d lost it, that Vegeta, the Mighty Prince of all Saiyans, had finally lost his wretched mind.

It was already happening.

Despite his harebrained, booze-induced stupor, he couldn’t avoid picking up on the meddling side glances and blabbing whispers of the idiots surrounding him, and the most terrifying part was that he didn’t care. The cold-blooded warrior who’d spent his entire existence hedged by danger and playing by the ‘eat or get eaten’ rule, the man who knew that strength of character and a carefully constructed deceiving façade could be, at times, more impressive than physical power itself, had finally given up on perfecting his ominous masquerade, choosing to lay his sorrows to rest in a glass of lousy alcohol instead.

And all because of her.

Guilty pleasure.

That’s what she was supposed to be.

A goddamned guilty pleasure.

Just a tight little pussy, a warm body to use for the night, a beautiful garden of pleasure to drown and get lost into for a few hours at a time, discarding it with utter disregard once morning arrived and the time came for the both of them to return to an inhumane reality made out of chaos and destruction.

He shouldn’t have done it.

He shouldn’t have walked into her blasted room in the middle of the night, that cursed, ill-fated night in which he’d been arrogant enough to fool himself into believing that all he’d get out of her would be a taste, a deliciously single taste, and that he’d possess a will strong enough to leave her without looking back once he was done with her. The signals had always been there, that enlightened premonition floating within his deranged soul, like a looming echo imploring, urging him to walk away before it was too late. But, in the end, it’d been his pride, his most-prized possession, the one responsible for his deplorable downfall.

The woman had taken a hold on him, slowly but implacably, crawling under his skin with the smoothness of a harmless, mellow kitten, and clinging to his rotten heart with her stubborn little fingers until nothing existed but her.

A part of him wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they used to be, to his coolly collected life, that mundane cycle of murder and destruction that he knew oh so well. But then there was this side of him, this shamefully forbidden nook in his spirit, that was grateful for her existence, and for the extraordinary moments, however fleeting, that he’d had the underserving privilege of sharing with her.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it felt as if the exotic creature had sliced him to the core, splitting his heart in two and taking a piece of him with her the last time she’d abandoned him.

Vegeta groaned drunkenly, finishing off every last drop of the intoxicating nectar and carelessly dropping the glass on top of the cluttered table, realizing with inebriated dread that he’d just consumed the last bottle of the generous round of drinks that Nappa had ordered mere minutes ago. He blinked disconnectedly, looking around with blurry vision in search of the stupid giant, who’d gone outside to gather the details for their next mission as soon as he’d set the beverages right in front of him, only to discover that the idiot still hadn’t returned.

He rubbed his broken eyes with gloved hands, entirely unperturbed by how unusually dirty his uniform was as he inwardly cursed his speedy Saiyan metabolism for making it so darn hard for him to get blind drunk and to fall into the blissful oblivion he was so frantically chasing.

If only he couldn’t see her anymore…

If only he could erase the turbulent image of her as he’d last seen her, standing stoically, cross-armed, in front of the large windows of the luxurious hotel suite in which they’d both shared the best night of their lives. But every time he closed his eyes, there she was, fully dressed in her dirty overalls, bouncy blue curls charmingly swept up into that ruffled, glossy bun that he so loved to loosen as soon as he had her all to himself, during those sacred times of intimacy spent together.   

It was the first time, ever since they’d embarked into their secret affair, that his woman had awakened long before him, the very first time in which their roles had been reversed and he’d been the one staring at her in confusion, mesmerized by the petite figure looking at the horizon as the coral glow of sunrise breezed in. He’d known, as soon as his dazed eyes had fallen on her, that a storm was verging upon, hiding underneath her deceitfully serene stance.

“Hey…” She whispered softly, turning towards him as soon as she heard the faint sounds of his bare feet touch the ground. “You’re up…”

Vegeta’s only response to her obvious statement was to quietly approach her, taking in the unsettling tightness present in her eyes, her strangely defensive posture as she kept her slender arms firmly crossed in front of her chest, and the heartbreaking sadness suffocating a pained smile that never touched her eyes.

His concern never waned when he encircled her waist with a muscular arm and he pressed her selfishly against his naked body, reaching out for her chignon with his free hand and burying his thick fingers into the unkempt updo. Vegeta licked his lips with self-indulgence when her wistful smile faded away and her eyes closed, tilting her head back in submission as she awaited the famished kiss that she knew was coming. In spite of his fierce dominance, his kiss was achingly tender and tentative at first, his mouth brushing lightly against hers once, then twice, gliding the tip of his tongue across her quivery lower lip until she sighed in need, opening her mouth just for him and gently inviting him in.

Even though Bulma gladly surrendered to him, gradually relaxing in his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck, he could taste the anguish overflowing in her kiss, an anguish he’d proudly vanished during their previous night together, but which had seemingly come back in full force when morning had cruelly sneaked in. The moment their lips separated and she offered him another one of those melancholic smiles, he knew that something was troubling his little genius’ mind, and his worst suspicions were proven right when she took a deep breath, letting go of him far too soon and turning her sights onto one of her pockets, carefully unzipping it and taking a minuscule object out of it.

“I forgot to give you this, last night…” The earthling muttered with clear nervousness in her voice, her eyes still fixated on the tiny item as she held it with slightly trembling fingers. “I made this for you…” She finally explained, placing her hand in front of him and opening it, generously offering her meticulously crafted present to him.

The warrior stiffened for a moment, eyeing the mysterious gadget with patent interest. Not only due to the fact that he’d never come across anything of the kind, but because his brilliant female claimed to have made it especially for him.

“It’s a capsule,” Bulma clarified, knowing that her lover’s ego always made it hard for him to admit that there were things he still knew nothing about.

“What…?” The Prince enquired at last, his fingers tightening around her hips, still refusing to loosen his grip on her but never taking his eyes off the small device. “What is it?”

Bulma’s sad smile widened, her pride in her father’s most groundbreaking brainchild shining through despite her growing anxiety.

“Remember…? Remember how I told you my father was a scientist?” She asked in a subdued tone. “This was his greatest invention. He built his entire business upon it.”             

The Saiyan’s scowl deepened, finally extending his hand and holding the alien invention between his sturdy fingers. “What does it do?” He openly questioned.

“It’s a storage device. I made it in my spare time at work,” she said. “You see this button over here? You press it and throw the capsule at a safe distance and it will reveal the object stored inside…”

“So, you…? You built this…? This capsule for me?”     

“I… I made the capsule… And what’s inside of it...” Bulma confessed at last, her long fingers enfolding his mildly clenched fist and the capsule hiding inside of it. “It’s a gift, Vegeta…” She whispered lovingly, laying a velvety kiss on his flushed cheek.

He could almost feel his heart shutting down in his chest, his blood running cold at such an inconceivable thought.  

A gift.

The woman had made a gift.

For him.

Bulma hugged him boldly once again, knowing just how much Vegeta hated to feel as powerless as he did whenever she evoked a foreign emotion within his soul, and wanting to make things easier for him by choosing to be the weepy, sentimental one instead.

And he let her, returning her touching embrace with terrifying ease, as if his body had learnt by now to respond inevitably to her silly human affections. She shivered in his arms, her breath faltering, choked with emotion, a sensitiveness he would have attributed to the yearning that his woman always experienced whenever he was about to leave her side, that rare sentiment so new to him, so inexplicable, yet so oddly satisfying. But there was something different in her tight grip this time, something somber, lugubrious, an impending shadow about to jeopardize their frail relationship, shaking it to its very core.

“I have to go…” She breathed in his ear, nuzzling the sensitive skin below his earlobe one last time, smoothing the way for her daring confession.

“Already?” Vegeta blurted out, careless, for once, about looking far too interested in keeping his lover with him for as long as he could. “I could order some breakfast for us before you…”

“It’s okay, Vegeta…” Bulma interrupted tenderly, her glum smile never faltering as her tiny hands encircled his face and she snuck one final, languid kiss on his lips. “I really… I really have to go now…”    

He’d never forget the way her freezing hands had felt on his skin that morning, the way they’d trembled in what he now knew was sheer fear, the fear of a woman who already knew she was about to lose it all. Her thumbs dotingly caressed his cheeks a few more times, those misty blue eyes drinking in his astounded face, as if trying to keep him forever in her girlish imagination, before finally releasing him, turning around and marching leisurely to the exit door.

Vegeta stood frozen in his spot, absolutely flabbergasted, using every ounce of his notorious self-control in trying not to run to his woman and grab her so that she’d set her eyes on him once more, just once more, and he could unveil the secret hiding behind their enigmatic blue glow.

In the end, he didn’t have to, for after having walked just a few strides away from him, Bulma halted her steps, crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest, just as she had when sleep had freed him from its clutches and he’d found her already awake that morning. Only, this time, this time her naturally impeccable posture gave way to that heart-wrenching air of defeat that she’d once displayed before him, on that gloomy night when he’d visited her right after having heard the news of her best friend’s passing. That desolate night that would forever remain engraved in his unfeelingly black heart.

His fists clenched anxiously around the small gift she’d just presented him with when she faced him at last, showing a very different woman than the one he’d had in his arms mere hours ago. The elegant shoulders he’d just lavished with starved kisses were now hunched down in disillusion, thin arms still firmly crossed in a severe, self-protective shield, and her eyes, those lively eyes he so loved to get lost into, dulled by a thick dusk of self-doubt.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you…” She declared in a shy half-whisper, waiting for a response that she knew would never come.

She was right.

The most discouraging silence floated across the room, a dense cloud of dead air suffocating them both while Vegeta kept gawking at her in complete immobility. Her words raced through his dizzy mind, astonishing words that no one, not even his own Mother, had ever pronounced in his presence.

Love.

The woman was insane.

She had to be.

There was no way that someone, anyone, would ever fall in love with a despicable monster like himself, much less a morally uncorrupted creature like Bulma. But there she was, standing in front of him with a goddamned smile of pure misery ruining her lips, and an allegoric knife in her hands, sinking it slowly, dangerously slowly into his heart, awaiting the right moment to inflict her coup de grace and crush his vile spirit once and for all.

“It’s all right, Vegeta… I understand…” She murmured with insufferable compassion, pardoning his inability to handle any kind of emotional demonstration. “I just thought you should know…”

The dagger twirled in her little fingers, burying itself to the hilt as she twisted the sharp blade with kind mercy, letting his hot blood spill at her golden feet. The last thing his warped eyes saw before she turned around without muttering a further word was a single, imprudent tear rolling down her cheek, a glistening gem betraying whatever remnants of dignity she had left in her as she walked out the door, deserting him like the laughable wimp that he truly was.

She never even asked.

She never even asked when he’d come back to her the next time, as if she’d already known, as if she’d now attained the uncanny talent of seeing right through him, right through the cracks of that conceited mask of indifference that, in his bigheaded blindness, he’d always considered indestructible.

Two months.

Two months without her.

Two excruciating months of avoidance, consisting on the ghastliest purging missions and feverishly sleepless nights, seeking comfort at the bottom of the bottle of whatever cheap booze he’d been able to get his bloody hands on, in some poor, pitiable attempt at erasing the best thing that ever happened to him from his deluded recollections.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t possibly forget about her when he was, quite literally, carrying the cursed memory of her with him anywhere he went.

Vegeta didn’t know how long he’d stood all by himself, as naked as the day he was born, at the foot of the massive bed which had been the only witness to his lover’s intimate confessions. All he knew was that, in the end, it was Bulma the one who brought him back to the real world when consciousness gradually crept in and he became sorely aware of the tiny object still hidden within his clasped fist. He opened the palm of his clammy hand, unveiling the secretive invention that his woman’s father had seemingly built a monumental empire upon, and he carefully pushed the button just as the scientist had directed him to, throwing the capsule on the bed and feeling the titanic room spin vertiginously around him at the sight of Bulma’s unexpected gift.

Armor.

Not just any armor, but armor fit for a Saiyan Prince.

The warrior run his shaky fingers all over his lover’s magnificent creation, exploring every ridge and every plane, every single inch of the extraordinary material, so unlike anything he’d encountered before, that he couldn’t help but wonder just how secretly deep the woman’s brilliance truly run. He took in the bright, white breast plate and golden straps, the material both resilient yet unbelievably light, as well as the neatly folded royal blue combat suit and a pair of white, gold-tipped boots with equally white gloves to match.

His mind’s eye run wild, picturing his beautiful genius investing whatever little spare time she had at her disposal in doing such a generous task for him. Not only did Vegeta already know how extremely exhausted Bulma could be after a long day’s work, but he was convinced that this was something she’d done on the side, making use of resources that she most certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to employ for a project of her own and putting her job, and quite possibly her own life, at great risk on the way. A warrior like him, bred and raised amongst war and weaponry, had sampled and tested a wide variety of protective gear, including the most high-tech prototypes developed by Frieza’s top notch researchers, but never had he had the incredible honor of wearing armor such as the one the earthling had crafted expressly for him.

He admired her.

He had to admire such obvious courage and plain idiocy, for a woman had to be both stupidly brave and naïve in order to pour her heart and soul into such an endeavor, knowing, deep down, that the recipient of her foolish efforts would be none other than an ungrateful bastard who’d end up stomping all over her emotions as soon as she gathered the strength to confess her feelings for him.

And now she was gone.

Forever.

Guilty pleasure.

That’s what she was.

That’s what she’d always been.

Nothing more than a goddamned guilty pleasure…           

“…”

“…ta?”

“…geta?”

“Ve-Vegeta?” A hoarse voice asked with utmost respect, forcing him to uncover his fuzzy, reddened eyes and pay some reluctant attention to the exasperating source.

“What?” He brusquely replied, his disgust clear as daylight as he almost spat his drunken words at his subordinate. If it weren’t because he needed Nappa and his darned scouter to get the details of their newest mission, he would have loved nothing more than to blast the fucker already for daring to interrupt him while he was having the time of his life wallowing in self-pity.

The bald man was slightly taken aback by his Prince’s aggressive reaction. Vegeta had never been the warmest of men but, lately, Nappa had found himself having to walk on eggshells around him at all times, due to this new, alarmingly erratic behavior of his. 

“Uh…Um… No-Nothing… I just…” Nappa stuttered with edginess, holding his brand-new scouter right before the younger man’s eyes, trying to pacify him. “I just… I got our new instructions. I thought we could go through all the…”

“Drinks.”

“Uh?”

Vegeta shot him a deadly glare, one of those intimidating black looks, so full of rage and aversion, that it could turn a man’s blood into frost, dropping him to his knees without lifting a finger.

“You heard what I just said,” the Prince muttered icily, his speech slow and tangled, thanks to the copious amount of alcohol he’d already ingested. “If I’m going to have to listen to your stupid shit, you better bring me some fucking drinks first…”

Nappa’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief when, after running a quick scan across the jumbled mess that was their table, he discovered nothing but a collection of empty glasses resting on it. He knew that the Prince had been drinking far more than usual as of late, but it was practically inconceivable that a man who usually nursed a single glass of liquor for hours on end would have already polished off every one of the bottles he’d ordered less than ten or fifteen minutes ago.

Vegeta’s underling stood from the table with serviceable speed, inwardly biting his tongue so as not to cross the well-drawn boundaries that both Saiyans had established around each other years ago. Even though, back in the old days, the fundamental duty assigned to him had been to care for his Prince and to protect him at all times, he’d also accepted long ago that the younger warrior wasn’t a child anymore but a man, a man infinitely stronger than him with a character so hardened by years and years of endless abuse, that he wouldn’t hesitate in the least when the time came for him to reduce him to smithereens if he ever crossed the invisible line separating them.

The tall man walked to the bar, ordering another plentiful round of drinks and choosing a strategically located spot that would allow him to keep an eye on the dishonorable figure which Vegeta had become as he waited.

It was hard to believe that the pitiful, hunched man sitting somberly on his own was his Prince, a man whose entire life had revolved around meticulous self-control and obsessive discipline, a man with the sole purpose of creating some sense of order around the chaos he’d been thrown into when he was nothing but a five-year-old child with no place to call home any longer.

Nappa would never dare to go as far as comparing himself to some kind of a father figure to Vegeta, but the deeply imbedded, protective instinct that the younger Saiyan evoked in him, ingrained into his darkened soul after lustrums of active service under him, couldn’t be diminished either.

Something had happened.

Something big.

Something explosive which had turned one of the strongest warriors in the Universe into nothing but a pathetic shell of his old self.

Despite the well-known fact that Nappa wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, he’d spent the greatest part of the past few months carefully tying the knots in Vegeta’s capricious behavior, attempting to put all the pieces of the paradox that was his life together, until he was able to get a pretty decent mental picture of exactly what had transpired during the Prince’s scarce times off duty.

It’d all began one night like any other when, shortly after seeing him talking for a few minutes to that loud-mouthed wench who Raditz used to fuck on a regular basis, the shorter man had inexplicably disappeared from the very same tavern they were drinking at right now. At first, Nappa had speculated with the bizarre possibility of the blonde wacko embarking on some kind of a mission to seduce the Saiyan Prince now that her old lover had been killed in battle. But, seeing how the crazy human had stayed all on her own, drinking herself to death until long hours of the night, the old man had quickly dismissed such an idea.

His early suspicions, however, hadn’t strayed that far from the truth, seeing how, the morning after, Vegeta had punctually shown up at the hangars where the space pods were located reeking of female pheromones. As a rule, Nappa wouldn’t have given much thought to such an insignificant detail. Despite the sickly spartan, larger than life aura that the Prince exuded, he was a male, after all, a man with natural cravings and needs that only a woman could satisfy. And, even though Vegeta’s fixation with keeping his private affairs away from privy ears sometimes verged on the neurotic, Nappa’s sharp Saiyan senses had always been able to cleverly identify when his Master had spent the night with a woman.

This time, however, the bald man had become powerless to ignore just how appetizingly peculiar the scent was, a potent aroma far richer and sweeter than any other traces he’d ever detected on the Prince’s skin. The womanly perfume had been so intriguing, so persuasively seductive, that Nappa had seriously felt tempted to comment on it. But something told the more experienced Saiyan that things wouldn’t end well if he ever did, based on that one memorable morning in which Raditz had playfully teased Vegeta about some forgettable bimbo the Prince had bedded the previous night, earning the long-haired warrior the beating of his life in return.

Whoever this woman was, there must have been something undoubtedly exceptional about her, not only due to her delectably appealing scent, but to the startling way in which she seemed to have affected Vegeta after merely spending one single night in his company.

Indeed, all through that particular mission, Nappa had been astute enough to recognize an abnormal change in the Prince’s comportment, the first dangerous sign of what was still to come. During their times of duty, the younger soldier had been as competent as ever, completing his purging assignment with his characteristically detached efficiency. However, as soon as night engulfed them and they both engaged in that ancient ritual of comradeship, sitting by the fire and sharing a half-decent meal and a few old stories, Vegeta would soon retreat to his own private, imaginary world, looking even more disconnected from him than usual, even irked by the endless Saiyan tales that he’d so loved to listen to in his ingenuous days of youth.

The bigger man hadn’t thought much of such an odd conduct at first, thinking it nothing more than a childish infatuation, one of those that the Prince had most surely missed out on during his adolescence, just like so many other rites of passage denied to him after having had his innocence so brutally taken away from him, far too early in life.

Nappa had wrongly predicted that, whatever ridiculous crush Vegeta had developed towards the furtive woman, would soon fade away into nothingness. But then both fighters completed their hellish mission and, not only did Vegeta instantly disappear from his side as soon as they landed on their recently assigned military base, but he showed up far later than expected the next morning, absolutely drenched in that awfully inviting, sugary perfume.

Soon, it happened again.

And again.

Until the brute had no choice but to surrender to the overwhelming evidence, grudgingly accepting that Vegeta was involved in a monogamous relationship of some sort with an unknown woman.

He could hardly believe it.

It was painfully hard to believe that someone like his Prince, a man of few words, an evasive warrior who’d mastered the art of deception and taken it to an entirely new level, had somehow managed to develop, not only the desire, but the emotional skills to establish a meaningful bond with another living creature, for Nappa had always thought him damaged beyond repair.

Many years had passed since that doomed day in which he’d been bestowed with both the great honor and the inestimable responsibility of watching over the King’s oldest son, a task he’d gratefully accepted, swearing under Royal Oath to always protect and do good by the Saiyan Prince. Never had he imagined the cussed cards that providence would end up dealing them both, and how tragically scornful the complete and utter destruction of their beloved home planet, their Monarch and their entire race would be. And all by the twisted hand of the slimy lizard Overlord who’d demanded to have the young Saiyan Prince by his side at all times, like some perversely sick trophy, the last descendant of a warrior race that was no more.

The Prince of No One.

The boy’s babyish expression had remained distantly impassive on the day he was informed of the tragic fate of his people, mumbling some bratty nonsense about how they all deserved to die anyway if they hadn’t been strong enough to defend themselves from Frieza’s overwhelming power.

Vegeta had been foxy enough to disguise his true feelings on the matter, exhibiting a level of astuteness way beyond his young age, even back then; a masterful shrewdness that would be wisely polished and improved over time, only to become his most hazardously lethal skill as an adult warrior.

The Emperor’s most eminent child soldier may have possessed the clever ability to put on a good show to the outside world, smartly concealing his feelings as means to survive in such a hostile environment, but, behind closed doors, Nappa would rapidly become the sole witness to Vegeta’s true emotional state.

As soon as the lights went off, and the young Prince sought comfort beneath the false protection of the dark, the exceptionally dignified boy would undergo the most chilling metamorphosis under the secret, watchful eye of his caretaker, becoming nothing but a curled up little lump, shivering and sobbing quietly into the night. A woeful string of primitive words would emerge from his small lips, mournful whispers poorly muffled by the raggedy blankets that served him as shelter. The older man’s sensitive ear had clearly distinguished the all too familiar prayers, spoken in that rare but unmistakable Saiyango dialect solely reserved to nobility; ancient litanies of hope and protection, of bravery and honor, which Saiyan mothers would usually recite to their children before putting their rambunctious brood to bed. 

Nappa had been so confused in those days, so utterly consumed by his own grief and exhaustion, that he hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind Vegeta’s delirious behavior, dismissing it at first as nothing but a naïve young boy handling the agony of loss as he only knew how, filling the void of loneliness by clinging to whatever fragments remained from his noble heritage.         

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know back then that the child was not hanging onto his roots but committing them to memory, walking through the vague reminiscences frailly imprinted in his mind, over and over again, until they’d become such an intrinsic part of himself that he’d eventually be able to cast them off.

And then one night, one fatal winter night spent on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, during one of their ruthless assignments, Nappa took a seat by the bonfire after a long day devoted to homicide and extermination, only to realize that he could barely recognize the young Prince lying by his side anymore. He’d anticipated encountering the sad, lost child consumed by never-ending nights hiding cowardly under the covers, and dwelling in his own misery, but his tired eyes bumped into an entirely different picture instead.

Vegeta had been lying collectedly on his back, arms crossed behind his neck with imperturbable nonchalance and impenetrable eyes, now free from any trace of his past disgraceful tears, staring right into the heavy-starred nocturnal skies.

This child was not a child but a man, an old soul trapped inside a body that would be far too small and powerless for years to come, bounded by a wicked impediment stopping him from fulfilling his destiny, that new, vengeful destiny which he’d designed for himself. His soul hardened, the remnants of his tender heart turning to icy stone and, whatever innocence he’d once possessed, quietly gave way to the heartless bastard that countless galaxies would grow to fear and despise for years to come.

The young Prince had taken every shard of his Saiyan past, from his Father’s heroic speeches to his Mother’s bedtime stories, from Nappa’s enraged words of fury, pride and self-control during their daily, punitive training sessions to the morbidly intrinsic hatred that his Icejin Master professed against his bygone race, and he’d assimilated all of it in such a profound way that they’d become like a second spirit.

Vegeta had stolen whatever vestiges of the past that could assist him in his recently discovered quest for survival, legends of illustrious victories and tenacious resolution, and the eternal tales of men whose names and feats would remain on everyone’s lips long after their physical body had abandoned this world, and he’d kept them all to himself, getting rid of any unnecessary distractions along the way and pushing his superfluous emotions away, hiding them in that dark, occult corner within his soul where little boys went to die.

Nappa took a large swig of his freshly poured drink, allowing his curious eyes to freely roam all over his Prince’s defeated figure, and paying special attention to the strange armor Vegeta’d been wearing non-stop for the past two months. The out of the ordinary attire had survived virtually intact, and without a single crack, the last three missions both Saiyans had been appointed to, the last one being a particularly vicious one indeed. It was unlike his Master to wear the same armor for more than one assignment at a time, having no trouble at all in using and discarding every piece of combat gear on a regular basis, with the only exception of his treasured scouter, the one and only relic inherited from his father and, ironically, the one element which had finally solved the enigma that was Vegeta’s fascinating lover.

It’d taken Nappa quite a few weeks of patient wait, holding the solid conviction that his Prince was having a serious affair with some alluring female, a woman who’d influenced his aloof character far more than what the older man considered safe in a world where sentimental attachments could mean, quite literally, a warrior’s death sentence. He’d figured that, if Vegeta was honestly infatuated with a woman, sooner or later his judgement would slip, and he’d end up making a mistake, unwittingly revealing the identity of his secretive wench to him.

His expectations were proven right the day Vegeta placed a cryptic little box in his hands, a white box containing the most valuable item in his possession, the one thing that the younger man would never willingly part from, methodically instructing him to take it personally to a woman he knew by name, and to ‘absolutely no one else.’ Not only had the Prince never referred to any other female on a first name basis, but the unyielding tone in his chilling voice, hiding the promise of a very, very painful form of punishment if his firm instructions refused to be followed to the letter, and ordering him ‘not to do anything stupid’ told him that, whatever plans he had in store for the mysterious scientist, were no laughing matter.

He got it.

All he had to do to get, at long last, what all the commotion was about, was setting foot inside the building and laying eyes on this enigmatic Bulma Briefs.

The enchanting witch had turned out to be the finest piece of ass he’d ever seen in his life, like a tempting little bonbon wrapped up in creamy skin and ethereal blue curls, and a scent, that goddamned scent which had enveloped his Prince’s form for weeks on end, so rich and crisp, that the old man had to use everything within his power to remind himself of what Vegeta would do to him if he ever dared to touch what was his.

And she was his.

Not only had Nappa identified the woman’s distinctively thick aroma right away but, when he’d approached her with bold audacity, getting dangerously closer and inhaling a liberal waft of her, he’d promptly distinguished Vegeta’s mark imprinted all over that fuckable body of hers. Based on the look of pure shock and repulsion in her eyes when he’d invaded her personal space, the female’s senses were probably not sensitive enough to realize that she’d been shamelessly carrying around a Saiyan’s scent all this time, that possessively primal mark that cautioned any other males around her of the imminent risk of trying to steal a warrior’s property from him.

“Here you go…” Nappa muttered sheepishly, setting two large trays filled to the brim with Vegeta’s preferred drinks of choice atop the now empty table, and sitting by the Prince’s side, scrutinizing with poor discretion the avid way in which the young fighter grabbed one of the largest glasses with zero hesitation, guzzling the whole thing in one single, anxious gulp.

Whatever happened between Vegeta and his woman, he wouldn’t know.

All he knew was that, the day after he’d diligently fulfilled his assignment, taking the old scouter to the scientist, Vegeta had shown up at the hangars far later than usual, dressed in that totally bizarre armor and his naturally bronzed skin looking paler than ever, as if all blood had abandoned his compact body, never to return. The slut’s irresistible fragrance was still clinging heavily to his being, making the older man assume that not much had changed between the two of them.

But, when the time came for both warriors to return to the military base, and his superior literally flew straight from the runway facility into the shadiest, filthiest tavern he could find, Nappa knew that trouble had ensued in the Prince’s private paradise, and that those two lovebirds were over for good.

He’d been relieved, it couldn’t be denied.

He’d been incredibly relieved to find out that Vegeta was free at last from the disturbing burden that only a beautiful woman could bring into a soldier’s existence. It was perfectly normal to spend the night with some tight, wet cunt every now and then, but getting attached to some manipulative little bitch was something else entirely, and not a single good thing could ever come out of having any kind of a serious relationship with a blasted woman.

In the beginning, Nappa had presumed that the young Prince would simply drown his sorrows for a day or two before picking himself up, dusting himself off and keep on going, just as he’d always done every time tragedy had struck his unfortunate life in past times. But the ferocious speed in which Vegeta had developed this new drinking habit of his, drinking himself to the brink of unconsciousness whenever he was off duty, and never taking that worthless armor off, had revealed a very different picture instead, the image of a deeply wounded man, utterly unable to move on from heartbreak.

To a certain degree, Nappa understood Vegeta’s predicament, for he too had been a young man once, a man with grit and goals, and an expectant spark of optimism shining bright within his immoral soul. He’d experimented the frightening power of infatuation in his youth, back in the good old days, when mating with a Saiyan female was still a very real possibility, and he knew the immense power that such foolish emotions could hold over an inexperienced heart.

What he’d never envisioned, however, was seeing a man as ferally cold and lonesome as his Master falling in such a treacherous, pathetic trap. But, on second thought, perhaps the fact that Vegeta had walked through life in no one’s company was precisely the reason why he’d turned into such an easy prey when the right woman had bumped right into him.

The Saiyan Prince was an itinerant man who’d lived his whole existence wandering across arid, deserted wastelands, a lost nomad used to thirst and dearth who’d gotten a taste of the most divine Holy Water far too late in life. Like a small child living in famine finally getting a morsel of the most enjoyable treat, only to have it violently yanked away from him.

It was as easily understandable as it was idiotically dangerous, not only for Vegeta but for Nappa himself. As much as the ruffian had always respected and tried his best to accomplish his obligation as the Prince’s servant and protector, there was also an increasingly larger part of him that cared only for himself, a side of him who’d grown to regard the younger warrior as his only beacon of hope, the one safe-conduct that could end up catapulting him into a far superior life than the monotonous reality of bloodthirsty slavery they’d both been subjected to for only the Gods knew how long.

There was only one dream which had remained essentially untouched, that one golden dream of infinite power and supremacy, the auspicious hope that his Prince would one day live up to his glorious expectations and fulfill his destiny by birthright, reaching his Ascension, once and for all, and triumphantly breaking the sadistic chains that enslaved them both.

It was getting close.

He could feel it.

The vision once felt unattainable, back in those days of agony and catastrophe, when Vegeta was nothing more than a helpless brat completely at Frieza’s mercy, would soon come to an end, and Nappa couldn’t allow anything or anyone to sabotage them, much less some useless little slut who could simply be replaced by any other whore in the Galaxy.

The bald man reminisced on all the torment and humiliation, never-ending years of bone-crushing beatings, usually in front of the lizard’s favorite bastard soldiers, so that everyone could laugh in contempt at the deplorable spectacle of the three last remaining members of an eradicated race beaten to the edge of death just for the vile joy of it.

He thought of young Vegeta, the one who’d always get the worst of it, merely for having been blessed with the curse of possessing Royal Blood coursing through his veins, the blue blood which Frieza so loved to spill with unashamed cruelty, letting the child choke on pools of it while his malevolently syrupy laughter boomed in the air.

It couldn’t have all been for nothing.

It couldn’t.

There had to be a reason for all of that seemingly irrational pain, for all the pointless degradation and incessant defeat, and the reason must lie behind his Prince’s majestic legacy.

Vegeta’s flawless body had been tempered throughout interminable years of infernal battles and monstrous exploitation, his remarkable Saiyan genes allowing him, not only to recover at superhuman speed, but to bounce back stronger and faster after every single one of those merciless poundings. The Emperor’s cruelty had been unbearable, that was the truth, but it’d also served an ironic purpose, the mortal purpose of filling the young man with unparalleled wrath, toughening his heart, gradually but implacably, and killing his spirit until he’d become nothing but a soulless killing machine.

The Prince’s imminent ascension was so close that Nappa could almost taste it, goldenly awaiting at the tip of their fingers and, once the mystical power of the Legendary Super Saiyan was conquered, Vegeta would finally slay their evil tormentor, ruling in his place and sharing his abundant riches with his most loyal subordinate.

Then, and only then, would there be time to relax, to indulge in all the pretty pussy that only immeasurable wealth and power could buy. And, if the Prince couldn’t get his act together soon enough, if he obstinately kept going down this recklessly idiotic path of decadence and self-destruction, then perhaps the time would come for him to take matters into his own hands and kill the magnetic little bitch himself.

All he had to do was find a way, just an ingenious way to discover just what exactly had transpired between those two crazy kids, and whether or not there was a chance, a real chance of Vegeta getting over her eventually, or if he still cared about the wretched woman far too much for his own good. Nappa knew that he had to tread carefully, not only because of how unpredictably dangerous the Prince could become whenever he felt crossed in any way, but because Frieza’s scientists, even those belonging to lower classes, were considered far too valuable to mess with, and their unjustified murder could have lethal consequences for their executor.

‘All he had to do was find a way, just a cunning, sneaky way into Vegeta’s unstable mind…’          

“So…” Nappa spoke at last, clumsily clearing his throat as his dumb mind tried to mull over the shadow of a plan. “You…? You want me to walk you through the details of the…?”

“Just get it over with, asshole…” Vegeta mumbled with frustration, sipping sluggishly on a new drink, trying to make this one last as long as he could while he listened to Nappa’s irritating garbage.

“Uh… Oh, yeah! Right! So…” The old man faltered awkwardly, putting on his scouter and rummaging through the recently downloaded files in search for the newest one. “Okay… Uh, just let me… Yeah… So, we’re leaving tomorrow morning…”

“Destination?” The Prince replied without delay, secretly ecstatic about having to depart in such short order. The sooner he left this hideous place, the sooner he’d get away from the diabolical woman.  

He could feel her.

He didn’t know how or why but sometimes he could, even though he’d been avoiding going to see her during the last three times he’d visited the base, he could somehow sense her energy still around, an outlandish awareness that brought him both peace and agitation. Knowing that Bulma was nearby, still alive and free from harm, was enough to settle his tumultuous nerves, making him feel as if all was well in the world, as if someday, maybe someday, he’d finally find the courage to come back to her and face those silly emotions of hers.

But he wasn’t ready.

Not tonight.

“Ummm… This is… Uh…” Nappa’s croaky voice rasped, temporarily distracting him from his inner turmoil.

“What?” Vegeta dryly prodded.

The Prince’s icy tone left no room for argument, making the older man’s tongue untangle at light speed. “Well, we… We’re supposed to go to Base-055…” Nappa informed at last.

In spite of his liquored-up state, and even though he wasn’t paying much attention to the towering brute, Vegeta could hardly conceal his surprise at this unforeseen revelation.

“Isn’t that a medical facility?” He blurted out with tangible curiosity.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Why the fuck would Frieza want to purge a place like that?” The Prince asked again, offering his subordinate the dirtiest of looks.

The bald man kept flipping through their instructions, looking, for once, as if he shared Vegeta’s clear confusion as he deciphered them.

“Uh, no… We’re not… We’re not supposed to purge it. We’re supposed to just go there and wait for two weeks until we get further instructions…”

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Give me that shit!” Vegeta commanded, extending his arm to an increasingly aghast Nappa, in demand of the older man’s scouter. The Prince may have already descended quite deeply into a state of blind drunkenness, but he sure as Hell was intimidating as ever.

Vegeta put on the apparatus in his ear, riffling through the available data and confirming, with dismay, that the imbecile hadn’t read their new orders wrong.

“That fucking son of a bitch motherfucker…” He mumbled with furious bitterness, snatching the gadget from his ear and literally throwing it at Nappa’s face as hard as he could, causing the stunned guy to almost fall off his chair as he tried to save it from touching the ground and blowing to pieces.

“I’m so fucking sick of this shit…” Vegeta slurred hotly, swamping his lips into another glassful of nasty alcohol. “That fucking lizard prick motherfucker… You’ll see… You’ll all see…”

The warrior leaned back sloppily on his chair, alternating between garbling a row of degrading insults against the loathsome freak who’d destroyed his life beyond repair, and tossing down drink after drink as his inebriated mind elucubrated on the million possible reasons hiding behind such a bizarre job.

By now, it was vox populi that the Prince and his comrades were never assigned anything other than purging missions. Not only due to their natural expertise for such deadly tasks, but also because, through the years, the Icejin Overlord had learnt, the hard way, that the young leader of the Saiyan gang was strongly opposed to anything that would involve capture or enslavement of any kind.

From a very early age, Frieza may have tried to instill some ‘sense’ into Vegeta, vainly struggling to shape and mold the soldier child to his own image. But the dogged brat had refused to sacrifice certain untouchable principles, making it dangerously clear that there were certain lines he was unwilling to cross, and always would be, such as anything related to slavery or sexual abuse. Which was why now Vegeta couldn’t even begin to comprehend just why was their beastly Master asking them to go to some out-of-the-way space station, where nothing of interest ever happened, and just wait there.

The Prince knew Base-055, and he knew it well.

It was a bleakly remote space station, much smaller and lifeless than the one in which Bulma resided, purely dedicated to scientific research, a place responsible for a myriad of medical breakthroughs. The secluded base also featured a spacious facility devoted to the therapeutic treatment of the Emperor’s elite warriors, those considered as far too valuable to lose when badly injured in battle, which was precisely the reason behind the young Saiyan’s deep familiarity with the place.       

Indeed, Vegeta had spent many a time in his youth inside that awfully cold healing unit. Countless days and nights wasting away in that backwater clinic, while Frieza’s top-notch surgeons did their best to patch up his brokenly abused body until he’d been able to stand on his feet and rush back to fulfilling his obligations towards his punitive Master.

As he grew older, however, the Dictator’s physicians deftly informed the lizard on the many discoveries made on Saiyan anatomy, educating him on how unnecessary it was for him to dilapidate costly resources on a warrior who owned a frame designed for war, a body capable of healing at such a surprisingly fast rate, that throwing him into a standard regenerating tank would suffice in order to get the murdering instrument that was his body in top shape.

It was then that Vegeta had learnt his true value in Frieza’s army, and that, regardless of the ceaseless beatings and humiliation that the Icejin constantly subjected him to, sometimes pushing him to the brink of death itself, the bastard would always rush to save him at the last minute, thus proving that he needed his lethal artistry more than he was willing to confess.

But it was also in the springtime of his fatidic life that he’d become acquainted with the somber mistrust that the heinous ruler had in him and his compatriots, shrewdly refusing to assign them any sensitive job, and choosing to employ them as pure muscle instead.

Vegeta didn’t know the goal hiding behind this last shocking assignment, but the Saiyan was no fool, and he’d seen enough signals over the past few months to make an educated guess, concluding that Frieza’s empire was well on its way to crumbling down. He’d even suffered these alarming, cautionary signs in his own flesh, on that one mission which had culminated in a seriously injured arm, the grave wound that his little earthling had tended to with such affectionate care.

The buzzed fighter set yet another empty glass on the disheveled table, grimacing miserably to himself, not only at the foreign, touching emotions that Bulma’s memory still stirred within his soul, both heartbreaking yet oddly sustaining, but at the thought of how colossally obtuse the Icejin King had been in regards to the thoughtless way in which he’d handled his vast Empire so far. For all of his power, and an undeniable astuteness when it suited him, Frieza had made the incurable mistake of presuming that physical strength and fear alone would be conducive to ruling over the Universe and keeping his occupied dominions under control forever.

He’d been deadly wrong. 

Raw subjugation may have done the trick in the early stages, but Vegeta, and any ruler worth its salt, knew that brute force simply wouldn’t be enough to allow anyone to keep and consolidate an Empire for long. Even the weakest, most vulnerable races would tire out of living an unhappy existence underneath a Tiran’s boot, without getting anything in return, and would wind up rebelling sooner or later. The unfamiliar weaponry employed in that calamitous mission was evidence that an Imperator should never take his power for granted or underestimate the determination of the people subjected to him.

Vegeta and Nappa, with the assistance of a few members of Frieza’s emergency troops, had managed to suppress the mutiny, a rebellion so incredibly violent that, in the end, the Emperor’s contingent forces had to resort to exterminating the majority of the planet’s population nevertheless. It wasn’t the first time that such a troublesome occurrence had taken place, and the Prince knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that it wouldn’t be the last.

And, judging by the endless stream of fence-back talk circulating amongst the Emperor’s gossipy soldiers, even Frieza himself must have strongly suspected that the time had come for him to change tactics. In point of fact, Vegeta knew that something was brewing on the lizard’s crooked mind, something so big that he hadn’t been able to successfully hide it from him, in spite of how guardedly he’d been pulling the strings of the handful of jobs from which the Saiyans had been deliberately excluded. The Prince wasn’t exactly sure about what it was that Frieza was searching for, but rumor had it that it was something of such magnitude, that it would change the fate of the Universe as they knew it until Doomsday.

Vegeta grumbled lethargically, leaning his elbows on the table and lightly massaging his temples in some pitiful attempt at getting rid of the annoying migraine he could already sense coming, while he sank even further into a profound abyss of self-loathing.

He hated himself.

He absolutely hated who he was and who he was becoming, just as he detested knowing that it was precisely under such turbulent times when he needed a clear mind the most, instead of floundering in despair about some bloody woman who wasn’t supposed to mean a goddamned thing to him.

But, above all things, he abhorred that inner struggle overriding his spirit, that all-consuming echo imploring him to take a leap of faith, if only for once in his miserable life, and to return to the earthling and make her his until the end of times. 

It was her fault.

All of it.

It was she who’d ripped his heart apart, making him relegate everything he’d ever known into oblivion, forcing him to wonder, to question every principle he’d lived by for as long as he could recall. Because nothing was more crucial to a man like him, in this callous Universe that wanted nothing more than to crush him at all times, than having a confident identity, a strong sense of direction, of who he was and who he wanted to be. Vegeta had always had it, that imperative drive, guiding himself by that one glorious goal at all times, motivated by that insatiable quest for strength, power and vengeance.

And then she’d burst into his life, with her darling smiles and girlish mannerisms, with those darned blue eyes he could see himself reflected into, and those human stories and forlorn memories, and tears and whispers and tender caresses, and understanding, the unnerving understanding that he wouldn’t ever be able to reciprocate her irrational emotions, but choosing to pronounce those absurd words of love anyway.

She’d buried the knife all the way, cruelly taking it away with her and leaving nothing behind but the ghost of the man he used to be, burdened by the agonizingly heavy weight of a wound that wouldn’t heal, a venomous wound oozing poison and sin, a wound that no amount of noxious alcohol would ever alleviate.

A man who could feel the world disintegrating all around him and didn’t even care anymore…

“…”

“…ta?”

“…geta?”

“Ve-Vegeta?” Nappa gingerly called again, after having waited what he’d considered a prudent amount of time.

The older man had been observing him with forethought, meditating on what his next course of action should be.

It was plain as day that the cheap booze had loosened up Vegeta’s tongue, pushing and emboldening him to voice his honest opinions on their evil Master. It wasn’t as if the Prince had ever truly bothered to hide his manifest hatred towards Frieza anyway, and Nappa definitely believed that he had more than enough reasons to despise the son of a bitch, but he also knew that, as the younger fighter had grown a bit older and wiser, he’d learnt to be a tad more discreet about voicing his exact thoughts in regards to their Emperor. There was categorically no place for reliability or authentic camaraderie of any kind in Frieza’s army, and one never knew when mischievous spies and traitors may strike a malignant blow.

Either Vegeta was simply growing tired of bidding his time and holding up until his Legendary Ascension materialized at last, or his little whore had irreversibly messed with his deluded brains.     

Whatever the case, the time had come for him to find out exactly what lie masked behind the Prince’s suicidal despair, how sincere his feelings towards the woman were, and whether or not it was within his power to do something about it and help bring him back from the masochistic edge he was hanging from.

“So… What…? What do you think?” Nappa enquired with cautiousness, trying to cover up his worries with little success.

“About what?” Vegeta snarled hostilely, squeezing his eyes shut while his fingers kept working, rubbing his temples with visible exhaustion.

“A-About the mission… It’s pretty weird, uh? You think Frieza would…?”

A loud bang resounded in the joint when Vegeta hit the wobbly table with his fist with unexpected violence, scaring Nappa to death all at once. “Who gives a shit?!” He barked, grabbing the last filled glass and promptly washing down the lukewarm drink as if his life depended on it. “Let’s just go the fuck there and get this over with!”

“Uh… Sure! Right Vegeta! I was just… I was just curious, that’s all…” The minion babbled, his rough voice oddly submissive, trying to appease the drunken, moody jackass who was about to endanger a lifetime of excruciating suffering and sacrifice for the sake of some tight little cunt.

It was now or never.

“Hey, Vegeta… I was wondering… Remember…? Uh… Remember that woman?”

The Prince’s reply to Nappa’s shabby question was instantaneous, the air enveloping them both suddenly feeling a lot frostier when Vegeta’s black eyes pierced him to the spot with the deadliest of looks. 

‘Perhaps this hadn’t been such a bright idea, after all…’

“What woman?” He asked with inebriated suspicion.

“Oh? Oh, uh, you know… The… The one you sent your scouter to. The one with blue hair…”

Vegeta’s face contorted into an expression of pure danger, squinting menacingly at the giant idiot as he deposited his empty glass on the table with aloof, terrifying calmness.

He knew that the possibility of Nappa guessing that something was going on between him and Bulma was very real, he just hadn’t thought that the prick would be stupid enough to stick his filthy nose into his private business.

“What about her?” The Prince muttered, his voice dripping with petrifying intimidation.

“Um, no-nothing. I just, well… I was wondering if you… If-If she…” Nappa stammered, unable to stop his big hands from fidgeting agitatedly under the table. “She… She’s a low-class worker, right?”

“So?”

“So… She wouldn’t… She wouldn’t be allowed near the hangars, am I right?”

The young warrior’s eyes broadened in stupor and something else, a flash of abject terror swimming within them as he quickly pondered the horrifying implications behind Nappa’s shaky words.

“Whatever you have to say…” Vegeta threatened, his hands trembling, knuckles turning white beneath his dusty gloves at how hard they were clutching the table’s split corners. “Say it now…”   

“I… It… It’s nothing, Vegeta! Nothing!” The gargantuan man explained, realizing just how far he’d crossed the line and knowing, with startling certainty, that there was no going back from here. “I swear! I just…! I…!”

“YOU JUST WHAT?!”

“I just… I just s-s-saw her…! A-At the hangars! I just th-thought it was weird! That’s all!”

He didn’t see it coming.

Before he knew it, Vegeta literally threw himself at him, knocking him on the ground as defenseless as a clay pigeon. His mortal hands instinctively found their prey’s neck, wrapping themselves around it as they applied just the right amount of pressure, enough to strike terror in the fucker’s heart without actually killing him.

Not yet, anyway…

“When?” The Prince slurred ominously, his warm, boozed up breath hoovering all over Nappa’s face, making the scared old man hopelessly squeezing his wrists wish that he’d never been born.

“Ve-Ve-Vegggg…! Nnngh! C-Can’t b-b-breath!”

Vegeta growled with repulsed disdain, his eyes seeing red, praying to the Gods of Abaddon themselves that they’d grant him enough self-control so as not to kill the bastard before he revealed his dirty secrets to him.

“Then tell me what the fuck you’ve seen and I’ll make it stop, old man…”

“I…! Nnnnggh! I s-saw her! A-A-At the hangars!”

“WHEN?!”

“T-T-Today! TODAY!!!” Nappa’s hands grasped his Master’s forearms, watery eyes bulging out of their sockets and legs thrashing frantically, urgently pleading for him to loosen up his grip so that he’d actually be able to breath. “T-Two or…! Or th-three hours ago!”

It was the truth.

Earlier that evening, when he’d briefly returned to the hangars with the intention of retrieving his forgotten magnetic card to pay for the night’s drinks, he’d seen the sly woman shadily hanging around the spot. He’d found it hugely suspicious straight away, asking himself how it was possible for a lower-class bitch like her to be granted permission to roam near the secluded space where the army’s highly valuable space pods rested, and wondering what Vegeta would do to her if he ever found out that she was trying to escape from him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!” Vegeta roared in savage fury, pulling the dolt’s neck off the ground only to rapidly crush it against it, savoring the sound of the bastard’s skull cracking against the floors.

“N-N-Nothing!!! I swear! I SWEAR!!! Ve-Vegeta!!! I-I…! N-N-Nnnngh!”

Nappa’s eyes closed in panic, dreading that the white sparks of flashing lights beaming behind his shuddering eyelids would be his very last vision before the Gates of Hades would open at his lifeless feet. But, miraculously, fate took mercy on him when his Master released him with repugnance, swiftly standing on his feet and staring at him in sheer disgust, sneering at the sight of the petty old man anxiously grabbing at his own neck, coughing and gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Vegeta stood in the middle of the foggy tavern, wholly oblivious to the fact that most of the warriors surrounding them had left the place by now, taking to their heels, completely terror-stricken at the view of the Prince’s legendary temper. The few poor souls brave enough to stay had moved away from the two Saiyans already, tracing an imaginary circle of void around the short figure now enclosed by a mist of spine-chilling electricity, shaking in unadulterated rage.

His blood was boiling, his jittery stomach sinking, nails hotly digging into the palms of his rugged hands while his dazed brain strived to figure out what it meant, what all of it meant, concluding that there was only one conceivable explanation for the woman to have been wandering around the place where Nappa found her.

She was leaving.

Bulma, his Bulma, had decided to escape to only the Gods knew where, all by herself.

“G-Goddammit…” Vegeta murmured, his lungs panting heavily, desperately attempting to focus his furious mind, struggling to reign control over his own damned self but inexorably losing the battle on the way.

“GODFUCKINGDAMMIT!!!” 

A flaming explosion of silver light detonated with feral wrath, turning the gloomy joint into nothing but a wreck of broken glass and scorching ashes, as the Prince hollered a foul string of Saiyan profanities, howling like a beaten animal fighting the battle of his life.

The last thing Nappa saw when he finally ventured to uncover his eyes, blinded by the piercing brilliance, was the image of his Prince vanishing from his presence like a bat out of Hell.

He didn’t need to guess where Vegeta was going.

He knew.

Chapter Text

Vegeta leaned his back against the murky bricked walls in one of the narrow alleys surrounding the private area where the base’s hangars were located. His drained body slid slowly across the rugged surface until his bottom touched the ground, legs bent slightly, elbows sinking into his sore knees as he covered up his face with shaky, gloved hands, struggling to find a way to cope with the overwhelming rush of hysterical emotions flooding through his broken mind.

His breath hitched painfully inside his chest, as if his heart were trying to desert him, desperately attempting to leave his body, his pathetically shattered body now wrecked with tremors of impotence and shame. As he battled the sickening wave of nausea, triggered by the cheap booze still lingering in his empty stomach and the rush of sheer panic overcoming him, he felt himself falling, falling into that dark abyss of miserable loneliness which had once been his one and only shelter, but that now, without her by his side, had grown to become the most foreign of places. 

The Prince tried to focus on the pain, that pleasurably masochistic feeling that had always been his constant companion, a warm, friendly sensation inexorably reminding him that he was real, that all of this was real. He swallowed heavily, thick fingers clutching handfuls of his own coarse hair, pulling just hard enough for it to hurt while exhausted lungs inhaled in a labored way, spending whatever remained of his useless pride in suppressing the heart-wrenching sob burning in his aching throat.

She wasn’t here.

The Saiyan had thoroughly searched and examined every single goddamned corner of the massive facility with meticulous scrutiny, including the inside of each one of the incalculable number of high-tech space pods parked inside the immense area. With each failed quest his hopes vanished a little further, those deplorable hopes that his woman wouldn’t have made it too far, that perhaps the fear of the unknown would have somehow convinced her to give up on her absurd plans for a clandestine breakout, or that maybe, and he knew just how ridiculously inconceivable the possibility had come to be by now, that she’d still be willing to wait for him to return to her someday.    

But now, as he prowled around the secluded spot like a criminal thief in the night, there wasn’t much left for him to do but to succumb to the demoralizing evidence, accepting that Bulma, his Bulma, had broken away from his life for good, never to come back.

Vegeta couldn’t recall when was the last time he’d felt like this, this frantic sense of terror and bleakness, this disgraceful burn behind his eyes as he held back his tears, tears of shame and disappointment, tears he hadn’t spilled ever since he was a helpless little boy who’d just discovered that he was all alone in the world.     

He wanted to howl like an animal, to roar like a feral beast, to set the entire goddamned Galaxy on fire, if only to make every single bastard around him share the unbearable pain consuming his putrid soul.     

He couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe just how incredibly idiotic he’d been all this time, allowing his oversized ego to take the woman for granted, to accept as true that she’d be stupid enough to wait indefinitely for him to make up his neurotic mind and to fully embrace the truthful emotions which they both knew had sprang between them.

He should have followed his first instinct, now he knew.

He should have ignored those cowardly voices begging him, urgently imploring him to walk away, and just take her, take the little minx for himself just like she’d wanted him to or, at the very least, offer her the whisper of a promise, something, anything that would have let his woman know that he cared, that in spite of his good-for-nothing inadequacies, he’d grown to hold her closer to his risible heart more than he’d ever find the courage to admit.

And now she was gone.

Forever.

And, to top it all off, he didn’t even know why, just why she’d made such a seemingly illogical decision, and whether her hazardous getaway had been purely moved by the grief of solitude and heartbreak alone, or if some other thrilling reason hid behind her rushed escape from the base.

As he sat disconsolately on the soiled pavement, Vegeta found himself powerless to put a stop to the chaotic swirl of horrifying fantasies invading his woozy imagination, and the limitless scenarios which could have forced Bulma to leave such a depressing place in search of even worse, unknown territories. Perhaps someone had threatened or attempted to abuse her in some way, or maybe their obscure affair had been disclosed by the wrong person, one of his untold enemies, and she’d frantically pursued to remove herself from the situation. And, if that were the case, maybe she’d decided that a stealthy departure was preferable to waiting indefinitely for a man who was looking more and more like a daemon from the past rather than a man willing to fight for her protection.

‘Perhaps…’

Vegeta’s eyes popped open, drawing in a strangled gulp of cold oxygen and standing up all at once as soon as an abruptly expectant thought struck him.

Perhaps she’d left a message for him.

‘That’s right… Perhaps…’

Perhaps she’d left some kind of a missive behind, a clarification that would justify her hasty escape and mitigate his doubts, bringing him some vital peace. The idea itself was quite outlandish, especially if one considered that, deep down, the Prince knew that, after his disdainful treatment of her, his woman didn’t owe him a darned thing anymore. But the promise of one last message from Bulma was enough for some of his spent strength to reload his weakened body, a new purpose to daringly encourage him to take flight and make one final visit to the earthling’s old place, that decadent little nest which had become almost like the home he never had.

The warrior’s dirty boots soundlessly left the ground, elevating his fatigued body into the skies until he reached a strategic spot where he could get a pretty decent view of the hangars, the wretched place where he’d just moved Heaven and Earth in his disheartening pursuit to get his lover back. His fists tightened firmly as he got ready and gathered the remnants of his depleted energy but, before he had the chance to power up, a minute figure moving smoothly throughout the labyrinthic passages caught his immediate interest.

Blue.

A spark of blue shone into the night, like a sapphire gleam of hope walking furtively throughout narrow, sinuous streets, promptly forcing him to rub his puffy eyes, fearing that the small but inimitable figure would be nothing more than a delirious hallucination seducing his crippled mind.

It wasn’t.

It was real.

She was real.

As real as the yelp of pure fright emanating from her lips when his body evanesced from the star-filled skies, instantly materializing in front of her and grabbing her by the wrists with forceful greediness.

“Going somewhere, little earthling?” He muttered in an arrogant undertone, his sham cockiness poorly concealing the devastating wave of relief quickly taking hold of him.

She was here.

‘She was here! Right here, with him!’

The woman’s first instinctive reaction was to recoil from his possessive touch, releasing a choked scream as her tiny body wriggled fretfully, trying to escape, in vain, from the ominous stranger standing in her way in the dark. But, as soon as the mysterious voice resounded in the air, she instantaneously recognized the distinct, masculine tone that used to murmur shamelessly sensual words of desire in her ear, so many nights ago.

“Vegeta?” Bulma half-asked in a wheezing whisper, after what felt like an interminable silence.

The Prince’s frozen lips remained sealed, his sharp eyebrows drawn together as his eyes scanned his small woman with a hunger that would have mortified him if it weren’t for the toxic effects of the alcohol still heavily subduing his shame. He kept his strong fingers firmly wrapped around her wrists, the sensation of her warm skin beneath his rugged touch, even through the infuriating barrier of his customary gloves, feeling like a balm to his wounded soul, as if the mere presence of his lover were enough to scatter his demons away. While he waited patiently for her transient fears to fade away, and for her weak human eyesight to adapt to the shadows and identify the unique figure of the man who used to share her bed, he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of drowning his still dulled senses into the fragile little creature who’d implacably stolen his heart.

Vegeta took in her scrumptious scent, that honeyed, welcoming fragrance which had once been nothing more than a temping invitation, but that now felt like home. He inhaled the faint traces of his own self still avidly imprinted all over her, the inner beast lying dormant within his spirit smirking triumphantly at the thought of his beautiful woman carrying a piece of him with her during all of these arduous times spent apart.    

There were still so many unanswered questions, so many words that needed to be spoken between the two of them, that the warrior, in his infinite ignorance, didn’t quite know how or where to start. All he knew was the way she felt by his side, and his boundless reprieve when her pulse gradually calmed down, proof that the earthling was slowly putting her fears behind her and accepting his surely unexpected visit.

Time stood still as Bulma gazed stonily into his eyes, the soft contours of her flawless face half-lit by mild starlight while Vegeta awaited her reaction, like an unguarded brat about to be scolded for a sly lark.

A rare sense of déjà vu overran him when he realized that he’d pronounced the very same tongue-in-cheek question he’d asked on the night he’d almost lost her, that rare, almost dreamlike night in which his lover had worn a flimsy white dress just for him and tended to his bleeding injuries with such poignant care. He could still recall the rampant, panicky emotions controlling him back then, how alien the dread of loss had been to someone like him, a man who owned nothing and no one, when he’d witnessed the desolating image of his lover walking away from him with such determination.

Her generous heart had taken mercy on him that night, tolerating his utter ineptitude, forgiving him for having failed to join her in those silly celebrations which had meant so much to her, for reasons that he still couldn’t fully comprehend, even to this day. She’d certainly cried and tried to resist his treacherous charms at first, not even bothering to hide the ferocious clash between her hurt pride and her ridiculous feelings for him, feelings that she still hadn’t been brave enough to reveal that night, but which the Prince now knew, as sure as night follows day, were already brewing under her skin, consuming her gentle soul at the positive belief that he’d be wholly incapable to reciprocate. 

But that was then and this was now, and, in spite of his appalling state of confusion, the Prince wasn’t foolish enough to believe that her clemency would come so easily this time. Vegeta knew the strong likelihood that the old compassion in her tearful smile, and her devastating acceptance in response to his unnerving silence after he’d refused to respond to her confession of love, would have morphed into cruel bitterness during his cowardly prolonged absence.

The Saiyan’s worst fears became a gloomy reality when his woman ceased her struggles, taking a dangerously calm breath and opening her mouth at last, sinking her nasty claws into the measly remnants of his blackened heart, and feasting on it with the shrill brutality that only a deeply bruised woman could possess.

“Let go of me,” Bulma muttered with disturbing serenity. “Now...”

There were no tears streaming down her porcelain face this time, no warmth or love behind her icy tone as she stood still right in front of him, strong and proud like the most courageous of warriors. If there was any spare affection left for him within her broken heart, he wouldn’t know, all he knew was that this woman wasn’t the vulnerable little thing he’d once held in his arms as she gave herself to him with ardent fervor. This Bulma, awaiting with chilling patience for him to give into her punishing wishes and release her, was rather alarmingly close to the coolly detached woman he’d first met back in her laboratory, the one who’d cleverly constructed a dignified shield around herself so that the world would never touch her.       

Now that he had nothing left to lose, he could secretly admit to himself that he’d instantly become attracted to that woman, to the reserved but insolent scientist who’d once dared to speak words of quiet defiance against him, after he’d been brazen enough to keep rubbing salt into her wounds by inquiring far too much about her bygone life. 

But, now that she seemed to be forever lost to him, Vegeta could also concede that he’d grown even fonder of the soft, infinitely more sentimental little female who’d been generous enough to open her heart to him, kindly offering him a glimpse of all the gratifying things he’d always been excluded from, ever since he was able to remember.

He’d fallen into a trap, a hazardous trap made out of strange human stories, tales of insignificant men who wished to die for no reason, and epic poems proclaiming valor and victory, so surprisingly Saiyan-like in nature that the very thought mystified him entirely. He’d gladly fallen into the arms of a woman unafraid to bare her soul to him, to shed tears of grief and regret as she spoke of her Mother and Father, and of exotic yellow flowers whose unexplored fragrance tempted him relentlessly, making him wish, more than anything in the world, that he too could have had the chance to know the pleasure of such insignificant titillations, if only because they might bring him closer to understanding the mystery that was Bulma Briefs.

Because both women were one and the same, heads and tails of the same golden coin, a peculiar, exquisite creature too fragile in appearance, but strong enough to survive in a savagely ruthless world. And, as he stared into her dimly illuminated features, profoundly horrified by the hostility swimming within a pair of blue eyes which had once looked at him as if he were the greatest man in existence, he realized with consternation that he may have truly lost her for good this time, and all because of his own gutless stupidity.

“Let go of me…” Bulma demanded once more, her voice still chillingly low yet laced in unadulterated fury.

The Prince lifted his masculine jaw with feigned superiority, trying with all his power to pay no attention to the cold sweat running down his spine at the daunting sight of a side of Bulma that he’d never seen before, a rare unforgiveness destined for him and him alone.  

“No,” Vegeta replied disobediently, his hands refusing to follow his lover’s commands, fearing that if he ever did, she’d vanish from his life forevermore.

That did it.

Bulma’s small body started shaking beneath his presumptuous touch, only this time it wasn’t at the distress of being chased by some intimidating stranger in the middle of the night, this time it was sheer anger what prompted her trembling fury.

“I said…” The earthling whispered again, inhaling sharply through her nose as her fingers curled and uncurled in hushed warning, getting ready to counterattack with the fierceness of a wounded lioness. “Let go of me, GODDAMMIT!”

In the blink of an eye, Bulma violently flailed her arms, in one final, frenetic attempt at freeing herself from the Prince’s possessive grasp, and quickly succeeding, taking advantage of Vegeta’s clumsier reflexes and of the abruptness of her actions. Once free of his hold, she simply turned around, walking away from him with fearless resolve.

He’d been right.

This woman, this stubbornly furious woman who was literally trying to escape and get away from his presence as fast as she could, was not the woman who’d once been willing, in spite of her plain heartbreak, to listen to his wretched excuses, those meaningless, ridiculous excuses by which he’d tried to fool her and himself, pretending that no promises had yet been exchanged between them despite the obvious ties already binding them together. She’d forgiven him back then, taking him back simply because he’d still been able to hide behind such irrational pretexts. But now, as he looked in silent horror at the tiny figure disappearing into the night, absolutely paralyzed by unmatched fear and indecision, he knew that she had every reason in this world to desert him, to abandon him like the worthless chump that he truly was, banishing him from her vibrant existence until the end of time.

She’d unveiled her heart just for him, bravely placing it in his blood-soaked hands regardless of having the somber certainty that he wouldn’t even know what to do with it, and he’d done nothing but stomp all over her raw emotions, just as she’d surely expected him to anyway.

He had no right.

No right whatsoever to expect any kindness or mercy out of her this time.

‘And yet…’

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t just let her go, he couldn’t allow her to penetrate into the unknown and set whatever crazy plan her restless brain had concocted into motion, especially if she was doing so out of spite or disenchantment driven by sorrow. The idea of his woman endangering her own life by choice was, in an odd way, infinitely more painful than knowing her on safe grounds, or at least as safe as a delicate creature like Bulma could ever be, even if he couldn’t have her for himself anymore.

‘There had to be a way…’ He thought anxiously to himself, his mouth feeling like cotton, twitchy tongue running across dry lips while his frantic mind attempted to elaborate the shadow of a plan, to come up with something, anything, that would keep the woman in the base and protected from harm.

Declaring his feelings for her wasn’t even a real option, not only because of how ludicrously foreign the concept remained to him, but because he knew that, whatever it was that the sensitive woman was looking for, he sure as Hell wasn’t fitted out to provide it for her.

‘He didn’t even know if she wanted him still...’

His Bulma represented a world of infinite beauty and innocence, a world where a man like him, with nothing to offer but a pair of dirty hands and a barren heart, had no place of any kind. The destitute Prince knew nothing of love or family, or any of those senselessly sappy life experiences that his woman seemed to value and cherish so much. His one and only expertise lay in the darkness, in that terrifying realm of death and destruction from which his defenseless lover hadn’t truly caught a real glimpse of so far, and he’d be damned if he allowed her to walk on a fatal tightrope, only to end up throwing herself into the poisonous abyss of evil and chaos that was Frieza’s empire.      

Vegeta briefly stared at his gritted fists in hopeless impotence, realizing with dismay that, if such shameful words of love and devotion were out of reach for a cold bastard like himself, then there’d be nothing left for him to do but to resort to the one skill he was fluent in, the evil, ghastly skill he’d spent a lifetime earnestly polishing to the point of perfection.        

Fear.

If foolish sentimentality didn’t do the trick, then perhaps cleverly inculcating fear into the woman’s heart, until she relented and made the prudent choice of staying on the military base, might work.

The dreadful downside to his hastened plan was the likely possibility of making his lover’s hatred towards him grow to unbearable levels or, what would be even more appalling, that in his alcohol induced rage he’d end up losing control, ultimately making the woman fear him as well.

There were fewer things in life that made the Saiyan Prince prouder than his intrinsic ability to instill terror into the soul of his numerous enemies, that old self-righteous knowledge that the mere mention of his name, let alone his chillingly imposing presence, was enough to make the most powerful of warriors wish he’d never been born. But the mental image of his woman fearing him, withdrawing from his needy touch after being exposed to a violent side of him which had always remained latent in her company, filled him with consternation, yet he’d gladly swallow every drop of her revulsion if it meant keeping her safe from any damage. 

‘So be it…’ Vegeta thought gloomily to himself, taking flight in her direction without giving his rushed strategy a second thought, relying on whatever remained of his liquid courage to find the strength to confront his lover once again.

“Shit!” Bulma gasped in fright the moment her man quickly caught up with her, magically reappearing in front of her and grabbing her by her narrow shoulders, morphing into an impenetrable wall of muscle as he effectively blocked her path.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, woman?” He asked in a low, threatening tone, trying with all his might to conceal the mad desperation he was wildly possessed by.

The earthling was momentarily taken aback by the intransigence in his harsh voice and manners. It certainly wasn’t the first time that she’d been aware of the warrior’s commanding attitude but, ever since they’d embarked in their illicit affair, she’d also been privileged enough to get to know a softer, much gentler aspect of her lover, one she was convinced he’d never dared to bare to anyone else. And Bulma had grown so accustomed to that privately kind side of him that, for a moment, she had a hard time recognizing her Vegeta in the cold, forceful bastard holding her still in the spot.

She soon recognized that something was off about him, that there was something mysteriously terrifying in the way his thick fingers dug into her fragile flesh as he held her, almost making her feel the ghost of purple bruising forming all over her unusually pale skin.

‘It didn’t matter…’ Bulma bitterly concluded, shaking her head to herself as she evoked all the ache that he’d caused her during these past few months, and the excruciating agony of his rejection after her heartfelt confession in the intimacy of that cursed hotel suite.     

“That’s none of your goddamned business!” She replied with irate resentment, shooting an anger that she’d never directed at him before and striking him right into his split heart.

The scientist attempted to dodge his now painful grip with quickness, just as she’d previously done, but this time Vegeta was already expecting her defiance and, before his lover knew what was coming, he swung her lithe body at light speed, effectively trapping her and backing her against the muddy bricked walls.

“Like HELL it isn’t!” He roared viciously, his big hands letting go of her shoulders only to swiftly take hold of her thin wrists, pressing them against his chest as he brought himself closer to her. “You think you can just leave this place? Do you?! DO YOU?!” Vegeta barked with fury, now openly yelling at her, completely unperturbed about the danger they’d both put themselves into had some sneaky stranger heard them.

Bulma’s rebellious struggles ceased all of a sudden, her words of insubordination freezing at the tip of her venomous tongue as soon as her Prince pronounced his cryptic question.

“Wha-What…?” She asked after a brief period of awkward silence, her expressive eyebrows furrowing in clear confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, woman…” He murmured menacingly, now trapping both of her wrists between one of his hands and encircling her delicate jaw with the other, using just the right amount of force to make her look him in the eye without hurting her. “You can’t pull it off!”

The insulting implications in his words did nothing but further ignite the woman’s fire, inviting her to hysterically squirm and brawl in his demanding grasp over and over.  

“What the fuck are you even talking about?!” Bulma yelled at him, sighing in frustration when she realized that there was nothing she could possibly do to escape her lover’s dominant clutches. Not only had she absolutely no idea about what it was that her Prince was referring to, but she couldn’t help but notice the heatedly erratic way in which Vegeta was acting, panting and huffing like a wild, caged tiger, stubbornly refusing to let go of her for reasons she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Y-You…!” He stuttered with demented agitation, feeling the rapacious, raging Dragon hiding within his soul awakening at the myriad of sensations that his woman’s mere presence could stir inside of him. “You…! You wouldn’t last five goddamned minutes out there on your own! You hear me?! YOU HEAR ME?!”

“On…? On my own? Ve-Vegeta… What are you…?”

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” The Prince shouted again, going off the rails as he physically jerked her with vehemence, as if he were trying to literally shake some sense into her. His head was throbbing, eyes burning. It wasn’t even the alcohol anymore, it was she. She was the one doing this to him, making him lose control like some brainless juvenile scared stiff at the thought of losing his first love. “You’re doing it because of me, aren’t you?! AREN’T YOU?!” He shook her again. And again. “You…! You stupid little fool! You’d risk your fucking life just so you can get away from ME!!!”     

By now, all of Bulma’s air had fled her lungs, and there was nothing left for her to do but to keep staring at the enraged beast heaving and puffing savagely in the dark. He reeked of cheap booze and something earthy, of dried up blood and alien mud, and he was close, he was so dangerously close that his shaky breath was merging with her own, and Bulma didn’t know if she wanted to slap the living daylights out of him or kiss him within an inch of his life. She was sinking in bewilderment, unable to understand how it was possible for a man who’d abandoned her as if all their extraordinary times together hadn’t meant a darned thing, to act in such a possessive manner all of a sudden.

It wasn’t until she managed to gradually get a hold of herself, rifling through her lover’s uncontrollably furious words, that she finally understood what all the commotion was about.

“You…?” She asked tentatively, her voice croaky and twined with incredulity. “You think I’m trying to escape from here?”

Vegeta nodded with newborn hesitation, his touch loosening lightly on her dainty chin as he watched her with thoughtful skepticism, trying to figure out if the woman was telling the truth or just playing games with his drained brains. It didn’t take long for him to surrender to the overwhelming evidence and to what he’d known all along to be true, the fact that his woman didn’t own a dishonest bone in that lovely body.

“You…?” He rasped with reservation, his throat bobbing nervously. “You aren’t?”

“Of course not! You idiot!” Bulma screamed at once, feeling her old temper coming back in full force, deeply offended by Vegeta’s accusations. “I wasn’t trying to escape! I work here!”

Taking full advantage of the Prince’s clear state of shock, the earthling wriggled out from his grip, pulling forcefully and setting her arms free, slapping the hand still touching her face and pushing him as hard as she could. She walked a few cautious steps away from him, always keeping her eyes on him as she frowned with irritation, softly rubbing her aching wrists.

Work.

His Bulma was working at the hangars.

“You…” He uttered in a rough, guttural voice, lowering his chin and squinting maliciously, trying to focus on her revelations while struggling to ignore the asinine guilt eating him inside at the thought of having hurt his woman. “You lie… It cannot be…”

“What cannot be?” The scientist demanded, already affronted by the insinuations hiding behind his angry affirmation.

“I said YOU LIE! There’s no fucking way you’re working here after just a few months in that laboratory!”

That did it.

The real Bulma Briefs materialized on the dot at the warrior’s degrading words, standing cross-armed right in front of him as she faced him with a brash fearlessness that was making his Saiyan blood boil in euphoria.

“You have some nerve…” She accused indignantly, raising her chin up in pure defiance. “You’ve been wearing that stupid armor for two months straight without a single fucking crack on it and you’re still questioning my genius?!”

Vegeta gawked at her in complete silence, trying to camouflage his utter mortification at the disgraceful spectacle he’d just made of himself. Not only had he openly accused her of being imprudent enough to leave the safety of the military base because of something as trivial as a broken heart, but, to make matters even worse, he’d just questioned her brilliant intelligence, a quality which was, quite possibly, Bulma’s greatest pride.

“Bulma…” He murmured at last, his eyes now ashamedly avoiding hers as he looked away, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make his woman have mercy and give him another chance.

‘Perhaps… Perhaps he could tell her his secret… Perhaps…’

“I’ve had enough of this crap…” Bulma grumbled, almost as if talking to herself, but knowing full well that he could hear her every word with little trouble. “I’m going home…”

“Bulma!” Vegeta bellowed madly, not even bothering to conceal his desperation anymore, seizing her arm just as she gave him her back with the intention of leaving him again. “Wait!”

“WHAT?!” She shouted at him, turning around and viciously yanking her arm, trying to get him to release her with no success.

“You just… Just wait! J-Just…” He stammered, blinking with nervousness and seeking her gaze for an instant, only to quickly avert her eyes, unable to withstand the terrorizing hatred in her ice-blue stare. “Why…? Why are you leaving like this? J-Just… Why are you…?”

“I just told you! You asshole! I WORK HERE!” Bulma roared again, although this time, Vegeta could have sworn that there was a heavy hint of something lugubrious hiding within her fuming voice.

“So?”

She huffed in outrage, sharply inhaling a lungful of crisp air as she got ready to announce that she did, in fact, know quite a bit more than he’d anticipated to begin with.

“So…” Bulma declared with petrifying bitterness. “I have access to the flight logs! You dick!”

“…”

He said nothing.

He said nothing because, at this point, there was nothing left for him to say, not a single excuse or explanation that could possibly justify his atonement. Now he knew, now he knew the real reason behind the virulent hostility she’d thrown at him from the moment he’d reappeared into her life.

The sheer volume of new information floating in his stunned mind that night had been such that, between the alarm and consequent relief of learning that his Bulma was not leaving the base, and the following shock at the discovery that the woman possessed, in fact, enough brains in order to ascend so quickly in the technological department, had made him ignore one crucial little fact, the fact that her new position would have given her access to the pods’ highly valued flight records, meaning that she’d known all along that he’d been in the base on several occasions, but voluntarily refusing to visit her during the past two months.

He deserved it.

All of it.

He deserved the spite in her shaky voice, the disgusted sneer curving her full lips and the emotionless, disconnected way in which she pulled her arm away from him. Just as he deserved those two words, those two words of acrimony and contempt that sliced his void heart with the clinical precision of a surgeon.

“Goodbye, Vegeta…”      

******************************************

He could still hear it every so often, that grave, prophetic speech echoing through his broken consciousness, like a grandiose commander ruling over him at all times, inspiring him to carry on.   

Always the same words.

Always.

‘Stand up, boy!’

His father’s voice.

The man he’d admired the most ever since he had the ability to remember, the man who was no longer a man but a Supreme Being, a shining, superb God walking amongst mere mortals.

Here or there, dead or alive, it made no difference to the Prince anymore.

He’d always been there for him, both a reassuring presence and a hellish curse; the strongest, bravest of men, and the cowardly father who’d given away his oldest child to the most despicable of monsters to do as he pleased with him. The King’s ghost had walked by his son’s side through it all, from the brief and momentarily satisfying spells of victory, to the sadly more frequent, almost expected, times of shameful defeat. His imperious cries still reverberated within his soul, exaltations of honorable pride and forthcoming triumphs, of all the extraordinary achievements that would be possible for him just as long as he never dismissed from his mind the crucial principles by which a Saiyan Prince shall live by. 

Little boys didn’t cry.

Little boys had no fear.

Little boys just took it.

They took it all and asked for more.

Those had been the words, the essential fundamentals he’d been mercilessly governed by for as long as he could recall, the basis of his very essence as a Saiyan, as a warrior and as a man. And, as much as there had been times, especially as he’d gotten older, when he’d grown to resent and despise the dead old man who hadn’t been strong enough to protect his own child from the Devil himself, Vegeta had always ended up admitting to himself that, without the foggy specter of his Father whispering words of dark enlightenment in his ear, he would have been completely lost.    

‘Stand up, boy!’

‘Stand up!’

And then, then the most extraordinary metamorphosis had taken place when, without warning, the solemnly dignified voice of the King was quickly replaced by the sweetest, most melodic of echoes.

‘Vegeta! Stand up!’

‘Stand up!’

The voice of the woman who’d unexpectedly changed it all. A tenderhearted creature who’d walked into his life, completely out of the blue, making him question the very core of his existence and his own sense of self. The one who’d become, for reasons he still couldn’t fully comprehend, the motivation to remain alive through the toughest and bloodiest of assignments, if only so that he could come back to her.

‘Vegeta! Stand up!’

‘Vegeta!’

“…ta!”

“…geta!”

“Vegeta! Stand up!” The feminine tone called out to him again, the voice sounding surprisingly close and real, as real as the loud noise that Bulma’s heavy work boots made when she stomped her foot on the ground in frustration. “Dammit, Vegeta! Stand up!”

His eyes opened abruptly, his entire body waking up all of a sudden from the rare state of unconsciousness he’d been under from the moment she’d walked away from him. He couldn’t remember much of what happened, other than the monstrous ball of fire burning in his chest as he’d watched her leave, an aching, oppressive strain chocking him off, literally stopping his lungs from breathing.

“Vegeta?” Bulma asked once more, her tone still somewhat angry, yet mixed with noticeable relief when she finally sensed some kind of a physical reaction in him.

After her crossly abrupt departure, she’d only been able to make it to the end of the long, narrow street until the temptation to turn around and take one last, nostalgic look at her former lover became too great to resist. The earthling had half-expected him to keep chasing after her with dogged insistence, or to simply accept defeat and obey her cruel wishes, taking flight and putting an end to the disastrous torment that their affair had become. What she hadn’t foreseen, however, was the utterly depressing scene that she found in its place.

The warrior was right where she’d abandoned him but, instead of resembling his own usual self, that cool, bigheaded bastard who walked around as if the world belonged to him and him alone, she was faced by the beaten image of a man she could barely recognize.

Bulma had watched him from afar for a good handful of minutes, her astonished gaze fixated on the pitiful figure sitting on the pavement with his hunched back leaning against the wall. His elbows were on his knees, arms hanging slackly in front of him and head bowed down in defeat. His body, that compact yet immensely powerful body, looked smaller than usual as he trembled all over and, if she hadn’t known what kind of a man she was truly dealing with, she would have guessed that he was either crying or battling the hardest of fights against an overwhelming need to shed rowdy tears of shame. It was the most poignant, horrifying vision she’d ever laid eyes on, so perturbing in truth, that it was getting increasingly harder to stay mad at him.

When Vegeta had made an unpredicted comeback that night, a tiny part of her had felt a spur of relief and, dare she say it, of joy, at the thought of her former lover finally having found the valor to return to her, perhaps even to reciprocate the sincere emotions that she’d so bravely confessed to him in the past. But the drunken fury unleashed upon her straight away had done nothing but awaken her own resentment, that causticness arising from all the pain and solitude she’d been subjected to in his absence.

Every single night of wistful loneliness, wrestling her acute exhaustion as she waited for him, crying herself to sleep when the realization hit her, the glum understanding that he wouldn’t be visiting that night either. Worst of all had been knowing, knowing that he was in the base but still refusing to see her, feeling repudiated and mortified, fearing that if only she’d kept her own stupid feelings to herself, she’d still have her man by her side.

It’d taken those first two failed visits for Bulma to gradually begin to accept that, whatever it was that had transpired between the Saiyan Prince and her, was clearly over. And, by the third fizzled encounter, taking place a mere two nights before the warrior’s reappearance, those sentiments of grief and abandonment had, in a way, given place to that little orb of anger and bitterness which had become her one and only drive right until Vegeta had entered the picture, bringing a flicker of optimism and exhilaration into her world.

It was this new aggressiveness of his what had startled her the most, an act of hostility that he’d never, not even once, displayed in her presence before. For all of his flaws, her lover had treated her with utmost respect at all times, even in the early stages of their relationship, when he’d openly described her as ‘a fuck’ and nothing more. Her involvement with Vegeta had always been by her own choice and, just as she’d accepted the rules that he’d established with such crass honesty very early on, she’d also come to acknowledge her Prince’s dismissal when she’d boldly attempted to change the rules of this wicked game of seduction they’d both been consumed by.

And now nothing made sense anymore.

Nothing at all.

In her state of inner turmoil, Bulma could find no rational explanation for the sudden possessiveness in the Prince’s demeanor, an enraged dominance that appeared to have pushed him over the edge of his own sanity. This man, this incensed man seemingly possessed by the Archfiend himself, couldn’t possibly be the same man who’d bailed out on her without a care in the world, and neither did the crushed man sitting curled up on the ground, looking as if he’d just lost his most precious jewel.

Even though she didn’t know what exactly was crossing the warrior’s mind, or his true feelings towards her and their intimate times together, there was one thing that she was convinced of, that she had to snap him out of the extremely weak position he’d just put himself into as soon as possible, before any uninvited spectator could witness this new, frightening vulnerability.   

There were still so many elements about Vegeta’s nature which remained an inscrutable enigma to her, so many choices that looked so absurdly irrational, that Bulma felt as if an entire lifetime would be needed to solve the riddle that her lover had become. What she had learnt, however, was that the smug arrogance which characterized him wasn’t so much an intrinsic part of his personality but a protective shield, a powerful weapon that had perhaps kept him alive more times than she’d ever know, and she couldn’t, regardless of the lingering ire still brewing within her, contribute to the self-destruction of the man she loved.

Not now.

Not ever.

“Vegeta…” She muttered yet again, her voice much kinder and softer than earlier, making the massive effort to repress her irritation so that she could earn his trust once more. “Come on… You need to stand from the ground…”   

The Prince raised his head at last, slowly, painfully slowly, like a man who’d just awakened from a dream, one of those dreams which felt so treacherously real that it took one a while to fully rouse and discern fantasy from reality. He blinked languidly a few times, frowning at the light hand so generously tended to him as he wondered, not for the first time, just what in Heaven’s name had he ever done to deserve his woman’s presence in his life, let alone her caring compassion.

“Come on…” Bulma whispered, gently wriggling her fingers in a come-hither motion in quiet encouragement as she struggled to ignore the tears of pity burning behind her turquoise eyes.

He looked like a boy.

He looked like a misplaced, young boy, oddly lost in thought, and probably wondering the reason behind her offering him a helping hand when no one had ever truthfully given a damn about whether he lived or died. In spite of the obvious confusion spoiling his handsome face, there was something almost fresh about him, as if he’d dropped his prideful act, at long last, freely offering her a glimpse of the man he could have been if tragedy hadn’t stricken his life over and over again, viciously stealing his innocence and transforming him into the steeled, broken man that he was today.

After a short-lived minute that felt like infinity, his hand reached out to hers with atypical shyness, wrapping his thick fingers around her palm. He kept his gaze low, his head still lightly bowed in humbleness and clear apprehension, as if he were still scared of looking her in the eye for fear of what he might be confronted by.

At first, she’d assumed that he’d simply follow her soft request and stand on his feet but, as usual, the warrior surprised her yet again, being the one to silently pull, inviting her, without words, to join him on the ground instead. Mere hours earlier, the earthling’s outrage would have made her resist his proposition, but now, as her wounded rage slowly morphed into warm compassion, Bulma found herself incapable to resist his quiet plea and, before she knew it, her knees touched the pavement as she joined him on the ground.

“Vegeta… We can’t let people see you like this…” She cautioned him, her heart bleeding at the long, quivery sigh that escaped Vegeta’s lips when she knelt in front of him, a sigh of pure relief, relief at the possibility, however implausible, that he still might have a chance with this woman. “Vegeta…” Bulma whispered warmheartedly again. “We need to…”

“Come with me,” he interrupted her, his voice low and husky but his eyes, those penetrating, ebony eyes, meeting hers at last, shining passionately just for her.

There was something about him, something she hadn’t seen before. An odd mixture of defeated coyness and raw intensity, like a man who’d already been drowning after losing all hope, only to find a beam of buoyant expectation inside the dark tomb he’d buried himself into.            

“Ve-Vegeta… I…” She stuttered nervously, knowing that if she did as he asked, if she completely forgot about all the pain he’d inflicted upon her and she followed him now, only to find herself discarded again, she’d die. “I… I can’t… I…”

“Something happened, Bulma…” He declared in a velvety murmur as he interlaced the fingers of her captive hand with his own, bringing both fists close to his heart. “Something big…”

Vegeta watched with silent anticipation the surge of conflicting emotions raging within her, knowing that this was his last trump card, that appealing to her naturally scientific inquisitiveness, and to the fascination that he still seemed to awaken within her, was his one and only hope to get her out of that dark alley and try to win her affections back.

“What…? What is it?” She asked breathlessly, her oceanic eyes opening wide with vivacious curiosity. “What…?”

The Prince shook his head solemnly, trying to maintain his deadly serious façade but secretly elated at the discovery that his little female still felt some kind of emotion towards him, strong enough, at least, to show an interest in the latest, fortuitous developments in his life.  

“Not here,” he cut her off, persevering in his wickedly improvised plan to lure the woman and bring her to a more secluded spot. “It’s too dangerous…”

Bulma scowled with slight suspicion. She knew that Vegeta would never stoop so low as to lie to her about some big event occurring in his life, but she was also fully aware of the fact that the chances of some sneaky stranger eavesdropping on their secret conversation were slim to none, and that her lover was probably attempting to find a credible excuse to take her to some place where the two of them could be alone and wholly undisturbed. And, while she was still finding it hard to ignore the sour resentment that his dismissive attitude towards her confession had stirred within her soul, she also had to admit that his supplicant touch and humility were making dwelling into such vengeful emotions harder and harder.

“If this…” She warned cautiously. “If this is some kind of trick, I…”

“No tricks, Bulma,” Vegeta interjected with firm conviction, his fingers tightening around hers, pressing their entwined hands even harder against his chest. “Come with me…”

The word ‘please’ was never spoken, yet it lay heavily behind the shadow of his subtle command, a hushed plea, perhaps the closest thing to an imploration that he’d ever pronounced. He was fully at her mercy and both lovers knew it, just as they knew that the insatiable attraction burning between them like the brightest flame was still livelier than ever.

She couldn’t give herself to him again.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t risk seeing her heart shattered into a million pieces one more time, regardless of how profound her sentiments towards this complex, secretive man run still. But perhaps she owed it to herself, and even to him, to give him the opportunity to share whatever ailment or aching sentiment it was that was clearly consuming him alive, and to eventually part ways with the respect and the peaceful closure that they both deserved.    

Vegeta sharply held his breath, observing in childlike awe the way Bulma chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the ground while she carefully pondered on his enigmatic offer. The irony that things had always been the other way around in their relationship didn’t escape him, for his lover had always been the one asking the questions, the one wondering when he’d come back to her, or inquiring about the silliest matters. The Prince had constantly been the one dominantly establishing the rules, the one setting the ruthless boundaries in a sexual affair which had, slowly but relentlessly, morphed into something frighteningly deeper, something that neither one of them had predicted, or even known how to handle.

He’d assumed that he had the right to walk away from her, painlessly and free of any guilt, right after she’d daringly shared her true feelings for him, thinking that, by breaking the rules of their own lascivious game, the woman had effectively freed him from whatever obligation or consideration which may have existed between them. What Vegeta hadn’t counted on, much to his shame, was how incurably hard it would be for him to cut the invisible rope binding them together, that thin, red thread fervidly tied up to his ribcage, virtually impossible to destroy anymore.      

And now his destiny was in her hands, a future that suddenly felt a little sunnier when his Bulma made up her mind at last, timidly looking him in the eye as she sealed his fate with one faint whisper.

“Okay…” 

******************************************

His sheer joy at the dazzling promise of his beautiful lover forgiving his many mistakes, and newly warming up to him, evaporated as soon as he held her in his arms and they took off in search of a more private destination.

Almost immediately, it became painfully evident that this woman, a woman barely holding onto his shoulders with clammy hands, and a small, shivering body as tense as a spring, was definitely not the docile little female who so loved to cling to him for dear life whenever he flew her in his tight embrace.

He didn’t get to feel her balmy, sweet breath gasping in excitement in his ear as she buried her delicate face in the crook of his neck, or the deliciously tickling sensation of the few loose curls escaping from her messy bun and caressing his tanned cheeks as the wind played games with her hair. There were no impatiently hot kisses or cheeky caresses this time, nothing but an anxious woman trembling in apprehension and reeking of pure fear, not the dull, usual fear of murder and destruction he was so accustomed to, but the emotional fear of a woman whose trust had been entirely crushed, and all because of his own emotionally stunted stupidity.

He’d missed her.

Oh, but he’d missed her…

Now that Vegeta had her in his hold, and the heavy, intoxicating fog of the cheap liquor dulling his senses was gradually fading away, he could acknowledge, once and for all, just how much he’d missed his woman during their time apart, and the peculiarly invigorating effect that her mere presence seemed to bring upon him.

He’d dearly missed the way Bulma felt in his arms, the warm softness of her small but voluptuous form beneath his touch, and the surprising way in which his coarse hands adapted to her every curve and every plane, as if her body had been created with the sole purpose of bringing some much-needed comfort into the depraved chaos that was his life. He’d desperately needed those babyish giggles and human stories, and the way that gorgeous pair of luminous eyes always looked at him as if he were a man, a man whose soul still deserved to be saved from sin. The Gods be damned, he’d even missed those tiny annoyances of hers, those silly, girlish habits so irritating in appearance, but that secretly amused him to no end, like the devious way in which she’d press her cold feet right against his in the middle of the night, when she mistakenly thought him asleep, in search of the masculine heat that his body exuded.

Now he could justly appreciate the extraordinary way in which the exotic creature had given herself to him, baring her gracious heart and untainted soul with no reservations or inhibitions, probably without even bothering to truly wonder if the monster she’d chosen to share that marvelous body and mind with was even worthy of it.

But, just as it’d occurred in every other aspect of his pathetically immoral life, he had to go and mess it all up, if only because he didn’t understand her or her dreamy emotions, or why she had ever been crazy enough to even offer him the gift of sharing a meaningful bond with a tenderhearted woman like her.

It wasn’t until he lost her that he finally grasped the true value of the unexpected treasure that Fate had so generously laid in his undeserving hands and, like the pathetic wimp that he truly was, he’d ended up making matters infinitely worse by showing up in her presence completely drunk out of his mind, acting like a terrifying, drunken brute and disrespecting her in every conceivable way.

All in all, it was small wonder that the woman’s body language was so clearly communicating just how repulsive he must now be to her, and the Prince knew that the only reason why Bulma hadn’t run for the hills yet, dumping him on the streets in the middle of the night like some filthy dog, was that the woman was kind to the point of stupidity, and she’d most certainly still be able to muster some kind of sympathy towards the man she’d once claimed to have fallen in love with.

Letting her go would have been the honorable thing to do, allowing her to move on, to get some distance from the all-consuming madness that their sordid affair had turned out to be, so that she could one day finally realize that a murderer’s rejection had, in reality, been nothing but a blessing in disguise.

By watching her leave, he would have walked the decent path, then again, no one had ever accused Vegeta of being a moral man and, right now, the desperate void in his spirit was such that he’d take whatever crumbs of pitiful affection his Bulma would be willing to graciously offer.

“You…?” The earthling whispered as they landed on the balcony of their shocking destination, blissfully ignorant of the sharp pang of loss kicking the Saiyan in the gut at the way she recoiled from his touch as soon as their feet touched solid ground. “You’re staying here?” She asked in a wary but strikingly accusatory tone.

‘Ah, yes…’

Another mistake.

Instead of flying her to her place, that modest but cozy apartment she lived in, he’d taken her, almost on autopilot, to the hotel he was staying at, none other than the luxurious spot he’d invited her to during their last night together.

Bulma’s distrustful voice instantly reminded him of the shy uneasiness that the lavish hotel suite had promptly roused within her, and the heartbreaking grief and insecurity in her voice when she’d ventured to ask if he visited such places often. If the overwhelming extravagance of the grandiose room, together with the indecent assortment of high-class hookers hustling in the lobby, had been enough to provoke the most crushing anxiety in his lover back then, he didn’t even wish to imagine just what kind of disturbing thoughts must be crossing her wired mind now that they weren’t even technically a couple anymore.

Before he was even given the chance to reply to her suspicious demand, Bulma left his side, brazenly getting into a room that had once been so meticulously spruced up for an unforgettable night of passionate lovemaking, but which now so closely resembled an opulent but cold mausoleum.

The few panicky thoughts of jealousy initially flooding her mind were quickly forgotten after her astute eyes scanned the room with curiosity, skittishly pacing through it like a deer in the woods. It soon became apparent that bedding another woman was not the motive lying behind Vegeta’s unusual choice of lodging. The warrior’s election may have been exactly the same, but the ambiance floating in the air couldn’t have been any more different than that old, intimate atmosphere still so fresh in Bulma’s memory.

The faint glow of the exotically perfumed candles had now been replaced by the rudimentary lighting of a measly bedside lamp and a basic light spot by the lounge area, and the seductively spicy aroma pervading her senses back then had given rise to a clean, yet impersonal scent.

By the window, she saw the food cart that had, once upon a time, been brimming with fresh fruits and a wide assortment of gourmand delicacies, but which, tonight, held nothing but an eclectic selection of empty bottles instead. The lack of any solid foods and the sad sight of a single, unused glass told her all she needed to know about the solitary activities her Prince had been engaging into during her absence.

And so did the deluxe, king-sized bed, the only witness to a dreamlike night of confidential confessions and ardent sex, a place that used to be nothing but a pile of wildly rumpled, sweat-soaked bedsheets, but which was now fully made, its black covers only slightly wrinkled on one side, silently disclosing that the Prince had simply slept on top of them, all by himself, without even bothering to seek refuge underneath the silky sheets.

It was a miserable vision indeed, so excruciatingly gloomy that Bulma could feel her initial worries grow beyond what was prudent, knowing that she’d have to tread carefully if she was to make it out of there without giving into Vegeta’s dark desires, and with her heart in one piece.

The earthling masterfully walked past the colossal bed and in the direction of the salon, quickly identifying the very same spot she’d once sited on, that plush sofa where she’d enjoyed her favorite poems while delighting in a bowl of mouthwatering berries. Her steps were cautious, her stance elegant but powerless to control the old familiar butterflies fluttering in her belly whenever she found herself alone with her Saiyan Prince.

She could feel him.

She could feel him in a way she’d never felt anyone before, like a solid, sweltering presence, walking right behind her as he followed her every move.

She could feel his domineering eyes on her slender back, that raven gaze burning her alive, just as she’d been able to sense his presence nearby whenever he’d been in the base, even during those harrowing nights of solitude when he’d refused to visit her.

She didn’t know how or why it was even possible, and the very thought of such an absurd notion was entirely irrational, but she knew, as sure as birth and death, that it was real, as real as the new rush of pity taken hold of her when she sat on the swanky couch and he imitated her actions, positioning himself on a nearby divan and finally allowing her to take a good look at him in full light.

He looked terrible, positively ghastly, unquestionably a very different picture from the bigheaded warrior so used to walking triumphantly through life, always surrounded by that ever-present cloud of power and glory, that jubilant exultance that had first terrified her so, but which she’d secretly grown to admire. Her man appeared tired, sickly even, as if both his spirit and body were walking a perilous line on the brink of exhaustion, and dejectedly losing the battle.

What amazed her the most was the confirmation of what she’d suspected all along, ever since she’d caught a first glimpse of him under the shadows of the night, the astounding fact that he was, indeed, wearing the armor that she’d so lovingly designed and crafted for him, a thoughtful, unanticipated gift which she now fully believed had been his first.   

The Vegeta sitting in front of her was a far cry from the overconfident prick who’d showed up, wholly uninvited, in her room in the middle of the night, bringing her to her knees and seducing her with a skillful ease that could still, to this day, make her blush like a silly teenage girl.

Bulma truly had no clue as to what kind of furtive thoughts were now invading her lover’s mind, and she knew even less about the foreign feelings, if he still held any, looming inside of the heart that she knew he possessed, but one thing was undoubtedly true, this man was a man with a secret, a man preyed upon by something of a magnitude she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and the time had come for him to lay bare his most guarded confidences with her.

“So…” The earthling spoke at last, breaking the unnerving silence overriding them both as soon as she understood that Vegeta was the one patiently waiting for her to show an interest in his great revelation. “What…?” She asked hesitantly. “What’s this big thing you were talking about?”

It took Vegeta a few seconds to mentally prepare himself, getting ready to reveal his greatest secret to her. The novelty he was about to share with his lover was no easy feat, and the reserved way in which she kept staring at him with quiet expectation was making the mere act of talking to her increasingly harder.

‘No matter…’

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose anymore.

“Bulma,” he declared gravely, his wounded eyes gingerly meeting hers, as if he actually feared her reaction to his revelation, as if her response to what he was about to announce were of utmost importance to him.

“I have ascended…”

Chapter Text

“You can't ask Why about love!”

[Leo Tolstoy; ‘Anna Karenina’]

Both lovers remained completely silent while the warrior’s astonishing confession gradually started to sink in, with the Prince analyzing with obsessively quiet attention her every gesture and move.

For a passing minute, Vegeta had feared that his revelation, the staggering, glorious event that he had always expected to be the greatest achievement of a lifetime, had actually meant nothing to her. Unsurprisingly, the woman wasn’t quite as cunning as she’d perhaps like to be and, while Bulma may have attempted to put on a deceptive show of indifference, the anxious way in which her little fingers were now clutching at the leather fabric of the opulent couch betrayed her apparently calm poise and elegant posture.   

“Y-You mean…?” She spoke at last, finding it an arduous challenge to even breathe in that moment. “You… You mean… You have become a…?”

“A Super Saiyan,” he declared in a soft voice, accompanied by a distinctive touch of pride and an unexpected air of sadness.

“Kami!” Bulma whispered breathlessly, one of her hands suddenly reaching to her heaving chest, as if her lover’s confession had physically struck her square into it.

He’d made it.

Super Saiyan.

The Legendary.

The one and only aspect of Vegeta’s cryptic life that he’d always been willing to pompously divulge to the rest of the world; the jubilant promise of a never-ending power owed to him by birthright, the extraordinary transformation that would turn him into the most powerful being in the entire Universe, and the supreme weapon that would allow him to bring Frieza himself to his knees and end his loathsome, miserable life, once and for all.

Even Launch herself had heard of such a farfetched accomplishment, briefly alluding to it the day Vegeta had bizarrely saved them both from Nappa’s brutish rage. Her old friend hadn’t clarified or explained much about it back then, but her intoxicated words had never left Bulma’s naturally inquisitive memory and, soon after her forbidden affair with the dark Prince had begun, she’d shyly risked prodding him about the meaning behind Launch’s puzzling disclosure.

The blue-haired beauty would never forget the proud gleam in his gaze, his eyes shining brightly like two onyx stars in the night as he held her naked form tightly against his own, confiding his most exhilarating secrets to her. He’d gladly spoken of ancient legends and mythical warriors, of a fabulous metamorphosis only reserved to the few chosen ones, men like himself, a Saiyan Prince proclaimed a true prodigy since the day he’d entered this world, the most powerful child in a thousand generations, the one who’d indisputably reach the status of a Saiyan God someday.  

In any other man, those epic words and bellicose tales, so full of beaming pride in a race that didn’t even exist anymore, would have resonated like nothing but impossibly foolish inventions. But, in Vegeta, and in that unwavering confidence exuding from every single pore of that almighty body of his, it felt like an excitingly real possibility. Only this man, this man whose mind was still nothing but an impenetrable mass of mystery to her, could make her believe, truly believe, that the day would come when he’d reach the status promised to him, destroying the Lizard Demon responsible for the devastating destruction of both of their home worlds. And that was precisely the reason why it made absolutely no sense for him to look the way he did, now that he’d seemingly attained his golden dream at last.

Bulma had always pictured the moment of his announcement as a day of pure joy, perhaps even followed by the declaration of Frieza’s long-awaited assassination. She’d imagined him standing smugly in her presence, proudly wallowing in his victorious achievement with that cocky arrogance so typical in him.

But, as far as she knew, the evil Emperor was still alive and kicking, and the man sitting in front of her, slightly hunched and barely capable of holding her gaze in clear shame, was not the exultant Prince of All Saiyans she’d once known and grown to love, and she strongly suspected that the explanation behind his aura of defeat went beyond the disturbing argument taking place between them earlier that night.

“You think…?” She ventured coyly after a long, uncomfortable silence, finding the temptation to behold this mythological marvel too hard to resist. “You think you could show me?”

Vegeta’s expression of pain deepened at her question, almost as if he’d been, not only already expecting, but positively dreading her bold request. A strangled sigh escaped his lips as he lowered his stare, clenching his trembling fists in frustration and shaking his head no.

“I can’t…” He confessed almost inaudibly, his breath stuck in his throat.

“Why…? Why not?” Bulma quickly asked back, tilting her head to the side as she examined him with plain curiosity.

His entire body was now shuddering with an intensity that terrified her, and all he did was to anxiously keep shaking his head in disbelief, almost as if he could hardly accept what was happening to him. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, running his hands up and down his drenched face, gathering the courage to show his woman just what a disgraceful excuse for a man he really was.

“It… It only happened once…” Vegeta admitted through gritted teeth, his eyes still evading hers. “And now… Now, I can’t… I just… I just can’t…”

“You can’t do it again…” Bulma uttered in a horrified whisper, her statement more a deduction than a question.

Her worst fears became a reality when her Prince looked aside and nodded sharply in assent, bringing some much-needed light to the odd behavior she’d been a witness to all through this agonizingly long and intense night.

Bulma had wrongly assumed, at the beginning, that Vegeta’s wrath may have simply erupted from a rare, possessive need to control her, to stop her from forsaking the military base and putting her life at risk. But now, it was plain as day that there’d been other matters obsessively haunting her Saiyan Prince and, only in the aftermath of this unbelievable revelation, could the earthling finally get a clearer picture of where his self-destructive, erratic actions emanated from.

In spite of her rage and resentment towards the man who’d chosen to abandon her right after her confession of love, a part of her had secretly felt a ray of optimistic hope at the prospect of Vegeta possibly missing her and regretting his poor choices in the past. But, perhaps, Bulma had to grudgingly admit, not without disappointment, that his volatility was nothing more than the irate impotence of a warrior unable to reach and take full control of the incommensurable power which he now knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that lay dormant within his vigorous body.           

Now that it was apparent that Vegeta’s grand revelation was completely unrelated to his nonexistent feelings for her, Bulma knew that the wisest thing for her to do right now would be to stand on her feet, wish him luck and part ways.

He was, after all, the selfish bastard who’d broken her poor human heart, the one who’d fully dismissed her and her bare vulnerability, deserting and ignoring her, and leaving that bitter after taste in her sweet mouth, making her feel as nothing but a pretty little object, some kind of erotic sex toy he’d used to his heart’s content for as long as it suited him, only to discard her with cold disdain when the rules of the game didn’t strike his fancy anymore.

It wasn’t all that different, she thought with heartbreaking despair, from the way those creepy idiots downstairs treated the expensive escorts they hired for the night. The only difference being that, at least, those women were undeniably sure of where they stood with those men, and they wouldn’t have been gullible enough to trick themselves into believing that such cold-blooded warriors would ever have the capacity to truly fall in love with another being.

Bulma had made that mistake with Vegeta once, a stupidly naïve mistake which had cost her more sleepless nights than she was willing to admit, almost losing her sanity on the way.

The time had come for her to walk away.

‘Still…’     

Bulma couldn’t ignore the colossal magnitude that these new, unforeseen developments could bring, not only into the Saiyan’s life, but to the Fate of the entire Universe as well. And she also knew that, on a much bigger scale, Vegeta’s unexplored power could potentially be of greater importance than their poignant breakup could ever be, regardless of how deeply her man may have hurt her fragile feelings in the past.           

“How…? How did it happen?” Bulma inquired with concern, struggling to ignore that faint voice ringing in the back of her head, that little echo sensibly warning her to run as fast as she could before she’d ever fall again into the clutches of the ruthless warrior who’d once stolen her heart.

But her annoying curiosity, not to mention the cheerful hope invigorating her soul at the mere chance of one day seeing that fucker Frieza pay for all the damage he’d inflicted upon billions and billions of alien creatures all over the Universe, were making it virtually impossible for her to snub Vegeta’s troubles.

One of Vegeta’s thick eyebrows arched in automatic response to the woman’s odd question, inwardly berating himself for the shameful sense of relief overwhelming him when he noticed that his woman’s reaction to his embarrassing issues was leaning closer to pity than mockery. Any other being, particularly a warrior, might have surely thumbed his nose at him if it’d ever been discovered that the Prince of All Saiyans was nothing more than some pathetic weakling, utterly unable to even properly master his highly anticipated Ascension.

There were fewer emotions more abominably repulsive to him than compassion, most certainly one of the last reactions that Vegeta would have ever wished to awaken in another living creature, yet he’d gratefully embrace it coming from Bulma, he’d take anything she’d ever give him, even her righteous fury, if only because it emanated from her, for nothing would ever hurt him more than her indifference.       

“What do you mean?” He simply asked, not fully understanding why she’d even show an interest in the particulars of such failed event.

“I mean…” Bulma answered back, taking a deep breath as she tried to gather her thoughts and make some sense out of the situation, in hopes that she might be of some help. “I mean, how…? How did it happen? Were you…? Were you fighting, or…?”

“I was on a mission,” he cut her off, rapidly deducing what she was trying to achieve, and absolutely petrified of where this might lead.

He couldn’t tell her.

“I see…” Bulma replied, polite but thoroughly unconvinced. “But were you…? I don’t know…” She shrugged dejectedly. “Were you doing something different than usual? Or were you, um, you know…? Perhaps feeling someth…?”

“No.”

Vegeta’s harsh response was short and cutting, leaving categorically no room for further argument on the secretive matter, and Bulma didn’t know if this was because nothing out of the ordinary had taken place at the moment of his prodigious metamorphosis, or because her Prince was hiding some crucial facts from her. Whatever the cause, the earthling had already gotten close enough to her lover to learn that he was frighteningly good at keeping his well-kept secrets close to his heart, and that she’d never, ever, find out anything about his profound nature that he wouldn’t want her to know.      

The Saiyan peeked at his disenchanted woman from the corner of his eye, perceiving her disappointment, sad waves of disillusion always pouring from those stunning blue pools whenever she tried to reach out to him, only to violently crash against that stony wall of apparent indifference. Seeing her like this, so inexplicably eager to touch his blackened heart, to love and comfort him as only she knew how, always made him secretly wish that he were a different man, a better man, a man worthy of the devoted attentions of such a lovely little female.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t tell her.

He couldn’t tell her that her eternal presence in his heart had somehow contributed to the magical transformation of a lifetime, an outlandish fact that he still wasn’t quite willing to admit even to himself, much less to the woman responsible for such a life changing accomplishment.   

It all happened during the second mission taking place after choosing to step away from Bulma. But, what had simply started off as one out of the countless, tedious purging missions he was regularly assigned to, ended up becoming one of the most grotesque experiences of his life.

Vegeta and Nappa were generally considered strong enough to carry out most of Frieza’s standard purging missions. However, ever since their last fiasco, that disastrous debacle during which the Prince had ended up gravely injuring his arm, the Emperor had made the humiliating choice of assigning them a support squadron whenever there was uncertainty regarding the intentions or actual power level of the rebelling subjugated races. In consequence, the Saiyans had found themselves accompanied, almost supervised, by none other than a small group of the Icejin’s elite soldiers, including Zarbon, one of Vegeta’s most detested rivals.

The green-skinned jerk had made the young Prince’s days a living Hell ever since he could recall, innumerable times of constant mockery and deliberate sabotage, always taking advantage of his immense physical superiority. Through the years, the proud Saiyan youngster had never backed down or surrendered to the bastard’s higher power, not even once, earning a well-deserved degree of respect amongst the Emperor’s forces on the way.

In time, as Vegeta had grown, both in age and physical strength, his insidious adversary had retreated bit by bit, slowly backtracking from most of the past wreckage perpetrated upon all the remaining Saiyan warriors, increasingly concerned at the realization that they might, one fine day, surpass him in power. Nonetheless, the venom of all of the mortification from his youth would never fully leave his open wounds and, to this day, there were still too many instances in which the Prince had felt almost physically ill at the mere presence of the disloyal trickster, which was precisely why the youngest Saiyan wasn’t exactly jumping in joy at the opportunity of spending time with the wheedler prick when he was obligated to work side by side with his team, while Nappa and the others took care of the other half of the large planet.

Most of the mission had gone by in relative concord and without much incident, with Vegeta being in the foulest of moods due to the aching absence of his addictive woman, and keeping mostly to himself throughout the whole experience, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the taller mercenary. The Prince had effective and uneventfully completed the first half of his assignment, consisting in the general eradication of the wide majority of the alien population, and was now about to embark on the second half.

This had always been, without exception, the most arduous task of them all, the one where he had to scout out and make sure that there were no survivors left alive, and that every single being had been completely exterminated. It was quite different from the impersonal act of massive extinction, and it was, unquestionably, the most dishonorable part of his job, for a vast difference prevailed between mass killing and looking some insignificantly weak creature in the eye as he murdered them in cold blood. By Saiyan standards, the path to true glory was only earned through the defeat of a fiercely strong opponent, after a splendid victory in combat, and there was no honor in the least in the assassination of meager creatures with no means to defend themselves.    

It was then that nightmare ensued.

During his relentless quest for survivors, and after his hypersensitive hearing perceived a suspicious sound coming from inside of one of the scrubby dwellings of the small, ordinary town, Vegeta had cautiously stepped into the modest house, discovering a couple of panic-stricken aliens, a woman and a child, desperately attempting to hide in one of the dim corners of the bedroom.

Without even bothering to pay much attention to what he’d considered nothing more than two worthless creatures, he gathered a tiny sphere of bright ki in the palm of his hand, ready to unleash his lethal power upon them, only for his body to instantly freeze in absolute terror when he recognized the face of the woman turning horrified towards him, giving her pitiless executor one final glance before he’d viciously take her life and that of her child.    

Bulma.

His lover’s beautiful visage was staring right at him, those unmistakably gorgeous blue eyes pleading, literally begging for him to spare her life and that of the small brat she was so bravely, and futilely, shielding with her own feeble body in a ferocious act of maternal protection.

The disturbing mirage lasted but a second, and soon enough, reality took a hold of him once again when the illusory spell was broken, and the alien female became what she always had been, nothing more than some ordinary creature, wholly unattractive and with a fearful gaze whose color only marginally resembled that of his stunning human lover. Despite how chillingly brief the deceitful illusion had been, it lasted long enough to shake him to the bone, and his state of utter shock had been such, that he’d completely ignored the alarming fact that he wasn’t the only warrior present inside the sinister room anymore.

“My… My… Vegeta…” Zarbon’s remarkably feminine voice teased him from behind, laying an ice-cold hand on the Saiyan’s upper arm. “We’re getting softer, aren’t we?” The taller fighter leaned over his shoulder, his revoltingly hot breath whispering in his ear. “Here… Allow me…” He muttered with rich amusement, pointing the sharp index finger of one of his large hands towards his future victims and killing them in the spot in one clean, merciless blast.    

The Prince couldn’t utter a single word yet, all he could do was shudder in silent hysteria and unadulterated rage, gawking in stupefaction at the thick cloud of smoke emanating from the now lifeless bodies.

“That’s quite all right, my Dear…” The pedantic soldier declared with shallow nonchalance, but incapable of suppressing the mockery in his tone. “It happens to the best of us…” He explained, sending shivers of revulsion down the Prince’s spine when he gave his trembling arm one final squeeze before letting go of him, flipping his long-braided hair and heading for the narrow door. “Although I am confident that Lord Frieza will find this little episode of yours highly amusing…” 

Vegeta stood still in the middle of the putrid chamber, feeling something break inside of his soul as he tried to exorcise the image of a fallen Bulma from his convoluted mind with no success.

He pictured her dead at his decaying feet, holding a non-existent child in her limp arms, the child that neither one of them would ever conceive, the happy, perfect existence that neither one of them would ever enjoy. The warrior could see her, he could see her ending her days like the poor cadaverous slave splayed on a pool of blood on the ground, murdered by one of Frieza’s soldiers without a man strong enough to stand by her side and fight for her, because he wasn’t good enough, because he would never be good enough for her.

And then it happened.

The last thing he could truly remember with a measure of clarity before his entire body blew up into a blazing, gargantuan orb of rampant fire and sizzling ashes, was listening to Zarbon’s scornful laughter from outside, laughing at his shamefully unparalleled display of weakness. His crippled mind whirled wildly, his corrupted heart exploding, a dark, primal power overflowing him as he roared like a beastly Demon from Hades.

He heard her voice, that sweet, harmonious voice whispering words of a love he didn’t deserve. He thought of her infinitely happier past and her charming human anecdotes, of the jubilant life she could have lived and the miserable one she’d been thrown into instead. He evoked his interminable years of humiliation and agony, used and abused by every man who’d ever crossed his path. All of them, every single one, taking something away from him, stealing his very soul piece by piece until nothing but an evil void remained. And he conjured her up again, the gentle, innocent woman who’d secretly hoped to heal his boundless wounds and bring him back to life, without knowing his most fundamental truth: that he was empty, that there were no pieces left behind within his vacant spirit to reassemble anymore.        

Vegeta didn’t know how he’d ended up outside of the plain house, kneeling on the muddy grounds with a leg on each side of Zarbon’s body, his deadly hands unyieldingly wrapped around the monster’s thick neck as he frantically gasped for air. He didn’t know where his hair-raising words erupted from, or how he’d even succeeded in forming a coherent sentence at all when his mind was nothing but a tumultuous pandemonium of wrath and revenge.   

“Y-You…! You won’t live to tell!”

The one thing he could relive with niggling lucidity was the look of terrified frenzy in his old tormentor’s eye, and that slimy, purplish tongue gyring within his parched mouth, striving to find just the right words to describe the magnificent apparition floating before his olive orbs, now blurred by the tears shed as life slipped through his viscous fingers.

“Veg-Vegeta! Nnnnnngh… Y-Your…!” He heaved hopelessly, one of his claws clutching at Vegeta’s homicidal hands while the other shakily reached out to him, attempting to touch him, to touch the living reincarnation of the Saiyan Legend which many had considered nothing more than a foolish array of puerile fables. “Y-Your…! Your eyes!”      

He wouldn’t let him.

Vegeta wouldn’t allow the dying traitor to touch him, to give him the undeserving honor of tainting him with his filthy touch; there was only one thing left for the ruffian to do, and that was to die by his own unforgiving hand.  

He sank his mighty fist into his wide chest, possessed by an unrivaled, raging bloodlust, drilling right through his immaculate armor and straight into the bastard’s engorged heart, violently ripping it out while the green freak was still breathing.

The rest was nothing but a chaotic cluster of foggy, esoteric visions flashing vertiginously through his brain. The Prince saw himself stumbling in confusion, muddled images of his own incensed self leaving his enemy’s dead body behind without a care in the world, the demon’s bloody heart still pumping, dripping warm blood into his clenched fist. He held vague recollections of his drained legs roaming hazily, wandering around with no clear direction until they chanced upon a small pond by a wild woodland.

It was in such a peculiar spot where Vegeta finally had the opportunity to see for himself the meaning hiding behind Zarbon’s last cryptic words. The Saiyan stood precariously by the lake, gaping at his own reflection on the misty waters, anxiously trying to assimilate that the unbelievable image projected onto the murky reflection was the one he’d been waiting for throughout his whole life.

It couldn’t be denied.

The man staring back at him, the fiercely powerful man with icy eyes of teal and aureus hair, surrounded by a smoldering, mystical aura of gilded flames, was not a man anymore but a Deity, the Golden Saiyan Idol who’d bring supreme justice to the Universe, paying eye for an eye and avenging his People’s honor, once and for all.   

Super Saiyan.

And then, without warning, and before Vegeta was even given a real chance to accurately fathom what it all meant, or how and why he’d finally attained such a monumental feat, the spell was broken, vanishing just as unpredictably as it’d come.

When Nappa found him some time later, lying on the dirty grass and wholly unconscious, his eyes and hair had fully recovered their natural raven colors, and the Prince could barely elicit just what exactly had transpired during the previous hours.

He hadn’t told a soul about the real events leading to Zarbon’s murder, not even to his one and only Saiyan comrade, fearing that if the dumb brute discovered that he’d finally gotten a taste of the Legends, his excitement would be such that he’d never hear the end of it, and it would only add even more pressure to his already stressed-out state.

Surprisingly, while Nappa had been mistrustful of Vegeta’s abnormal behavior, and immensely concerned about the serious repercussions of one of Frieza’s favorite soldiers being slayed by the hand of his Prince, the incident had soon been forgotten, even by the Emperor himself, who’d actually found it highly entertaining, seeing it as nothing more than a natural consequence to two longtime adversaries settling far too many old scores to keep track of.

“Well…” Bulma’s voice whispered, softly reclaiming him for herself. She was now sitting by his side, holding one of his hands between both of her own, and he must have blacked out for good somehow, for he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember when exactly she’d left her spot and joined him on the divan. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out…” She promised graciously, giving his limp hand a maddeningly affectionate squeeze.

Vegeta’s mystified gaze shyly met hers, his eyes doubtful, openly questioning the cheery optimism that she so candidly seemed to profess regarding the grim obstacle he was now facing. And one look at her was enough to reveal that she was telling the truth, that she truly, honestly believed that someday he’d make it, that he’d find a way to master his Ascension and turn his almost inconceivable visions into a triumphant reality.

“I know you will,” she announced proudly. “Have faith, Vegeta…”

She kept holding his hand and smiling at him, a coy but painfully sincere smile of sympathy and understanding, a smile that couldn’t have been easy, even for a woman as naively generous as she was, after all the grief and heartbreak he’d put her through. Yet here she was, proclaiming her faith in him, the solid, unwavering conviction that light would soon overcome darkness. 

The Prince could have stayed like this forever, secretly reveling in her doting touch, in the way her tiny fingers kept caressing his own, sensing her warmth even through the thick fabric covering his battle-worn hands.

No further words were pronounced and, even though Vegeta knew that they’d reached a disheartening impasse, and that now would be the perfect time for him to do his best to try to seduce his former lover and regain her affections, he simply knew not how to do it, all he knew was that he needed this, he needed her, more than he’d ever needed anything or anyone before.

As minutes passed by, he found himself relaxing more and more in her soothing company, getting lost in her comforting presence, and almost forgetting about his vexing troubles, including how much his Bulma most likely hated him right now, only devoting a few minutes of her time to him out of abject pity. It wasn’t until his body started to rebel against him, betraying his treasured self-control and throwing a look of shameful starvation at his lover’s full lips, that their peaceful trance flamed up, making Bulma react tout de suite to his impudence.

“I… I have to go…” Bulma stuttered with timidity, her cheeks flushing crimson and her hands instantly withdrawing from his touch as she stood gracelessly from the lavish sofa, already taking a few steps away from him. “Good luck, Vegeta…” She whispered again, hoping to break away scot-free this time.

She had to.

She had to remove herself from this unbearable situation, from sharing the same closed space with a man that she’d absolutely loathed with all her might mere hours ago, but who was now looking at her as if she were his one and only lifesaver, making her feel needed and desired in ways she never even knew possible, not even by him.

“Bulma…” He called for her, standing behind her and seizing her slender wrist with unexpected tenderness, effectively halting her steps. Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer, the aching imploration of a man that simply didn’t know who he was or how to treat her anymore.

“Don’t…” Bulma begged in the coldest tone she could muster, but making no effort this time to physically distance herself from him. “D-Don’t, Vegeta… J-Just don’t…”

Her voice was cracking, just as much as her convictions, but the wound inflicted by his betrayal was still fresh enough for some of her old anger to sting anew, to wisely remind her of what this man would do to her if she placed whatever remained of her heart in his hands again. She needed to remember, to never forget, that she was nothing more than flesh to him, just a warm body to consume and toy with for the night, and she’d be damned if she ever made the same mistake twice.

But he was good, she had to give him that, at least. He was awfully good at the art of watering down her resistance, and it was getting increasingly harder to think when the arousing sensation of the solid body now standing behind her back, and his sensual breath on her skin were making her knees weak with want.

“Bulma…” Vegeta mumbled meekly against the graceful nape of her neck, dreading that his expert touch simply wouldn’t be enough to keep his woman by his side anymore, and utterly terrified at the idea of losing her forevermore. “Bulma…” He called again, venturing to lay a long, languorous kiss on her invitingly exposed skin, inwardly roaring in victory when she released a shaky sigh in return. “Stay…”

His last word set her soul on fire, sounding dangerously closer to a firm command than to a modest plea. It was so disconcerting, so chillingly reminiscent of the arrogant, domineering idiot who believed that he could do as he pleased with her, that it became the final straw, the one setting her free and empowering her to take control and stand up to her man.

“I said don’t, Vegeta!” Bulma shouted with renewed fury, viciously pulling her trapped arm and cutting loose from him. “Stop it!”

Just as it’d happened when she’d bumped into him in the street, fleeing from the place as soon as possible was her first instinct. But, instead of running away, this time she bravely turned on her feet, facing him with a boldness that left Vegeta completely transfixed.

“What am I doing here, uh?!” She yelled fearlessly at him. “What is this?! What are WE?!”

The Saiyan gawked openly at her in stupefaction, his lips moving almost comically as words failed him. He’d expected a million and one different reactions out of her tonight, but not this, not this burning brazenness, both terrifying yet strangely captivating. Vegeta had already witnessed her unashamed sensuousness during their intimate encounters, and he strongly believed that a spirit of steel lay dormant beneath her mischievous sauciness and enchanting sweetness, but never had he seen her like this, both stormy and haunted, hoping mad and disarmingly beautiful.

“What?! You can’t even give me a fucking ANSWER?!” She crushed her tiny fists against his chest, pushing him with such maddened force that she actually managed to make him lose his balance and stumble on his feet, taking a wobbly step back from her. “Come on, Prince Vegeta!” She barked in blatant mockery of his Royal title, pushing him again. And again. “SAY SOMETHING!!!”

“W-Woman… Stop that…” He mumbled incoherently, his eyes broadening in shock at the realization that she now had him trapped against the wall. “STOP IT!” Vegeta ordered in dismay, taking hold at once of her furious fists to stop her from hurting herself with the hard material of his protective armor.

The warrior couldn’t help but marvel at the way she panted madly against his pursed mouth, with those messy, loose curls of hers framing her flushed face to perfection. He knew that he should be concerned by her astounding furor, but seeing her like this, possessed by such wild courage, was doing nothing but inflame his primitive Saiyan blood far more than it should. Before long, his tongue was licking his dry lips on its own accord, ogling at her parted mouth like a thirsty drifter tempted by the most rejuvenating potion.

“I see…” Bulma’s voice whispered with disdain, making Vegeta instantly curse himself for his own stupidity, fearing that his momentary lapse of judgement would scare the woman stiff again.

He’d been dead wrong.

This time, there was no place for girlish blushes or demure whispers. This time, the woman’s lips curled into a poisonous smirk, a smirk so frighteningly presumptuous that it would have made the Holy Saiyan Gods of War proud.

“You just want to fuck, don’t you?” The earthling muttered knowingly, her malicious voice dripping in venom. “DON’T YOU?!” She cried, pushing him once more with a strength she didn’t even know she possessed, and freeing herself from him.

She took a few steps backwards, her chin raised defiantly, her furious eyes never leaving his own horrified ones. One of her hands found her hip, the other one inflexibly pointed at the room’s closed door with her index finger, getting ready to shoot another lethal dart straight into his beaten heart.  

“If you want to get laid so fucking much…” Bulma spat brutally. “Then why don’t you just go downstairs and choose one of those whores?! Uh?! WHY?!”

Vegeta instinctively grimaced in disgust at his woman’s sanguinary words. Not only was it incredibly rare to see her in such a state, but he was deadly afraid of where this course of thought would soon lead her, and the mere idea repulsed him entirely.          

“It wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway, right?! RIGHT?!” She roared at him, stomping to the door and placing her hand on the handle. “After all, I am just a fuck, right? Just one of your many little WHORES!” The door opened by her hand without warning as she kept yelling spitefully at him, oblivious to whether they could now be heard by any of the guests occupying the nearby rooms. “So why don’t you just go out there and choose some other whore for the night?! COME ON! DO IT!”

The imminent risk of someone, anyone, eavesdropping on their private conversation and putting his crazy woman in danger, was enough to snap him right out of the petrified stupor he’d been enthralled by, forcing him to manifest by Bulma’s side in a flash, grasping her, getting her out of the way and closing the door without hesitation.

“Woman! Are you fucking insane?!” He screamed at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and tossing her around. “Have you lost your goddamned mind?!”

“WHY?!” She retorted with insolence, punching him aggressively in the arm again. “Because I’m the only one telling the TRUTH around here??!!”   

“S-Stop that!” Vegeta warned once more, though it soon became obvious to Bulma that her cruel remarks had upset more than angered him. “STOP IT!!!” He shouted, deeply troubled by his lover’s callously self-deprecating words.

He hated this.

He abhorred seeing her like this, heartbroken and absolutely mad. Not only mad at him but at herself, for having been foolish enough to fall in love with a man who hadn’t earnt it, a man who’d treated her with an amount of disrespect that a woman like Bulma most certainly didn’t deserve.

Never had he made the vast effort to satisfy and indulge a woman as much as he had when it came to her, simply because no other female had ever felt worthy of his attentions, and of all of those little moments of vulnerable affection he’d devoted to her, giving himself in a way he never thought possible, if only because she had been the only one who’d ever made him feel like a man, a real man with something to offer to the world other than murder and destruction.

All of those times of innocence and warmth, all of them gone, vanishing from her consciousness as if they’d never even happened, and all because of him, because he’d proven himself to be nothing more than an utter failure, a stupid coward who’d ended up making the most special being he’d ever chanced upon feel like nothing more than some common hussy, the one thing that she undeniably was not.

It was sadly true that he’d thought of the striking earthling as a common pastime when he’d first attempted to seduce her, just a cute little fuck to satiate his uncontrollable carnal needs for one night.

But, now that he’d grown to know this extraordinary woman, getting a real glimpse of her unique soul, the measly idea of seeing his Bulma as nothing but a piece of meat filled him with shame and repugnance, and it was infinitely more depressing to know that his actions had made her truly believe such things in return.

He wanted, needed, to let her know just how much she meant to him, and how significant her presence had become in his miserably lonesome existence.

Vegeta looked into her eyes, those glorious blue eyes that had always sparkled with nothing but love and fondness, and which were now brimming with unforgiving hatred and barely contained tears of bitter disappointment. He kept a possessively firm hold on her quivering shoulders, his exhausted mind trying frantically to come up with just the right words to convey his true feelings for her, as he wondered if this short-lived respite of silence could possibly mean that his woman had finally calmed down from her ferocious outburst.

Little did he know that Bulma’s emotional gashes run deeper than anticipated, and that she was about to put his sentiments to a test in ways he never imagined, hitting him right where it hurt the most.  

“Or maybe…” She suggested quietly, her voice low and husky but unequivocally vindictive. “Maybe I should be the one to go downstairs and pick one for you… How about that? Uh?” Bulma asked, lifting her chin once again in pure incitement. “Would you like that, Prince Vegeta?” 

His fingers tightened around her narrow shoulders, a wave of nauseating guilt overcoming him at the implication hiding behind the woman’s obscene proposition. Despite having the utmost certainty that her pettiness stemmed from the damage which he himself had inflicted upon her heart, he could hardly bottle up the irate offence that her provocations were stirring in his bruised ego.

“Woman…” He whispered threateningly, taking one step forward. Then another. Slowly backing her against the suite’s locked door. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your fucking mouth right now…”

Not only did his unnerving threat not have the expected effect on his daring lover, but it only served to ignite her temerity even further. 

“Or what?” Bulma asked with exasperating impertinence, arching one of her feminine eyebrows mischievously in response.

Her Prince may have been an emotionally stunted jerk, but she knew, as sure as her heart was beating, that he’d never raise a hand on her under any circumstance. Toying with his still undiscovered feelings was a risky game to play but, so far, it’d proven itself to be the only tactic able to steal some kind of a reaction from him other than that uncomfortably dead silence.     

“Perhaps…” She challenged, gradually elevating her tone. “Perhaps I should, don’t you think? Perhaps…” One of her hands found his muscular bicep, proceeding to playfully trace slow, lazy circles on his hard flesh.

“Bulma…” He cautioned dangerously, both infuriated and aroused by the treacherous sensation that her one little finger was evoking all over his body, sending shivers of desire under his skin.               

“Perhaps…” Bulma spoke yet again, inwardly bracing herself for the bomb she was about to drop on him. “Perhaps I should pick someone else… Someone for myself… How about th…?”

“Shut up!” Vegeta boomed in frenzied fury, his nostrils flaring like those of a mad bull, grabbing her by the collar of her dirty overalls and shaking her again. “The Gods help me, woman… If you don’t shut your blasted mouth right n…”

“FUCK YOU! You fucking asshole! If you’re going to treat me like a whore, then I’ll start acting like a WHORE!” She clutched the sleeves of his spandex suit, sinking her nails into his solid skin in choleric rage. “I’ll fuck whoever I want! I’LL FUCK THEM ALL!!!”     

“SHUT UP!!!” He thundered like a savage, finally losing his battle against self-restrain.  “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” The warrior brusquely pressed his body against her own, with such violence that he knocked all air out of her lungs at once. “Y-You…! J-Just…! Just the thought of you with another man! WITH ANY MAN! I’d rather see you DEAD before that happens! DEAD!!! I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF!!!” Vegeta took her pale face in his big hands, lightly squeezing her cold cheeks. He was heaving profusely, his hot, ragged breath ghosting her puckered lips as he watched her with a look of sheer madness in his coal eyes, a look which told her that if she ever gave herself to another man, he’d stay true to his terrifying promise. “You’re MINE!!! You hear me?! MINE!!!”         

His impetuously dominant words made Bulma’s tongue freeze in bewilderment, the world shaking underneath her feet as she tried to make some sense out of his feverish statement.

She contemplated him in awed silence, struggling to cast aside her own selfish wrath in favor of a new emotion, a rare emotion born out of the devastating sight of the man panting and heaving like a deranged animal in front of her very eyes.

If she hadn’t known any better, his possessive declaration would have made him look like nothing but a caveman, some primitive barbarian treating her like a thing, a pretty little trophy which belonged to him alone. But now, as her pensive gaze met his incensed one, she could finally discern the pain floating on its obsidian surface, the pain of a man scared of losing a woman, the only woman he’d ever forged a significant bond with.

‘Mine!’

Bulma took in his deplorable appearance again, from his gaunter than usual cheeks to those dark circles spoiling his exotic caramel skin. His attire looked grimy and it stank to high heavens, but his unkempt, flame-shaped locks looked quite clean by comparison, as if he’d simply removed his clothing to bathe only to quickly put it back on once more, without even bothering to get it cleaned up. And it wasn’t any ordinary uniform he was wearing but her armor, the experimental armor which she’d so lovingly designed and crafted specially for him, sacrificing her scarce spare time at work so that she’d have something to offer, some insignificant gift that would show him, without words, just how much he meant to her.

‘Mine!’

In his painful absence, Bulma had feared that Vegeta had cut off all contact with her simply because he’d refused to abide to the new terms of their relationship, declining to accept and embrace her heartfelt feelings. All through those interminable nights away from him, she’d often rested in her old bed, all by herself, crying herself to sleep as she wondered if perhaps he’d tired of her already, and fighting with every fiber of her being to push aside the daunting thoughts which frightened her the most, those of her Prince having found some other woman to replace her with, as if she’d never even existed, as if she’d never meant a goddamned thing to him.

‘Mine!’

But this man, this man who mere minutes ago had laid the most tender, heart wrenching kiss on her shivery skin, begging her to remain by his side, looked nothing like the insensitive womanizer starring in her lonely nocturnal fantasies. This man, as tortuously broken as he was conflicted, was a victim, a victim to the world of anarchy and bloodshed he’d been born into, the only world he’d ever known, a Universe where love, friendliness, or even true loyalty were virtually nonexistent.

The chance of his rejection had been what Bulma had dreaded the most, as she’d restlessly struggled with the loud need to bare her soul and confess her feelings for him. But now, she was left truly wondering if the ruthless way in which he’d distanced himself from her wasn’t born out of his own lack of feelings for her, but to his own inability to handle a multitude of emotions that he’d most certainly never experienced before. And, while his uncaring treatment of her had been nearly unpardonable, this time the scientist couldn’t help but admit to herself that she too had been, in her own way, responsible for all the anguish they’d both suffered through during these past two months apart.

‘Mine!’

Now she could find the courage, at last, to remove the blindfold from her eyes and embrace her Saiyan Prince for who he was in truth, not the chivalrous Knight in Shining Armour of her girly childhood stories, but a Dark Prince born into an alien race of hardened warriors, a man whose staggering gestures of affection in her presence may have defied his very nature, surprising even himself.

Her man was a soldier not a poet, a man of impassioned action, not of flowery words, and, when faced by unfamiliar emotions which he quite possibly didn’t even comprehend, he chose to withdraw, sinking into a toxic spiral of alcohol and self-destruction as only means to cope with the shattering conflict consuming his spirit.

Vegeta’s old words came back to her in full force, those soft but ardent words of encouragement whispered into the night as he devoured every inch of her body.

‘You need to let go, Bulma… Let go…’   

He’d been right.

Her Saiyan lover had been right all along when he’d urged her to understand that this was a brand new world, a world where nothing mattered but an instant, a passionate instant treasured in each other’s company, making the most of what they had. It shouldn’t even matter if he’d forever feel powerless to pronounce any of those romantic expressions of love as long as he showed her through his own fervent actions what she actually meant to him.

Bulma smirked enigmatically as her hands found the cool chest plate of his armor, laying her palms on its smooth surface and embarking on a slow, sensual journey under the astonished gaze of her frenzied lover. She leisurely travelled upwards, exploring his well-built neck, feeling it tense up even further under her playful touch. Her fingertips traced the solid masculinity that was his jawline, her slightly trembling hands quietly betraying her inner tumult as she caressed his angular cheekbones, gliding her fingers across his skin with delicacy until she reached his temples, carefully immersing her small hands within the wilderness of his black hair, her smirk deepening proudly when he shuddered in uncontrollable need.

She marveled in silent wonder at the magnificent power now literally held in her hands, for the measly thought of some imaginary plot to escape from the military base that was her home, had been enough to push him to promptly give up on his foolish plans to keep her at bay. Now Bulma knew that the vicious anger and fierce greediness directed at her that night had been driven by nothing but fear, the compulsive fear of loss which had been her Prince’s constant companion since misfortune slaughtered his childhood.

Only she held the power to make him lose himself, to turn the most dignified and stoic of men into a savage, an enraged beast who’d say or do anything within his reach to keep her all to himself, even going as far as to confide the secret that was both the most meaningful and disgraceful event in his life, the illustrious Ascension earnestly pursued for a lifetime but still stubbornly escaping his full control.

Her man wasn’t even from this world, her man was an unfathomable fighter driven by an insatiable thirst for power and control, a man who knew nothing of idealistic love in the ordinary sense of the word.

Then again, Bulma Briefs was no ordinary woman either, and if an electrifying challenge was what Vegeta’s untamed nature truly needed to awake to the unexpected treasure that she was offering on a silver plate, then she’d give him a challenge he wouldn’t refuse.

“You’re scared… Aren’t you?” Her mouth whispered defiantly against his own, pressing her forehead to his as her hands aggressively clutched a handful of his wild mane.

“Scared?” Vegeta huffed in offence, secretly disturbed by how transparent his heart had become to this fragile woman. “A Saiyan fears nothing!” He rasped hoarsely on her lips, quickly noticing the change in her demeanor, knowing that they were about to enter a new territory, that land of milk and honey she always invited him into whenever she played her naughty games with him.

“And yet here we are…” Bulma laughed huskily, stealing a pitiful moan out of him as she lazily run the tip of her tongue all over his bottom lip. “You say I’m yours, but you walked away from me… I think you’re afraid, Prince Vegeta…”

Her voice was nothing but pure, impudent temptation, and a tinge of the unmistakable cockiness of a woman who knew herself to be desired above all others, a shrewd temptress who’d just learnt of the true place she occupied in her man’s uncharted heart.

“Woman…” The Saiyan muttered in dark warning, his starved hands grabbing her voluptuous hips at once, crashing them against his own. “You’d do well to watch that insolent little tongue of yours, or…”   

“Or what? Uh?” She challenged arrogantly, pulling his hair and tugging hard, tipping his head back and exposing his bobbing throat to her impish mouth. “Look at you…” Bulma whispered roguishly, her breath ghosting his bare skin. “Super Saiyan…” Her pearly white teeth drew a wicked path across his jaw, delicately scraping the vulnerable flesh. “The most powerful man in the Universe is afraid of a puny little wom…”

“Bitch!” He hissed viciously, grasping another handful of her enticing curves and smashing her lithe body right against his again. His tone was but a harsh whisper, no longer holding its earlier fury but betraying the excruciating arousal that his woman’s bravado was inciting in him. “I just told you, woman! A Saiyan fears noth…!”

Bulma silenced his lies with a kiss, crushing her lips against his with a ferocity she’d never shown before. Her fingers tightened in his hair, dainty nails like tiny hot needles, poking his scalp and sending a bolt of excitement right to his cock, while her ravenous tongue found his own famished one, caressing and exploring it in a heated frenzy, as if this were the first and the last kiss they’d ever share.

This, it was this what he’d needed the most, having his woman with him, savoring her heavenly taste and the way her tight little form felt in his arms.

Vegeta could have had her like this until the end of time but, before he could take his time to deepen their passionate kiss and really taste her, she let go of him all of a sudden, sinking her unruly teeth into his lip and making him gasp in exhilaration as she shot another challenge right into his inflamed soul.

“Are you sure about that?” Bulma dared cheekily, bringing her face dangerously closer and allowing her swollen mouth, now adorned by the most devastating of smirks, to brush temptingly against his. “Then what are you waiting for? Uh?” One of her hands maintained her possessive hold on his hair, while the other lasciviously reached down to his agonizingly tight pants, cupping and gently squeezing his hardened manhood with perverse fingers. “I think it’s time to take what’s yours…”

“You…” He mumbled gruffly, inhaling sharply through his nose at the insane sensation of her filthy touch, fighting the mighty need to rip her goddamned clothes off and impale her right against the wall. “You dirty little…”

Bulma cut him off again, newly biting his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood this time.

“Bitch!” He seethed through clenched teeth.

“Asshole!” She spat right back, smiling in malicious satisfaction at the look of shock and lust swimming within his steamy gaze, breathless with delight when her Prince threw whatever remnants of self-control left inside of him out the window, hoisting her supple body by her perky little ass and lifting her off the ground, walking her right to the bed while looking her in the eye as if he wanted to eat her alive. 

“You…” He spoke domineeringly, squeezing the tight flesh of her bottom with full hands, getting ready to take full control of their coupling, just like he always did. “I want you to…”

She chewed on his lip again, even harder than the last time, reveling in the animalistic roar erupting from his ample chest in instant reaction, a glorious, winning reaffirmation of the true power that she now held over this deadly, sexy specimen.

“GODDAMMIT!!!” Vegeta roared furiously, throwing her right on the unmade bed with more roughness than usual, and wasting absolutely no time in undressing himself, fearing that if he didn’t take this woman, right here, right now, he’d end up losing his wretched mind.

“I want you to spread your fucking legs for me, Bulma!” He ordered savagely, his tone letting her know that disobeying his total command wasn’t even an option anymore.

He swiftly removed his white boots and gloves while he kept his penetrating gaze obsessively fixated on the tiny figure lying face down on the bed. For a moment, he panicked at the chance that he may have been too rough on her when he’d dropped her on the massive mattress, but, soon enough, the woman showed, just as she always did, what she was really made of when she rolled on her back, casually lying on the bed on perched elbows, and laying her equally voracious eyes on him, feasting on the erotic spectacle that was her man undressing just for her.

“If you want me to spread my legs for you, Prince Vegeta…” She answered coquettishly, observing him through heavy lidded lashes, utterly unashamed of showing just how much she was enjoying the magnificent sight of him dropping both his armor and skintight shirt on the white carpet. “You’ll have to do it yourself…” Bulma defied at last, licking her lips with heated desire as she admired the way his muscular chest flexed while he moved with the slick smoothness of a giant cat.           

Vegeta stood edgily by the bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of royal blue pants that fit like a second skin. His tail had now unwrapped itself from the safety of his compact waist, swinging in anticipation from one side to the other as he ogled her, like a perilous, large predator who’d just discovered the most mouthwatering prey, obstinately determined to never let it go. The warrior watched her for a dazed instant, staggered by his own ability to control himself when he could literally feel his hot, crimson blood pumping wildly, wanting nothing but to ravish the woman now waiting expectantly for him to make his next move.

It was then that he knew.

It was then, diving into the infuriating insolence of those exotically turquoise eyes, that he understood, finding the final answer to the question incessantly hounding him ever since this seductive creature had made an unpredicted entrance into his turbulent existence, wondering just what it was about this woman that made her so incredibly different from all the others.

She was just like a Saiyan.

She was just like a goddamned Saiyan, lying on top of that blasted bed with the most challenging look any woman had ever dared to fire at him, and that viperous, rosy tongue of hers licking off the few droplets of metallic blood still tainting her lips.

His cursed blood.

With such a prodigious vision tempting his mesmerized glare, it’d become nearly impossible for the warrior to evoke any of the faceless, nameless sluts he’d bedded in the past, a past distorted by the omnipotent presence of his intrepid, blue-haired belle.

She was, without question, the feeblest female he’d ever chanced upon, with a ridiculously weak ki not much higher than that of a scrawny pet, but what she lacked in physical strength, she more than made up for in reckless bravery. None of the sporadic female warriors who’d been lucky enough to share his elusive company could compare to her, for the strongest of women would always morph into a submissive little lamb beneath the callous authority of his heartless touch, bowing to his deadly reputation and unfeeling nature.

But not this woman, not this minuscule, courageous woman gifting him with an impish smirk that could only mirror his own. The Prince could see himself reflected on her, and always had been, from those early days of cool defiance to those delirious nights of feverish passion and intimate confessions.

And now the woman’s triumphant stare was silently telling him that she’d discovered his most guarded secret: that he thought of her as his and his alone, his most prized possession, the only woman who truly mattered. She was brazenly luring him, offering him the priceless opportunity to take that final step and make her his for Eternity, and Gods, oh Gods was he going to take it, even if it was the last thing he’d ever do in his whole pathetic life.               

“What are you waiting for?” Bulma dared again, playfully tipping her head to the side and nipping her bottom lip while her lecherous eyes sensually roamed all over his semi-nude form.

Despite her calculating mockery, Vegeta knew that she’d long ago sensed his fears, the sheer panic that her expressions of love had roused within his hardened heart, and he soon understood that she’d simply changed tactics, choosing to play her risqué game of seduction by taunting and challenging him instead.

Like a true Saiyan.

Seeing his woman like this, so darn inviting and liberally accepting of his real, warlike nature, taking him just as he was, stirred something inside his dark spirit, making him want to possess her even more if that was possible.

Unable to resist her inciting charms anymore, he soon found himself at the foot of the king-sized bed, taking hold of her heavy work boots and pulling impatiently without even bothering to untie her loosened shoelaces, throwing them carelessly aside. He then wasted no time in joining her on the plush mattress, crawling on hands and knees on top of her small, immobile form. His movements were slow and menacing, hoovering above her as he appreciated every bit of her surprising reaction, waiting immovably beneath his domineering body as she looked him right in the eye with the quiet dignity of a Queen.

Only his Bulma could be such a delicious contradiction, an irresistible blend of impertinence and submission, a woman willingly choosing to surrender to him, despite it being more than obvious by now that it was she the one truly in control, the one greedily holding the shell of the emptiness that was his heart in her dogged little fist.

She didn’t move, didn’t bat an eye, not even when he settled both knees at each side of her minute waist, straddling her with fierce dominance and drinking in that devilish smirk now permanently etched on her resplendent face. He found the zip of her greasy overalls, leisurely unzipping the loose-fitting garment, his boldness instantly rewarded with the now delectably familiar view of that flimsy, washed out undershirt, barely covering her old, black lacy lingerie. Bulma remained oddly docile as the warrior got rid of her work clothes with skilled but nervous hands, discarding it with just as much carelessness as he’d earlier employed with her shoes, leaving her clad in nothing but her revealing undergarments.

His beautiful lover just lay compliantly below his strong thighs, her gorgeous body now splayed all over black satin as she kept watching him in cheeky silence. The hasty bun once restraining her natural blue curls had long ago lost the power to confine their wilderness, and most of them had now been set free, a few teasingly hiding part of her flawless face.

If only he held the power to stop time, dead in its tracks, he’d keep her like this forever, unspoiled and splendid, shy and rebellious, tearing apart his walls like no one before.

“See?” Bulma whispered with pretend naiveté, his resistance coming undone straightaway with the way the tip of her lewd tongue caressed her upper lip. “I told you you were afraid…” She challenged again, as soon as she noticed that he’d frozen for an anxious moment, fearing he’d get lost in his own self-deprecating thoughts once more. Her hands fell on his muscular abdomen, impishly smoothing their way across every mesmerizing ridge until they reached his sensitive nipples, his breath rushing under her touch as her nails lightly grazed them.

“Wicked woman…” He hissed in harsh reply, grasping her fragile wrists with unexpected violence and pinning her hands above her head, finally leaning atop her as he sought the sweetness of her mouth like a starved madman.

He dragged his lips passionately against hers, their tongues meeting in a deep, agonizing kiss, eagerly tasting each other and pouring everything they’d got into it, love and hatred, rage and exasperating impotence, and, above all things, that irrational attraction held towards one another, an insatiable attraction driving them both to the brink of insanity. Bulma moaned hotly into their feverish kiss, and Vegeta couldn’t stop the victorious smirk behind his mouth at the incredible sensation of that small body wriggling and squirming in need underneath him as she tried to break free from his captive grip, even after their lips had parted from each other with reluctance, desperately gasping for air.

He wouldn’t allow it.

In a flash, Vegeta’s hands unchained their solid grip on her wrists but, before his little minx could make her next move, he slipped one strong arm under her light torso, turning her on her stomach in one clean move and taking delight in Bulma’s spontaneous, husky laughter. Her voice soon turned into a thrilled pant when he clutched a handful of her thin undershirt, pulling roughly and lifting her from the bed until he had her enticing body on her knees.

One of his arms encircled her shoulders as he knelt right behind her, wrapping his fuzzy tail around her waist while his free hand skimmed over her body, gliding down across her deliciously exposed tummy until it rested at the hem of her skimpy panties.

“Is this what you want, little woman?” His ragged voice rasped in her ear, the tips of his thick fingers making a provoking incursion into the soft curls secreting her hidden source of pleasure. “Is it?” Vegeta insisted, savoring her tiny hands now clasping the brutal arm keeping her caged as she arched her back, languidly grinding her hips against the painful bulge throbbing in want under the tightness of his pants.

“Uh-huh…” Bulma whispered, moaning in disapproval when his hand retreated without bringing her the relief that she needed so badly. She tilted her head back, slowly closing her eyes as her nails dug into his forearm, rubbing her cheek against his own like a needy kitten frantically seeking to be petted by her Master.

It wasn’t long before his hand descended even lower, cupping her tempting womanhood, and brushing the soaking wet lace with his fingers. He snarled in triumph at the glorious reaction of his lover, her desire glowing on her stunning face as she swayed her hips with the skill of an exotic danseur, tormenting him relentlessly with the maddening way in which she kept arousing his hard cock between her pert little ass cheeks while he stroked her swollen bud through the damp fabric.

“I told you…” Vegeta mumbled hoarsely, watching her in fascination with what little was left of his wits while his sharp Saiyan teeth playfully scraped her sensitive earlobe. “I told you you were mine!” The hand draped around her quivery shoulders flowed slowly towards her neck, delicately wrapping itself around it, her honeyed blood pumping furiously under its creamy perfection. “Only I can touch you, Bulma!” He huffed on her hot skin, already glistening with salty droplets of moisture which he greedily lapped up like a famished animal, sweeping his coarse tongue across the mouthwatering curve between her neck and shoulder, tasting her, drinking her, taking as much as he could from her, anything she’d be willing to give. “Only I can make you feel like this!”

He emphasized his arrogant statement by quickening the pace of his depraved finger, smirking evilly against her flushed cheek when she sobbed pitifully in response, her legs trembling in need as her climax approached, and silently amazed, as he always was, at how effortlessly he could bring his woman to ecstasy, and just how unbelievably stupid he had been to ever walk away from this, from her, from the prideful satisfaction taking hold of him whenever he got to have her like this, shivering desperately against him with those smooth thighs closing, trapping his mischievous hand between her legs as her orgasm washed all over her.

“Oh… Gods…” She groaned in pleasure, her mouth opening wide, releasing a choked cry while her fingers sank deeper into the arm still keeping that gentle, but possessive, hold around her neck.

The musky scent of her fiery arousal thickly permeated the air, and the Saiyan couldn’t help from hiding his nose into her disheveled blue tresses in a pathetic attempt at keeping his urges in reign, trying not to lose control much too soon.

“Mhmmm…” Bulma moaned in sheer bliss, burying one of her hands within his tangled hair and lightly scratching the back of his head while her hips kept dancing sensuously against his, riding the tail of the mind-boggling orgasm he’d just gifted her with. “Maybe you’re right…” She whispered salaciously, lazily turning her head to him and laying a long kiss on his yearning lips. “Maybe I am yours…” Her husky voice muttered, her sweet breath ghosting his parted mouth, sparking something dark and primitive. “But then…” The tip of her tongue found his lower lip, the contact brief and frisky, spurring a deep growl in his chest. She then smiled wickedly at him, like a naughty girl who’d just received her favorite present. “That means you’re mine too…”       

Her audacious words fed his fire, and he could feel the hiss of pure anticipation rumbling in her pretty throat when his hand instinctively tightened his ruthless grip on her.

No other woman would dare.

No other cursed woman would ever dare to even think about sinking her vile clutches on him, to assume that she held any kind of power or property over an untamable force of nature such as himself.

No one but her.

No one but his Bulma.      

“You presume much, little woman…” The Prince croaked, though her presumptuousness only served to fuel his very soul, to make him secretly wish that her words were true, and that she’d think of him as her man indeed.

The earthling’s smile widened irreverently as she grinded against him once again, cheekily reminding him of the physical reaction that her mere presence could awaken in him, destroying that grandiose self-control he was always boasting about.

“You think so?” Bulma murmured while her small fingers kept idly running through his scalp, her body voluptuously rocking against his, mercilessly teasing the massive bulge hiding behind his tight clothing. “I don’t think so, my Prince… I think you’re mine…” She whispered ardently into his heated skin. “I think…” Her adorable little nose nuzzled his cheek. “I think you’ve fallen in love with me…”

“You know nothing!” He exploded, his eyes searing at the consequences of her reckless words, because he knew, he knew damn well that she could be right.

Vegeta may not have had the faintest clue as to what those ridiculous words of love even meant, but he couldn’t deny any longer that, whatever it was, whatever this was that had befallen between him and the unreal woman shivering excitedly in his arms, went far beyond the realm of carnality. What he didn’t know yet, was if he was ready to admit it out loud, thus giving his brazen lover the satisfaction of validating her terrifying suspicions.

But one look at that devil-may-care smile of hers, told him that it didn’t really matter anymore.

She’d do it for him.

“Oh, I know…” Came the expected answer, her eyes still hazed with pleasure, but sparkling with a gleam of giddiness. “I know more than you think…”  

His big hand abandoned her throat, quickly imitating her actions and reaching out to her fragrant, aquatic waves, pulling her hair back with masterful control until her nape rested on the curve of his bare shoulder in raw submission.

“Do you, now?” Vegeta uttered hoarsely in her ear, visibly firing up at the sight of his woman’s luscious lips wide open in excitement, yet still twisted into that infuriating grin. “Didn’t you just say that all I wanted out of you was a good fuck?” He asked again, sensually curling the thick fingers still buried between her drenched thighs and sending waves of desire crashing right through her. “What if that were true? Uh? What if pleasure was all I needed from you?” 

Laughter.

The diabolical woman burst into a roar of husky, sassy laughter, lolling her gorgeous face in his direction and landing the most lustful kiss on his stiff neck. “Then you’d be doing a pretty lousy job at it…” Her teeth nipped at his golden skin, right above his furiously drumming pulse. “So far, I’m the only one who got off, you know?”

The maddening combination of her openly inviting words, and her teeny teeth mockingly doing to him what he’d been dying to do to her, ever since she’d fallen into his empty arms, was the last stroke, sending wild spasms of mad lust lashing through him and freeing him, once and for all, from his self-imposed boundaries.

“You’re right…” He agreed in a gruff whisper, abruptly reaching out to grab both of her hips with angry hands, needy fingers furrowing deeply into the tender flesh. “But we can surely do something about that, don’t you think?” He groaned viciously, crashing her curvy pelvis against his own with such desperate force that Bulma’s precarious balance faltered, instantly forcing her fall.

Her elbows sank on the bed, and she just lay there on all fours, like an obedient little sex doll humming in need at the sound of her skimpy panties being fiercely ripped off by no one but her Master.

“Oh, yes…” Bulma hissed shamelessly, peeking at him from above her shoulder with the most depraved smile she’d ever thrown at him. “Are we playing rough tonight?” She challenged with the impudence of one of the Emperor’s most debauched concubines. 

The Prince growled with want as his hands kept their firm hold on her hips, kneading and squeezing them with urgency, rubbing the hard cock still hidden under his constricting pants against her soaking wet core, and cursing the blasted woman for knowing him far too well, for knowing just how to provoke him, how to convulse his Saiyan spirit and bend him to her will.

Tonight had been a night of revelations, a time for redeemed acceptance, the startling acceptance that it was she, his Bulma, the one who’d irreversibly conquered his heart. And yet, here she was, still keen to play pretend with him, to allow him to take complete control for the night and do as he pleased with her, falling into the deceiving delusion that he was still the one in charge, despite the undeniable certainty that she now had him, and always had, tightly trapped in the palm of her tiny hand.

Vegeta knew that he should have been enraged by that infernal smirk from Hell, and that ballsy pair of extra-terrestrial blue eyes, telling him that he’d unconditionally belong to her from now on, now and forever.

But he couldn’t.

Out of all the conceivable emotions that her defiance could have instilled inside of him, he felt nothing but admiration, the genuine admiration of a man who’d found, against all odds, his kindred spirit. And the unanticipated pride of knowing that she was his, that Bulma wanted him with just as much intensity as he wanted her, and that nothing and no one would ever untie the supreme bonds tying them.

His hands bore deeper into her milky curves, his mouth leering in satisfaction when her long fingers curled into the sheets and the neediest whimper pulsated in her throat. He’d give her anything, absolutely anything she ever asked of him, and if this was what she desired tonight, then he’d show her that he still held the power to play this wicked game of hers with just as much thirst.

“Is that really what you want, little woman?” He questioned maliciously, his tone a raspy whisper, staring down at her, calloused palms roughly stroking and pressing her hips.

He didn’t even wait for her reply, his last shreds of rationality dissipating from his hazed mind when his hand found her little ass, slapping the round flesh hard enough to make her yelp in delicious surprise, moaning and wriggling under him.

“F-Fuck…!” She gasped under ragged breath, that pretty ‘f’ stuck between her pearly teeth and bitten-red mouth as she bit on her lip, making one of the Saiyan’s sharp eyebrows cock in immediate reaction.

“You like that, don’t you?” Vegeta asked perceptively, spanking her again, and again, the second she nodded breathlessly in wordless reply, treasuring the way her body was responding to his lecherous actions as he began to lose himself in the cloying perfume of the potent arousal that he himself was inciting.

One of his hands stayed on her rosy ass cheek, rubbing large, soothing circles all over the scarlet skin, while the other trailed possessively across her back as he leaned over her, replacing the path of his rugged palm with his mouth, his ravening tongue darting out and twisting in circles, licking and tasting her richly saturated skin.  

When he reached her face, he threaded his coarse fingers through her chaotic hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear as he carried on his pitiless teasing.

“You really liked that… Didn’t you?” His manly voice grumbled. “Didn’t you, Bulma?!” He insisted cruelly, forcing another squeal out of her when he smacked her plump little ass again.

“Uh-Huh…” She sobbed, eyes tight shut, sweaty cheek pressed against the pillows as she shifted against him in crazed need.

Vegeta’s forceful grip on her damp hair tightened, inwardly wondering just how the Devil was he still able to exercise that expert self-control of his, always pushing her over the edge, taunting her, tormenting her, without ever causing her any actual pain.   

“You want me to fuck you hard tonight, don’t you?” His steamy breath murmured, the foul hand earlier caressing her sore bottom now travelling upwards, skimming over her ticklish ribs through the thin fabric of her old undershirt, and briefly cupping her breasts. “Don’t you?!” He gruffed harshly, yanking off both her shirt and lingerie and releasing her full, ripe tits to his touch at last, lightly flicking her nipples.

“Y-Yes…” Bulma moaned weakly, shuddering at her lover’s heavy panting in her ear, instinctively arching into his large hand, her nipples pebbling against his surprisingly delicate fingers.  

She heaved loudly when his sharp teeth clamped down on her enticing shoulder, a devious smirk tainting his lips, feeling her bucking into his full hand while he playfully pinched one of those scrumptiously pink pebbles.

“Good girl…” Vegeta simply replied, the dominant hand clutching her curls firmly pressing her flushed cheek even harder into the pillows, while the other twirled those blunt fingertips all over her luscious tits one final time before letting go, impotent to wait any longer, frantically jerking down his tight pants and ramming into her, releasing a long, shabby breath of pure relief when he finally got to feel her slick warmth clenching down around his swollen cock.

He leaned heavily into her, never stopping, never giving her time to adjust to his immense size, knowing that she was ready for him, that her wet little cunt would always be ready for him, and forcing himself further inside as she groaned piercingly under the pressure.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” He newly asked, losing his pride, forgetting his reserves, puffing savagely like a madman as he kept his grueling pace, pistoning in and out of her totally uninhibited. “DON’T YOU?!” He highlighted his anxious question with a punishing thrust, forcing his dick even deeper.

“Gods! Yes!” Bulma gritted out, her jaw unhinged, toes curled in desperation, howling like a bitch in heat when his fingers furrowed even tighter into her scalp. “YES!!!” She hollered, her hands clasping the silky sheets with such strength that she feared the fabric might rip.

She stuck one of her hands right between her legs, her thighs already drenched, smeared with her slippery juices. The dirty, crude sounds of Vegeta’s powerful thighs violently smashing against her flesh barely registering into her clouded consciousness as her shaky fingers reached down in a frenzy, swirling hard circles around her clit while he kept pounding into her, completely out of control.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, woman?” The warrior barked, his arm circling around her hip, suddenly snatching her trembling hand away, that small hand so hurriedly chasing her imminent climax. “UH?!” He roared with unrestrained fury, grabbing her wrist at superhuman speed and twisting it behind her back, never halting his demanding rhythm. “I told you, Bulma… You’re mine…” He mumbled roughly against her glowing face, finding her so beautiful, so goddamned beautiful as she lay defenseless beneath him, gratefully taking all of him.

“I didn’t give you permission… Did I?!”

Her only retort was a long, powerless whine, like a vulnerable, wounded animal hopelessly seeking salvation at the very hands of her ruthless torturer.

“You don’t get to touch what’s mine! You little bitch…!” Vegeta boomed, nearly out of breath by now, instantly taking hold of the other tiny fist, still helplessly gripping the silken sheet, and brutally tying up both hands behind her back with the help of his wicked tail.     

Bulma panicked for one shaken moment, horrified at the possibility of her heartless lover withholding completion from her, but she soon let out a gratified, guttural laughter, her body filling with consummate relief the moment her agitated hands were replaced by thick, coarse fingers, roughly massaging her clit, matching the same tempo of those punishing hips.

He could feel them, Vegeta could already feel those burning flames of pleasure coiling in the base of his stomach, trapping a fiery hiss behind gritted teeth as her inner muscles clenched almost painfully around his cock, a vain attempt at stealing one more victory out of him by trying to make him cum first.

He couldn’t.

It was bad enough that he’d already, virtually admitted that he belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him, he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of giving in to her sinful sorcery so darned easily this time.

“Oh, Kami! F-FUCK…!” She cried at the top of her exhausted lungs, mouth gaped open, the nervous fingers of her imprisoned hands turning into minuscule, vicious claws, scoring her nails across the hard-rock abdomen frantically pushing her into the mattress, scraping new scars into his resilient skin.

“Are you cumming for me, Bulma?” His winded breath teased knowingly, almost able to see those bright sparks of silver flashing behind her eyelids as her eyes rolled back into her head, her entire form jolting hard, riding the crest of her mindless orgasm.

She had no words anymore, nothing left in her but the desperate, high-pitched sound emerging from her throat slowly fading into nothingness, her body thrashing, twisting under the power of the wild spasms of electricity coursing through her.

“E-Enough…” Bulma whimpered pitiably, her body faltering as her pleasure slowly died out, writhing tiredly, struggling in vain against his dominance when she realized that his degenerate hand was still working her, showing no sign to stop his merciless torment. “Please!” She mewled.

“Oh… I don’t think so, woman…” The Prince murmured into her clammy temple. “You’re not done cumming until I say so….” He swept his textured tongue all over her zesty skin, his hips rocking relentlessly against hers, huffing sharply through his nose when her nails succeeded in scratching his stomach as she feebly battled his mighty grip. “We can still get another one out of you, don’t we?”

Bulma never anticipated the way he let go of her hair, lightly raising his back and digging his big hand deep into her pelvis, painting purples and blues into her flesh as he picked up his pace, showing her no mercy, pushing, shoving, grinding in as deep as he could while the fingers of his other diabolical hand kept stroking her sensitized nub.

And she let him, ceasing her struggles at last and yielding to Vegeta’s fierce power, hopelessly screaming her second release into the crumpled pillows, her whole body limp while he fucked her unrelentingly through it, frazzled voice crumbling, until he finally threw his head back, shooting his hot seed into her tight warmth as he rumbled an unknown litany of alien curses, darkly exotic words of surrender, surrendering to her magic just as much as she’d chosen to surrender to his.   

Vegeta rested gingerly atop her still lightly trembling figure, pressing his drenched chest against her smooth back as he carefully removed his tail from her wrists, freeing her at last, and grimacing with a slight trace of concern when he sensed her arms drop lifelessly onto the bed, on both sides of her body.

He then latched his lips to that desirable spot, right at the base of the nape of her neck, lowering his mouth on her and letting out a quivery exhale as he kissed the alabaster skin with quiet devotion. His dominant bravado swiftly evaporated while his hard-skinned palms travelled up and down both flanks of her body, in that calming, nurturing way that he knew his woman loved so much right after climax had claimed them both. 

They stayed this way for a few minutes, his gentle hands and lips selfishly lingering all over her, for as long as Bulma permitted him to, until the time came for her fatigue to get the most of her, and she softly shifted beneath him with a faint moan, quietly manifesting her drained exhaustion.

The Prince promptly obliged, taking his hefty weight off her and pulling out slowly, a slight wince spreading on his tired face, never missing a single one of her reactions. A new tinge of worry clutched in the pit of his stomach when his small female instantly lowered herself, falling all the way on the bedsheets and curling up on her side into a drained little ball, making him wonder in hushed horror about whether he’d been too aggressive on her frail frame.

But his fears were newly appeased when he lay on the bed behind her. And, after taking care of leisurely removing what was left of his clothing, all he had to do was to cautiously reach out to her, enclosing her narrow waist with his needy tail and dragging her unhurriedly near him, for her to immediately roll over, turning his dusky heart into mush when she curled up against him instead, dropping her forehead down on his chest and gladly falling asleep in the safety of his strong arms.       

******************************************

A soothing warmth, surrounding the hands that she’d so cozily nestled against the comforting protection of his chest, slowly brought her back from the peaceful slumber she’d gladly succumbed to. And, as she drowsily batted her eyelids, she soon realized that such assuaging balminess emanated from none other than the Saiyan Prince himself.

“Mhmm?” She moaned questioningly, quietly captivated, in spite of her somnolence, by the almost magical aura of sky blue light lightly enveloping her wrists. “Vegeta?” Bulma inquired with a sleepy curiosity emanating, not only from her lover’s mysterious actions, but from the odd frown marring his features as he kept his stare obstinately fixated on her tiny hands.

“Did I…?” Vegeta asked tentatively, his voice an ashamed whisper, still refusing to let his concerned gaze meet her own dazed one. “Did I hurt you?” The startling question came at last, making Bulma follow his line of vision and take notice of the still slightly reddened skin around her wrists, hitting her with the astounding realization that it was guilt the emotion he was so poorly concealing.

The heavy-eyed earthling didn’t make him wait for a soft but confident answer, her heart breaking a little at the touching sight of her man trying to cope with a distressing feeling that he surely wasn’t accustomed to, and wouldn’t quite know how to handle.

“No,” Bulma replied with calm assurance, blessing him with the kindest, most understanding of smiles. “You didn’t hurt me, Vegeta…” She quietly reiterated, pressing her enticing, nude body even closer to his, and resting her gently enfolded hands atop his chest as her beaming lips hungrily sought his for a long, idle kiss. Gleeful laughter danced in her mind when he sighed in relief, gradually relaxing as she took his guilt-ridden doubts away. “In fact...” The earthling whispered mischievously, a wicked smirk drawn all over her pouty mouth. “I really liked it… I like everything you do…” She confessed, stealing a smirk of pure mischief from her lover, and sealing her naughty revelation with another branding kiss.

“You truly are a vulgar woman, aren’t you?” Vegeta mumbled with relieved amusement and a rare flash of crimson tinting his tanned skin, forcing Bulma to inwardly bite her loose little tongue and refrain from letting him know just how ridiculously cute he looked when he was flustered like this.

The earthling couldn’t suppress her soft giggles, happily lightening up the mood of the faintly illuminated room, just like she couldn’t avoid finding the flagrant irony in a man who’d once, quite literally, barged into her home looking for nothing but a ‘fuck’, calling her a ‘vulgar’ creature now that he had her naked in his arms.

“I believe that’s one of my best qualities…” She confirmed with a lewd smile, engaging their yearning mouths into another leisurely kiss, basking in the marvelous way in which her stomach still fluttered by the mere taste of his sleek lips.     

It felt good.

It felt so frighteningly good just to be like this, lazing in bed with this man, a man who’d grown to know and cherish every inch of her body and spirit as if they were his own. And, as she broke their kiss with reluctance, carefully resting her still heavy head on the plush pillows, she couldn’t help but wonder what their erratic lives would be like once he ultimately mastered his Ascension, and whether they’d ever be able to rejoice in an existence filled with small, but profoundly happy moments such as this one, when the criminal monster who’d cruelly enslaved them both would finally meet his end. 

Bulma sighed in bliss, indulging in the comforting cocoon she was blithely surrounded by, a protective cocoon of warm silk and her lover’s quietly reassuring presence, making her feel as if no harm would ever come her way as long as she had him by her side. They both kept fondly staring at each other through curious, sleepy eyes, each one of them hoping with all their might that their other half would have chosen to see the light for good this time, finally realizing just how devastatingly pointless it would be to keep denying each other, and the truthful feelings binding them together, any longer.               

“That’s your ki, isn’t it?” Bulma broke her silence at last, fascinated by the great relief that Vegeta’s almost miraculous skills were inducing. He confirmed her smart theory with a soft grunt and a nod of the head, wordlessly encouraging her naturally inquisitive mind to try to learn as much as she could about this new, unknown power of his. “So, you…? You can heal wounds with your ki?” She questioned with breathless amazement.

“No,” the warrior promptly clarified, a glint of pride gleaming within his black eyes at his little lover’s admiration. “Ki can only bring relief to very minor injuries…” He explained with tranquil patience, bringing her frail wrists even closer to his chest as he soothingly caressed the smooth skin with his thumbs. “I’ve heard of certain races able to heal greater wounds, even capable of bringing people back from the brink of death, but I’ve never witnessed it myself.”

“I see…” Bulma’s whispery voice responded, newly rivetted by the Saiyan’s revelations.

At times like this, she was humbly reminded of just how little did she actually know about the incalculably vast galaxies encompassing her, and the endless amount of multi-colored cultures and exotic beings that Vegeta may have crossed paths with. But, much to her own surprise, and despite her intrepidly inquisitive disposition, it wasn’t that enigmatic Universe out there what she’d love to get to know the most.

If given the chance, if she ever truly had the unlikely opportunity of choosing a place where the two of them could spend the rest of their lives, it would be on a planet similar to her beloved Earth, for nothing would ever bring her as much joy and contentment as showing the deeply damaged man she’d madly fallen in love with, the inestimable beauty of an existence of harmony and peace, an idyllic home where she could enjoy the privilege of attempting to heal the bleeding wounds of his broken spirit in the same way in which he was healing her own.

“Vegeta, you can stop now if you like…” Bulma softly pleaded after a long, contented silence, noticing that, even though he looked noticeably happier and calmer than hours earlier, he still held the exhausted appearance of a man who’d spent the last two months flooded by grisly self-destruction. “You don’t have to waste any more of your energy. I’m fine now…”

His body’s instinctive reaction was to bring both of her minute hands even closer, lightly tightening the desirous grip of the furry appendage already encircling her creamy midriff and pulling her against his bare form.

The dim but powerful blue light, glowing radiantly in the dark, never lost its luster, not even when Vegeta allowed himself the indulgence of pressing his lips against the silkiness of her forehead, laying an achingly affectionate kiss upon her pale skin.

“Let me…” He shushed her with unusual tenderness, smiling with pleased serenity when he sensed her effortlessly relaxing, surrendering to the warmth of his caring touch.

“’Kay…” Bulma mumbled compliantly, her eyes dopy, progressively shutting down as she drowned in his mollifying warmness, falling into sweet, sweet oblivion.

******************************************

The agitation of her obscure nightmares woke her with a startle, still in the dead of night, facing the bleak reality of a solitary bed and a pair of empty arms restlessly seeking the solace that only her Prince could bring.

For a fleeting instant, Bulma dreaded that the diabolical fears still consuming his soul would have gotten the best of him, cowardly pushing him to abandon her just as he’d done in past times, but her worries were soon placated when she discovered Vegeta’s heartening presence still in the room, sitting at the edge of the bed while holding a half-empty bottle of water in one shaky hand.

However, a second, more deliberate glance, was enough to make Bulma’s first flash of relief evaporate just as fast as it’d come, leaving nothing behind but uneasiness at the gloomy picture of defeat painted before her. The naked man slouched on the bed, with his tail firmly wrapped around his slim torso in self-protection, looked sadly closer to a confused, lost child than to a Saiyan Prince who’d recently savored his first triumphant taste of the Legends.

“Thirsty?” He croaked in a raspy voice as he turned around a little, extending a strong arm to her and offering to share the refreshing drink with quiet generosity. His gesture was soon rewarded with a timid nod and a drowsy smile, with Bulma sluggishly sitting on the bed, softly rubbing her eyes with the back of a tiny fist and accepting the beverage with the other.

“Thank you…” She whispered with candid gratitude, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a large gulp.

At first, she’d figured that Vegeta’s odd attitude had to do with the hellish aftereffects of the copious amount of alcohol ingested earlier in the night, perhaps already nursing a bit of a hangover. But, when he responded back by bashfully lowering his stare with a simple nod, she knew that something else was still weighing heavily upon his conflicted mind.

There was a rare coyness about him, a raw vulnerability which she’d caught glimpses of here and there during the course of their passionate affair; but never had he looked more exposed than in this moment, as if he’d reached a point of no return, the deep acknowledgement of just how absurdly futile it was for him to pretend that he was still in one piece. Her Prince had the aura of a man on the verge of something, something of the utmost significance, and Bulma could only hope that it had to do with the full acceptance of the unstoppable forces inevitably tying them together.   

“Why?” His enigmatic question gravely reverberated in the chamber, his eyes still down in avoidance, yet his voice laced in angst, as if he were gingerly trying to reach out to her.

“Why what?” Bulma quickly asked back, leaving the now empty bottle on the nightstand, and turning her full attention back to him.

She crawled on the bed, bringing herself closer but giving him enough space so as not to make him feel threatened or smothered in any way, and she sat behind him, covering her trembling nudeness with the silken bedsheets, and pressing her knees to her breasts, draping her arms around her legs as she awaited expectantly for him to pour his troubled heart out.

“When… When you… Wha-What you…” He was stuttering, staring at his busted fists as they clenched and unclenched with nervousness. “What you said… When… The last time… When… About your… Your emotions…”

By now, Bulma was already battling the outpouring of compassionate tears threatening to spill from her burning eyes, her heart plummeting at the disturbing scene of a man who was both in possession of a power of such magnitude, that it would bring the most challenging of enemies to their knees, but so deeply hurt, and clueless about real affection, that he was incapable to even pronounce the forbidden word itching at the tip of his tongue.      

“Love?” The earthling’s choked answer came at last, trying to spare him the dull shame written all over his devastatingly handsome face.

Vegeta’s self-conscious response was purely a sharp nod of assent, but nothing had ever made Bulma struggle with such an incontrollable need to hold him in her arms more than the swift flush of red spreading all over his sharp cheekbones, and up to his ears.

‘Why?’

He was asking why she’d fallen in love with him, as if he honestly didn’t understand the reasons behind her inexplicable declaration, perhaps even, and this would be the most desolating vision of all, as if he thought of himself as someone entirely unworthy of any kind of love.

“Vegeta…” Bulma enlightened, her voice rocky but filled with a renewed sense of purpose, the resolve of a woman unwilling to let her man go, fervidly determined to help him open his eyes to a world always denied to him, to sentiments which she truly believed that he was able to experience but never had, simply because he’d never been given such a vital opportunity before. “Love… Love is not something you can explain, you know? Love is… It’s just...”

She shrugged miserably, exhaling in frustration and concern as she grasped just how incredibly difficult it would be to explain something which had been so natural to her for so many years, during a merrier past, that it’d become nearly unimaginable for her to envision a time when she’d have to make the effort to put into words what love was. 

“You can’t ask why about love, Vegeta…” Bulma affirmed in a soothing undertone, speaking to the Prince almost as one would to a child. “It’s not… It’s just not something that can be explained…”  

“Tch! What nonsense!” Vegeta instantly retorted, though the harshness in his whisper seemed to stem from chagrin rather than actual anger. “Everything…” He muffled, his physical and emotional fatigue now clear as water as he gave his back to her, still sitting wretchedly on the bed while his worn-out hands tiredly roamed across his face and hair. “Everything can be explained…” He mumbled grimly to himself, as if he needed, actually needed to believe that not a single matter in the world could escape his intelligence.

A single tear rolled down Bulma’s cheek, a glistening pearl promptly wiped off with the back of her jittery hand, utterly terrified of her lover’s reaction if he viewed her moment of weakness.

She may not have been able to decipher yet a lot of the ambiguities surrounding the Saiyan Prince, but she was already well aware of just how much he abhorred seeing her cry, which was exactly one of the many reasons why she knew that there was more, infinitely more to him than what met the eye, and that he was, in truth, in possession of a heart noble enough to love and be loved, but simply didn’t know it yet.

During the arduous brevity of their clandestine relationship, Vegeta had already shown her more proofs of affection than he perhaps was even aware of. And, though Bulma felt completely drained after such an intensely emotive night, she realized now, more than ever, that it was her inescapable duty to show him just how much he meant to her, and the unbelievable changes that his mere presence had brought into her life.

Even if it hurt.

Even if she had to bare her heart in a way she never had before, disclosing an old but deeply ingrained desire which he’d, in fact, already half-guessed during that very first night when he’d showed up without warning in her home. Perhaps then, and only then, would she shine a light on what the power of love could truly achieve.

“You were right, you know?” Her babyish voice stated with shy hesitation, following the long silence they’d both been engrossed in. 

Her mysterious affirmation certainly caught the warrior’s interest, for he instantly faced her again, frowning with plain nosiness. “About what?” Vegeta shot back at once.

“That night… The first night you visited me, remember? When you first came to my place…”

The Prince assented without reservation, thoroughly intrigued, and perturbed by both his lover’s strange admission and her sudden change of attitude. It soon became apparent that, whatever it was that Bulma was about to confide, it must have been something deeply painful and embarrassing for her.

“You… Y-You asked me about my book, about that… About that story from my book…” She demurely carried on, hit by the upsetting recognition that, even though the woman about to be portrayed was someone very different from the one she was today, the memory of the hopelessness tyrannizing her lonely nights back in those days was still as fresh as ever. “I… I told you about the story… About th-that man who wanted to… The man who wanted to die… Remember?”

“I do,” Vegeta confirmed with solemnity, and with the strong conviction that the recollection of that first night together, that extraordinary night of ecstasy and euphoria, would forever remain imprinted as one of the most treasured of his intimate memoirs. “But why…? What does that have to do with…?”

“Y-You asked me…” Bulma interjected, her exquisite eyes, lost in thought and already sparkling with unshed tears, focused on her covered feet with sad nostalgia. “You asked me if I… If I was just like the man in the story…” She evoked wistfully, and if she hadn’t been still timorously avoiding his gaze, she would have seen the look of sheer horror crossing his bloodless face when he figured out the implications behind her chilling tale of woe. “You… You asked me if I wanted to d…”

“Don’t!” Vegeta interrupted, gritting his closed fists with such sudden fury that he could almost feel the blood dripping from the sore skin.

Die.

He’d asked her if she wanted to die.

And out of all the goddamned words that that pretty mouth of hers could have ever pronounced, that was the one, the one cursed thought that he would never, under any circumstances, be able to wrap his wrecked mind around.

“Why not?” The earthling questioned back, though the knowing twinkle in her eye when their stares met, together with the blue smile twisting her lips, told him that she knew. “I thought you wanted me to tell you about love…”     

His uneasy silence was the only response that she needed to find the strength to reach out to him, soundlessly extending her hand in sheepish invitation, begging for the warmth of his body, needing him by her side when the time came for her to undress her soul.

Her prayers were answered when he readily agreed to her modest plea, crawling amongst crumpled sheets until he was beside her as he battled the nagging voices swirling inside of his head, troublesome echoes of mockery chastising him for giving into his woman’s wishes with such frightening ease.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter anymore, all that really mattered was that she was still here, willing and eager to share her most confidential secrets with him, intimate, electrifying feelings which belonged to an enthralling world of her own.

Before he could sit down with her, she raised slightly from her previous sitting position, kneeling in front of him and literally throwing her slim arms around his robust neck, pressing her lusciously naked form against him in a zealous embrace. As always, his body reacted long before his bewildered mind could, long before he could fully grasp that she was acting the way she did because the enigma about to be revealed was so profoundly hurtful, that she couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye as she set it free. So, he gave his arms the freedom to do as they pleased, to bind themselves around the immaculate perfection that was his Bulma and pull her in until their bodies morphed into one.

For a long while, both lovers simply remained like this, clinging to each other for dear life as they knelt on the bed, her ragged breath ghosting his neck, betraying the skin-deep emotions painfully overcoming her. Vegeta did nothing but wait, keeping his woman all to himself, waiting patiently as she shivered in his lovingly possessive grip, until she gathered enough courage to unveil her deepest secrets to him.

“I… I used to…” She shyly whispered against his skin. “I used to f-feel so lonely… You know? Back then, I just… E-Even… Even Launch… Sh-She…” There was a brief pause as she took a big, shaky breath, trying to control the unbearable grief that the memory of her deceased friend still triggered in her. “She… She’d always try to… To get me to go out with her, but… I j-just… I didn’t want to… I just… I just wanted to be alone…”

Vegeta’s arms stiffened around her when several drops of hot, salty moisture dampened his shoulder, his heart stuck in his throat when that oddly familiar sensation returned at full steam, that strange connection that made her excruciating sorrow wash all over him, as if they’d already become one single spiritual being.

“I j-just… I just worked, you know? I-I worked as much as I could and th-then… I’d just go home and…” This time, her own arms were the ones tightening around his neck, trying to stay grounded, so as not to get lost within her turbulent sea of sad recollections. “I’d just lie in… In bed… And I… I… I’d think of my M-Mom and my Dad a-and…” A loud sob burst from her chest, her minuscule body breaking down in uncontrollable tremors. “And my f-friends… And I just… I j-just wanted to be with them… I-I just…”

“Bulma…” He spoke in a cautionary murmur, his blood boiling at the mental image that her mournful words were painting in his stunned brain.

Right from the start, Vegeta had already pictured her as being a bit of a loner, yet never had he imagined that a woman as tenaciously brave as Bulma would have seriously toyed with the petrifying idea of taking her own life in order to be reunited with her loved ones.

“I was just tired… S-So tired… And I…” She reminisced again in a small whisper, ignoring the warning tone telling her just how much her Prince was detesting to be a witness to her anguish. “Sometimes I just… I j-just wanted to… To fall asleep and n-never wake up…”

“That’s enough!” Vegeta cut her off, releasing her soft body from his fierce embrace, only for his hands to instantly hold her darling face right between them. He spoke hoarsely, his voice still low but full of furious passion. “You never think like that! You hear me? Never!”

Her glittering tears were now falling completely unrestrained, yet a rare smile of pure happiness arose in her mouth at the sound of his inspirational words of hope, brightly encouraging words that truthfully made her believe, not only that he honestly cared about her, but that somehow, and regardless of the immense amount of ache and loss which he himself had endured for a lifetime of terror, he still seemed to hold the unyielding belief that their lives were worth fighting for.

“I don’t, Vegeta,” Bulma declared proudly, her meek smile widening through the few tears still spoiling her charming features, and she slowly shook her head, imitating his actions and cupping his cheeks with gentle hands as she professed her feelings for him. “I haven’t… I haven’t felt like that for a long time…” She laid a feathery kiss on his lips, pressing her forehead against his own as she looked fondly at him. “Not since I met you…”

If the Saiyan hadn’t already been kneeling on the bed, his legs would have surely given up on him at the hidden connotation behind his woman’s staggering admission.              

Live.

He made her want to live.

Vegeta had always been aware of the aghast reactions that his commanding presence, and even the sound of his well-renowned name, could provoke all throughout innumerable, faraway galaxies. Sentiments which ranged from daunting fear to absolute repulsion, and a raging desire for revenge for his many crimes committed during the course of years of enforced service under his despicable Master, but never had he contemplated the possibility that his mere existence may have resurrected the craving to live in another creature.

He was overpowered by the strong need to say something, anything, to the defenseless woman waiting longingly for his reaction. But words wouldn’t come, for the Prince had now reached that point where he was so intensely touched by her raw sensibility, that no words would ever do justice to the myriad of exhilarating sensations flaming within his spirit.

So, as always, he let his body do the talking, carefully wiping her sizzling tears with gentle thumbs and kissing her regal forehead with moving tenderness, taking her in his arms again as he relished the loud sob that newly emerged from her lips, a soft cry swiftly giving way to a fresh stream of tears that, this time, Vegeta knew without the shadow of a doubt, were gleaming diamonds of sheer joy and liberation.

“I know… I know it’s scary, Vegeta…” Bulma murmured compassionately, lacing her arms around his neck as she rested her wet cheek on his broad shoulder, whispering words of soothing comfort in his ear, soothing words of reassurance which he’d desperately needed to hear all his life, without even realizing it. “I’m… I’m scared too, you know?” She confessed with emotive humility, her weak arms narrowing around him as she lovingly petted the nape of his neck with warm hands. “I know things… I… I’ve heard things…” She admitted, planting a long kiss on the crook of his neck. “I… I know you don’t always… I know y-you don’t always tell me a-about a lot of things, but… I know…”

More tears soaked his hot skin as she kept raining the most amorous kisses all over, tears which had now transformed into proof of the unwarranted pity that he knew she felt towards him, tears spilt in his name because a hard-hearted warrior like himself would never dare to.      

“I-I know… I know that you… You’ve lost it all… J-Just like me…” Bulma quietly asserted, revealing, once again, that in spite of Vegeta’s pathological hermeticism, she’d been fully conscious of the agony of loss accompanying him for a lifetime. “I… I know it’s scary t-to feel… To feel for someone… Because… Because you don’t want to get attached and then lose them…” Her shimmery tears flowed at liberty, yet her kind ministrations never ceased as her hands relentlessly touched and caressed his skin, letting him know that she understood, that he wasn’t alone anymore and would never have to be. “I know it’s scary… And it’s okay… It’s okay to be scared, Vegeta…”

The unforgettable voice of his Father’s ghost reverberated anew inside of his head, offering him his deranged guidance, ominously pontificating on the unavoidable principles always guiding him as he’d walked the lonesome path of his existence.                  

Men didn’t cry.

Men had no fear.

Men just took it.

They took it all and asked for more.

And here was this woman, this heavenly little creature who knew nothing of the crooked Universe surrounding them both, yet still had chosen to behave like a true revolutionary, trying imploringly to persuade him, to ingrain within him the surreal belief that, not only should he feel no shame in experiencing that unnerving fear of loss, but that she too had been infected by the very same poisonous malady ever since their solitary paths had crossed.  

“But now it’s different, Vegeta…” Bulma promised, her tone still soft but growing in intensity, the same ecstatic intensity flaring in her luminous blue eyes as her gaze met his yet again, taking his face in her hands as she manifested her unwavering faith in him. “Now you’re a Super Saiyan, Vegeta… Now… Now you can…”

“Not yet,” Vegeta reminded her with sore disappointment, the disenchantment about his lack of skill to ascend at will haunting him still. “I haven’t… I haven’t mastered it yet...”

“But you will, Vegeta! I know you will!” She proclaimed, with such resolute conviction that no man alive would have ever dared to doubt her fantastic claims.

Her bottom lip trembled beyond her control as new tears pooled in her eyes, the tears of a woman literally holding a ray of resplendent hope in her hands, the man she loved, the vigorous warrior who was going to liberate them from the ruthless chains of slavery oppressing them both. “Y-You’re going to kill him, right Vegeta? Please promise me you’re going to kill him!”

Bulma’s desperate plea awakened something latent within his spirit, like a Phoenix rising from the scorching ashes he’d been buried into ever since he’d left her side.

He’d needed this, now he knew.

He’d needed her, both the adoring inspiration of her tireless faith in him, and the aching weariness written all over her flawless visage, reminding him that he wasn’t alone anymore, that she too shared both his buoyant hopes and desolate grief, and that it was within his power to end it all and set them free from the tyrannical subjugation that their lives had become.

“On my life!” Vegeta whispered with ferocity, his onyx eyes glowing like those of a Dark Knight as he held her tearful face in his hands. “You have my word, Bulma! I’ll slay the bastard!”

He would.

He’d kill him.

He’d slaughter the beastly monster just for her, only so he could throw his butchered, rotten body at her angelic feet like a priceless trophy.

His impetuous vow instilled a new sense of pride within his heart, like a man who’d just been reborn, not only due to her unstoppable faith in his imminent Ascension, but for being responsible, at last, for the dazzling smile emerging through her tears.

“And then… Then we’ll be together, right?” Her eager voice asked again, his bronzed skin prickling in excitement at the affectionate way in which her fingertips kept stroking his cheeks. “Then n-no one… No one will keep us apart!” Bulma swore ardently as Vegeta gawked at her in sheer awe, still trying to assimilate the world-shattering words spoken by his lover.

Not a single day had gone by throughout Vegeta’s life in which he had ever felt as if he’d lived truly and entirely for himself. Quite on the contrary, the warrior’s existence had been nothing but a grueling journey, a crippling odyssey spent in a hopeless quest at trying to live up to everyone’s expectations of him.

From those, now almost dreamlike, days when his Father still lived, blindly striving to swell his heart with paternal pride, and to make up for the King’s own shortcomings, determined to grow his innate power beyond the limits of rational belief, to the much longer years spent in imprisoned servitude, recklessly chasing the idolized dream that would allow him to recuperate his lost honor and to avenge his people, once and for all.

His enormous potential, together with the celebrated augur promised to him since birth, had turned out to be more a darned curse than an actual blessing, a punishing burden he’d been carrying upon his shoulders for as long as memory served him.

In more recent years, he’d come to develop the dismal suspicion that even his own Saiyan comrades, Nappa in particular, had slowly grown to regard him as their only hope for a far greater life, nothing more than a meal ticket that would allow them to stand beside him and take a substantial share of the abundant riches he’d acquire when the day came for him to sit on a throne fit for a King, earned through the grand proclamation of his birthright.

But not her.

Not his Bulma.

His lover was different, so painfully different from all the rest, from those egotistic parasites inhabiting his world that, even though he could feel the warmth of her tempting flesh in his own hands, there were countless times when he still found himself wondering if she was purely a celestial apparition, just one of the illusory ghosts tormenting his melancholic existence.

But she was here, right here in his arms, and if there was one truth that he was positively convinced of, was that there was nothing the little female sincerely desired more than his own happiness.

Everything in his lover’s gentle nature told him that she very much wanted him to succeed, not due to any sinisterly ulterior motives, an ambitious yearning for wealth, or even the twisted aspiration to rule the Universe by his side, but simply because she loved him, and she knew that the utter annihilation of the heinous tyrant responsible for their incommensurable loss would be the one and only way to set them free.

Vegeta kept observing her with amazed eyes, his rugged fingers lightly caressing her tear-stricken cheeks as the world gradually shifted around him, finally forcing him to admit to himself that the moments spent in Bulma’s company had been the closest he’d ever come to true bliss in longer than he could recall.

This woman, this exuberantly unique woman quivering in his arms, was all alone in the world, just like him, and the time had come for him to surrender to her bewitching charms and admit the frighteningly real possibility that certain things in life were as purely irrational as she claimed them to be, and that all a man could do was to succumb to their mystical power. 

In the middle of the nothingness of his lamentable existence, he’d finally found something worth keeping, someone worth fighting for, and he’d be damned if he ever made the mistake of letting her go by his own stupid will, for losing her had turned him into nothing but a walking dead, a man with no reason to live other than the implausible hope of ever holding her again.

Now only one question remained.

The only question worth asking.

“Do you still want me, Bulma?” Vegeta voiced with grave solemnity, looking as if his very life were hanging by the fragile thread of her future answer, as if he’d just placed his entire fate in her small hands.

A meaningful smile threatened to cross her lips at the supreme significance within his bold question, a flash of exultance dashing through her as soon as she understood the implications that her response would surely have for as long as they both shall live.

“I don’t want you, Vegeta,” Bulma confidently professed, her reply soft but filled with just as much gravity. For a moment, the briefest glimpse of panic assaulted the warrior’s deep eyes, until she soon rushed to appease his clear disappointment. “I love you…”

She spoke slowly, emphasizing the word which had once inculcated terror in her Prince’s heart, but which she now knew he needed to hear the most, that one forbidden word he still wasn’t brave enough to pronounce. And she did so with the full acceptance of a woman willing to carry the gratifying burden of being the foolish, sentimental one in their relationship, for nothing else even mattered anymore just as long as they were together.

Her unshakable declaration was enough to release him from the invisible chains which he himself had shackled around his own heart, and there was nothing left for him to do but to wind his arms around her trembling form and pull her closer.

Vegeta kissed her hungrily, almost desperately, trying his best to pour every emotion overrunning his soul into his heated kiss, while his strong arms wandered all over her inviting curves. He freely allowed her to taste the grief of his bottomless wounds, together with those primal, animalistic appetites that only she awakened within his fractured spirit, and the sheer delight that her forgiveness and kind acceptance had brought back into his life.

Bulma kissed him back with equal fervor, their tongues dancing sensually as she felt his devastating pain and stormy desire, ecstasy and thirst, as if they were her own. And, when their mouths reluctantly split in a desperate quest for air, and her stare newly met his own, her heart fluttered in glee like that of a silly young girl at the look of zealous devotion thrown at her, an ardent look of reverence that no other man had ever gifted her with.

After an ephemeral eternity, Vegeta grudgingly freed her from his selfish embrace but, unable to stay away from her warmth for too long, he sleekly run his coarse hands up and down her elegant shoulders, relishing the way his radiant woman seemed to melt beneath the power of his touch.

“Bulma…” The Prince rasped on her succulent lips, his torn whisper a telltale of the heat rising through his savage blood.

He could already feel it, the wild echo of a thousand generations of Saiyan cries calling out for him as his basest instincts gradually started to take over his entire self. His heart pumping faster, barbaric voices resounding in his ears like thunderous drums of war, ferociously demanding for him to claim her, to take what was rightfully his.

Never in a million years would he have envisioned for this day to come, the crucial day in which fate would present him with a woman whose lifeforce would so vividly reflect his own, a woman good enough for him to even consider the outrageous possibility of forging the most sacred of unions with.

Vegeta conjured up all those incessant, archaic Saiyan stories, every single one of them, so remarkably meaningful during his gullible years of youth, only to lose all sense, slowly but implacably, as he’d grown older and bitter skepticism took over, turning his heart to stone.

And yet here she was, impossibly warm and charming, yet bravely spunky and resilient, the only woman suited for a Prince like him.

In truth, he already knew her to be far too good for a stony-hearted monster like himself. But he’d also come to learn by now, that the blue-haired siren possessed an otherworldly intelligence, a wisdom reaching far beyond her strictly scientific knowledge, an emotional astuteness permitting her to peek behind the thick curtains he’d so shrewdly drawn around himself, and to recognize his most primordial fears as clear as if they were her own.

And now all he could do was pray, with all his strength, for this to also mean that her virtuous heart had discovered something within his sinful being still worth saving, an untouched side of him which he’d been utterly unable to discover on his own.

“Bulma…” Vegeta’s rough voice softly implored, his hands pushing aside the few disobedient curls covering her bare shoulders to make it easier for them to explore her delectable collarbone. The tip of his wolfish tongue licked his upper lip absentmindedly, his libertine imagination running wild, already picturing his sharp fangs sinking into her deliciously ivory skin as his fingertips traced a line of fire all over her alluring flesh, masterfully trying to find just the right spot to lay his eternal mark on. “Lie on the bed for me, woman…”

His hypnotizing command submerged Bulma even further into the spellbound trance she’d already been possessed by, staring at his every gesture with expectant fascination, and wide eyes of sapphire that sparkled into the night like the brightest gemstones. She didn’t argue, didn’t even question his entrancing request, instead, she did nothing but nod meekly at him, releasing him from her dainty touch and turning her back on him, languidly crawling amongst the chaotic heap of black silk until she was lying on her back, waiting eagerly for him to make his next capricious move.

The warrior’s eyes never deserted such a mouthwatering scene, feasting on that statuesque pair of shapely thighs moving with the sensuousness of a nimble little kitten. But the shameless side of him which so enjoyed delighting in merely looking at her ethereal beauty, was quickly overtaken by the rashly uncontrollable need to make her his and, before he was even aware of his own actions, he found himself soon following right behind her.

Vegeta travelled a slow, sinuous journey across the large bed, following exactly the same sumptuous path that Bulma had outlined herself, until his rapacious body reached his craved destination at her feet, noting the way her minute toes wriggled in nervous excitement, and the rare emotion surging within him at the sight of her, as he leisurely crawled atop her.

Against the vestigial fire already taking possession of his essence, the Prince couldn’t repress the infuriating fondness, the irrepressible rush of protective sentiments that his woman evoked. It was at times like this, when he had her shivering in impatient need underneath the raw power that his body exuded, that he was reminded of just how small, how extremely vulnerable she truly was. His Bulma’s mind may have been admirably strong, but her frame was so delicate, so utterly helpless, that not a day went by in which he didn’t fear that today would be the day when the cosmic joke that was his life would finally take her away from him.

The brilliant earthling had been right, as usual, when she’d ingeniously guessed that the real, and profoundly disgraceful, reason lying behind his cold rejection in the face of her confession of love, was none other than his deep-rooted fear of loss, a neurotic terror which had guided Vegeta’s every act and thought ever since his beloved Father, race and home planet had been turned into nothing but scorching ashes and dishonorable memories.

And so, this shameful fear had implacably morphed into his darkest Demon, an evil reminder of the unbearable suffering he’d end up being subjected to if he ever let his guard down and allowed himself the forbidden luxury of getting attached to any living creature.          

But now things were different.

Now, as the Prince hovered over his lover’s provocative body, gladly welcoming the honest love and trust pouring from her generous spirit, he truly believed, for the very first time, that they’d make it, that he’d find a way, come what may, to master his treasured Ascension and make the world a safer place, a place where they could both live together in idyllic peace.    

Bulma’s trembling arms reached out to him as soon as he lay above her, pulling him to her for a sultry kiss while her long legs idly entangled around his own. He happily indulged her wishes, bringing his lips down to hers and tasting her deeply, a needy moan vibrating in his chest when one of her hands began to skillfully caress the luxurious tail he’d so lovingly wrapped around her waist.

He sank a firm elbow on the mattress, supporting much of his weight on it and letting his free hand explore her body, his touch leaving heat on its wake, from the warmness of her blushing cheeks, where he adoringly moved away the few tousled curls hiding her pretty face from his insatiate eyes, to that appealing spot at the base of her slender neck, obsessively calling out for him with animalistic want.

“I love you…” Bulma newly whispered as she broke their passionate kiss, her ravishing eyes bursting with the glow of a love far greater than she ever thought possible.

She ceased her mischievous ministrations on Vegeta’s most sensitive spot when she felt him rapidly respond to her wickedness, tightening his hold on her as he grunted in urgent need, letting her know that, if she carried on her playful teasing much longer, he’d come undone far too soon. His hand run up and down her thigh, ravenous touch exploring, kneading her juicy flesh as he pulled her limbs even closer, silently encouraging her to hold onto him with everything she’d got and get ready for what was still to come.

The first lights of dawn made an entrance inside the room, enveloping both lovers in faded purples and shy oranges as they gave into each other’s desires without inhibitions. Her silken mouth grazed his tremulous jaw, raining kisses on his febrile skin while Vegeta’s hand kept teasing and discovering her, making her gasp in soft delight and break down in thrilling goosebumps as he caressed the milky side of her ticklish waist.

Bulma held his face with shaky hands, murmuring words of love and affection, over and over, as her lips cherished every inch of him. She kissed his lightly furrowed brow, powerless to ignore just how much his expression had softened despite his evident carnal arousal. He looked so handsome, so incredibly handsome when he simply allowed himself to relax in her embrace, taking off his hurtful mask of indifference and showing her the real man hiding beneath, that she couldn’t suppress the wave of emotion thoroughly overcoming her at the realization that she was the only woman who’d ever been fortunate enough to see him like this.

Her mouth lavished him with devotion, laying avid, doting kisses all over, from his feverish cheeks to his virile jawline, feeling him inhale sharply when her skilled tongue brushed just the right spot between his jaw and his neck, so sensitive that the warrior couldn’t help the involuntary way in which his hips thrusted against hers in return.

Vegeta’s lips sought hers once more, their hectic mouths and tongues joining into a raging kiss, his self-control quickly slipping through his fingers while Bulma’s kind hands found their way across his tarnished back, endearingly stroking and caressing every scar and imperfection, every single, agonizing reminder of all the pain endured through a lifetime of horror, her soothing touch letting him know that it was over, all of it, and that his torment and degrading humiliation would soon become nothing but the distant echoes of a child’s bad dream.

Bulma could feel his whole body trembling in ardent hunger, his engorged arousal pressed against her heated core, begging for completion, yet, in spite of her dazed state, she could also sense his strenuous battle against restraint, as if he were somehow trying to prolong this moment as much as he possibly could.

She didn’t know she’d become an essential part of a ritual as old as time itself, the sacred custom by which a Saiyan male chose the woman he madly desired to spend the rest of Eternity with, a life changing day that Vegeta himself never even thought would arrive, a moment he was still fully unprepared for, despite his caretaker’s numerous tales depicting such a holy rite.

“Ve-Vegeta…” Bulma rasped in raving need, wriggling wantonly under him, letting him know just how much she wanted, needed him, inside of her. “Please!” The frenetic grip of her small hands grew in intensity, running up and down his broad back and perfect bottom, kneading, squeezing, raking her sharp nails into his rock-hard flesh as her legs constricted around him and her hips desperately rose to meet him.

The Prince hissed hotly, hating himself for his pitiful weakness when it came to his woman. He’d been badly attempting to make up for the rough way in which he’d taken her earlier by taking things slow this time, but he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t resist his soft little female, obscenely writhing and rubbing her voluptuous body against him like a woman dying of thirst.

Vegeta knew he’d lost his arduous battle against himself as soon as one of her hands reached down to take him, wrapping her long fingers around his hard length and stroking him, working him with languorous, powerful movements, and smirking with pride at his reaction, savoring the power that her devilish touch had over him. Bulma stared at the way his eyes closed and his mouth gaped in pure ecstasy, loving how easily he seemed to be getting lost within that wave of sensuous pleasure until he couldn’t wait any longer, his entire self aching for her.

“Bulma…” Vegeta mumbled in a hushed whisper, her taunting, velvety touch setting his skin on fire. “E-Enough…” He begged pathetically, reaching down to take hold of her thin wrist, gently encouraging her to halt her sweet torture.

He then held her hand within his, locking his all-consuming gaze with her own as he kissed her with indulgence, giving her fingers one tiny squeeze and letting them go, inviting her, without words, to drape her arm around his neck, secretly marveled still at how effortlessly his lover complied with his humble requests.

By now, with her naked body shaking like a leaf below him, hopelessly holding onto him, the Prince could barely think straight anymore, the only rational thought drifting through his dizzy mind, as he prepared to make her his, was a secret prayer, the hope that following the calling of his feral Saiyan blood would be enough, and that his instincts would soon take over when the time came to bind his soul to hers, if only she would accept him.

Vegeta melded their mouths into another wistful kiss, swathing his thick fingers around his erection and erotically rubbing its dripping tip against her swollen nub, drinking in her lustful moans as he reached her entrance, carefully guiding his shaft and slowly easing into her warmth. Bulma’s whimpers intensified, fiercely wrapping every available limb around him as she welcomed him inside of her, tightening around him as their bodies became one.     

His thrusts were gentle at first, drowning in that delirious quest to put her own pleasure before his own selfish ones as he delved deeper into her, striving to give her everything, everything he had.

Vegeta moved within her, a slow, aphrodisiac dance, rocking his body against her own, getting lost in the electrifying sensation of her teeny nails digging into the hardened skin of his neck as she pulled him even closer. Bulma’s hips gradually arched up to meet him, and he gladly indulged her, lifting her towards him and progressively quickening his pace as he made every effort to reach deeper, to discover and satisfy every single part of her.

When her winded mouth left his, throwing her head back against the lush pillows and sobbing in bliss, he knew that the time had come for him to beg for her acceptance.

“Bulma…” The Prince murmured breathlessly, laying rash, frantic kisses all over her exposed translucent throat as he struggled with the violent need to mark her, to take her all for himself. “Bulma…” He called out again, enjoying the way her eyes remained tightly shut, her face contorted in pleasure as she lost herself under his almighty touch. “Look at me…” He pleaded madly, his body never stopping his adoring assault on hers.

His imploring request finally stole her attention, and her dazed eyes opened slowly, heavy eyelids thick with ecstasy, curiously waiting for his words to come, knowing that right now, she’d give him anything, anything he ever asked of her.

“Y-You…” Vegeta murmured upon her open lips, bringing his flushed face closer, almost pressing his beaded forehead against her own. “You will have no other man…” He demanded in a husky bedroom voice, his words sounding closer to a supplicant plea than a dominant command.

Bulma could do nothing but nod anxiously in assent, sighing pitifully into his mouth as she felt his pelvis diving even harder into her, filling her up entirely, letting her know that she belonged to him and him alone, and that no other man would ever be allowed to touch what was his.

“And I…” He continued, never ceasing the sensual rhythm of his domineering hardness, melting against her inviting softness as he took her completely. “I will have no other woman…”

Her astounded gaze widened in shock for a moment, a new onslaught of fresh tears instantly pooling at the corners of her shiny eyes at the unbelievably vulnerable way in which Vegeta was baring his soul to her, and the obvious meaning clearly implied within his hopeful statement.

A promise.

The indestructible promise that she was his and he was hers and nothing, absolutely nothing in this infinite Universe would ever change that.

Bulma assented once again, the radiant ghost of a tearful smile drawing itself on her lips as she encircled his face with nervous hands, bringing him nearer for a new, passionate kiss. She generously allowed him to taste her tears, tears of happiness and relief, the relief of a woman who still found it hard to believe that her indomitable lover had finally found the courage to let go, to let go of his haunting fears and inhibitions, choosing to give his secretive heart to his mate instead.

In their fervid kiss she discovered his fearless acceptance, and in the dark depth that were his sable eyes, after their mouths grudgingly broke their febrile kiss, she learnt what being adored truly felt like, his look of sheer veneration telling her that she’d forever be in sole possession of his undying devotion. And that, even if he’d never have the ability to pronounce the words which she’d longed to hear for so long, he felt them, in a way he’d never felt such foreign sentiments towards any other creature before.

Vegeta’s eyes squeezed shut for an instant, turning his head to the side, and burying his face in the palm of her hand, smothering the softness of her skin with light kisses while his body kept moving in unison with hers and he shuddered uncontrollably, thoroughly overcome by a blast of alien passions. Bulma’s heat engulfed him irresistibly, deeply moved by his vulnerability as she drowned into him, feeling her body respond to his heartfelt touch, and to the endless wave of exhilarating thrill he was freely offering her.

“Hold onto me…” Vegeta whispered in her ear as soon as he managed to barely take a hold of his rampant emotions.

Her loud moans drifted in the air as she clung desperately to his strong neck, her head hanging back, mouth wide open as choked sobs of pleasure escaped her lips. His free hand roughly gripped her hip when he sensed her raising up to meet him again, savagely shoving her into the mattress instead and sinking faster, deeper, frantically trying to reach and possess every single part of her.

“Ve-Vegeta!” Bulma groaned recklessly, already out of breath, getting closer and closer, the incredible friction of his burning flesh rubbing against her sensitive core making her viciously rake her sharp nails across his skin. “Oh G-Gods… Oh Gods!” She screeched, teetering over the edge as she lost control, her inner depths already squeezing his thick cock as he kept plunging into her, now fully unrestrained.

Her visceral instincts told her that she wouldn’t last much longer. She knew, and he must have known it too, for he licked his dry lips with agitated need the minute he sensed her impending climax approaching, getting ready, dangerously ready to claim what was righteously his.

The Prince set her head over the soft pillows, with as much care as his mad state allowed him to. His mind spinning, about to lose his own rationality, seeing how easy, just how frighteningly easy it was for him to dominate her, to do as he pleased with her body as she writhed helplessly beneath him, as compliant as a ragged little doll.

Vegeta kept one of his arms firmly perched beside her face, gently removing a blue lock away from her damp forehead and nestling her head within his large hand, carefully striving to keep her from moving far too much so as not to hurt her. He could already feel his Saiyan blood taking over, crushing any rational thought as his lips devoured every curve of her beautiful face, kissing and caressing her porcelain skin with his infamous mouth, working its torturous way down south, swathing a path of flames all through her neck as he nipped and licked the honeyed saltiness of her tempting throat.

His sharp teeth perilously scraped her velvety skin, as soon as Bulma’s fierce grip tightened around him, her entire form trembling in sheer euphoria as a powerful climax rocked her body, rolling over and over, in a never-ending wave of unmitigated pleasure. Her piercing cries entwined with the animalistic roar exploding in his chest when he joined her, screaming his release into the fragile crook of her neck, his moist breath panting wildly against the rabbiting beats of her inviting pulse.

He could hear them, the cursed voices, those remote echoes reverberating in his head, begging for him to take her, to forget about the rest of the world and just take her. And he did, hungrily running his wet tongue all over the base of her flushed neck and cautiously sinking his razor-sharp fangs into the tenderness of her flesh, getting a taste of true Paradise, at last, the moment her warm, syrupy blood, coated his voracious tongue like a smooth caress.

A fleeting pang of guilt hit him right in the gut when he heard her yelp in distinctive pain, reminding him of just how small, how achingly frail his woman really was, and, for a brief second, he felt her struggle against his bold actions, her choked voice calling out his name as her petite fists tried to push him away.

But Vegeta wouldn’t relent, keeping her firmly trapped underneath him, knowing that the discomfort would soon subside, giving way to the same rush of heavenly rapture coursing through his veins in that blissful instant.

“Bulma…” He called out for her in a longing whisper, thanking the Gods for the old Saiyan tales to be proven right when he steadily sensed her ceasing her squirming, growing limp in his arms as she gradually came down from her frenzied high. “Y-You must… You must taste it…” He pleaded with bated breath, battling himself with the mayhem of clashing emotions overwhelming his spirit.

Bulma frowned in exhausted confusion, striving to focus her blurry vision on her Prince as she soared in a sweeping ocean of colorful sensations, blown away by an intoxicating blend of extraordinary pleasure and bestial pain. She felt hot all over, yet her ivory skin was now covered in a sheen of cold sweat as she shivered tempestuously, a flood of delicious electricity bursting through her entire form. 

“M-My blood…” Vegeta whispered in relief, comforted when he finally got a reaction out of her, seeing her cupping his face with jittery hands, tiredly seeking to understand his anxious needs. “Y-You must taste it… You must taste it!” He supplicated, bringing his tremulous mouth even closer, and wiping off the gleaming pearls of moisture coating her forehead with tender adoration. “Taste my blood!”            

The earthling blinked lazily, her head unbearably heavy, still subjected to the controlling influence of whatever alien spell her lover had cast upon her. She didn’t know, she didn’t know what was happening anymore, yet the desperate urgency in his tone made her want to do whatever it took to please and assuage his outrageous urges, to fulfill his every desire for as long as he needed her to.

Her own instincts promptly took over with terrifying ease, potent, primitive instincts which she never even knew she possessed, winning a brutal battle against her own faintness as she rose to meet him, lightly suckling on his bottom lip before daring to imitate his actions, piercing his sensitive flesh with extreme care. Her touching mildness was a far cry from the playful way in which she’d bitten him earlier, as if this time she knew, for reasons that escaped her comprehension, of the utmost importance of such an intimate gesture.

Bulma’s heartbeat swayed when she heard the soft moans of elation vibrating in his throat, his body still rocking leisurely atop hers. Their climax had long faded away, yet Vegeta kept their hips firmly locked together, relishing their sensual closeness and that new, exotic flow of pleasure engulfing them both as they engaged in the most sacred of rituals.

It was a different kind of ecstasy, so infinitely profound that any of the mind-blowing carnal experiences ever shared in the past paled by comparison. As Bulma tasted the metallic saltiness of her lover’s scarlet elixir, soothingly caressing his inflamed lip with the tip of her silky tongue, the Universe seemed to standstill as their spirits intertwined, each one of them feeling their own life essence wash over the other, irreversibly merging into one single spiritual being forevermore.

With one final, gentle lap, Bulma’s head dropped back onto the cozy pillows, utterly spent and barely managing to persuade her shimmering eyes to remain open. But she couldn’t miss this, she couldn’t miss the sight of her Prince as she’d never seen him before, his handsome face majestically illuminated by the warm glow of the first rays of sunrise, bathed in distant yellows and oranges, and a mysterious smirk painted on his blood-stained lips.

There was something beautifully unique about his enigmatic expression, a rare inner peace radiating off him instead of his usual arrogant stance; a sense of pride that emanated, not from his awareness of his own physical strength, or even from the smug satisfaction that he took on his expert bedroom skills, but the pride of a man who’d conquered his greatest fear, that of giving himself entirely and without reservations to another spiritual being, to the woman who, against all odds, had succeeded in carving a place inside a heart which he’d truly believed to be inert for as long as he could remember.

Vegeta looked into her enamored eyes for a handful of minutes, taking quiet delight in the calmness of her touch as she kept running her thin fingers through his chaotic hair, finding gratification in the drowsy smile she was giving him back, openly revealing just how terribly happy and proud she was of him.

Only after a tiny yawn curved her lips into the most adorable ‘O’, betraying Bulma’s weak fatigue, did he reluctantly accept that it was time to surrender, and gladly join his little lover into some vital, restorative sleep.

The Prince exhaled tiredly, lightly pressing his lips on her sleek temple, and forcing a sulky whimper out of her as he slowly pulled out, breaking the physical connection between their peacefully sated bodies. He rolled to his side with exhaustion, unwilling to let go of her for much longer, hooking his sturdy arms around her minute frame before his woman even had the chance to truly miss his reassuring heat.

Bulma readily complied, sighing in pure heaven as she curled up against Vegeta’s powerful chest, closing her eyes and indolently rubbing her cheek against his heat, getting lost in the pleasant sensation of the lulling way in which her lover’s tongue kept lovingly tending to the fresh wound in her neck, keeping her firmly pressed against his body with one arm and cradling her head in the other with poignant care.

“Does it hurt?” He asked in a nervous whisper, a hint of concern still troubling him despite how visibly relaxed his mate seemed to be in his embrace.

“Mhmm...” Bulma hummed in soft denial. “No…” She confirmed, putting his uneasiness to rest as she brought herself even closer, burying her face in the curve of his protective shoulder and smiling against his balmy skin when his tail narrowed possessively around her waist, making her giggle faintly when its furry tip friskily caressed her ticklish hip, just the way she liked it.

His throat grumbled with a pleased grunt of agreement, satisfied that his woman’s momentary pain had waned by now, but her pacification didn’t stop him from carrying on with his nurturing task, gently lapping up the distinctive brand tattooed on her ambrosial flesh as the persevering echoes of those ancient Saiyan voices faded away, bit by bit, now that he’d victoriously claimed her for himself.          

“Vegeta…” Her sugary voice mumbled with weariness, already feeling herself contentedly drifting off, but incapable to fully drop into placid oblivion until she found the answer to the question always perturbing her mind, whenever she was reunited with her Prince. “How long…?” Bulma shyly whispered, her fingers digging tensely into his hard chest as she battled that sadly accustomed dread. “How long have we got this time?”

Her distraught question immediately froze his comforting attentions, a gloomy reminder of the reality they’d both so desperately been trying to escape from, hiding within the false protection of these four luxurious walls, blissfully ignorant of the impending threat still creeping up behind every dangerous corner.

Vegeta’s shattered thoughts soon returned to Nappa, and to the deplorable spectacle he’d made of himself, in front of every warrior destined on the base, back in that filthy tavern. He recalled the obscure mission they’d both been bizarrely appointed to, impotent to push aside that wary suspicion, the wise voice of experience miserably reminding him that nothing good could ever come out of such an enigmatic assignment, yet equally warning him of the inexorable consequences that would arise if he ever dared to disobey his Master’s orders, for there wasn’t a single scar in the lethal machine that was his body, that wasn’t a healthy reminder of the excruciating brand of pain that that bastard Frieza took pleasure in inflicting upon any act of insubordination.

But then his Bulma stirred in his arms, spectacular sapphire eyes raising to meet him, not even bothering to conceal anymore that unique air of melancholy that the very thought of his departure kindled within her soul at all times. She was soft and warm, and so heartbreakingly real that her mere existence was enough to turn every one of his infernal fears into nothing but insignificant dust.

One of Vegeta’s arms kept his shielding hold around her figure, while his other hand timidly reached out to stroke her cheek, tracing every curve and flawless contour with melting tenderness, and ending his adoring journey on her luscious bottom lip, running his thumb across the appetizing temptation that was his beautiful mate.

With such a divine creature in his arms, no man would even blink an eye over making the choice of devoting every precious instant to her company rather than to some cold, godforsaken medical facility in the middle of nowhere, waiting for two interminable weeks for one of his Master’s sadistically twisted missions.

The Saiyan soldier didn’t even wish to take a guess at just what kind of aberration would Frieza have in mind this time. All he knew was that, by his clever estimations, he’d make it comfortably to the remote base, in his new space pod, in approximately two or three days, four days tops, which would leave plenty of time to selfishly indulge in his little mate’s warmth to his heart’s content, drowning into her heartening presence and happily working on strengthening the fragile bond that had just been born between their lost spirits.

The Prince kissed her lightly, savoring her with quiet reverence while his hand on her smooth back drew her even closer. “Ten days…” He declared with frightening confidence, unrivalled pride swelling in his chest at the extraordinary way in which her eyes brightened up, gasping breathlessly like a naïve child in a darling mixture of hope and disbelief.

“Ten days?” Bulma asked excitedly, a girlish smile gracing her lips when he nodded in silent confirmation. “So… I’ll see you again tomorrow?”  

Vegeta chuckled goodheartedly, thoroughly amused both by her childlike excitement and by just how incredibly easy it was for him to bring joy to that beautiful face of hers, recognizing that, if only he hadn’t allowed himself to be controlled by his own cowardly emotions, he would have saved them both a great deal of anguish.     

“Tomorrow is today,” he playfully reminded her, landing a tiny kiss on the tip of her button nose when she scrunched it cutely at the realization that morning had, indeed, already come. “Besides…” The Prince’s voice warned friskily, lowering his tone as if he were a young boy secretly planning a wicked mischief. “We’re not leaving this room until I’m done with you...”

Bulma couldn’t restrain a new flood of lively giggles, knowing that what he was implying was nearly impossible, but highly entertained by this new side of him. He’d already displayed a daringly cheeky behavior when they’d first met, but never had she seen him so amazingly carefree, so eager to lower his guard and let her take a peek at his true self, the man that he could have become if Destiny hadn’t dealt him such a cruel blow since his early childhood days.    

“Vegeta!” She exclaimed, making him grunt roguishly when she pinched his strong bicep in good humor. “I have to work, you know?”  

“No, you don’t,” the Saiyan answered immediately, draping both arms around her small frame and pulling her closer, gently encouraging her to rest her cheek on the warmness of his naked shoulder as he supported her head caringly against him. “I’ll take care of it…” He muttered on her milky shoulder, pressing his lips upon it, and showering her with a waterfall of soft kisses all over while reaching down for the satin sheets to tuck them both in, thrilled when he felt her easily snuggling against him, and grateful, as he always was, for Bulma’s outstandingly forgiving nature, making these past two months of torturous Hell feel as if they’d never occurred at all.

“You’re going to get me fired…” The earthling mumbled sleepily, though her faint laughter ghosting his skin, and the intimate way in which her smooth cheek kept nuzzling his powerful chest, like a white little kitten longing to be petted, betrayed, not only her childlike amusement, but how unimportant everything else appeared to be, even her much-needed job, whenever they were together, as if nothing else mattered in this whole vast Universe but taking as much from each other’s warmth as they could.

“Hn… I’d like to see them try…” Vegeta huffed with characteristic cockiness, a sly smirk dancing on his lips when Bulma hissed in delicious pleasure as he run his tongue across the unctuous curve of her shoulder. “I’ll burn this whole place down…” He promised, sensing her shiver in rapture when he touched the delicate wound at the base of her long neck, bringing deep relief to the still tender flesh as he traced slow, lazy circles all over his prized mark.

Bulma nestled even closer, interlacing her long legs with his own under the expensive covers, and smiling in surprised contentment when he instantly responded, pressing his warm feet against her tiny cold ones, silently letting her know that he’d learnt of her mischievous nocturnal activities whenever she thought him asleep and chose to use him as her own personal heater.

Her new string of giddy giggles was music to his ears, almost as much as the satisfied hum twirling in her pretty mouth as she pronounced her final words before a serene, dreamless sleep conquered her at last. “I know you would…” She reassured in a weak whisper, her words laced with an honest promise of trust, the unwavering faith of a woman who knew herself to be loved by her man, a man who’d give his own life in exchange for her own if such a horrid time ever doomed upon them. “I love you…”

Vegeta’s body tensed up for a split second, wondering if he would ever truly get accustomed to the foreign emotions that her unfamiliar love declarations still enthused inside of him, and soon simmering down at the recognition that it didn’t matter, that nothing even mattered anymore just as long as he had her eternally by his side.

The Prince secured the dominating grip of his arms around her, feeling her breathing steadily slowing down, calmly relaxing, and letting go to the considerate attentions of his unrelenting mouth as he addictively licked and kissed his cherished imprint, the sacred Saiyan Love Bite that branded her as his.

His woman, his Bulma, his lifelong mate.

More, infinitely more than a mere guilty pleasure...     

Chapter Text

Her hand brushed inside the back cover of her old poetry book, trembling fingertips gently exploring the slight indentation inked on dusty paper. It had become a nightly habit by now, a ritual at once soothing and masochistic, tired eyes, blurred by scalding tears, battling to focus on those four alien words, handwritten by her beloved mate himself.

It had been such a triumph, such an unexpected victory to see him finally opening up, so eager to share a part of himself, and of his treasured fallen race with her, that the memory of such an extraordinary night would forever remain imprinted in her heart.

She’d never forget the way it felt to simply lie in bed with him, his body flawless and impossibly warm, propped up against the plush pillows and gladly allowing her to rest atop him, strong arms lovingly holding her, pressing her back against his solid heat as she indulged him by reciting her preferred poems for him.

The Prince’s tail would wrap itself around her waist, or on one of her alabaster thighs and, every now and then, the sounds of the contented grunts vibrating in his chest, whenever the mischievous appendage succeeded in tickling her in just the right spot, would send shivers down her spine, and she’d end up turning around in his possessive embrace, seeking retaliation as only she knew how.  

Never had Bulma seen her lover as utterly relaxed as during those last ten days spent in each other’s company, ten days of Heaven, fully devoted to blissful idleness and ardent pleasure.

Only once had they been apart, on the morning of their first day of idyllic isolation when, after getting a few hours of vital rest, following their dreamlike mating ritual, Vegeta had briefly left her side, alluding to his need to discuss certain matters with Nappa before his Saiyan subordinate had to leave on his own for some undisclosed mission, and with the firm vow to convince her boss to release her from her work commitments for as long as it suited them.

As always, her mate had kept his promise, eagerly returning to her merely a couple of hours after his departure, never to leave again, and offering her, without a doubt, the best ten days of their lives, ten days of complete seclusion, getting lost within one another in the private luxury of those four lavish walls.

Vegeta’s actions had mirrored those of that first night in which he’d brought her to the over-the-top hotel, pampering and spoiling her rotten in each and every way possible, catering to her every wish as he took great care to fill their moments together with heaps of the most appetizing delicacies she’d tasted in longer than she could recall, alternated with hours of passionate lovemaking and intimate confessions.     

One of her fondest memories took place in the morning of the second day when, just as the besotted couple was about to take a shower together, Bulma had dared to admire the immense bathtub nearby with nostalgia, coyly venturing to ask if they’d ever be able to enjoy a hot bath, and confessing, not without shyness, how that used to be one of her favorite indulgences, back in the old days when she still had a place to call home.

Needless to say, Vegeta showed no hesitation in entertaining her wishes, letting go of her naked body and nodding in silent agreement, quite literally rushing to get down to business. In the end, soon after the Saiyan displayed his embarrassing lack of experience in such matters, the earthling had ended up being the one teaching him both how to run a proper bath, and how to take one.

Bulma would never forget the expression in his face when, right when the temperature and aromatic bubbles were just to her liking, she’d bravely stepped first into the water, happily leaning on the tub and extending her arm to him in invitation. It’d been just one of those moments, out of countless others, that reminded her of how unfamiliar her Prince was with such frivolous and intimate moments.

He eagerly accepted her generous offer, the sight of his awkward steps as he carefully entered the hot tub, making her bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at how insanely adorable he looked whenever she introduced him to new experiences, knowing how difficult it still was for him to let go and just be, to simply enjoy the company of another being.

To this day, the weak sigh slipping his lips when she gently encouraged him to turn around and rest his back against the softness of her breasts could still bring tears to her eyes, and so did the extraordinary sensation of his broken body relaxing under her comforting caresses, while she smoothed soap all over his golden skin. The way his big hands readily reciprocated, fondling her thighs as they draped themselves around his legs, would never leave Bulma’s heart, or his head lolling back, leaning on the curve of her shoulder, letting her do as she pleased while she laid light kisses on his face, whispering words of affection and silly human stories in his ear, pleasantly surprising her when he eventually ventured to share a few tales of his own.

Out of all the pleasurable attentions he’d bestowed upon her during those heavenly days of seclusion, this breakthrough had been the greatest gift of them all, the privilege of getting a real glimpse, at last, of the man hiding beneath the impenetrable mask of stone, the man who’d inexplicably chosen her as the only woman good enough to decipher his secrets for him.

Those would forever be her most sacred recollections, when he’d finally drag her out of her adored bubble baths, after endless hours of girlish babble, soaking until her fingers looked like wrinkly little prunes, and tenderly turning her into a cozy bundle of warm towels as he held her in his arms, taking her back to the comfortable bed which had now become their second home.

He’d fall into the bed, lying carelessly face down while awaiting one of the naughty sneak attacks that he knew was coming, grunting in amusement when his Bulma proved him right by dropping the large, fluffy towel on the carpet and crawling atop him, as mellow as a needy puppy. She’d sprawl on top of him, skin on skin, her arms and legs covering his as if he were her new favorite mattress, smiling wickedly against the still damp nape of his neck when she felt him groaning again, pretending to be annoyed by her mushy antics when she knew, oh too well by now, that he secretly loved every minute of it.

It was then that she dared, it was then, with those iron muscles melting like butter beneath her devoted touch, that she finally gathered the courage to embark into the most painful journey ever walked, pronouncing the first truly personal question that perhaps anyone had ever run the risk to ask her Saiyan Prince.

Bulma had never feared crossing some invisibly forbidden line with Vegeta as much as she did that night, his body tense as the sea in a storm, almost letting her hear the wheels spinning frantically in his head while he mused on whether he should disclose some of his most humiliating secrets to his new mate.               

When he grudgingly satisfied her desires, just as he always did, his voice was but an ashamed whisper, confessing that the degrading story hiding behind the sleazy scar crossing his right shoulder blade was his refusal to bow down to some long-forgotten, distinguished emissary, in front of Frieza himself, when he was roughly six or seven years old.   

Her hand, stroking with such care that deep mark forever tarnishing his skin, froze in the spot, fingertips beginning to tremble at the aching realization, not only of the criminal amount of torturous pain that the man she loved had endured from such an early age, but at the profound mortification wrecking his beautiful voice and features as he unveiled his secrets to her.

After a drawn-out, agonizing silence, Bulma decided to take matters literally into her own hands, nudging him gently on the shoulder, calmly trying to encourage him to lose his innate fear to face her after being forced to recall such memoirs. A tearful smile flourished in her mouth when his eyes opened at last, flashing her an insecure side-glance that confirmed her worries, those of her mate dreading that she’d mock him for his past weaknesses.

The earthling’s lips descended on him, lavishing his skin with tender kisses all over, wandering from his neck to his robust shoulder, and to that cursed scar whose hurtful story had just been exposed to her, tracing every inch of it with her doting mouth, as if her touch were enough to erase all the pain, all the unfair suffering of a lifetime of terror.

Bulma resumed her healing journey, nuzzling and kissing his burning cheek with all the affection that she was capable of, until a few treacherous tears fell from her blue eyes, soaking his skin and instantly driving him to roll on his back, trapping her bare figure against him with possessive arms. He engaged their lips into a deep, meaningful kiss, hungrily drinking in her ingenuous compassion, and allowing her to taste his gratitude, the sincere gratitude of a man born and brought up brainwashed by the glum notion that each and any display of emotion was nothing but a dangerous weakness, but who’d found, against all odds, a woman willing to love and accept every part of his soul, flaws and all.

When the time came for both lovers to part ways, the warrior standing in front of her as the Sun rose was a different man altogether, a healthy, jubilant man who hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol ever since their extraordinary reunion had taken place, a proud man governed by the renewed strength that only his lifetime mate could instill inside of him.

Her last recollection of Vegeta was the clean scent of his freshly cleaned armor as he brought himself closer to her, delicately holding her face in his hands, large fingers stroking her cheeks, struggling to keep his emotions in reign in view of those sad, pleading eyes, quietly wondering when he’d return to her.

“My destination is Base-055,” the Prince freely informed, eager to mitigate her anxiety as much as he could, despite having the gloomy certainty that nothing ever would, not until he mastered his Ascension and became strong enough to put an end to this miserable madness, once and for all. “Bulma, I haven’t been assigned a mission yet, so I don’t… I don’t know yet when I’ll come back…” His head bowed to hers, their foreheads touching, loathing with all his might the new air of hopelessness overcoming her striking turquoise gaze. “But I will come back to you, you hear me?” Vegeta promised in a heated whisper, erasing with one thumb the defiant, salty droplet escaping her eye. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able…”

Bulma nodded with apprehension, throwing herself in his arms one last time, in that pointless battle against time that had become their most detested enemy. “J-Just… Just be careful, alright?” She mumbled weakly into his neck, the Saiyan’s stomach shrinking anxiously when her throat bobbed audibly in nervous anticipation. “Vegeta… What…? What does it mean?” Her brave question came at last.

“What does what mean?” He asked back with curiosity, his hold on her tightening as he comfortingly rubbed her back in quiet encouragement, helping her share her troubles with him.

“What… What you wrote…” Bulma timidly explained, her nose sniffling, holding back a new onslaught of tears threatening to spill. “What you wrote in my book…” She carried on, watching him as wide-eyed as a little child when her stare rose shyly to meet his own. “What does it mean?”

The tension creasing his brow gradually loosened up as he grasped the meaning of her snoopy question, and his expression softened into one of goofy amusement, his playful smirk broadening at his beautiful woman pouting grumpily when she realized that he wouldn’t cave in this time.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” She scowled petulantly, drying away her tears with the back of her hand, annoyed to no end by that self-satisfied grin, yet secretly elated to see his smugness coming back in full force, forever fading away those past few months of grief.          

Vegeta shook his head slowly, giving the palm of his calloused hand permission to cup her face one more time. “Someday, Bulma…” He vowed in a silken murmur, his demeanor growing somber, merging their lips into a final, painful kiss. She never spoke again, neither did she offer any resistance when he pulled her to him, holding onto her with one solid arm while petting the smooth skin of her neck with the other. “Someday…” The Prince promised irreversibly, landing a tender peck on her temple, and using every ounce of willpower in his possession to let go of her, knowing that if he didn’t leave now, he’d never find the strength to do so.

Her last image of him was the vision of his unique silhouette standing by the glass windows, battle-worn hands adjusting pristine white gloves and his Father’s old scouter, and a Delphian smile curving his lips as two of his fingers gestured the most cryptic of goodbyes, a peculiar symbol, she’d thought back then, perhaps representing hope.

He then took gracefully to the air, with that athletic poise which belonged to him alone, his small but immeasurably powerful body getting lost in the distance, evanescing in an ethereal midst of flaming morning light.

That was it.       

The four words, so methodically penned in Royal Saiyango dialect, vanished from Bulma’s view when her hands closed the old poetry book, handling it like a precious treasure, with just as much care as she’d handled Vegeta’s ancient scouter on the night she’d discovered the heartbreaking story behind its enigmatic origin.

She sat on the squeaky bed, bringing the small item close to her shattered heart as she bent her legs, burying her puffy face into her knees and dissolving into a flood of nonexistent tears, having reached that point where her bloodshot eyes had no more tears left to shed in them anymore, and breaking down into uncontrollable tremors.      

Three.

Three months.

Three months ever since Vegeta had departed this world.

Three months of abject desolation, of perpetually sleepless nights, tossing and turning amongst tattered blankets while the most horrifying nightmares pestered her with no shadow of respite; dark, tormenting hallucinations in which the faded echoes of her fallen lover’s voice would desperately call out her name, over and over again, until she saw his smashed body viciously tearing apart, blowing up into scorching ashes and dying out in a vast cloud of faraway stars until nothing, absolutely nothing remained.    

Worst of all was not knowing, not knowing just why in Heaven’s name had Vegeta been destined to some secretive location with no mission or assignment whatsoever, only for the entire place to blow up to smithereens mere days later for no logical reason.

There had been rumors, of course, a wide incongruity of stories told and retold a thousand times by the diverse horde of soldiers stopping by the military base; prattling tales to which Bulma had paid a great deal of attention, urgently seeking to comprehend, to some extent, just what exactly had brought the Prince’s final demise. But, the more she learnt, the less she understood, reaching the disheartening conclusion that neither one of those idiots knew any more about the enigmatic situation than she did, and that most of those stories were nothing but ignorant gossip shared by a bunch of bored fools.

Nothing.

Bulma lay down on the bed, rolling tiredly on her side and curling up into a drowsy little ball, keeping the timeworn booklet stubbornly pressed to her chest and hoping that, at the very least, her proud Saiyan Prince would have died in some honorable battle, just the way he would have wanted to, before his time to relinquish life had come in the end.

A loud sob burned in her sore throat as she fought to suffocate the new wave of nausea swirling violently in her empty stomach.

Gone.

All of it.

Gone.

Every single flicker of hope, every cherished instant shared with her dear mate, the greater and greater promise that there was light at the end of the tunnel, that they were close, so frighteningly close to freedom and that, perhaps, a real chance for true happiness was still possible for their providential bond.

All of it gone forevermore, savagely spirited away from her, replaced on a dime by the sadly familiar belief that she was cursed, eternally destined to lose the people she loved, but too obstinately coward to find a way to put an end to her misery by taking her own life in return.

A vital reason had kept Bulma alive during those early days of pure agony, the secret hope that Vegeta would have made it out alive somehow, that his colossal strength and impeccable survival instincts would have allowed him to survive the infernal explosion that had turned some furtive medical installation, located in the middle of nowhere, into a nebula of sizzling cinders.

But a few days turned into a month, a month gradually morphing into two and, by the time those two months had become three, the earthling reluctantly accepted defeat, yielding to the overwhelming evidence that her lover wasn’t a part of her physical realm anymore.     

The desire for self-destruction had been irresistible, a wicked voice invading her exhausted mind, trying to make her buy into the naïve fantasy that, if only she found a way to end it all, she’d find solace and peace in a divine reunion with her loved ones, and her unbearable loneliness would cease to be. 

But then there he was again, her man, her savior, the voice of reason, commanding her to put one foot in front of the other and take another step, just another step into the grueling journey still lying ahead. And, when the lights were off, and she was met face to face with her crippling solitude, Bulma would focus her weakened senses in the godlike presence of her Dark Prince, and she could almost feel it, almost feel the warmth in his touch as large hands caressed her tear-stricken cheeks, his black stare shining brightly into the night as he whispered words of avid encouragement to her.     

‘You never think like that! You hear me? Never!’

And so she’d make it another day, just for him, one small victory at a time, working herself to the brink of collapse in those wretched hangars, and saving up every credit earnt by the sweat of her brow, lying in bed at night, eyes wide open and staring at the chipped ceiling, carefully planning her next plan of action now that Destiny had thrown a new challenge at her, now that she’d discovered that loneliness wasn’t even the ultimate enemy to beat anymore.

Life.

A miraculous sparkle of life burned radiantly inside of her, a child conceived out of the purest love during her last life-changing encounter with her lost mate, ten unforgettable days of intimate lovemaking, tasty purple berries, poetry and nighttime confessions, culminating in the one experience which she’d truthfully believed, ever since the devastation of her idolized home world had taken place, that she’d never get to enjoy.

When her body had announced the first surprising signs of pregnancy, Bulma had thought them to be a strange fluke, perhaps the result of far too many hours of strenuous work and too little sleep. But, as time went by, and even though she had no access to a proper medical diagnostic, the time came for her to surrender to the overwhelming evidence, admitting to herself that her symptoms couldn’t be anything but the unmistakable proof that she was, indeed, expecting Vegeta’s baby.

In the beginning, her initial reaction had been one of sheer panic, the dismal fear and debilitating depression of carrying the child of a man who was no more, a little boy or a girl who’d grow up, assuming that they’d even make it out of the military base alive, without knowing who their Father was, or just how much good there was inside of a heart that only his mate had ever had the valued opportunity to explore.   

But her visceral maternal instincts soon took over, motivating her to keep fighting, for her sake and that of her unborn child, choosing to believe that this wasn’t a misfortune but a blessing, that Fate may have taken her man away from her far too soon, but that it had shown her at least enough mercy to leave a piece of Vegeta behind, a part of him to nurture and care for, a child who’d someday learn from her who the Saiyan Prince truly was.

Thus, her last few weeks had been fully devoted to the exhaustive elaboration of a plan, a secretive masterplan that would allow them to escape from the base before the evidence of her new physical condition would become much too obvious for the rest of the world to ignore.

Her mate may not have dared to share in great detail just what kind of atrocities he’d committed in Frieza’s name, but the earthling had already seen and heard enough to make an educated guess, concluding that a soldier like Vegeta, raised and bred with the sole purpose of executing his Master’s dirtiest bidding, would have amassed more than a few enemies in his lifetime, some of them perhaps still lurking around, dangerously eager to sink their evil claws on his child if it was ever found out that he’d sired one before his demise.   

Thanks to her new position in the Science Department, Bulma had already succeeded in saving sufficient money to support herself for quite some time in the near future, and her almost unlimited access to the flight logs had also given her enough power to embark on a discreet investigation, checking out and analyzing, with scrupulous attention to detail, a decent number of interstellar maps so far.

Bulma’s shaky arm reached tiredly for the nightstand, placing her little book of poems on its surface with painstaking care, and turning off the faint light, quickly seeking shelter beneath the false protection of the blankets, adopting the same sleeping position once again.        

In just a few days, she’d receive her new wages, and all that’d be left for her to do would be to make her final choice, hopefully picking a distant planet, relatively peaceful and safe enough to handle the rest of her clandestine pregnancy, and giving birth without grabbing any unwanted attention, in a spot where no one would ever connect her or her child to Vegeta in any way.

She lay on her side like a tiny bundle, clammy hands instinctively sneaking under her old, pink sweatshirt, protectively caressing the still barely noticeable curve in her tummy as she closed her eyes and took a series of long, deep breaths, desperately seeking to calm her agitated nerves for her own safety and that of her baby, praying with all her heart that everything would be all right in the end.

‘Perhaps Vegeta would be watching over them from Hereafter…’

******************************************

She found herself lying on the ground, inside a narrow, claustrophobic space of impersonally metallic walls and loud, fluorescent lights, giving no respite to her deteriorated eyes.

Bulma couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, limbs stiffened by the bone-shattering cold, and the most excruciating pain piercing her ribs whenever she tried to cough, or even swallow a deep gulp of air, in a poor attempt at getting rid of the foul taste lingering in her numb tongue.   

Every now and then, her ruthless executors would take pity on her, turning off the merciless lights and giving a break to her crushed senses, and then she’d see them, the obscure contours of her enemies’ shadows, looking at her through the small window of the metallic door, her one and only connection to the outside world.

Each and every one of their scornful laughter was like a brutal kick to her fractured ribs, making her unconsciously grit her teeth, only to stop her straight off when a new rush of pain reminded her of just how incredibly stupid that would be, given how swollen her gums were, and realizing that she might end up losing a tooth or two this time around, unless she found a way to a regen tank as soon as possible.

So, she’d lie completely immobile in the dark, eyes tight shut, gathering whatever remained of her sanity and making a prodigious effort at trying to shut it down, all of it, the exasperating mockery of such low-rank soldiers, the wild echoes vexing her broken ego, and that terrifyingly tempting invitation, the magnetic voices of the Gods of the Underworlds themselves, luring her, inciting her to yield and bow out of the game, finding some peace at the hands of Death at last.

It was in moments like this, when Bulma could almost feel the pain fading away, and her body floating, drifting off in pursuit of some righteous peace, that she’d cling to the silver light of Life the most, and the bones in her bruised fingers would creak as they hardened, tightening her desperate grip around the prized object hiding within the safety of her fist.

Every bit of her weak strength would serve to bring the mysterious golden coin a little closer, wearily lifting her hand and pressing the small treasure to her bloodstained lips and nose, inhaling its familiar, soothing scent, in short and hurtful wisps of air.

And then, then that dry mouth would gape in need, the same expression leaving her lips in perpetuum, speaking her name with utmost reverence, as if only she were allowed to pronounce such a holy word.

“Bulma…”

But her voice wouldn’t be her own anymore, and its inimitable femininity would soon delicately entwine with the unmistakable undertones of her lover’s masculine speech.

“Bulma…”

‘…’

‘…ma…’

‘…ulma…’  

‘Bulma…’

“Bulma…” The man’s adoring voice called upon her, whispery sounds laced in quiet veneration, real, infinitely more real than those haunting her nocturnal nightmares. “Bulma…” He spoke yet again. “Bulma… Wake up…”

Her eyes opened in a flash, hollow lungs filling up with air, struggling to catch her breath as her weakened vision battled lethargy, blinking anxiously at the dark silhouette standing on her small balcony.

For a moment, the woman hardly moved, too terrified and confused to understand what was happening anymore, doing her best to bottle up that rare sense of déjà vu engulfing her, the old memories of her late mate cheekily visiting her modest apartment in the middle of the night, during their first fateful encounter.        

“Bulma…” The enigmatic visitor uttered, his compact but commanding figure perfectly still, as if the last thing he’d ever wish to do were to aggravate her clear distress. “Woman… Bulma… It’s me…” 

Bulma’s hand slid surreptitiously beneath the covers, heading towards the small weapon always hidden under her pillow, while her puzzled gaze remained fixated on what she could only assume to be either a damnable ghost, or some kind of cruel trickery, perhaps played by one of Vegeta’s numerous enemies.

“D-Don’t move…” Her croaky voice ordered, clumsily pointing the ki inhibitor at the intruder in the dark.

“Bulma…” The male whispered anew, his voice awfully disappointed as he took one cautious step forward in her direction. “Bulma, it’s m…”

His bold physical move awoke something inside of her, that impressive survival instinct ever-present within her spirit, empowering her to keep fighting, not only for her own protection, but for that of her unborn child. 

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING MOVE! YOU FUCKER!” Bulma yelled at the alarmingly familiar trespasser, her hands still shaky, but firmly determined to not go down without a fight. “If-If you move… I’ll f-fucking shoot you! I’LL SHOOT YOU!”

The warrior couldn’t suppress the sad chuckle in his chest, as if he were both disillusioned by her mistrust, yet unbelievably proud of her outstanding ballsiness.

“Woman…” He murmured, a long sigh on his lips, instantly halting his steps in aims of earning her trust. “Bulma, turn the lights on…” The blurry figure pleaded with surprising humbleness.

“D-Don’t move! DON’T MOVE!” She threatened, her throat bobbling nervously.

Her name.

The sound of her name, pronounced by that voice, was pushing her over the edge.

She stood from the bed on wobbly legs, an ice-cold hand feeling about the night table, looking for the light’s switch as she kept precariously pointing the weapon at the traitorous intruder with the other, finally succeeding in her clumsy quest, and bringing some light to the small place.

Impossible.

“N-N-No…” Bulma gasped in unadulterated horror, her eyes widening like those of a lost child when the dim lights revealed a dangerous stranger who looked exactly like the Saiyan Prince himself. “N-No! NO! STAY AWAY!” She barked at him the second he dared to take another step forward.

“Bulma, look at me...” He gravely commanded, his calm patience surprising even himself. “You know me, woman. You know who I am…”

“N-N-No! Y-You’re dead!” She stuttered, eyes burning, already blurred by the onslaught of anxious tears pooling within their blue depths. “DEAD!”     

The mysterious apparition proceeded to coolly raise his arms, until both gloved hands were at the height of his head, his empty palms facing her in a non-threatening gesture.

“I’m not dead, Bulma,” the soldier announced with quiet confidence. “Bulma, put the weapon down…”          

“E-Exploded… It… It exploded! I-I heard! I HEARD!” She cried frantically, flailing her gun at him like a madwoman.

“Yes…” He exhaled in tired frustration, battling his primitive need to simply yank the gun out of her trembling hands, but knowing that it would do the woman more harm than good at this point. “Base-055 exploded, Bulma, but I was evacuated in Frieza’s ship before it happened.” 

He kept repeating her name as he addressed her, almost caressing it with his errant tongue, as if the exceptional way in which only he could enunciate it were enough to let the truth inevitably unveil itself. And his efforts seemed to be slowly giving fruit, for the woman’s air of enraged fear was gradually morphing into one of skeptical wonder.  

“Impossible…” Bulma panted breathlessly, a handful of shocked tears rolling down her pallid cheeks. “It… It’s impossible… It can’t be…”  

“Bulma, look at me,” the man insisted, seeing how completely lost she looked, shaking her head to herself in anxious denial, weary eyes staring at the ground, as if about to lose consciousness any minute now. “Your name is Bulma. Bulma Briefs from Earth.” He disclosed, trying to change tactics now that his mate was finally considering the possibility that he might, indeed, be who he claimed to be. “You told me the first time we met, remember? Back in your laboratory, when… When I saved your friend…”

Her glare was now back on him, unrestrained tears falling from those large, unblinking eyes, terrified of accepting that this lifelike phantom playing games with her beaten mind could, in fact, be her Saiyan Prince, only to have life snatch her hopes away from her, as it always did. 

“Launch…” She whispered in thoughtful confirmation.

“Launch,” he nodded solemnly, the hint of a smile willing to crop up now that his Bulma was slowly beginning to come around. “I saved her from Nappa back then, remember? And then… Then you fixed my scouter for me…” The soldier’s flawless memory evoked nostalgically. “You defied me, woman.” He recalled, absolute admiration in his voice. “You defied me like no one and nothing before…”

There was no retort from Bulma this time, nothing but streams of hot tears soaking her old sweatshirt, and a shaky hand still feebly pointing her clever invention at him as she drank in every one of his words with wide-eyed captivation.

“We… We spent ten days together the last time we met. It was at the ‘Constellation-X Hotel’, do you remember, Bulma?” He carefully reminded her, lessening the volume of his already low voice, with as much intimacy as the one about to be evoked. “Y-You… You confessed that bathing was your favorite thing to do back in your home planet, so we…” His words got trapped in his throat, barely keeping his own emotions on a leash as he reminisced on the best days of his worthless life. “We bathed together every day, Bulma…”

The Saiyan lowered his chin, his stare openly pleading, begging her to accept that the miserable beliefs hounding her during the last three months had been a lie, just another one of those countless tests for their relationship to endure. “Y-You… You enjoyed washing my hair, Bulma. Remember? Bulma, tell me you remember…”        

The desperation in his plea forced a reaction out of her at last, and never had he wanted to kiss her silly as badly as when she nodded back at him with an expression of pure innocence in her face, bottom lip trembling, barely repressing the sparkle of real hope breaking through her haunted aura.

“Your Father was a scientist, Bulma. He… He taught you everything he knew.” He stated, starting to carefully remove his white gloves, finger by finger, and relief washed over him when she didn’t point the weapon at him again, too entranced as she followed his slow movements, knowing that her man would only take off his regal gloves in her presence. “Your Mother… Your Mother had a garden, Bulma…” The Prince reminded her hoarsely, walking one step forward, and extending one of his bare hands to her with utmost respect, savoring his victory when she didn’t recoil this time. “A garden of roses.” His fingers wiggled gingerly, inviting her without words to place her ruined faith in him again. “I do not know what a rose is, Bulma. But I do know that you… You preferred yellow roses above all the others…”   

Bulma dropped her armed hand bit by bit, a part of her still terrified at the cruel chance of her delusion still being one of her senseless nightmares. Yet, as she watched with suspicion the hand so generously tended to her, she felt powerless to ignore the heartbreaking recognition that his gesture couldn’t possibly be coincidental.

“You know me.” The Saiyan declared with unshakable confidence.

The earthling’s hand tentatively reached out to his, glassy eyes broadening in marvel as soon as her edgy fingertips confirmed that this man was, indisputably, made out of flesh and blood.

“You know the story behind that scar…” He said knowingly, wanting, needing her to hold his hand and jump into his arms, right where she belonged. “Don’t you, Bulma?”

She nodded almost without thinking, tracing the distinctive shape of the faded scar crossing the palm of his hand with curious fingers, the identical scar whose shameful story she’d wished to know about during one of their private nights together.

“Y-You…” Bulma hesitated, the terror that she might be literally talking to a ghost still weighing heavily upon her. “Y-You… You refused to… To enslave a colony of stray children, and… And F-Frieza… He…” Her brow furrowed in grief, the very same grief overcoming her the first time her mate had shared his tragic tale with her. “He flung you across the room, a-and into a m…”

“Into a mirror,” the man confirmed, swallowing his pride, just as he did when he first described such a disgraceful event to her. “A large mirror, Bulma. The mirror broke, and one of the shards pierced my hand, and… And Frieza didn’t allow me to remove the broken glass from my flesh for three…”

“For three days…” She murmured in hypnotized awe, unconsciously finishing his sentence, and stealing a sad smile out of her Prince when she finally dared to envelop the firm palm of his hand with her own anxious fingers.

“Bulma…” He whispered again, gratefully responding to her first sign of trust by closing his hand around hers, fully embracing it with heart-wrenching tenderness.

His caring touch ultimately broke her fearful spell, dissipating the wrong belief that her mate had perished in some distant galaxy, never to be seen again, tempting her to pronounce a name whose memory stirred such raw emotions inside of her, that she hadn’t been brave enough to pronounce it in longer than she was willing to admit.

“Vegeta…”

The Prince’s reflexes were quick enough to barely catch her when her legs gave in on her, cushioning the blow on her knees as she fell on the ground, her limp body verging on the edge of unconsciousness.

Vegeta eagerly imitated her actions, kneeling right in front of her and taking her in his arms, pulling her as close as he possibly could as she battled a feverish state of shock. His hands soothingly stroked her back, feeling a gratitude he’d never felt before, profound gratitude that she’d recognized him, taken him back and, most of all, that she’d somehow kept herself alive during his prolonged absence.    

“Ssshhh…” He shushed her comfortingly, a tight knot burning in his throat at the realization that his worst fears had become true, that she had indeed thought him dead while he was missing, and absolute astonishment at just how much suffering the mere belief of his death must have brought her. “I’m here, Bulma. I’m here…”       

His strong promise got her attention, empowering her to feast her eyes on the warrior who looked every bit like a man who’d just returned from the Dead.

The small, trembling fists, still cowardly hidden under the protection of his chest, carefully inspected his armor, a brand-new model in pristine condition, most definitely not the one she’d designed and built for him with such loving care. Vegeta shuddered in need when her hands moved upwards, her touch still shy but slowly growing in confidence, exploring the sturdiness of his neck, his tense jaw, and up to his cheekbones.

“Y-You’re here…” She whispered in breathless amazement as she fondled his blushing cheeks, her gaze lost in thought, not daring to look him in the eye for fear that he’d vanish from her presence one more time. “You’re… You’re really here… Y-You…” 

“I am here, Bulma…” The Prince patiently emphasized. “Bulma… Bulma, look at me…” He implored, his hands now mimicking hers, cupping her face with large palms, and delicately inviting their eyes to meet.

As always, her body followed her man’s commands as if she didn’t even possess a will of her own, unable to control the flood of conflicting sentiments making her lose her senses after all these months of sorrow and loss.

“Y-You… You…” She mumbled, her breath accelerating in distress, and that beautiful face contorting in a way so utterly perplexing that it shook Vegeta to the very core, making him truly wonder what her next response would be. In the end, out of all the possible reactions playing in his head, she took the one he dreaded the most.

She smacked him.

Hard.

“Y-you…! YOU ASSHOLE!” Bulma yelled with unrestrained fury. “You stupid asshole! I HATE YOU!” She spat at him, slapping him again. And again. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

Vegeta suppressed his ki as low as he could to stop her from hurting herself, his face stoic, taking blow after blow from her feeble hands with quiet resignation. Her unusual rage was absolutely heartbreaking, but the way her voice kept faltering, choked with bitter emotion, let it slip that her hatred wasn’t directed at him but at life itself, that strenuous, cosmic joke of a life relentlessly conspiring against them, seeking to destroy and keep them apart, refusing to yield and accept that they were both meant to keep finding each other, over and over again.

“I hate you! I-I hate…!” The enraged woman cried, throwing everything at him, knowing that he could take it, her anger and hatred towards their miserable existence, and all of those never-ending days and nights of mourning, grieving the loss of the man she loved, struggling to come to terms with a terrifying future where she’d have to raise a fatherless child all on her own, in a world that she didn’t even understand anymore. “I hate you!” She slapped him again, her exhaustion rapidly causing her to waver, miniscule fists punching his biceps with laughable strength. “I-I thought…! I thought you were DEAD! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!” It wasn’t long before her need for him defeated her wrath, helplessly throwing her arms around his neck, holding fast to him as if she never meant to let go. “I… I th-thought you were d-dead…” Bulma whimpered weakly, voice strangled, bursting into tears of pure relief.

“I know, Bulma… I know…” Vegeta murmured in understanding. “I know…” He mumbled into her hair, encircling her petite torso with one strong arm, while calmingly caressing her disheveled turquoise curls, burying his nose in them and taking in her fresh scent, that rich, cozy perfume that he couldn’t live without anymore, much to his shame.

“I… I thought… Y-You…” She hiccupped pitifully. “G-Gods… Oh, Gods…” Her new rush of tears soaked the neck of his battle suit as she let it all out, all the unbearable sadness and frustration, fully convinced by now that her mate was real, and inundated by infinite gratefulness that the Gods had chosen to spare him this time.

The Prince’s embrace never failed her, waiting patiently for her emotional outburst to simmer down, never ending those whispery words of understanding in her ear, letting her know that he knew, that he understood just how much suffering his absence had cost her, if only because her pain had been as great as his own.

“Better now?” He asked with peacefulness when he sensed her noticeably calm down, the fondest of smiles on his lips, not even bothering to hide anymore just how completely besotted he was with his mate as he watched her sniffling adorably, wiping her tears with the pink sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Yeah…” Bulma nodded timidly, finding Vegeta’s expression so beautifully reassuring, that she couldn’t help but smile back at him through the few stubborn tears still spoiling her features.

His hands fell on her still trembling shoulders, running up and down her upper arms in a soothing motion, trying to help her get a hold of herself. “It was about time, woman,” the warrior playfully scolded her. “For a moment, I was afraid you’d try to tickle me to death with that thing…” He teased her with a smirk, pointing with his head to the weapon now laying totally forgotten on the floor.

“You’re such an idiot!” She replied, punching his bicep good-humoredly, and swelling his chest with pride when her soft chuckle revealed that he’d succeeded in lifting her spirits, after all. “Vegeta,” the earthling resumed after a brief moment of silence, now relaxed enough to be able to hold a proper conversation. “What…? What happened? I thought that… That the place exploded. Was that true?”   

Vegeta’s sharp nod of assent only served to confuse her even further, and she gladly entwined her fingers with his as soon as he took her hands, ready to solve his woman’s many doubts. “It exploded, Bulma. That’s true.” He quietly explained. “Who told you about this?”

“No one, really…” Bulma shrugged with modesty. “You know how it is… The soldiers talk about all kinds of stuff. I did read about the explosion on one of the teletypes, but the data was very vague, and it didn’t… It didn’t explain much...” She grimaced, trying to forget how excruciatingly hard those first few days of turmoil had been, walking completely in the dark while constantly bombarded with thoughtless misinformation. “Those guys talked… They talked about the place being really mysterious. Something… Something about medical research or something like that. But I don’t… I don’t know if…”

“They were right,” Vegeta corroborated, his semblance troubled. “The base exploded, but I was evacuated by Frieza himself in his private ship.”

“Seriously?” She enquired right back, surprised at that bastard Frieza even bothering to save her man, given how deeply he seemed to loathe the Saiyan Prince. “Is that…?” Her next question came without delay, her naturally inquisitive mind taking charge. “Is that why it exploded? Was it some kind of medical experiment gone wrong, or…?”

“No,” he refuted, his concerned scowl deepening, fingers shrinking around hers, as if the mere memories of the grotesque things seen and heard in that sickening place were enough to turn his stomach. “I… I did most of the damage myself. And then… Then Frieza finished the job and blew up the place.”

A short pause ensued while Bulma strived to assimilate this unexpectedly new information. “So, your… Your mission was to destroy the place? Why didn’t Frieza do it himself if he was there? I don’t… I don’t underst…”

“No, Bulma. I destroyed it because… I… I saw things there... I didn’t… Didn’t even know that Frieza would be there… I… I just…” This time it was Vegeta the one losing his composure, haunted eyes suddenly avoiding hers, blinking nervously as he evoked the colossal magnitude of the evil chaos he’d just about survived to.

“Vegeta,” Bulma whispered with kindness, one of her hands still firmly holding his own while the other reached out to his cheek, inviting their eyes to meet again with a simple caress. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can share anything with me, you know that.”

“Nappa… He… He’d already been there for a while,” Vegeta recounted, carefully omitting the fact that he’d refused to travel with the older Saiyan to the base when he should have, disobeying Frieza’s direct orders in favor of spending every precious minute with his mate instead.

If Bulma found out that he’d risked his own life for her sake, she’d never forgive herself, especially if it was discovered that every one of his revolting suspicions, in regard to the Emperor’s enigmatic assignment, had ended up materializing tenfold. Because it’d been, by all means, a trap, a treacherous trap meticulously designed to test the Elite Forces and identify the top warriors still willing to pledge unconditional loyalty to their Master, and those whose allegiance was already going astray.

And it’d been a well-known secret that the Prince’s fidelity had been slipping for a while, long before Frieza had ordered him and his Saiyan subordinate to go to some obscure medical facility and wait indefinitely for new instructions, for a mission that never existed to begin with anyway.

Far too many years of consuming humiliation and demeaning assignments had winded up whatever was left of Vegeta’s endurance, and his patience had been put to the test with such frequency, that the young soldier had reached that extremely dangerous point where he could barely bother to even pretend to like or respect his beastly Master anymore, not even in his chilling presence.

It didn’t help matters that his woman had barged into his life, like a luminous, invigorating summer breeze, turning his world upside down and showing him that life could be more, infinitely more than death and destruction, making his violent existence appear more and more pointless and vacuous by the day.

“And then…?” Bulma calmly prodded, caressing his heated cheek with dainty fingers, bringing him out of his sad reverie.

“Like I said,” Vegeta uttered, carefully resuming his baffling story. “Nappa had already been there for a while, waiting for me. And so was Frieza…”

Her eyes broadened imperceptibly, the change in the usually confident tone in the Prince’s voice betraying that something truly terrible must have taken place in that cursed base.

“Frieza was there already? Was he…? Was he waiting for you?”

“N-No… I’m not… I’m not sure, Bulma.” He replied in all honesty. “I don’t think he was there waiting for me. I believe he’d been taking care of some business he had in that clinic.”

“So, he didn’t…?” The scientist mumbled tiredly, trying to make some sense of it all. “He didn’t do anything to you?”         

His sapped lungs let out a long, ragged breath, the memory of his degrading confrontation with Frieza still fresh in his mind. “No.” Vegeta answered. “Not when I first got there, anyway…” He clarified, promptly resuming his narration without giving her a chance to ask another question, swallowing the odd sense of guilt that the compassion in her face was awakening in him. “I spoke privately to Nappa when I first got there, and he told me… He told me a few things he’d already found out on his own during his time on the base.”

“What kind of things?” Bulma urged him, readily emulating him when he sat on his heels, still kneeling on the cold floor, both of her hands possessively trapped in his own as they rested on his lap, as if her touch were the one thing holding the power to help him preserve his sanity anymore.    

“He told me… He told me about some of the things happening in that place. And then, then we were ordered to meet with Frieza.” Vegeta spoke, his eyes lost again, never forgetting the look of sheer disgust in his older comrade’s face when he’d first landed on the base. “Frieza was… He was surprisingly calm… Too much, if you know what I mean. He just… He just said that he was glad to see me, and we were dismissed until he’d call for us again.”

Bulma said nothing this time, absolutely enthralled by her mate’s account of events, as curious as she was secretly terrified to learn of the aberrant mysteries hidden in that underground location.

“When we left Frieza’s side, Nappa… He spoke to me again, one on one. He told me about some… Some of the experiments occurring in the base.” The Prince disclosed, not without apprehension. “He’d suspected something big was going on from the start, and he’d… He’d been grilling some of the soldiers working full-time in there for a while…”

“Vegeta… What…?” Bulma asked fervently, bright eyes squinting in confusion. “What kind of experiments? What…?”

“Mind control, Bulma,” Vegeta revealed with somberness, his hands involuntarily trembling at the meager idea of a monster like Frieza having free access to such mighty technology.

“Kami!” She gasped in stupefaction, finally understanding the rare horror etched on her man’s features. “Is-Is… Is that even possible? Did you… Did you see it?”

Bulma gulped audibly at the sight of the fighter nodding in grave assent. “I’ve seen proof of it, Bulma. I’ve seen…” He sighed shakily again, trying to help his frail mate to remain calm by regaining his own composure. “Nappa showed me where the main data processors were located. We… We went there, Bulma. We went through the files… M-Many races… Many…” 

“My Gods, Vegeta!” Bulma exclaimed in wide-eyed horror. “Did he do it? What did he…?”

“I believe the end goal would have been to be able to read someone’s mind. But I don’t… I don’t think he got that far…” He paused briefly, rubbing her hands with his thumbs when he felt her shiver too. “He did manage to get pretty far in terms of interrogation techniques. He could… He could break some really resilient races, Bulma. Races with strong psychic abilities…”

“A-And then what happened? What…?” She stammered with trepidation.

“I confronted him, Bulma. I just… I lost it… I just lost it!” He whispered ardently, the passion in his voice moving her profoundly, like never before, a triumphant reaffirmation that, in spite of his terribly violent upbringing, her mate knew right from wrong, and that a wildfire of good still beamed within his heart. “I blasted the whole thing, the computers, the backup files... Everything!”

Bulma wiped off a new flow of tears with a trembling arm, never letting go of his hands as she swallowed his every word, knowing where this story was inevitably leading by now, and thanking the Gods, once again, for seeing it fit to bring him back to her in one piece.

“And then you fought him…” She guessed in a soft murmur, her pale hands clutching his fingers with such force that her knuckles turned white.

“I did, Bulma.” He confirmed with mortified seriousness, barely finding the courage to keep looking her in the eye after he’d failed her so. “It was… It was rough.”

Rough.

It was quite an understated way to describe the most grueling, life-and-death combat of his lifetime, a fight that could have changed it all if the outcome hadn’t ended up being exactly the same as that of those innumerable matches with his godlike Master, fighting like the useless wimp which he honestly believed himself to be, an inept warrior incapable of getting a hold of the endless fountain of power lying dormant in his insignificant body.

The lowest moment in that humiliating beating had been a kind of tearing fear never experienced before, the fear of utter failure, of failing her, of dying long before he could keep his honorable promise, departing this world drowning in shame and leaving her behind, all alone and vulnerably unprotected.

Every inhuman kick and vicious punch, every one of the ruthless cracks fracturing his armor, her armor, the one so adoringly designed and crafted solely for him, disintegrating around his beaten body in the same way as the pitiful vestiges of his wounded pride, both as a Saiyan and as a mate.    

Vegeta didn’t even know the reasoning behind Frieza’s last minute decision to spare his mediocre life, especially when his body had been well on its way to being reduced to charring ashes, just like the rest of that infernal place. But he could only presume it to be deeply connected to the Ruler’s macabre obsession with keeping him alive for his own sadistic pleasure, always pushing him over the edge, and bringing him back in the end to have his little toy to keep playing twisted games with. And, if there was any truth regarding the astonishing information he’d acquired about Frieza’s top-secret Masterplan, the possibility of the lizard Demon wanting him around to witness his final raise to Immortality, was as real as life itself.        

“But you still made it…” Bulma murmured in encouragement, draping her arms around his neck and saucily nuzzling his cheek in hopes of cheering him up, knowing that his appalling state wasn’t only due to the disturbing memories of the experiments discovered in that hideous place, but to his inability to control, yet again, his desired Super Saiyan status. “That’s the only thing that matters, right?” She smiled at him, one of those gestures so full of joyful understanding, that no man could sulk for too long in its presence.

“I did,” he agreed, grunting softly and eagerly hugging her back, doing his best to remember the very same life lessons he’d always tried to instill in her, that nothing mattered but today, and that every precious instant should be relished as if it were to be the last.

Her short nails scratched the nape of his neck with playful tenderness, giggling happily when he instantly responded to her attentions, and dizzy with excitement now that she’d finally embraced the astounding truth of her mate being alive and by her side. “You’re still a bit of an idiot though…” She pouted childishly, peeking at him through heavy lidded lashes.

“How come?” He rapidly asked back, frowning in slight confusion, afraid of his woman still ending up mocking him for his failures.

“Because…” Bulma whispered with irresistible coquettishness, pressing her body even closer to his while nipping her bottom lip flirtatiously. “You have the most gorgeous woman in the Universe sitting on your lap, and you haven’t even kissed her yet…”

Vegeta couldn’t help but chuckle at his little temptress and her bewitching charms. “The most gorgeous, uh?” He teased her, cursing her for always being right; despite her messy bed hair, reddened nose, eyelashes still wet by her early tears, and a conceited ego that could only match his own, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I guess we should do something about that…” He murmured against the full lips so freely offered to him, touching them shyly, tentatively at first, as if rediscovering her once again, slowly getting reacquainted with her delicious taste, still amazed by this marvelous creature belonging exclusively to someone like him.

His humbleness moved something inside of her, a protective warmth that made Bulma’s arms tighten even harder as she deepened their kiss, hungrily, desperately, reawakening that blazing flame, that insatiable thirst for one another than only each mate could fully satisfy.

“Vegeta…” She moaned into his needy mouth when he grabbed with full hands her almost naked bottom, barely covered by scanty panties, squeezing hard enough to revive that burning want through her entire body, no words needed for the Prince to instinctively understand what she was asking for.

More.

He pulled her tightly against him, encouraging her to wrap her long legs around his waist, his own body, famished by all those eternal months of his woman’s absence, carefully standing on unsteady feet, doing his best not to drop her without breaking their sultry kiss. He was already about to get his stunning mate to her small bed, ready to ravish her until Doomsday, when she did the one thing she’d never done before during their moments of intimacy together.

Stop.

“Kami!” Bulma gasped with dread, her face growing paler, hurriedly standing on her feet and literally pushing him away as fast as she could. “Not again!” She whined, covering her mouth with her hands while rushing to the bathroom without even giving the warrior a second thought.

“B-Bulma?” Vegeta sputtered in surprise, a sudden rush of fright crushing him when he heard some sadly familiar sounds coming from behind the thin walls. He wasted no time in walking to the minuscule bathroom, finding her, just as expected, kneeling on the cold tiled floor while dry-heaving with her head in the toilet. “Bulma… What…?”

“Please don’t look!” She whimpered pitifully, clearly uncomfortable with her lover seeing her in such an embarrassing position.

The fighter couldn’t suppress the fond smile threatening his lips, and if he hadn’t been so darned worried about these new developments, he would have openly laughed at how ridiculously charming her coyness was, as if a warrior like him hadn’t seen enough people hurling in the past, way more times than he could count.

“Nonsense, woman.” He gently chastised her, kneeling beside her and holding her hair back with kind hands, scowling with increasing concern when he peeped at the latrine, noticing that the woman’s stomach had already been empty to begin with. “Bulma, are you…? Is…? Is everything alright?” Vegeta asked with hesitation, happy when she at least welcomed the steady hand that he was so generously tending, patiently assisting her in getting back on her feet.

“Yeah… I’m fine, Vegeta.” Bulma replied croakily, her poor attempt at flashing him a reassuring smile failing miserably the moment her timid eyes met the ground, her demeanor, so filled with passion mere instants earlier, now laced in trepidation, as if being sick in front of him held some unknown, yet significant meaning.

She walked the few steps separating her from the sink, giving his supportive hand a tiny squeeze of gratitude before letting go of it, thankful, despite her growing anxiety, for the unbelievable care he was treating her with.

An awkward silence hovered in the room while Bulma rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, embarking in that accustomed routine which had virtually become a daily ritual during the last three months. Only this time, this time, as she methodically brushed and rinsed her teeth, and splashed cold water all over her exhausted face, she wasn’t alone anymore, but in the presence of a man meticulously examining every one of her actions through her tired reflection in the mirror.

There he was, casually leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed on his chest, impenetrable eyes piercing her small figure, scrutinizing her in a way only a skilled strategist like himself could, all the while making her stomach flutter, legs growing weaker, wondering if he could feel it, if he could actually feel the bright spark of life growing inside of her.

Ever since she’d mistakenly believed her Saiyan mate to have abandoned this world, Bulma had been so painfully devastated, so utterly consumed by the grief of his death, and by the idea of having to embark on a new chapter in life as a single mother, that she’d never had to consider the possibility of having to explain to Vegeta that he was about to become a father.

Fatherhood was one of those things that not once had been discussed between them, simply because the earthling had never imagined such a scenario to even be possible to begin with, and she was now starting to ponder if perhaps her mate would not be pleased with these new, accidental circumstances.

“Bulma, look at me,” he softly commanded, after having waited tolerantly for her to freshen up and feel more comfortable in his presence, his uneasiness growing by the minute when she turned on her feet, reaching his spot and standing in front of him. His hands took a hold of her delicate jaw, lifting it a little and trying in vain to get those nervous sapphire eyes, staring at the ground in distress, to look at him. “You’re sick!” The Prince whispered in horror when he became fully conscious of how bizarrely unbalanced her ki felt that night.

Her mate’s heart-warming concern was enough to bring some of Bulma’s old confidence back, trusting him to care about their child just as much as he cared about her. “Vegeta, I’m not sick,” she tried to tranquilize him with a weepy smile, holding one of his hands with her own, interlacing their fingers with maddening affection, and guiding him slowly back to the main room, smiling proudly to herself when he offered no resistance whatsoever, following right behind her with the same compliance as that of that first night they showered together, the first time the Prince learnt of his unexplored power to comfort another being.   

“Come here…” Bulma pleaded invitingly, sitting with an audibly tired sigh on the old bed while trying to remember that all of those rollercoasting emotions were doing her and her baby no good.

She parted her legs slightly when Vegeta chose to kneel on the floor, in front of her, instead of sitting by her side. “Bulma, what…?” He asked in haste, not even bothering to hide his distress. “What do you mean you’re not sick? Has this…? Has this happened before?”

“Yeah…” She replied quietly, her coy smile never leaving her lips.

The Saiyan took her face in his hands again, his mind spinning, so completely disturbed and worried about his mate’s health, that he entirely overlooked how shockingly calm she seemed to be about this new ailment of hers. “How…? How often? How many times?!”

“Almost every day for the past three months,” the earthling explained straightforwardly, covering his hands with her smaller ones, seeking to get him to cool down.

Her words had the exact opposite effect on him, dismay written all over his face, the fear of a thousand possibilities driving him insane. He’d always found his mate fragile in strength, but surprisingly resilient to the punishing life that she was being forced to endure, and the threat of some violent event taking her away from him had been so prevalent in his mind, that he’d never really considered the prospect of losing her to some mysterious illness in the end.      

“Three months!” His voice broke off in panic. “Bulma! That’s not normal! We… We need to get you out of here! We need to find some medical…!”

“Vegeta, it’s not what you think,” she promised, her heart bursting with emotion at the sight of his increasing concern. “It-It’s true that something happened, but it’s… It’s not…”

“Then what is it, woman?” He implored, hurt by the growing impression of his woman keeping something valuable from him. “Tell me!”

“I’m pregnant.”

“…”

He wouldn’t have been more shocked if she’d just told him that she was Frieza himself, and for a short while, all that he was capable of was kneeling on the floor absolutely stunned, gawking at her in stupefaction like a fool while her words bounced wildly in his head.

“Vegeta, do you…?” Bulma spoke in a small voice after a prolonged silence, her early fear about her mate not fully embracing their baby turning into a strange doubt, the rare possibility that he might not even know what she was referring to. “Do you know what that means?” She asked considerately, mesmerized by the way his face softened when she slowly sneaked in both of his bare hands under her thick sweater, placing them right above the faint curve of her naked tummy. “It… It means there’s a child growing inside of me…”      

A marveled glint fizzled in his raven eyes in response to her intimate gesture, his gaze dreamy, completely lost as he struggled to adjust to these new revelations. The Prince already knew the meaning behind the concept of pregnancy, he simply couldn’t believe that he’d conceived a child with his woman, for not only was unauthorized procreation deadly dangerous in his world, but also, absurdly uncommon.

The wide majority of the races he ever chanced upon were of a reptilian origin to begin with, and those few belonging to mammal species, either female warriors or enslaved concubines, were always submitted to a highly strict protocol involving systematic sterilization.

All in all, it was virtually a prodigy that his Bulma had somehow managed to escape such a barren fate, and so was the fact that their alien races had turned out to be well-suited enough for such a spectacular phenomenon to arise.

Miracle.

Their child was a miracle.

“Bulma, how…?” He uttered hoarsely, finding forming a coherent sentence still a challenge as he watched her carefully, shaking his head in disbelief. “How?”

“I don’t know, Vegeta…” She shrugged back, the greatest relief flooding her when she grasped that it wasn’t anger or rejection what he felt towards their child, but shock by its very existence. “I guess… I guess we’re more compatible than I thought,” Bulma answered in frank honesty. Her fingers comfortingly caressed the solid wrists of the hands still lingering on her abdomen, braving to ask him the only question worth asking in that precious moment. “Are you…? Are you happy about it?”

Her affectionate touch, and the sound of her emotive voice breaking down, revealing her pained insecurity, brought him back from his musings, and he inwardly cursed himself for neglecting her own emotions with such clueless egotism. He’d been so lost in his own selfish emotions, that he’d forgotten that Bulma had been the one handling such a stressful situation all on her own, thinking him dead, and without even knowing if her mate would have ever been happy about becoming a father for the first time in his life.

Father.

The sound of the word alone was enough to forge a knot of anxiety in his chest, butterflies at stepping into the one experience which he’d always, ever since Vegeta-sei had become a nebula of faded memories, thought denied to him. But, through it all, and regardless of his insecurities, the unexpected news had also filled Vegeta with an exotic joy, only comparable to that renewed sense of purpose felt during the night when he’d bonded with his darling mate.

His mouth opened inelegantly with the intention of telling her that he did feel ecstatic about this new turn of events, and that, even though he knew nothing about parenthood, and he’d most certainly turn out to be quite useless when it came to raising a baby, he’d do his best to be there for her and their child, protecting them both and standing by their side, come what may.

But, as always, words simply wouldn’t come, and the warrior was left to deal with his heinous inability to express any kind of emotion as only he knew how.

Vegeta kept kneeling on the floor, the nervous hands still covering Bulma’s minuscule baby bump moving slowly, gliding across her soft skin until they reached the small of her back, freely allowing his strong arms to envelop her waist with utmost care as he carefully hid his face in her abdomen.

He buried his nose in her stomach, taking in a deep breath and losing himself in the warmth of her essence and that of their unborn child, her balmy scent washing through him, calming and revitalizing his spirit, and casting out his unforgiving Demons as he reached even deeper inside of her.

There he was.

Their child.     

A tiny sphere of radiantly white energy, his ki already stronger, infinitely stronger than that of his Bulma, yet his spirit as pure as driven snow, just like hers, forcing a ragged sigh of heartfelt relief out of his lips, his raw emotion moving his woman to tears of equal happiness.

Through the years, the Prince had come to believe that perhaps his incapability to have any offspring was a blessing in disguise, and that his Saiyan blood and tainted past would turn the nature of any child of his into an evil one, but not this child, not a child who had Bulma as a mother.

“I love you, you know?” She reminded him in a fond whisper, languidly running her fingers through his hair with tender devotion as he relaxed little by little, quietly embracing his new role in life, and smiling inaudibly into the old fabric of her clothing when her small figure vibrated with a girly outburst of teary laughter, the grateful laughter of a woman who just hours ago truly believed herself to be all alone in the world.

Her tears were joyful ones, but that didn’t stop him from raising himself and reaching out to her, bringing that adorably weepy face of hers closer and kissing her within an inch of her life, happy tears and all.

Bulma was as quick as a wink, reacting with a needy fervor that surprised even the Prince himself, rushing into his arms, wrapping her own around his shoulders and losing no time in deepening their passionate kiss, taking full advantage of her slight dominance in height, with him still kneeling on the ground, and robbing him of his breath as their tongues delicately played together.

The more they tasted each other, the greater that burning desire, their smoldering proximity reigniting that overpowering flame, growing beyond any rational control as they threw themselves into the fire. Her fingers swayed all over his powerful muscles, stroking, caressing, pulling the skintight fabric covering his arms and neck and impatiently jerking at his resilient armor.

“Vegeta… T-Take it off!” Bulma panted in frantic need, minute fingers tugging, begging him to remove his every barrier, to let her feel his powerful body against her. “I want to feel you… I-I want to…!”

Vegeta’s mouth made his way to her neck, turning her desperate words into moans of pleasure, holding onto him as he obsessively licked and kissed her, tracing every bit of deliciously exposed skin, from her collarbones to that delectable dip at the base of her neck, compulsively exploring his Saiyan mark, cherishing every bit of it as he swirled the tip of his tongue all over the precious brand.

He was pleased to find the minor wound already healed, leaving a faint scar behind, a prized scar symbolizing that she belonged to him and only him, his woman, his mate, the only one who mattered, the only one who’d ever made him feel this way, healing and fulfilling him, igniting this unbearable heat pooling in his loins, and making him lose all trace of reason whenever he had her in his arms.

Bulma’s head fell back, heavy, giddy by the thrill of the night’s intensity, a night that started with blue tears of loneliness, but now bursting with excitement. She could have stayed like this forever, giving herself to his all-consuming attentions, but her body seemed to have different plans on its own and, before she could even help it, her hands were urgently trying to undress him again.

“Mhmm…” The Prince moaned into the damp skin of her neck, a mean chuckle grumbling in his throat at the sensation of those puny hands of hers jerking at his clothing with such impatience. “You’re so insistent tonight, little woman…” He mocked her, making her hiss in delight by playfully nipping at her neck, sweeping his tongue over the bite and across her luscious throat, reaching her mouth and engaging their lips into another spine-tingling kiss.

Bulma obliged with eager gratitude, kissing him with just as much hunger, but it didn’t take much longer for Vegeta to succumb to those squirmy hands yanking at his chest plate, and to the way those tempting legs fidgeted restlessly, trying to wrap themselves around his waist with such charming clumsiness.

“Is this what you want?” He lured her in his worst bedroom voice, reluctantly breaking their kiss and taking off his shielding armor with practiced ease, only to find his brazen mate needing more, much more from him, when she instantly grabbed him by his combat suit, shamelessly dragging him to her.

“Yes…” Bulma rasped seductively, biting on her lip and flashing him the most devastating smile. “I want you now…” She pleaded, wicked hands creeping under his shirt, nails hardening his nipples, grazing them just a little harder than usual. “Right now!” Her tiny claws urged as their mouths merged into another savage kiss.

Vegeta had never seen his woman like this, so libidinous, so aggressively demanding, her boldness growing to agonizing levels, inviting him, drawing him in with her magic, and the sensual scent of her arousal saturating the air.

“May I?” He asked humbly against her avid mouth, his trembling fingers barely keeping his need in check as they lingered at the edge of her sweater.

His modest question, so surprising coming from a man so accustomed to taking her in any way he pleased, especially with his body as oversexed as in that moment, startled her right away. But, when her lustful eyes met his, she could read the gleam of fascination sparkling in them, knowing that his sexual desire had suddenly been overcome by his yearning to explore her body as he’d never seen it before.

With a timid nod, Bulma delicately lifted her arms in silent invite, gasping ticklishly when his hardened hands got to work without delay, caressing the naked skin of her milky midriff as he carefully slid them all over her, pressing his lips to hers when he finally got rid of his obstacle and he had her sitting before him in nothing but her old lacy lingerie.

“Let me look at you…” He implored, an avid whisper on her mouth, his forehead resting on hers with a look of pure adoration in his face, a look that she knew, as sure as there was Moon in Heaven, was reserved for her alone.

This time he didn’t wait for her approval, simply leaning back slightly, giving his captivated gaze the liberty to freely roam all over her enticing curves. Vegeta didn’t even know how a woman with child should even look like, all he knew was that his mate was looking lovelier than ever, and her new condition was making him feel like a smitten, sentimental fool.

His calloused palms fell on her thighs, drawing long, sensual circles all over her creamy flesh, and slowly smoothing their way upwards, fingertips caressing the feminine curve in her stomach, quivering at his loving touch. At first glance, she looked small as ever, but as he contemplated her as if under a beautiful spell, he could sense the minor changes already developing in her alluring body, from those lightly curvier hips to her tiny baby bump, resuming his erotic exploration until he reached her much fuller breasts, rose nipples bursting from the see-through fabric.

She shifted forward when his fingers reached for her back, making it easier for his impatient hands to skillfully unhook the clasp of her bra, freeing her from any constraints. His hands were at once on her writhing body, his touch alone enough to send lighting bolts all over her as he fondled the soft mounds of flesh, his starved mouth kissing and licking her skin, voracious tongue lapping its way across the delicious valley between her breasts.

It was then that he knew just how much he’d missed her, this, that small body trembling under his hands, her back arching, arching in frenzied need as she gave herself to him, tiny fingernails raking hard into the steeled skin of his shoulders while his lips gently suckled on her nipples, a taste so heavenly that he felt as if he could taste her forever.

“Ve-Vegeta…” Bulma moaned wantonly, clutching a handful of his coarse mane and pulling his face even closer, the franticness in her voice destroying his every barrier, every bit of self-control he’d ever possessed. “M-More!” She sobbed when his mouth finally let go of those bouncy breasts, hissing in bliss when he playfully blew over the damp flesh of her hard nipples, right before lavishing them once again, the tip of his thirsty tongue swirling, tracing long, lazy circles across the rosy flesh.

He pressed an open palm on top of her fragile sternum as soon as he felt her really starting to lose herself, her arms and legs fiddling nervously, wanting nothing more than for him to satisfy her beautiful body, badly deprived from the touch of her man for far too long. His rough hand mildly pushed her onto the bed, his touch firm but unbearably gentle, inviting her to lie on her back and just let him take full control, giving him the freedom to please her as only he knew how.

Bulma readily complied, her hands letting go of his shoulders as she reclined on the bed, whimpering in eager anticipation, waiting for her Prince to bring her the release that she so urgently needed. His dominant hand remained inflexibly pressed between her breasts, seconds that felt like an Eternity, struggling to calm himself down as he reveled in the wild rhythm of the heartbeat drumming underneath, that heart, so full of life, reminding him that this was real, that she was real, and not one of the torturous illusions haunting him during all of those months of loneliness.

Only when her needy voice called out his name again, riddled with fear that he’d tease her much longer, did he wake up from his momentary trance, turning back his attentions to the shivery woman tossing impatiently between rumpled bedsheets.

Vegeta’s knees stayed firm on the floor, the hand so possessively laid above her heart now travelling a long, sinuous path downwards, from the glistening vale between her tits to her curvy tummy and hips, exploring and caressing the softness of her skin until it reached down to the back of her knees, gently encouraging her to lift the anxious legs still hanging from the side of the bed and placing both feet on his solid shoulders, stealing a sharp gasp out of her when he spread her legs for him, as wide as they’d go.

Bulma’s tiny toes sank into his hard muscles, hands grasping the sheets in expectation, his hot breath panting savagely against her fully exposed core making her feel just minutes away from losing her goddamned mind. He inhaled and exhaled several times, just like an animal, filling in his lungs with the intoxicating scent of her libido, the musky aroma arising his basest Saiyan instincts while his strong fingers held her thighs in the fiercest grip.

He raised her hips slightly, lifting her ass and pulling her even closer to his famished mouth, right at the edge of the bed, smirking in cocky satisfaction when she let him manhandle her like nothing but a little rag doll. He buried his face between her legs, running his full tongue across her smooth labia, sucking on the thick juices already smeared all over the juncture of those drenched thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh even harder when her body bucked off the bed in a mad fever.

“Don’t hide from me, woman,” his throaty voice commanded when she turned her face to the side, smothering a loud sob into the sheets, almost ashamed at how easily this man could make her lose herself, never to be found. “I want to hear you…” Vegeta demanded, the divine taste of her essence lingering in his mouth as he lifted his gaze, finding her doing just the same, staring at him through half-opened eyes, mouth parted, and skin covered in gleaming pearls of sweat, cursing him for feeling so good. “I want you to fucking scream for me, Bulma…”

His fingers burrowed even deeper into her legs, emphasizing his demand by playfully sinking his fangs into her inner thigh, drinking in her frantic screams while gently lapping at the bite, only to return to piercing his mouth back into her center, his nose pressed against her soft blue curls as he licked and suckled at her dripping little pussy.

Bulma didn’t hide anymore, thrashing and turning on the old mattress while screaming his name at the top of her lungs, her dazed mind now fearless, unafraid of being discovered, heard by some dangerous stranger, and letting herself go, right over the edge, knowing that the man with his face hidden between her trembling legs, the man bursting with nothing but domineering power, showering her with a pleasure that never even existed before, would always catch her fall.         

“Vegeta!” She cried hoarsely, eyes clenched shut as she threw her head back in reckless abandon. “I’m cumming!” She yelled uncontrollably, roars of ecstasy erupting from her sore throat while her hands, the shaky hands that seconds earlier were violently hanging onto ragged fabric, now seized clumps of her lover’s hair, pulling, begging him to stop his merciless assault on her body before she would lose all reason, before she wouldn’t even know who she was anymore.

But her man wouldn’t stop, relentless at all times, his grip on her thighs growing harder, growling wolfishly into her heat when her sticky thighs shut around him, pressed tightly against his ears as he kept playing her, pleasuring her through her orgasm and skillfully prolonging the hurricane of bliss for as long as he could.

“Mhmm…” Bulma purred sensually, her voice dripping with the eroticism of a sated woman, feeling his movements expertly slowing down, knowing just how she liked it, how to draw out her pleasure without overwhelming her. “That was so good…” A silky whisper sang to him, idle fingers running across his scalp, smiling at him when his lips brushed her inner thighs one last time, waiting patiently for her to recover from her climax.

He needn’t wait much longer for one of her wobbly hands to find his, small fingers tugging at it, mellow but appetent, begging him to end her aloneness and join her on the bed. And no waiting was needed for him to instantly react to her desires, happily obeying her wishes by disentangling her limp legs from his shoulders, resting her feet on the ground with utmost care as he stood from the floor.

Vegeta swiftly undressed himself under her absorbed stare, dizzy eyes of sapphire admiring the provoking way in which his every muscle flexed and bent while getting rid of his battle suit and boots. He stood before her, delectably bare-skinned, leaning to her and taking her spent figure in his arms, lying her properly on the bed and delicately easing her down onto her small pillow.

His Bulma wouldn’t let him get too far from her anymore, febrile arms and legs surrounding his entire being as her lips sought his for a slow kiss, full of yearning and delight at their reencounter, all time stopping, quickly building up into a desperate need for her body to become one with his once again.

“Vegeta…” She mumbled excitedly on his mouth, her fingertips digging into his cheeks as he hovered above her. His face was but an inch from hers, and his body, that powerful wall of pure muscle, coming down on her. “Please…” She whimpered pitifully, her body writhing, rising her pelvis to meet his and grinding herself against him, hissing in anticipation when the tip of his hard shaft rubbed down against her core. “Please, make love to me…”

Love.

He looked at her with startled eyes, a mouth running dry, and no words to describe what the sound of that expression meant to him, knowing that, whatever it was that he’d done to those other worthless wenches who’d shared his company in past times, it sure as Hell was not ‘love’.

Only his woman made him feel like this, like such words actually meant something, and even though he could already feel himself entering her, filling her up completely and giving her what she needed the most, there was a rare emotion holding him back tonight, a foreign sensation he didn’t fully identify until she took his manhood in her hands, unable to wait anymore for him to fulfill her every desire.

“B-Bulma… Wait!” He groaned in an anxious whisper, molars grating, clasping her wrist with a trembling hand and stopping her dead in her tracks, going against his body’s most primal needs.

“Wha-What is it?” She whined in feverish disappointment, his rejection feeling as if he’d thrown cold water all over her body, that body that kept instinctively rubbing and sliding against his in desperate want.                    

His hand barely kept her own captive one in check, while his other hand reached for her flushed face. “Is… Is this safe?” He asked in a tremulous undertone, his fingers moving a few damp locks away from her eyes in the most loving manner, trying to make her understand that the reason behind his refusal wasn’t due to his lack of feelings for her, quite on the contrary.

“Safe?” Bulma pressed on in confusion, thin eyebrows knit together. “Vegeta, what…?”

“I… I mean… Safe for the child, Bulma…” He stuttered, his fingers narrowing around her hand, his face burning, heart rate picking up, mortified by such unfamiliar sentimentality.

A new surge of emotion rippled in her chest at the astounding realization that it was fear, or rather abject panic, what was holding her mate back from ravishing her in the same way he normally would, going to great lengths to bring her to her peak first, and even choosing to withhold his own satisfaction if that meant keeping her and their child safe.

“You won’t hurt me, Vegeta,” she promised, gifting him with a warm, compassionate smile, placing her free hand on the back of his neck and bringing him closer. “Come here…” She pleaded, teasingly running the tip of her tongue across his lower lip before inviting their mouths to meet for a long, agonizing kiss.

Her reassuring words were all he needed, making him instinctively loosen his grip on her and unleash the roguish hand that wrapped itself around him in a second, stroking him with slow and gentle movements, up and down, sobbing into his mouth when his hips started to move atop her, in unison with the sensuous movement of those skilled little fingers.

Both lovers screamed and shuddered in relief when he succumbed to the hand guiding him to her heat, pressing the thick tip of his manhood into her tight entrance and sliding in, plunging deep inside. Vegeta moved slowly at first, allowing her deprived body to get used to his immense size, inch by excruciating inch, gradually thrusting further and further, until the base of his cock hit her pussy lips, pushing, dancing inside of her as they lost themselves in the overwhelming pleasure, in the joy of their bodies and hearts being reunited at last.

“I’ve… I’ve missed you…” Bulma whispered in his ear, her limbs tightening around him as he set up his pace, leisurely but powerful, always domineering, yet unbelievably tender, his arms enveloping her in the fiercest embrace as he kept moving with her. “Gods! I’ve missed you!” She gasped louder when he groaned into her shoulder and one of his arms glided under her bottom, gripping her plump flesh and raising her hips to meet his, wanting no part of her to be left untouched, while his other hand cupped the back of her head in it, cradling her against his shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of her neck.    

“Bulma…” He called out for her, over and over again, his voice ragged, filled with devotion, reminding her of all those times in which he’d called for her in her dreams.

“I love you…” She reminded him, fearless to express her feelings for him, all of those feelings that she knew he felt just as much, but which he’d never dare to vocalize.  

Vegeta hissed into her skin at the sound of her ardent confession, never stopping the sensual, unrelenting rhythm of those hips, grappling with his need to pound into her unrestrainedly, just about keeping his wildest urges in control. “Again!” He demanded fervidly, unashamed of his woman knowing that he enjoyed, loved, those goddamned words of affection.

“I… I love you! I… I love…” She sobbed against him, her mouth now pressed into his red-hot cheek, feeling as if she were about to fall apart any minute now. “I love… I love you! I… Kami!”

His body kept moving with hers, still hiding his face into her flesh as he drowned in the senseless, mindless chaos of sensations spinning within him, both physical and emotional, poignant and hedonic. That small body desperately clinging to him, missing him, craving him, and that velvety scent, that intoxicating perfume pervading his senses like no other as she screamed her love and need for him.

Her minuscule nails drilled his shoulders when sharp Saiyan teeth grazed the saturated skin of her neck, his ravenous mouth latching onto her, careful not to break her fragile skin, but dominant enough to break something in her, viciously tearing her apart. Drenched bodies rubbing against each other, that ruthless crescendo of pleasure building up, spinning out of any rational control until he felt her beginning to tighten around him, draining every drop of his thick essence as he roared his release, spilling himself inside of her and giving her his all, every single part of him, not even knowing who he was anymore.   

They lay completely spent in each other’s arms, basking in the raw, sumptuous energy surrounding them, their thirst gratifyingly quenched, yet refusing to let go for fear of finding themselves as utterly alone as they’d both been during such a boundless absence. Bulma’s fingers languorously stroked his back, her hands running down his shivering spine, getting reacquainted with each scar and imperfection, powerless to forget the horrifying stories hiding behind every one of those washed-out marks.

Her greedy arms never let go of him, not even when a long sigh left Vegeta’s lips, kissing her still trembling shoulder with heart-wrenching tenderness while carefully pulling out from her pulsing heat, afraid of his weight being too bulky on her, especially now that he had no clue as to what to expect from her new physical condition.

“Bulma…” The Prince murmured in her ear, bringing her with him as he rolled on his back when she still refused to release him from her needy embrace. “Are you alright, woman?” He asked in a low whisper, the hot moisture soaking the curve of his shoulder making his heart constrict in anguish.

The earthling’s silent answer was a pathetic nod. “Y-Yeah…” Bulma whimpered shakily into his skin, loathing to let his worry towards her grow, but impotent to stop her entire frame from quivering, thoroughly overcome by the slew of emotions that his return had enthused within her soul. “I’m f-fine… I just…” She stuttered in the smallest voice, her arms tightening around his neck, slick legs still entangled with his. “I’ve missed you s-so much…”

“I know, Bulma,” Vegeta exhaled tiredly into her damp curls, finding some relief in the fact that his little sensitive woman wasn’t physically hurt, but emotionally overwhelmed by the night’s surreal events. “I know…” He mumbled in understanding, praying that she’d recognize that he’d missed her just as much, even though his cursed Saiyan pride still wouldn’t allow him to say it out loud.      

“Vegeta,” she murmured weakly after a brief moment of silence, still sniffling from her emotional outburst, but lifting her gaze and looking at him nonetheless, a shy question floating in her outstandingly blue eyes. “What happened to your tail?” She asked with uncertainty, not entirely sure if she should let him know that she’d noticed such a vital change in his appearance.         

His body instantaneously tensing beneath her was all the answer she ever needed. “I lost it during my fight with Frieza,” Vegeta replied somberly, and even though the sad nostalgia vibrating in his voice was to be expected, he truly surprised her this time by looking her straight in the eye, instead of retreating or pulling away from her in shame as he’d done in past times, triumphant proof that she had, beyond any doubt, earned his full trust by now. “And I… I lost my Father’s scouter as well…” He confessed without prompting, one arm still firmly wrapped around her waist while his free hand caressed her pink cheek, almost ready to dry the beautiful tears of empathy that he knew were coming.

“And Nappa?” Her brave question arose almost without thinking, already aware, for some mystical reason that escaped her still, of the miserable fate of Vegeta’s brutish comrade.  

“He didn’t make it, Bulma,” the Prince admitted in a gruff murmur, trying to keep his tone neutral, but unable to conceal the pangs of conscience eating him alive at the impotence of not having been strong enough to save the only other remaining member of his expunged race from Frieza’s rage.

“Gods!” Bulma exclaimed gloomily, her delicate face contorting in grief while pressing her frowned brow to his, softly holding his face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Vegeta…” She wept, deeply and honestly lamenting the loss of her mate’s every connection to his ancient Saiyan heritage, because now he’d truly lost it all, because now he was just as painfully alone as she was.

“Bulma, look at me,” he commanded, his raven eyes passionately locked on her own tearful ones. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t matter anymore, you hear me?” He assured her with calm confidence, holding the absolute belief that nothing else was of importance but being alive, right here, right now, lying in each other’s arms with their child’s angelic energy shining brightly between their entwined bodies.

There was a quiet simplicity in his words, yet she understood, she understood precisely what he was trying to convey, as if their minds had already become one, a prodigious connection that didn’t even belong to this World anymore, and all that was left for her was to submit to that supernatural force with the most fervent kiss her lips were capable of, surrendering to the power of his zealous embrace and falling into her first peacefully dreamless sleep ever since he’d been away from her existence.

******************************************

He awoke while the Moon was shining brightly, still high in the sky, roused by his squirmy little mate trying to wriggle out of his possessive hold, and obviously failing in her pointless attempt not to disturb his sleep.

“Bulma?” Vegeta groaned nosily, drowsy but amused by his woman’s childish antics, wondering if she truly knew by now that his sleep was as light as a cat’s, and she’d never get away from him without him noticing first. “What are you doing?” He asked in a gruff murmur, his arms tightening around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and stubbornly refusing to let go of her.

“Sorry… Did I wake you?” Bulma whispered back, her hands lightly petting his in apology for interrupting his slumber. “I just wanted to get some water. I’m thirsty.” She explained sheepishly, her nude figure fidgeting against him, once again, with little success.

The Prince grunted grouchily, laying a soft kiss on her shoulder and giving her hips a final squeeze before proceeding to slowly get out of bed, barely stifling a loud yawn as he did.

“I’ll go,” he offered, with that rare generosity exclusively dedicated to her. It was peculiar, he admitted to himself while filling the small glass in the bathroom’s sink, how natural it was for him to go out of his way to please her in any way he could when, throughout his entire life, he’d never really cared much about anyone’s needs but his own.     

When he shortly returned to her, he found her sitting on the bed with her legs crossed casually, stretching her arms with the balletic limberness of a lazy kitten. She was staring sleepily out the window, faraway eyes and a body as naked as a jaybird, breezily covered with unkept sheets from her waist down. If she was aware of being watched, Vegeta wouldn’t know, all he knew was that he couldn’t stop gawking at her like a love-struck twit, still in addled disbelief at how completely taken he was with this woman.              

“Thank you,” Bulma murmured appreciatively, extending her hand to take the glass with a somnolent smile that could charm gold from the Gods themselves.

Vegeta sat side by side with her while she quenched her thirst, his fingertips drifting, gently resting his hand on her leg and tracing idly distracted circles on her knee as he peeped at her even closer.

He’d always thought her the most attractive right after he’d made love to her, reveling in those chaotic turquoise curls and appetizingly flushed skin, his musky scent imprinted all over her, and that resplendent afterglow as she lay shamelessly naked, sharing her bed with him without a care in the world. But there was something about her tonight, something beautifully unique about the way her porcelain skin glowed under the moonlight, maybe because of her clear joy at their unanticipated reunion or, perhaps, such radiance was owed to the extraordinary changes blessing her body as she carried their child inside of her.

“Have I ever told you…?” Bulma asked, breaking the placid stillness they’d both been engrossed in. She left the empty glass on her nightstand, crawling on the bed in his direction with the most mischievous of smirks, and landing right on his lap, sitting on his muscular thigh and draping her arms around his neck. “How cute you are?”

‘Cute.’

He knew it.

His woman was certifiably insane.

His reply was a cranky grunt, putting on his usual front of annoyance at her mushy displays of affection, but drawing her closer nonetheless, cradling her to him and closing his eyes in compliance, the tips of his ears burning as she giggled vivaciously, having the time of her life as she covered his cheeks and neck with playful pecks.

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned in peacefulness, softly rubbing her cheek against his. “I’ve missed you…” She whispered in his ear, wanting no one else to hear her secrets, even though they were both alone in the room. “Did you miss me?” She asked kittenishly, eagerly drinking in his enthusiastic answer in the shape of a flaming kiss as he pulled her even closer, nestling her protectively against his chest like one would a small child.  

“What is it?” Vegeta questioned when she abruptly took away her lips from him, her sapphire eyes falling on the armor laying abandoned on the floor, side-glancing the mysterious sparkle unexpectedly grabbing her attention.

One of her hands clung to his neck for safety, while the other reached down to his battle gear, tentative fingers striving to touch the hypnotic spark of gold shining under faint moonshine.

“The coin…” Her soft voice huffed, wide eyes staring at the golden chip while she grasped it between tremulous fingers, blinking in confusion as if under a fearful spell. “Vegeta… It’s the coin…”

“What…? What coin?” The warrior asked, never releasing her, still supporting her with secure arms as she leaned down to pick up her enigmatic prize. An alarming shiver soon whizzed down his spine, both at the chilling sensation of the tiny hand in his neck growing colder than ice, and in embarrassment when he understood what it was that she was after. “Bulma, don’t!” He begged in a horrified whisper.

Bulma returned to sitting comfortably on his lap, letting go of his neck and exploring the minuscule, shimmery item with both hands, placing it atop one of her palms while running a shaky finger all over the golden trinket with another, choking on a mouthful of crisp air when she learned the true nature of the object so carefully hidden inside of Vegeta’s new armor.     

“Kami!”

On the surface, the enigmatic object looked just like the puzzling coin she’d desperately clung to in her dreams, those disturbing nightmares of solitude and shattered bones, squeezing the gleaming treasure in a bruised fist with whatever strength she had left in her, as if the small jewel were her one and only lifesaver. But now, as she examined the obscure gem through and through, she could clearly discern that the foreign coin was no coin at all but a golden square, one of the many pieces that used to make up the straps of the armor which she’d so faithfully fashioned for her mate.         

“Vegeta, what…? Is this…?” Bulma faltered, a tight lump stuck in her throat. “Is this a piece of your armor?”

The Prince’s gaze eluded hers, watching the object in her hands instead, his lips pursed into a thin line, trying to maintain his dignity but blushing in the mortification that Bulma’s discovery of his weak sentimentality evoked in him.

“What…? What happened to it?” She begged to know when he answered with a shy nod, his visible chagrin already bringing tears to her eyes.    

“It got destroyed during my fight with Frieza,” Vegeta’s confession came at last, the tips of his rough fingers delicately grazing Bulma’s bare thighs, in hopes that the warmth of her skin would be enough to exorcize his shameful ghosts.

The earthling’s hand closed around the golden token, the stinging tears suspended at the corner of her eyes now falling of their own free will. “A-And you… You kept this with you all this time?” She uttered throatily, her voice cracking, smiling sadly through her tears as she turned to him, impulsively fitting her lips against his without even giving him the chance to reply, because now she knew, she knew just how much her gift had meant to him, to the point of keeping a piece of it with him at all times, long after his Master had completely demolished it.

Bulma deepened their kiss, sobbing in rapture when he didn’t shrink away from her, taking her in his arms and losing himself in her, freeing her up to do what she did best, take it all away, take away all the insufferable pain and shame of these past infernal months, loosening the vile grip that his Demons held in his soul, and replacing all of it with unconditional love instead.  

“I… I thought…” She admitted reticently, still breathless by her tumultuous emotions. “I th-thought it was the coin from my dreams…”   

“Bulma,” Vegeta prodded with interest, much calmer now, thanks, as always, to his mate’s attentions. “What dreams? What is this coin you keep talking about?” He gently asked, placing one of his fingers under her chin, carefully tipping her head up for their eyes to meet again.

“I’ve been… I’ve been having these dreams…” Bulma quietly explained, frowning to herself as if trying to make some sense of her own thoughts, and to better explain her dark hallucinations to her lover. “I have them practically every night. And they… I’m in them, you know?”

The Saiyan tilted his head to the side, the haunted look in his woman’s pretty face intensifying his thirst for knowledge. “What are you doing in those dreams?”

“Um… I’m not… I’m not actually doing much, you know?” She shrugged in defeat. “I’m… I’m lying on the floor, and it’s a really small room. And it… It has metallic walls and very low ceilings, and… And it’s cold, Vegeta…” Bulma’s shoulders trembled noticeably, a sharp shudder flushing through her at the mere memory of the torment that such iciness inflicted on her broken bones. “Very cold…”

Vegeta swallowed with difficulty as her words gradually sank in, the cold scenario of her intriguing nightmares resonating in the most horribly familiar way.

Impossible.

‘It couldn’t be…’

“And then…” He exhaled tiredly, a long, ragged breath, afraid of asking for more, yet needing to know if his gloomy suspicions were right. “Then what happens, Bulma?”

“I can’t… I can’t move. It’s like I’m hurt, really hurt, like my bones… M-My bones are broken, especially my ribs, and I… I can hardly breathe…” She unraveled, with as much detail as her exhausted memory allowed her to. “And there are people outside. There’s this… This door with a little window, and there are men outside…” The woman shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if the humiliation endured during those frighteningly real visions had genuinely happened to her. “A-And they’re laughing, Vegeta... Laughing!”

His fingers erased the few salty droplets falling from her eyes, struggling to keep a cool head now that he knew that his worst fears, the one outcome he’d hoped would never occur, had ended up materializing somehow. “Bulma, that’s enough.” He quietly shushed her, brushing his lips over her damp forehead, trying to rescue her from her dreamlike pain. “You don’t have to…”

“And then I get mad. Really mad!” Bulma carried on in a feverish whisper, completely possessed by her daunting fantasies. “B-But I can’t move, because everything hurts… And I just want to die, Vegeta… I j-just…” A piercing sob flared in her chest, her fingers tightening around the golden object still buried in her tiny fist, glancing at her mate with the most distressing anguish. “So I hold onto this… This golden coin in my hand, and I squeeze it really hard, and it’s… It’s like it makes me feel better, you know? A-And sometimes… Sometimes I bring it to my…”

“To your lips,” Vegeta guessed with extraordinary accuracy, his eyes avoiding her in shame and fury once again, fighting to hold back the manic guilt controlling him, the guilt of a man whose stupid sentimental choices may have very possibly destroyed his mate’s brilliant spirit forever.

Bulma’s features hardened, chilled to the core by the warrior’s alien ability to literally read her own mind. “Vegeta, what…? How do you know that? How…?”

“Those dreams of yours, they aren’t…” He sputtered agitatedly, his obvious insecurity breaking her heart just a little more. “They aren’t dreams, Bulma. Those… Those are my memories.”   

“What are you talking about? What memories?” She promptly asked, holding his face in her hands and boldly forcing his eyes back on her. “Vegeta! You need to tell me what’s going on!”

He didn’t even wait for his anger to fade this time, he just got rid of her unnerving touch with as much care as he could, taking her hands away from him and getting off the bed, pacing back and forth through the small room like a wild, caged animal.

“We’re bonded, woman! THAT’s what’s going on!” He frantically yelled at her. “I can’t… I can’t believe this… This shouldn’t have happened!” His anxious hands run up and down his unusually pale face repeatedly, a sheen of cold sweat coating his naked body as he kept moving across the place completely unrestrained.

By now, Bulma could hardly find the strength to articulate a response, all she could do was follow the Prince’s frenzy with her eyes, trying to understand just what in Heaven’s name was happening.

“Bonded?” She asked at last, tired hands dropping the piece of armor on the bed as she sat wearily on it, clutching the rumpled bedsheets while trying to make some sense of the situation. “Like when you told me about your culture? Like…? Like a permanent bond?”

Bulma’s smart hypothesis made Vegeta cease his hectic steps, turning to her and assenting lugubriously, powerless to hide the shameful remorse suffocating his dark gaze.

He’d never looked more vulnerable, never more exposed to her than in that very instant, standing before her without a stitch on, that handsome face of his falling in sad relief when she stood from the bed and joined him, her head held high, and the distinct ghost of a mesmerized smile on her pretty mouth.

“Is that what this is?” Bulma asked in a carnal murmur, making his Saiyan blood boil in primal heat with the way she brazenly seized his hand, skillfully laying it above her delicate collarbone, right atop the distinctive brand he’d carved on her flesh.

“Yes…” He replied huskily, still drowning in an ocean of guilt, but helpless to stop the tip of his tongue from caressing his own lips at the sensation of those rough-skinned fingers on his mark.

Her hands sought his powerful body, burying themselves in the thick hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him to her with fearlessness, resting her brow against his as she proudly held his gaze. “I thought you wanted this, Vegeta.” She softly challenged, a thunderous demand wrapped in smooth silk. “I thought you wanted me…”     

“I want you, woman!” The Prince’s fierce response exploded, heavy hands on her shoulders, passionately crushing her tiny form right against him without even trying to deny the terrifying truth anymore.

He wanted her.

He wanted her in the worst way. 

“Then what’s bothering you?” She openly pleaded, their panting lips almost touching. “Talk to me, Vegeta…”

“I wanted this bond, Bulma,” Vegeta promised, his tone filled with desire and heartbreaking hints of that ever-present guiltiness. “But I didn’t… I would have never wished for you to endure this! You… You are not Saiyan, woman! I never… I never thought that you…!”

“That I’d be able to get into your mind?” Bulma cleverly deduced, all the pieces of the obscure puzzle that was her Prince finally coming together, understanding that Vegeta’s fear of bonding with another being hadn’t been purely driven by his terror of losing those he loved, but also by the distress of giving his woman free access to witness his most disgraceful experiences, suffering his own excruciating pain as if it were her own.

Vegeta assented again, cupping that exquisite face in his hands as he examined her and her enigmatic smile attentively, awestruck by how amazingly calm his mate appeared to be, completely unperturbed by the horrid consequences of having her soul forever bound to that of a ruthless warrior.

“Nappa used to… He used to talk about the Saiyan bond and how it happened…” He carefully explained, her odd calmness gradually, and inexplicably, rubbing off on him. “When two Saiyans chose to bond as one, it wasn’t… It wasn’t only a physical union, but a spiritual one as well. Their minds, their memories and… And emotions… All of it…” One of his thumbs brushed her lower lip absentmindedly. “But since you… Since you are not Saiyan, I thought this wouldn’t happen. I-I thought I’d be able to spare you from…”

“Spare me?” Bulma interjected, her demeanor as kind as ever, but vaguely offended by her lover’s implications. “Why would you even want to do that?”      

“Why? What do you…?!” His lips twisted in stunned incredulity. “Bulma! You don’t want to live inside my head! You don’t…!”

She hushed his neurotic babble with a new kiss, clinging to him as she pressed her nude warmth against him, moaning into his famished mouth when he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, just letting her, letting her turn every one of his failures into nothingness.

“Vegeta…” She sighed, grudgingly breaking their kiss but keeping her arms firmly engaged in her impassioned embrace. “Remember the night you first told me about the Saiyan bond?”

“I do,” he answered simply, his spartan reply hiding just how much that night, the first time anyone had ever cleaned and dressed his wounds with such care, had truly meant to him.

“I told you that in my home planet we had a similar commitment, remember?” She patiently explained, unafraid to candidly share her the most intimate memories of her old life with him. “We… We didn’t bite each other, but we… We had a ceremony, in front of our friends and our families, where we declared our feelings towards the person we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with.”

The Saiyan’s perplexed silence lingered on as he gave heed to his woman’s outlandish stories, counting his lucky stars for his Bulma having chosen to become his, in spite of the vast differences prevailing amongst both of their alien ancestries.

By Saiyan ideals, a mating ceremony was a profoundly private occasion, and no warrior would have even conceived the notion of inviting anyone to witness such an intimate ritual, in the same way that no member of his long-forgotten race would have ever publicly discussed their oaths or feelings towards their chosen one.   

“I don’t… I never memorized our vows very well, but…” Bulma admitted, a sudden shyness softening her voice in the most loveable manner. “But they talked about… About two people being together in sickness and in health… Just… Just being there for each other, Vegeta! No matter what!”

Vegeta frowned with a questioning look, for most of his mate’s human tales still resonated as nothing but exotic mystification to him, but the passion in her voice couldn’t be ignored, and neither could the sense of relief engulfing him when he grasped that what the little earthling was trying to convey was that she’d stick with him, through thick and thin, for all time.

Her rose cheek found the stiff curve of his shoulder as she hugged him once again, frail but reassuring arms encircling his neck as she whispered words of caring encouragement in his ear.

“I already told you, Vegeta, I love you.” She murmured, her promise brimming with her devotion for him. “You can tell me anything. Anything…”

He took in a deep, exhausted breath, yielding to his woman’s invincible power and taking her in his arms, carrying her to the bed and sitting on it, carefully accommodating her in his lap as he waited for the awfully intimate questions that he knew were coming.     

“So, what I saw…” Bulma quietly asked, trying to ignore the loud thuds of her heart’s dreadful pounding. “What I saw were your real memories?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replied darkly, his stare focused on the thin fingers running up and down the open palm of his coarse hand as it rested on her thigh, wondering just how she did it, how it was possible for her to get him to open up to her as easily as she did.

“Were they…? Were they recent memories?”

“Yes.”

His fingers twitched restlessly, and Bulma must have noticed, because she intuitively pressed her own palm against his, closing her own fingers around him in support, grateful for his sincerity, and knowing how hard this was for him.   

“That place… The room…” She hesitated, scared stiff of finding out the actual details behind her poignant nightmares. “Where was…?”       

“It was Frieza’s ship, Bulma,” the Saiyan enlightened, concluding that he might as well just bare it all and get it over with. “I was locked up for about a month.” He muttered hoarsely. “Then he finally had his men take me to a regen tank, and I’ve been on supervised duty ever since.”

Her teeth bit on her inner cheek, her face blanching, screaming in sheer horror at the mere vision of the sinister torture described by the man she loved. And, even though she’d been trying her best to remain cool, and to prove that she was strong enough to endure whatever diabolical tales he dared to share with her, she now found herself incapable of putting a stop to the new torrent of acrid tears scalding her eyes.

One month.

One month of Hell.

One month lying in oppressive confinement in some airless space, one month of shattered bones and loose teeth, being denied the most basic right of proper medical care by his barbarous Master, for the only reason of the filthy bastard enjoying and reveling in inflicting the greatest amount of agony and humiliation on his most renowned subordinate. 

One month in the dark tomb that was Frieza’s ship, with the most severe pain as his only companion, utterly isolated from the outside world. His Saiyan ego pummeled into the ground by every schmuck watching his door or simply walking across the sinuous corridors, glancing through his one and only window and mocking him with blatant disrespect.

One month hanging onto that tiny golden square, zealously hidden inside his wrecked fist, clutching, squeezing it like a Guardian Angel whenever his strength and will to live would inevitably falter, nearly destroyed by the malevolent sounds of the soldiers’ ridiculing echoes.

He’d then bring the small treasure to his trembling lips as he murmured her name with quiet devoutness, that cherished piece of her reminding him that she was still out there, somewhere, waiting for him, inspiring him to carry on, because every single day lived through Hell was one day closer to coming back to her.

It was at moments like this that he’d burst into an explosion of febrile laughter, unafraid of looking and sounding like a deranged madman to the rest of them, howling like a wounded wolf under a Red Moon, ribs burning, a pain so unbearable that it was impossible to even faint and fall into sweet oblivion anymore.

And he’d pity them, he’d pity every single one of the idiots thumbing their dirty noses at him, because he had something they’d never possess, a woman waiting for him, a woman who cared, a woman who loved him with just as much irrational need as the one he held for her.

He had his Bulma.                    

“So that’s why you… Why you didn’t come back for so long…” Bulma whimpered, already shedding tears for him.

Vegeta draped one comforting arm around her waist, pulling her to him while running his fingers through her hair, lovingly tucking a few rebellious strands behind her ear. “I thought of sending you a message, Bulma, but I couldn’t.” His masculine voice cracked up, barely keeping his blasted emotions in check. “I couldn’t risk it, woman. I couldn’t take the chance.” He brought his lips even closer, laying a shaky kiss on her temple, as if the mere gesture could make him forget the greatest terror of them all. “If Frieza… If anyone found out about you… About us… I just…”

“I know, Vegeta,” she whispered back, her lips finding his, kissing him affectionately, and offering him one of those enchanting smiles. “I understand. It’s okay. I just… I j-just got scared, that’s all. I just thought that you… That you were dead. And I j-just…”

“Never!” The Prince vowed with renewed faith, melding her small body with his and slaying her worst fears with another kiss, whimpering urgently into her mouth when he felt her impulsively reciprocate with just as much fervor.      

Never.

He wouldn’t die.

Not yet.

Not until he fulfilled his solemn promise and murdered their vile tormentor.

Just for her.     

“Better now?” Vegeta asked in a gentle voice, a peaceful smile lightening up his face when he sensed her steadily relaxing in his embrace, as if all she’d really needed was to know, as saddening as they were, the exact circumstances keeping them apart all this time.

Bulma graced him with a kin gesture, her face softening as she recalled, once again, her mate’s precious wisdom, that all that counted was this moment, and the extraordinary marvel that was his survival, and his unexpected return by her side.   

The serenity in her smile never faded as she let him settle her on the bed, safely nestling her head in one of his firm hands and resting it on her small pillow with great care. She rolled dozily on her side while he tucked her in, her torn blankets warmer than usual when he joined her with gusto, getting underneath the covers and sharing their protection with her.

Vegeta slipped quietly behind her nude figure, bringing himself as close to his little mate as he could, indolently stroking the softness of that womanly contour between her waist and hip, up and down, smiling in pleasure when she shivered under his touch.

He then hooked both arms around her creamy midriff, closing his eyes as he placed a mellow kiss on her shoulder, fingertips exploring that ever captivating curve below her bellybutton, so fascinating indeed that it could almost make him forget the bitterness that the much-too-recent loss of his tail still stirred in him, as significant to him as if he’d lost an arm or a leg, longing for those moments in which he used it as the most intimate connection with his woman.

“The boy is strong,” he mumbled sleepily into her skin’s heat, almost unconsciously and already drifting off, lulled by the rhythmic flow of her body’s slow breathing and their child’s luminous energy, streaming under his fingers.

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned in agreement, her bright chuckle making her stomach quiver under the gentleness of his touch. “Just like his Papa…” Her drowsy voice playfully whispered.

The Prince’s strong legs furtively entangled with hers, her little toes curling and uncurling on his naked calves, while the tips of Vegeta’s curious fingers stayed on her minute belly, twitching in his sleep as they dozed on and off for a handful of minutes, absolutely drained by the night’s events, but floating in a cocoon of contentment for the first time in far too long.

“Vegeta?” She called huskily for him with sudden curiosity.

“Hn?” The warrior groaned back, the clear surprise in her tone bringing him back from his pacific slumber.      

“Did you…?” She asked again, her breath hitching while her worn-out brain fully assimilated the meaning behind her lover’s words. “Did you just say we’re having a boy?”

Vegeta blinked in confusion when he sensed her instantly turning around in his embrace, facing him before he was even given the opportunity to reply. “I did.” He confirmed with absolute confidence, a light scowl furrowing his brow at the rare beam in her expressive eyes.

Her lithe body started to tremble. “How…? How do you know?” Bulma prodded, anxious hands digging in his chest.

“I can sense his ki,” the Prince made clear, hit by the obvious realization that his woman held no such ability, which meant that she’d been carrying their child all this time without being aware of the baby’s gender. “It’s a male energy, Bulma.” He whispered, an unmistakable hint of pride in his assertion, pride at the resolute certainty of his son growing up to become a fine warrior someday.

But, based on the horrifying way in which the earthling broke down in choked tears, it looked like his mate didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Bulma, what’s the matter?” Vegeta asked with vacillation, gingerly reaching out to her with one hand and finely stroking her tear-soaked cheek. “Do you…? Do you not wish to have a boy?”

“N-No, Vegeta,” she sniveled pitifully as she shook her head in denial, worried that her emotional outburst might have given him the wrong impression. “I don’t care about that. I just… I was so afraid that it’d be a boy. I was… I was afraid he’d look j-just like you and…”

An icy lump lashed his chest when he finally understood what had, most certainly, been one of his mate’s greatest fears during his absence. “You feared the child would remind you of me,” he concluded in a somber murmur, drawing his arms around her and pulling her closer, kissing her forehead with shaky lips when she nodded into the crook of his neck, bursting into silent tears of relief as she let it all out.    

The Saiyan held her securely, smothering her with support while admiring, as he always did, just how ferociously strong this little woman truly was, for not only had she spent the past three months grieving the inconsolable loss of her mate, but struggling to come to terms with the frightening prospect of raising a child on her own.

If their child had been a daughter, a little girl who looked just like Bulma, Vegeta couldn’t possibly imagine a more painful scenario than having to care, all by himself, for a child who was the spitting image of his woman, a little brat reminding him, day after day, of the person he’d treasured the most, the person who wouldn’t be by his side to nurture a child conceived out of love.

“I am here,” he faithfully reminded her, overjoyed when her arms constricted around his torso in acceptance, letting him know that she believed him, and that, against all odds, her trust in him hadn’t faltered in the least. “You are not alone, Bulma.”

“I know…” Bulma stated as she stared at him, a hopeful smile springing through the tears, a smile of optimism and faith in her mate’s promises.

She took his face in her hands, brushing her lips over the proud smirk curled in his mouth and kissing him softly, over and over, feathery kisses braided with the light giggles that his meek grunts incited in her. He looked so handsome, she thought to herself as she brought her brow against his, so utterly handsome when he radiated that unique kind of pride, pride at doing right by her, uplifting her spirits as only he knew how.

“Vegeta…” Her faint whisper stole his attention again, after a comfortably long silence.

“Yes?” The Prince answered without delay, intrigued by those wide, shimmering eyes watching him with great care, as if his future reply were of utmost importance to her.

“You think…?” She asked with reservation, her voice small and vulnerable, tremulous fingers caressing his angular jaw. “You think he’ll be happy here?”  

Their son.

Her one and only concern was their son’s future happiness.

And in the profound anguish of those turquoise gems, buried behind the happiness that their reunion, and his consequent encouragement, had brought her tonight, Vegeta could discern that she already knew the inevitable answer to that question, and the sheer terror that such a future elicited within her.

No.

He would not.

No child would ever be happy in a world as tenebrous as the one surrounding them, and if there was one being, one goddammed being in this whole Universe, who knew the type of injustice that throwing a young boy right into such dark chaos meant, that would undeniably be the Saiyan Prince himself.

Vegeta knew all too well what being a child poorly striving to survive in an adult world felt like, losing his naive virtue, drop by drop, by being exposed to a myriad of sickening individuals, and situations, far too disturbingly sinister for a youth his age to even comprehend.

There had been far too many purging missions, too many nights sitting by the bonfire, surrounded by endless tales of nauseating violence and pillage, of dirty, much-older soldiers roaring in revolting laughter as they described, in great detail, the kind of pain inflicted upon those far weaker than them, for the mere pleasure of reinforcing their power, even going as far as relating how they’d force themselves on more than one or two maiden slaves, simply because they wanted to, simply because they could.

In retrospect, even his older Saiyan comrades hadn’t shied away from freely discussing, right in his presence, fables and anecdotes of a nature much too delicate for his inexperienced mind to properly handle.

Only now that he was about to become a father, now that he literally held the fate of his mate and their unborn child in his own hands, did he fully understand the perversity of it all, and to what immense degree such abominations had contributed to the irreparable numbing of his soul, and he’d be damned to the Gates of Hell itself if he allowed the innate purity of those he cared for the most, to be destroyed in the same way his own innocence had been.

As much as he’d love nothing more than lying in bed with Bulma indefinitely, the moment of truth had come at last, the time to prove himself as a warrior, a mate and a father, the time to take a real chance and make things right, once and for all.

When Vegeta had chosen to come back to her tonight, he hadn’t done so purely out of the indestructible attachment binding him to his mate, and the desperate need for her presence in his life, but also with the strong desire to set the most outrageous of plans in motion, the seed of an idea firmly planted in his mind during that interminable month of torturous isolation.

As it turned out, those days and nights spent in total seclusion, drifting in and out of consciousness in a ruthless battle of life or death, had perhaps turned out to be a blessing in disguise, and all thanks to the unlimited stupidity of Frieza’s right-hand men, for the very same tongue they had wasted in ridiculing him while thinking him unconscious, had also been a little too loose when it came to revealing none other than their Master’s secretive project.

It was then, amongst the endless string of useless gossip carelessly exchanged between the Lizard’s soldiers, while he was fighting with whatever was left of his strength just to remain awake, that he’d first gotten wind of the greatest discovery made in the depths of the private medical facility he’d just contributed to destroy.

Out of all the vast number of races sequestered, tortured, and put to the test by the Emperor’s top-notch researchers, one of them had revealed itself as extremely different from the rest, a unique species of green-skinned aliens in possession of extraordinary powers and psychic abilities.

This particular breed had proven to be quite the challenge but, given enough time, and a merciless bombardment of their complex brains, the scientists had somehow achieved the impossible, tapping deep into their remarkably resilient minds, awakening the latent knowledge dormant within and stealing it for their own depraved purpose.    

By the time Vegeta and Nappa had arrived in Base-055, Frieza and his genius minions had already obtained, and cautiously stored, all the information required to turn such valuable data into something which could be of vital use to the corrupt Overlord. And, ironically, the Saiyan Prince had ended up doing the demonic Ruler a favor by setting the blasted place on fire, thus getting rid of any evidence of such sinful deeds.

However, what the Tyrant didn’t know was how ludicrously stupid his most reliable subordinates would turn out to be, engaging in gossipy conversations, and discussing confidential details in his surroundings, completely oblivious to the hypersensitiveness of his Saiyan hearing range, or to the fact that he too could be just as devious as his detested Master, faking his loss of consciousness inside that dark room, while secretly paying attention to every word exchanged between the Lizard’s imbecilic soldiers.        

If there was any truth in such rumors, the rewards for those able to find and make use of such magical abilities could be spectacular. And, if Frieza acted in the same way as he always did, presumptuously waiting far too long before making his final decision, his excess of precaution could eventually mean his defeat. The arrogance that his Master held regarding his almighty power, and the erroneous belief that no one would ever dare to disobey or defy him in any way, or to steal what he wrongly assumed to belong to him alone, could this time bring his downfall. 

Vegeta was no foolish adolescent anymore, and despite having just recovered from the brutal consequences that the disobedience of Frieza’s orders could entail, he still held the conviction that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a real chance to change things someway, and maybe bring a little joy and security to his mate, and to the new life growing inside of her.

He knew the risks better than anyone else, and though there was nothing in this world that he detested more than the idea of endangering Bulma and their son by his own initiative, something told the warrior that his woman’s intrepid nature may not be opposed to putting their lives in jeopardy if the final reward meant the real possibility of a harmonious future for her and their little family.

As always, the choice would be hers to make.

“Bulma,” Vegeta asked in a pensive murmur, holding one of her hands in his and tenderly grazing her cold knuckles with his lips. “If you… If you had a chance, a real chance to… To change things… Would you take it?”

“Of course I would!” She whispered ardently, without even thinking about the hazardous implications behind her mate’s enigmatic question.

“What if it were dangerous, Bulma? What if…?” He immediately shot back, noticing it was quite likely that she’d found his words to be just an imaginary hypothesis. “What if it were truly dangerous? Would you still…?”

“I still would, Vegeta,” Bulma affirmed, her audacious confidence making the Saiyan’s heart blaze with pride, reminding him, once again, just why it had been this woman, and no other, the one he’d chosen as a lifetime companion.  

His fingers tensed around her dainty hand, kissing it again as he inhaled deeply through his nose, mentally bracing himself for the monumental risk he was about to expose the woman he loved to.  

“Are you sure, Bulma?” He asked in search of some final reassurance, an intensity in his eye packed with thrill and pure fear. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am,” she smiled fondly at him, a touching smile silently communicating that she knew, that she’d understood his words were a lifechanging proposal, rather than some absurd fantasy. “There has to be more to life than this, Vegeta.” Bulma assured him, a promise which reminded him that, once upon a time, she’d been fortunate enough to enjoy an existence made out of more, infinitely more, than pain and devastation, and that, perhaps, such a life could still be within their reach, if only Destiny deemed them worthy of benevolence, at last. “There has to be…”   

Her devout words were all he needed to see the light, the invigorating breath of fresh air that made him get out of the bed with newfound fortitude, standing by her side, stark-naked, yet enveloped by a magnificent aura of unstoppable determination.

“Ve-Vegeta?” Bulma asked in a state of complete shock, sitting on the mattress as fast as she could, despite her somnolence, while watching him in confusion. “What…? What are you…?”

“I’m leaving tonight.” He stated with simple but grave significance.

The earthling couldn’t stop her face from falling in sad disappointment in response to his disheartening words. “Already?” She enquired, her voice small, disenchanted. “But… But I thought…”

“And you’re coming with me.” Vegeta announced without even letting her finish her sentence, yanking off the sheets from her and taking her in his arms in one smooth motion, smirking with mirth at her loud gasp of girlish excitement.

“I am?” She giggled breathlessly, astounded by her mate’s resolve but instinctively holding onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she gawked at him in childlike expectation. “Right now?”

Vegeta bowed his head in assent, carefully contemplating the glorious smile slowly unraveling in that beautiful face of hers, a smile where wonder and exhilaration were quickly shutting out whatever understandable fears that might still be crossing her mind.   

“Bulma…” He murmured on her glossy lips, his arms greedily pulling her tighter, every fiber of his self overjoyed when she naturally reacted to his proximity, a needy moan caressing her throat as she pressed her cute little nose against his. “Do you trust me, woman?”

“With my life.” Bulma pledged in a fierce whisper, melding her mouth with his for a long, languid kiss, letting him know that she trusted him, and that she’d follow him, to the End of the World and back, in whatever quixotic quest he’d invite her to.

He gave himself to her with zeal, pouring everything he had, everything he was into that kiss, unafraid to let her feel his fear, that everlasting fear of loss and failure which had always been his greatest shame, but that he could so openly share in the sacred privacy of their own little Haven.

“Good…” Vegeta smiled, one of those rare, honest to God smiles reserved just for her. “We’re getting out of here.” He proudly declared, stepping into her tiny bathroom while still carrying her in his arms.

******************************************

Less than an hour later, the couple stood in the middle of her plain apartment, freshly showered and fully dressed for their new adventure. As per Vegeta’s instructions, Bulma had chosen to put on some warm, comfortable clothing, encapsulating all of her belongings except for the magnetic card specifically designed to give her full access to the military base’s secluded hangars.

“Ready?” The warrior questioned, walking towards her balcony while skillfully adjusting his white gloves, and after having tolerantly waited a decent amount of time for Bulma to make sure that she didn’t leave anything of value behind.

The earthling gave one final squeeze to the miniature capsule buried in her clenched fist, before putting it inside the pocket of her pants, zipping it with great care and joining her lover on the balcony. She enfolded her arms around his neck, legs melting at the electrifying sensation of his solid armor pressed against her softness, and her heart rabbiting in sheer titillation at the prospect of the new, unknown journey unfolding before her very eyes.

Bulma turned back to the small room, taking one last glance at the place which had been her home for all of those months, a place first shared with the most unconventional friend she’d ever made, the sadly departed friend whose eccentricities had, quite literally, brought the man who’d changed it all into her life, a place that had been the only witness to the extraordinary bond unexpectedly flourishing between them both.

‘A place she’d never, ever, come back to again…’

“I’m ready,” she whispered with self-assurance, not even knowing what her mate had in store for her yet, but holding the unwavering belief that Vegeta would do everything in his power to keep her and their son safe from harm.

The Prince’s robust arms found her waist at once, allowing himself the indulgence of affectionately kissing her forehead one final time, before firmly securing her slight figure in his hold, taking to the air and into the starry skies.

They reached the hangars just before twilight, benefiting from the darkness of the night to conceal their surreptitious presence and, this time around, it was Vegeta’s turn to follow his brilliant mate’s advice.

The scientist’s masterful expertise on picking just the right door for access, and on how to take full advantage of the few blind spots that would make it nearly impossible to be spotted by the numerous security cameras, made the fighter cleverly suspect that the little female had already been planning a covert escapade on her own, as did the fact that she appeared to know that the number of sentinels guarding the large building at this hour of the night was considerably smaller than during daytime, with most of the nightguards already sleeping off the copious amounts of cheap booze used to cope with such a boring task anyway.

Bulma shrewdly chose the ideal space pod to flee from the place, a sophisticated, brand-new model which she’d personally repaired herself two days earlier, smartly instructing her man to hide in the shadows while she swiftly removed the tracking device attached to it with her always dexterous hands, and signaling for the Prince, without a word, to join her as soon as she finished her task.

Vegeta entered the cramped vehicle first, carefully sitting cross-legged in the only seat available, while tending a chivalrous hand to his woman. He groaned in want when her voluptuous derriere landed right between his legs, dangerously close to his most delicate area, wriggling on his lap as she accommodated herself, and making him instantly dread the tormenting agony he’d have to endure having to travel with his tempting woman literally atop him throughout their entire trip.

The pod’s door closed slowly, the hangar’s mobile roofs opening for them while the spherical ship gradually took off. The temperature inside descended as they left the base and the vehicle remained suspended for a handful of minutes, levitating outside the planetoid’s atmosphere while Vegeta determined its course, typing in the mysterious coordinates he’d stolen and meticulously memorized, from Frieza’s central computers, before leaving in search of his mate on his first permission off duty after three months in Hell.    

Bulma’s lips remained shut while she let the Prince usher in their new adventure, laying the open palms of her hands on the tinted glass of the pod’s window, praying that no one would have seen two people entering the high-tech vehicle instead of one, thus giving them enough time to leave the spot before arising any suspicions. She gawked in innocent marvel and anticipation at the place they were well on their way to leaving behind, thanking the Gods for saving her from having to carry on her old plans of desertion on her own, knowing just how daunting it would have been to embark on such an odyssey without her man beside her.

“Bulma,” Vegeta softly called for her, moving her away from the glass with utmost care, holding her small hands in his and gently encouraging her to rest her back on his chest. “Are you ready?” He whispered in her ear, his voice warm and reassuring, erasing whatever fears still lingering in her heart.

“I am,” she turned her face to him, a trusting expression adorning her tired features as she nuzzled his cheek with her small nose. “But you still haven’t told me where we’re going…” She pouted, murmuring her demand in her most adorable voice.

Vegeta examined her for a short instant, pondering on whether he should reveal in great detail the particulars of his unusual plan, for as much as his woman loyally believed in him, and in his aptitude to make the right judgment, he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d happily go along with the most bizarre scheme he’d ever bargained for.

“Planet Namek,” his response came following a brief silence, after all, if he couldn’t trust his considerate mate to believe in his instincts as if they were her own, he’d be completely lost.

“Oh…” Bulma muttered in understanding, a secret part of her overcome by a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she’d somehow heard of such a place before. “And what’s in Planet Namek?” She asked with frank curiosity.

His gaze froze on that candid smile of hers, his tongue numb, wondering how, just how he could possibly explain the strand of surreal tales stolen from the broken minds of exotic alien races, stories of wizardry power and alchemy that no one in their right mind would give credit to.

“Magic,” Vegeta answered cryptically, the smoldering intensity in his eyes begging for her to trust in the apparent madness of his ridiculous claims. 

She could have laughed at him, she could have laughed at the absurdity of it all, ordering him to put a stop to this insanity, turn around and get her back to the military base, and out of that stupid pod.

She didn’t.

Instead, her smile sprung up even further, a glowing grin as bright as new silver. “Really?” His mate gasped quietly, staring at him in childlike awe. “That sounds nice…” She murmured graciously, stealing a knowing smirk out of him when he found no hint of prejudice or disapproval in her babyish voice.

He knew it.

Only his Bulma could believe in magic, because his Bulma was magic.

“We’re sleeping the whole trip, right?” The earthling asked implicitly, taking the freedom to remove his white gloves without even asking for permission.

His response was a grunt of compliance, thoroughly intrigued and amused by his little mate’s actions as she bared his hands for her, a daring sign of intimacy that no other creature in the Galaxy had ever been privy to, most definitely not without his consent.

“Alright…” Bulma whispered with grit, leaning to him for one last kiss, a sensually hot kiss, deep and slow, before the ship’s artificial sleep would claim them both, leaving Vegeta almost out of breath by the time her lips let go of him half-heartedly. She nipped playfully at his bottom lip, smirking naughtily at how ridiculously cute he looked when she was the one bending him to her will and igniting his desire, stopping as she pleased and leaving him wanting for more.

When the nape of her neck rested comfortably on his shoulder, with her hands carefully slipping one of his underneath her thick sweater, and placing it right above her tummy, the Prince stretched to the pod’s controls, prudently releasing the lowest quantity of sedative possible. After all, years and years of space travelling had made his body virtually immune even to the highest amounts of the powerful narcotic, and he’d rather spend the next two weeks in a state of semi-hibernation rather than risking his family’s life by administering a dose far too high for their frail bodies, even if it meant that he wouldn’t get nearly as much rest as his mate and child would.      

“I think we’re ready…” Bulma mumbled sleepily, heavy eyelids dropping, and a contented smile rising in her mouth at the sensation of Vegeta’s second hand gladly joining the first, hiding beneath her cozy clothing and fully covering the small curve in her naked abdomen. 

The Saiyan lowered his chin, carefully accommodating his face into that smooth, welcoming arc between her neck and shoulder, pressing his lips against her honied skin and cracking a faint smile when his mischievous little mate placed her hands atop his, blithely inviting him to keep them right where they were throughout the rest of the trip, knowing that he’d be all too happy to oblige.

Vegeta closed his eyes and took a deep breath, yielding at last to the reassuring calm of the energy of those he cared for the most, drowning in the peaceful glow of the immaculate essence lying under his fingers, reminding him that there were still things worth fighting for, things still worth having, and tempting him to relax and gather as much of his colossal strength as he could, ready to confront the greatest battle of his life.

‘If Luck finally smiled their way, maybe someday his Bulma would show him and their son what a yellow rose smelled like...’     

Chapter Text

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Dylan Thomas; ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’]

******************************************

Vegeta stirred sloppily in his sleep, waking up, without warning, by the familiar sounds of a tiny pair of impatient feet running frantically in his direction. He huffed deeply through his nose as he scrunched it, rubbing it with indolence, back and forth, into his soft pillow, before gathering the titanic resolve to roll around and lie on his back, ready to confront the mischievous intruder already throwing himself at him, his small head strategically landing right on his stomach.

“Urghmph!”

“PAPA!!!” The little boy chirped with glee, doing his best to straddle his father’s much-too-big torso with his short legs as he sat atop him, playfully punching his broad chest with one diminutive fist, eager to share his most exciting news with the man he admired the most. “Papa! Look!” He smacked him again in naïve exhilaration. “Loooooooook!!!”

The Prince groaned in good humor, unable to restrain the lethargic smirk etching itself on his lips while trying to make an educated guess about his son’s big surprise. He stretched his legs softly, his sight still blocked by a lazy forearm, erasing the sleep from his eyes by rubbing them gently with the back of his hand, before uncovering them at last, taking a good look at the child’s predictable treasure.

A tooth.

The brat had lost another goddamned tooth.

His strong hands reached down to the boy’s small midriff, carefully accommodating him away from his most painfully sensitive area, and secretly grateful for having remembered to put some sweatpants on in the earliest hours of dawn, back when his wife had reluctantly left their bed in order to get showered and ready for work.

Vegeta’s lids blinked slowly, heavy-eyed still, his pleased smirk never fading, amused both by the boy’s childish antics and by that rare sense of pride always enveloping his heart whenever he could guess, and even anticipate, anything having to do with the little brat’s intriguing behavior.

The first time his five-year-old son had shown up in their bed carrying a bloody tooth in his hand, the Saiyan’s first instinct had been to power up, turn Super Saiyan, and beat the living daylights out of the poor, clueless bastard who’d ever dared to lay a finger on his only child.

But a few years of life on Earth, and quite a few patient, yet highly entertaining explanations from his wife herself, had turned the warrior into a refined man of culture, well-versed in all kinds of ridiculously nonsensical human traditions, especially those regarding his son or woman getting to receive some sort of special gift or reward. And the Prince could now, not without great satisfaction, successfully guess just what kind of sophisticated protocol he was expected to follow in such a singular occasion.

“Alright…” Vegeta mumbled hoarsely, lightly clearing his throat while trying to refrain from smiling like a fool at the big grin beaming in his little boy’s face. “Give it to me,” he demanded softly, extending one slow hand to the tiny one still holding the minuscule tooth like the most valuable of trophies. “Your mother and I will speak to the Tooth Woman tonight.”

The bubbly child giggled in instant response to his father’s gruff words, the sound pure and luminous, so frighteningly similar to his Bulma’s radiant laughter that sometimes it hurt.

“It’s the Tooth Fairy, Papa!” The boy corrected him vivaciously, huge smile never fading, wholly unperturbed by Vegeta’s typical morning grouchiness.

“Right…” He retorted with nonchalance, his tone laced in that rare gentleness reserved for his son and wife alone. “We’ll speak to this Tooth Fairy Woman tonight then…” He promised, already taking hold of the small prize, stretching one arm to his nightstand and carefully placing the tiny tooth on its surface, with his son still casually seated on his abdomen.

“You’re funny, Papa!” The child cackled for a second time, highly entertained by Vegeta’s unintentionally comical antics, swinging those small legs energetically, ready to trap him in his most lethal attack. “You’re funnyyyyyyyyyy!!!” He squealed, using his father’s solid torso like a Saiyan mini-trampoline, and jumping on him once again, this time landing with his sneaky head right on his chest.

“Ooomph!” Vegeta huffed loudly, instinctively draping his arms around the boy’s lithe body, as soon as those minute arms and legs imprisoned him in the fiercest hug, even though the child’s limbs were still far too small for such an ambitious task.

There had been times, ever since the rambunctious brat’s visits to their king-sized bed had begun, when the Prince had wondered whether he should attempt to get the boy to moderate the intensity of his physical demonstrations of affection, particularly around Bulma, deadly afraid of his wife getting hurt by the boy’s childish frolic. As it turned out, there had been no need for it, and in spite of the bottomless pit of power burning brightly within his son’s light body, the child had always been extraordinarily mellow in his mother’s presence, as if he were profoundly in tune with the woman’s weaker ki, and only letting his full strength loose while playing and training with his father.

Vegeta’s hands lingered securely on his son’s narrow back, large, calloused palms fully splayed, rejoicing in the comforting sensation of the child’s heavy breathing slowing down as he nodded off on top of him, squeezing in a few more minutes of carefree sleep before breakfast time. He felt that chubby cheek comfortably pressed against his bare chest, locks of feathery, lavender hair happily tickling his chin, and two pairs of tiny arms and legs hanging without care on both sides of his burly torso, a reminder of how terribly at ease his little boy had always been in his company.            

These quiet morning times were mostly Bulma’s territory, everyday moments of lazy warmth in which the half-asleep brat would crawl inside their bed, usually bringing with him one of those colorful stuffed animals whose purpose still eluded the Saiyan Prince, but that his son seemed to be so inexplicably fond of, carrying them around wherever he went, at times, even to their increasingly longer training sessions.    

More often than not, the child would seek his mother’s coziness straightway, intuitively knowing that she was the most demonstrative of both parents, showering their son, at all times, with constant affection and infinite patience, even when her long work hours would take a toll on her, and her exhaustion would be as plain as day.

Vegeta would stare in silent fascination at the way the needy brat would snuggle with ease to his mother’s body, in a way no ordinary Saiyan child would ever have, reminding him that his boy was no regular kid, after all, and reawakening some of those cursed fears of incompetence that used to hit him back in the old times, those early days when the most fortuitous of romances blossomed between the woman who’d one day become his wife and himself. And, even though the warrior had, right from the start, happily embraced his new, unexpected role as father and husband, the sappy image of his son and mate blissfully cuddling in bed, like the most natural act in the world, made him feel inadequate still, never good enough to fulfill the emotional needs of his little family.        

But then his Bulma would be there for him, highlighting the importance that she truly believed him to bear in their lives, ever reassuring, needing nothing more than a drowsy smile, glowing in the break of day, to restore his faith in himself. Cold little feet impishly slinking through his legs, and a bold hand finding his own, inviting him, with a tender but firm pull, to get even closer to them, because he was worthy, fully deserving already of their unconditional love, and always would be. 

And so, he’d follow her, caving in to her every wish and abandoning himself to the profound serenity that such intimate moments conjured inside of him. Vegeta would shyly join them, his powerful body lying protectively next to the only two creatures he’d ever given a damn about in his entire life, a muscular figure pressed against the boy’s vulnerable back in a silent promise of safety, arms and legs zealously entangled with his wife’s, all three of them hidden in a peaceful cocoon of balmy cotton sheets, flamboyant children toys, and cool morning air, slowly but surely growing to feel just as comfortable around the little brat as he’d always been with his adored mate. 

One of the Prince’s hands stayed on the boy’s small back, letting the other one take advantage of his somnolent state by gingerly running his thick fingers through his downy tresses, so utterly different, both in color and texture, to a Saiyan’s hair, that such surprising softness would never cease to amaze him, and smiling with fond nostalgia as he evoked the first time he met his son.

Vegeta would never forget the day he first set his eyes on the child, and how excruciatingly worried he’d been for his woman’s life when she’d categorically refused to have the brat removed from her body long before her due date.

The Prince may not have very vivid recollections of his home planet and bygone culture, but he did specifically recall his own Father explaining to him, when he was no more than four or five years of age, that Saiyan children were detached from their mothers’ womb, and placed in artificial incubators, during the last stage of gestation.

This was done mainly for the protection of his race’s scarce, and highly valuable, female warriors, given the remarkably high power level of the infants, and how painfully common it had been for his people’s women to perish during childbirth. But, as always, his stubborn little mate had preferred to follow her own instincts, choosing to bring their son into this world in her own way which, much to Vegeta’s stupefaction, turned out to be one of the most horrifyingly surreal experiences in his life.

To this day, he could graphically remember all of those endless hours of excruciating labor, standing in shameful impotence by his woman’s side, and witnessing in a strange blend of terror and admiration, how the unpredictably strong mother fought for her life and that of their child.

He could still feel her hand, that usually delicate hand of hers, holding onto his for dear life, her grip so terrible, so brutal, that he could actually feel it, looking for her mate’s untiring support as she shrieked and hollered in pain, a heroic warrior fighting the greatest battle of her life, all of it while screaming an obscene litany of curses he’d never even imagined her rude little tongue to be even capable of pronouncing, including the furious promise of never, ever, letting him touch her ever again, a vicious vow that would quickly be forgotten, much to the Prince’s relief.

His woman’s strength and bravery would never fade from his memory, and neither would the way her flushed face fell in deep relief, bursting into tears of sheer joy when their son’s first cries boomed across the room, proudly announcing his splendid entrance into their lives.

Bulma’s features softened touchingly when her child’s body was finally laid in her exhausted but eager arms, ecstatic tears giving her no respite, absolutely enraptured with her beautiful baby boy. It wouldn’t be long before her eyes sought those of her bewildered Prince, her drained voice pleading her emotional parents, and the small medical team which had assisted her throughout the entire experience, to offer her a few moments of much-needed privacy with the man she loved.

“Vegeta…” She called for him in a breezy whisper, after making sure that no one else was in the room but the three of them. “Come and meet your son…”

His legs could barely carry him as he closed the short distance separating them still, having previously stepped back while the nurses had cleaned and cared for the two stunning creatures that he could now proudly call his family. And he walked towards them, his steps shaky and reserved, longing for the room to stop spinning around him as the full weight of the new responsibility bestowed upon him fell on his shoulders, the gratifying duty of caring for the flawless woman he loved already, and the boy who was about to steal whatever remained of his heart.

Trunks.

A wrinkly little cub with ten plump fingers and ten wriggly toes, a feathery tuft of lavender hair covering his fragile head, and no hint of a Saiyan tail. For a short-lived instant, the child’s unconventional coloring, and the lack of the furry appendage which had once held such significance to those belonging to his fallen race, threw Vegeta off slightly, but all it took was for him to emulate his woman’s actions, bringing a large finger near his son’s grasp, with a caution he’d never shown before, to know that he was done for.

He drowned in awe into the earthshattering sensation of those five minuscule fingers gripping one of his own, displaying a force that would have made the boy’s ancestors proud, a true testament to his race, falling deeper and deeper into a smitten spell when the child’s eyes opened at last, unveiling that dazzling shade of blue that had long ago become his favorite color.

His Bulma’s blue.

The Prince’s spellbound gaze fell on his mate’s, and in that bewitchingly tearful smile shining on her lips. “I love you…” Bulma murmured in his ear, leaning on him for support when he sat beside her, sheltering her weary shoulders with the help of one strong arm. “And he’s going to love you too…” She vowed, a tiny kiss caressing his jaw as she nuzzled him with indolence. “He’s going to love you so much… You’ll see…” Her voice, small but full of dogged confidence, promised once again, vanishing his rotten fears away as only she knew how.

Trunks fidgeted in his sleep, rubbing his cheek against his father’s naked chest while mumbling some unintelligibly infantile babble, and hugging him even closer, proving that, as always, his genius woman had been positively right in her prediction of their son’s future feelings for him.

Not only did Trunks not seem to mind that Vegeta wasn’t as emotionally effusive in public as other parents were but, for some unexplainable reason, the little brat had grown to find his father’s deceiving grumpiness absolutely hilarious, as if he implicitly understood the older warrior’s true nature, agreeing to keep his most embarrassing secrets away from everyone outside the privacy of their home, the surprising truth that, behind closed doors, the mere presence of the Prince’s family was enough to turn his hardened heart into mush.

“Mhmm…” The child hummed dozily, still in an apparent half-comatose state, but promptly making Vegeta take his hand away from his lilac hair, ready to embark in another one of those customary morning rituals. “Woah!” Trunks gasped in anticipation, eyes wide open, lifting his head from his father’s body at the speed of light, and shooting him his most devastatingly adorable grin.           

“You smell that, don’t you boy?” Vegeta asked, lips twisting into a lighthearted smirk at the sight of his boy’s nostrils flaring like those of a cute puppy, sniffing the mouthwatering aroma of the breakfast already awaiting them.

“Yup!” Trunks proudly confirmed, already resuming his earlier position by straddling his father’s midriff. “NANA!” He sang with cheerfulness, open palms eagerly smacking Vegeta’s flesh. “Go, Papa! Go!” He yelped again, reaching for the older man’s neck and hugging him in the most affectionate embrace, never letting go, not even when the Prince leisurely stood from the bed with some difficulty. “GOOOOOOOO!!!”

Vegeta gladly indulged his son, swathing one steady arm around him as they exited the room, not even bothering to put some shoes on as they followed the delicious trail of warm food tempting them relentlessly.

The boy was getting too old to be held like this, but the Prince had to admit to himself that he’d gotten far too used to these early mornings, carrying the little brat to the kitchen at the sounds of his playful twittering. Besides, with a second child on the way, Bulma had pleaded her husband to spend as much time with Trunks as he could, cherishing his last few months as an only child before the thrillingly new addition to the family would turn their already anarchic home into an even greater chaos.

“Nana!” The boy exclaimed when they finally arrived at the luxurious kitchen, reaching for the lovely woman responsible for the appetizing scent permeating the air with one arm, while stubbornly refusing to let go of his Papa’s neck with the other.

Nana.

Trunks’ nickname for his effervescent grandmother, also known as Panchy Briefs, the eternally sunny lady that Vegeta had first heard of through Bulma’s wistful stories about that superb rose garden that she adored tending to, and which was her greatest pride.

The woman was as shameless as they came, one of those bizarre creatures who gave the impression of going through life utterly unperturbed by whatever events transpired around her, choosing to face the music with a perennial smile on her surprisingly youthful face, and never losing that peculiar optimism that she was characterized by.

And, despite the fact that, at times, her natural flirtatiousness unnerved him still, whenever her frisky hands would linger on one of his brawny biceps for a tad too long, or her prying eyes would shamelessly feast on his shirtless form through one of the windows of his precious training room, the Prince had gradually grown accustomed to the woman’s antics. Against all odds, his wife’s mother had ended up becoming a comfortingly familiar presence in his everyday life, in fact, the closest to a maternal figure he’d ever gotten to enjoy, though he’d never in a million years dare to admit such a ludicrous truth.

“Well… Here are my two favorite boys!” Panchy heartily chirped, already leaning towards her energetic grandson to land a customary smooch on one of his round cheeks. “Good morning, Sweetie!”

“Moooooorniiiiiing!!!” Trunks happily replied, kissing his beloved Nana back, and managing to sneak one of his tiny hands into the plate the older woman was holding, snatching a warm pancake away and greedily munching on it before his father resumed his steps, walking them to the massive dining table and placing his boy on his habitual chair, comfortably taking a seat in his own spot himself.

“Did you sleep well, Sweetheart?” She enquired in a motherly tone, pouring her handsome son-in-law his first cup of coffee of the day while scrutinizing his sleepy face, satisfied when the Prince replied with a nod and a friendly hum, keenly wrapping his large hands around the hot cup. “Oh! Those are constructions workers,” she patiently explained, noticing Vegeta taking a sip of the uplifting beverage while peeking with interest at the small group of carpenters working outside. “They’re building the carpet for tomorrow’s Gala…”

“Right there?” The man asked with plain curiosity, eyes still fixed on the loud workmen annoyingly disturbing one of his most relaxing times of the day.

“Yes! Isn’t it great?” Panchy carried on dreamily, already serving an opulent breakfast fit for a troop of ravenous Saiyans, completely oblivious to the warrior’s subtle irritation. “They wanted to do it in the gardens,” she informed, placing a dish brimming with freshly-cooked pancakes right in front of him, together with a big bowl of fresh fruits. “But I told my husband to do it here, because there’s no way I’m letting those handsome boys ruin my garden, don’t you think?”

The matriarch winked a playful eye at him, her voice sweet as ever, but barely hiding a tempestuous warning behind such loveliness, the unspoken promise that, just like his Bulma, Panchy Briefs could be a force to be reckoned with if she didn’t get her way.    

Vegeta got to work on his first breakfast dish, savoring his rich share of delectable food while smirking shrewdly to himself, acknowledging, not for the first time, that despite their numerous differences, perhaps he wasn’t so different from his father-in-law, after all.

Dr. Briefs may have been a man of science, purely devoted to scientific experimentation, a life extremely disparate in appearance to that of a warrior’s, yet they were both quiet, lonesome men, married to a couple of females cleverly calling the shots in their lives regardless of their frail exterior and, what was even more extraordinary, neither one of them seemed to mind it much, quite the opposite, they both professed a secret and profound gratitude for the guidance and infinite support of such strongminded life partners.

“Have you seen her dress?” Panchy’s jolly voice asked anew, now preparing Trunks’ carrot juice, but powerless to miss out on the opportunity of teasing the Saiyan Prince, just as she always did in such occasions.

“No, I have not,” Vegeta politely answered, right after he was done polishing his second bottle of full-fat milk.

The woman’s face lit up at the memory of the mysterious garment. “Ah! Really? She looked so lovely in it!” She proclaimed in excitement, playfully ruffling her grandchild’s hair while setting another generous pile of food on the table. “She tried it on this morning,” Panchy confided, side-eyeing the young father with an unmistakable glint of mischief sparkling in her eye. “And it fits her like a glove!”

Vegeta leisurely wiped up his mouth with a napkin, thankful for having an empty mouth in that instant, for if he’d been chewing on something, the sound of that particular bit of information would have surely made him choke on his food, right there and then. He cleared up his throat, the sound awkward, painful, unsealing the lid of his third bottle of milk while struggling to ignore that bizarre sense of dread and anticipation beginning to build up inside of him, secretly trying to imagine just what kind of naughtiness would his little minx of a wife have in store for him this time.

By now, Vegeta had lost count of how many awards and endless accolades his Bulma had earned ever since she’d resumed her life on Earth. But, judging by the number of sumptuous galas and ceremonies that he’d been practically dragged into, there wasn’t a single science achievement that the outstanding genius hadn’t attained already. In fact, if memory served him right, his wife had confessed that she was about to be the very first recipient of the medal she’d be awarded with tomorrow night, almost as if the prize had been specifically designed to fit her otherworldly brilliance.  

And it wasn’t the attendance in itself that bothered him the most; after all, he’d always been willing to overlook his almost pathological disinterest in any kind of social or public event, just as long as he got to join his woman as she was celebrated for her outstanding accomplishments, and there was nothing in this world that he enjoyed more than being offered the privilege to witness, first hand, that glorious glow enveloping Bulma’s gorgeous face as she was righteously praised for her well-deserved tributes.

It was the torture that he dreaded, that cursed torture of having to walk and stand by the siren’s side while she was dressed to the nines in one of those ridiculously expensive dresses that clung to her sensual body in all the right places, having to endure what felt like the most excruciating eternity, waiting for the whole thing to be over to finally get the chance to rip the blasted garment to shreds and ravish her as if there was no tomorrow.

And worst of all was that she knew, that the sexy vixen knew of the effect that she had in him, driving him absolutely insane with need with little more than a sultry look, or the casual touch of a hand. Furtive glances across the table, long fingernails brushing the expensive cotton of his white dress shirt as she leaned over for a second glass of that intoxicating champagne that she was so fond of at such occasions, flashing him a hint of her perfect breasts, or one of those creamy thighs as it tried to escape through the indecent slit of her night dress, because, of course, every single one of those goddamned gowns featured one of those lewd cuts, reawakening his most primitive instincts, and making him want to throw his woman right over his shoulder to hide her from the debauched eyes of whatever loser wandering around her.

By the third glass of liquor, it wasn’t uncommon to feel one of her exposed legs mischievously entwining with his under the table. The real danger of an impossibly sharp high heel treacherously exploring his every muscle through the swank fabric of his pants, or, what was infinitely more agonizing, the distinctive sound of one of her pointy shoes touching the ground, followed by a bare foot sliding across a quivery thigh, and landing right on his crotch, mercilessly teasing him, his cock hard, twitching, all of it while she innocently discussed quantum physics with some oblivious septuagenarian sitting right beside her, another one of those blasted geniuses who’d just been awarded with one of those equally influential prizes.

The one and only thing that made those interminable evenings moderately tolerable, was the certainty that, once they were done with the darned event, he’d get to have his wife all to himself, taking her home, throwing her right on their lush bed, and making her pay for every single moment of desperate need she’d inflicted upon him that night, savoring the way the dirty little doll took her punishment with zest, over and over again, submitting to his wicked will to make up for the torturous night he’d just endured for her sake.

Vegeta inhaled a deep, relaxing breath, determined to cool down his heated blood, boiling from recalling such erotic memoirs, as he reveled in the soothing scent of freshly cut grass and warm food inundating the majestic kitchen. He took a long sip of his invigorating cup of coffee, savoring the addictive beverage and peeping at his little boy, who was now sporting a distinguished cocoa milk mustache while stuffing his face with a second serving of scrambled eggs, blissfully oblivious to his father’s agitated musings.           

Tomorrow would be a glad day indeed, the warrior thought nostalgically to himself, for not only would he take part in his wife’s much-anticipated celebrations but, in another one of those twists of Fate that had become such an intrinsic part of their lives, his Bulma had cleverly pointed out to him that the special date would also coincidentally take place in the day that marked the Sixth Anniversary of Frieza’s defeat by his own hand, back in that mystical planet where all of their fantastic dreams had come true somehow.

The Prince set his half-empty cup on the table, heavy hands cupping the warm mug, and eyes lost in thought, allowing his misty mind to reminisce on the formidable adventure that had so drastically changed their lives.   

After a surprisingly smooth journey, the intrepid couple landed on Namek precisely two weeks after their departure from Bulma’s temporary home, all in one piece, and without having the faintest clue as to what to expect from their mystical destination.

At first glance, the small planet gave the misleading impression of being a fairly simple, uninteresting spot, a humble mudball of bright green skies and the rarest blue grass, most certainly not a place where any sort of magic could possibly occur. However, when Vegeta finally explained to his new mate, in greater detail, the whimsical tales he’d first heard of back in the darkness that was Frieza’s ship, his woman’s expressive face brightened in a way he’d never seen before.

As it turned out, not only had the scientist already learnt of the existence of an elusive set of mystic Dragon Balls, seven magical objects that, when reunited, held the ability of summoning the presence of an almighty Dragon, a supernatural creature that would grant them whatever wish their heart desired. But she even confessed to having witnessed such spiritual power with her own two eyes already, back on her treasured planet Earth, which had also been blessed with the equivalent of such esoteric items.

It was on Namek where Bulma invited her Prince to sit beside her, by the quiet shore of a lake of jade waters, offering him one of her dainty hands, trembling like a leaf in sheer excitement at the boundless horizons broadening before their very eyes, and taking the time to calmly share her old stories with him.

She spoke enthusiastically of some of her youth adventures, the crazy tales of a courageously awkward young girl who’d embarked on her first odyssey at the tender age of sixteen, stealing a bright chuckle of pure amusement out of him after confessing that her most coveted wish, back in those long-gone days, had been the girlish dream of finding her perfect man, and mischievously turning her man’s mocking chuckle into the most adorable blush when she playfully admitted that she’d found her Prince Charming without the assistance of any magical creature, after all.

Fully aware of the danger they were both immersed in, and with the inherent knowledge that time was gold, Bulma hadn’t expanded for too long on her adolescent anecdotes, but her handful of candid stories, together with that astounding sparkle of jovial optimism beaming in her eyes, had been enough to turn Vegeta into a believer, feeling an unparalleled gratitude for having found the nerve to follow his instincts, and a woman who’d trusted him enough to walk such a perilous path by his side.

“So…” The earthling asked in a shy whisper, holding one of his hands between both of hers as she ventured to strip her mate from another secret. “What’s your wish?”

Vegeta would never forget the intricate expression drawn on that beautiful visage, pleading eyes sparkling with repressed tears, full of hope and faith, a faith that not long ago no one in their right mind would have ever held in him, the instinctive faith that he’d make the right choice, in behalf of her and their unborn son.

Because she knew, because they both knew that the man that he was before she changed his spirit would have abused such supreme power, wasting it on some pointless, egotistical aspiration such as immortality, or universal domination. But the man that he’d become, the man that her infinite love and fortitude had slowly but implacably contributed to shape, felt only shame and repulsion towards his old self, that selfish bastard who’d wrongly assumed that the bottomless void in his blackened heart could someday be filled by the exertion of absolute power above other living creatures, foolishly oblivious to the only emotion that could ever mend the pieces of a man’s shattered soul.

He freed his hand from her grasp with that rare gentleness that only she’d had the power to teach him, promptly taking her in his arms and sitting her on his lap, one arm firmly draped around her slim frame while the other sought her face, vast fingers spreading over her delicate jaw, in search of just the right words to convey that the one and only reason why he was now chasing such supernatural forces was so that he could happily place them in her hands.

“My wish is yours, Bulma,” Vegeta vowed with quiet solemnity, his stare honest, open, the eyes of a man who’d gratefully surrendered to his woman’s enchanting inspiration. “Anything you want,” he stressed humbly, shaky breath ghosting her lips as he gave her the freedom to decide on their Destiny’s final course. “Anything…”

“I… I j-just…” She implored through the heartrending tears now rolling freely down her face, deeply moved by his raw generosity, and by how surprisingly at ease he appeared to be with his selfless choice, fully able to discern good from evil without a single doubt troubling his mind anymore. “I just want to go home…”   

Her last word was but a sheepish whisper, scared still of daring to voice out loud the one wish she’d desired the most ever since the apocalyptic extermination of her planet had befallen. And, in the marked sound of Vegeta’s throat, bobbing with poorly concealed apprehension, and in those rugged fingertips twitching nervously against the velvety skin of her face, she saw a fear that mirrored her own.

Home.

Home had always been the Saiyan’s most forbidden of words, a chimeric illusion made out of faded memories and worthless legends, a non-existent place gravely and purely connected to the past, never to the future. But if a home was what would bring ultimate joy to his prized mate, then a home is what he’d create, just for her and their child.

“Then that will be our wish…” His simple reply came at last.

And Gods, oh Gods, that smile, that smile melting into his mouth as she threw her arms around his neck, making him fall on his back when she literally jumped in glee, squeaking like a little girl, made it all worth it, all the pain and crippling self-doubt of those past few months, and the abject terror of taking his woman away from the relative safety of her old home, dragging her into such an utopian quest with him.

Bulma kissed him deeply, passionately, lying with him on that meadow of alien blue grass as she wrestled the most exhilarating roller-coaster of emotions, her heart engulfed with relief, grateful for the man who was about to change it all, the man who’d chosen to betray, not only his heinous Master, but every one of his awfully ingrained beliefs, risking his own life if that meant providing a safe future for his new family.

Once he sensed his woman finally regaining her cool, the warrior secured her in the shelter of his embrace and slowly took to the air, ready to set in motion the new phase of their entirely improvised plan.

Without the possession of the brilliant radar that Bulma had built on Earth, and with no other means to detect the magical items, the Saiyan’s first strategy had been to seek the presence of one of those mysterious green-skinned aliens and pound the information out of him by sheer brutal force. Unsurprisingly, his woman had an alternative plan, a suggestion as simple as it was unexplored to a veteran fighter like him, agreeing with the Prince in his idea of finding a native inhabitant of Namek, but suggesting to simply talk to them instead, trusting in the innate kindness of a race that Frieza’s thorough investigations had ultimately categorized as a peaceful one.

Under different circumstances, Vegeta would have scoffed at such a naïve proposition, finding it virtually impossible to believe that someone, anyone, would ever display that kind of generosity towards two complete strangers, openly offering them a chance to make full use of their planet’s most valuable assets.

But, if there was one truth the Prince had learnt by now, was that his woman possessed a natural instinct to navigate through life. And, even if her point of view vastly differed from his own, and it was perhaps too sentimental at times, the alluring scientist had very rarely been wrong in her astute judgement of people, perceiving that which was hidden, secreted qualities that most wouldn’t even recognize in themselves.

As ever, Bulma’s strategy hit the mark, and the brave couple ended up having an unbelievable struck of luck right on the first village they run into, with Vegeta allowing his woman to take the lead and handle the situation with the shocked, but surprisingly kind natives. Not only did she succeed in easily earning the trust of the enigmatic residents, but she was lead, and introduced to, Namek’s oldest, most influential figure, the Grand Elder Guru, an ancient creature in possession of hermetical powers and immense bigheartedness, who agreed to assist the couple in their endeavors, freely offering them the opportunity to make use of his People’s most precious possession, without asking for anything in return.

In the sole company of two Namekian children, and three of the planet’s finest warriors, Bulma and Vegeta embarked expeditiously on their new mission, travelling village by village, and collecting every single one of the gigantic Dragon Balls, significantly larger than the ones found in the earthling’s old home, with startling ease.

However, Destiny still held one last, wicked card in its occult pocket, the greatest battle of them all. And, when the time came for the couple to retrieve the sixth out of the seven enchanted items, already giddy with excitement at the prospect of bringing Earth, and all of its fallen inhabitants, back into existence, a colossal ball of fire fell from the skies, a white sphere of sinful energy that the Saiyan, despite his still weakly developed skills to detect ki, could sadly discern with no trouble at all.

Frieza.

Vegeta’s first instinct was to fall apart, struck by that loathed anxiety always pouncing upon him whenever he was confronted by the inevitability of having to fight the Almighty Lizard, knowing, at heart, that he was not ready yet to proclaim himself victor. But things were different this time, this time his mate was by his side, and her revitalizing presence was enough to drum out his fears, rekindling his combative spirit, and that prodigious need for protection that only she could awaken within him, that unstoppable desire to fight for someone other than himself.

Paradoxically, convincing his Bulma to let go of him, and to hunt for the last Dragon Ball in the only company of the team of loyal Namekians faithfully willing to lend them a hand in their expedition, had been almost as arduous a struggle as fighting Frieza himself.

It was nearly impossible to get rid of those small hands nervously clinging to his combat suit, or to ignore that pair of eyes of sapphire, filled with tears of despair and worry, begging him to forget about the Emperor and fly away with her, despite knowing just as well as he did that, as long as that despicable Monster had air in his lungs, they’d never make it out of that planet alive.

“What’s the matter, Bulma?” Vegeta proudly challenged, turning to his legendary arrogance as a last resort to get his stubborn mate to do as he said, if only for once in her life. “Don’t you trust me to kill the bastard?” He asked in a gruff whisper, pulling her roughly towards him and kissing her within an inch of her life right in front of the gang of stunned Namekians, not even giving a damn anymore about someone, anyone, finding out that she was his.

Because he knew, because they both knew that he was bluffing, and his hopeless inability to master his Ascension meant that this may very well be the last time he’d ever get to taste her, or to hold her and their son in his arms.       

“I do, Vegeta…” She swore brokenly, a crushed sob betraying her treacherous insecurity, binding her arms around his neck to feel him one last time, just one, murmuring those secret words in his ear, that anxious plea so painfully familiar to the both of them, that it’d become an intimate prayer by now. “J-Just be careful, alright?”

To this day, the Prince could still recall the poignant way in which her heart beat furiously against his, the most terrified he’d ever seen her, hugging him in the fiercest embrace as she stood in the middle of the small crowd of alien outsiders, utterly unashamed of professing her feelings for him. Just like he’d never forget the tearful, cheeky smile he stole from her when he let her go, two fingers persuading her to tilt her chin up, wanting to remember her just like he’d first met her.

Strong and proud.

Just like him.

“Kicking and screaming, Bulma Briefs,” he prompted her, a private reminder of that Human ode to bravery that she’d narrated for him so many times that he could recite it himself by heart. “That’s how a warrior leaves this world.”

“Kicking and screaming…” Bulma muttered in mournful agreement, entwining the fingers of a tremulous hand with one of his and pressing it to her heart, smiling with solemnity through her tears when he set himself free, gifting her with one last, grave look, before gracefully lifting off and vanishing into a cloudy blur of green skies.

The quick succession of events unfolding, once he left his little mate behind, had now been reduced to a fragmented cluster of chaotic memories, gradually fading away from his mind until Bulma herself would, much later, fill in the numerous lapses of his distorted recollections. 

He could clearly remember the cold air hitting his face as he flew in Frieza’s direction, as fast as his feverish body would allow him to, cold sweat coating his tanned skin while his bellicose instincts slowly took over, crimson blood pumping furiously in his ears, and right behind his razor-sharp eyes, squinting in sheer disgust as soon as the Overlord’s ship materialized before him.

A single glance at the massive space vehicle was enough to confirm his most detested fear, that of his Master losing his trust in his own soldiers, for good this time, choosing to make a start on his Masterplan far sooner than expected, and completely ruining the couple’s hopeful plans on the way.

Without any kind of real strategy in mind, no tail to boost his Oozaru transformation, and still powerless to reach his treasured Ascension at will, Vegeta’s only goal became that of keeping the Icejin entertained for as long as his strength held out, buying enough time for his woman to gather the rest of the Dragon Balls, summon the mystical Dragon and escape that blasted planet in search of greener pastures, hopefully a place safe enough for her to birth and raise their child, even if that meant breaking his earnest vow not to ever leave her to care for the boy on her own.

By then, it came as no surprise that his reviled Master was already expecting him, as if he’d somehow been able to guess that the rebellious incident occurring at Base-055 meant that he’d forever lost the Prince’s loyalty from that moment on, and fully ready to make things as hellish as possible for his unruly subordinate. In consequence, before Vegeta even had the occasion to fight the Emperor, Frieza offered him the dubious honor of having to deal with his elite army, the so-called ‘Ginyu Force’, all on his own.

Much to everyone’s amazement, including Vegeta himself, getting rid of the small group of flamboyant lackeys turned out to be a great deal easier than it’d ever been, an ironic result of the almost-lethal beating inflicted by his Master the last time he’d confronted him, increasing his strength to astronomical levels once his Saiyan body had been given the opportunity to properly heal.

In fact, Frieza had been so wickedly pleased with Vegeta’s performance that, the moment the warrior added the last cadaver to the pile of dead bodies assembled in front of him, the Emperor chose to give him one last chance to return to his vile army, trying to tempt him, in vain, with a position of unmatched power as his very own right-hand man.

Back in the old days, his younger, and much more cunning self, would have gladly accepted his Master’s invitation, pleased with the priceless opportunity to get even closer to the detestable Icejin, simulating supreme loyalty to him while biding his time to get strong enough to betray and defeat him. But the man that he’d become in the few months prior to that day, thanks mostly to Bulma’s inspirational presence, found the mere thought of spending even a fleeting second in the bastard’s presence absolutely repulsive, and Vegeta certainly had no intention of wasting any more of his precious time and energy on putting on a mask in front of such a worthless beast.

And so, the Prince attacked Frieza with everything he had, engaging in the most brutal battle of his life, inflicting blow after blow on the deceptively small Lizard, and giving him not one minute of respite.

In the beginning, Vegeta managed to put himself in an unexpected position of advantage, almost fooling himself into believing that, even without his coveted Ascension, he might still possess enough power to destroy the Monster responsible for every atrocious nightmare.

But he sadly needn’t wait long for his delusion to morph into the most petrifying reality, and though the young warrior had proudly more than held his own throughout Frieza’s first three transformations, each one of them frighteningly stronger than the last, the wheels quickly turned against him once his Master’s secretive final form was eventually attained.

To this day, there were times when Vegeta would still wake in the middle of the night feeling that cold, slimy tail pitilessly wrapped around his neck, his invincible enemy lifting his compact body off the ground as he punched his battered spine again and again, cracking, piercing through his resilient armor as if it were made out of flimsy paper alone.

He could still hear his merciless words of mockery, that humiliating speech reverberating in his fragile mind as he took it all, a limp body, battered arms hanging lifelessly on both sides, forced to endure the disdainful insults that the repugnant Overlord had taunted him with for as long as he had memory, so long indeed, that Vegeta had somehow grown to believe such disgraceful fallacies to be true.

And then the most excruciating agony sliced his entire being as he was cruelly thrown into the ground, like nothing, like the worthless fool he’d always been, in truth, to the callous Monster who’d raised him in the depressing hopes of turning him into some filthy, distorted mirror of himself. 

The Lizard’s silhouette hovered above him, his absurdly diminutive figure looking larger than life as he got ready to drop the final curtain on the life of his tortured protégé. He pointed a single, lethal finger at him, gathering with deliberate slowness a tiny sphere of purple energy, aiming right to the Prince’s broken heart, bidding his vicious goodbyes, and trying to prolong the Prince’s suffering for as long as he could while he played with the remnants of his battered ego.

He spoke of ‘failures’ and ‘greatest disappointments’, blatantly lying about the infinite masses of power and riches that Vegeta could have achieved, if only he’d been a ‘more obedient Little Monkey’ during his humiliating years of slavery.

The appalling Monster even had the nerve to pronounce his Father’s name and title, accusing him of being just as much of a ‘coward weakling’ as the King himself had been, and laughing at all of those times when the younger Saiyan had invoked his race’s ‘worthless legends’, avowing to one day reach the elusive Super Saiyan status, surpassing him in strength and gloriously avenging his People, once and for all.

And yet, through it all, even as the hardhearted torturer stripped him from whatever dignity he may have once possessed, it wasn’t the loss of his revered Saiyan pride that hurt the most, or his undisputable failure in fulfilling the Golden Prophecy, thus revenging his Father’s honor and that of his fallen People.

In the end, as he thrashed and twisted pathetically on the ground, holding onto shaky clutches of that alien blue grass with beaten fists, clinging to Life itself, it was the overpowering realization of having failed her what eventually turned the vision of his murderer into a hazy shadow, blurred by scalding tears. Tears of shame and defeat that he’d been wise enough to bottle up ever since the tragic obliteration of his home planet had struck, only surrendering to such dishonorable weakness when he was but a lonely little cub weeping beneath one of his caretaker’s ragged blankets, tears that were now falling completely unrestrained, brought by the shameful guilt of having failed his mate and their child in such a spectacular manner.

“This is how it ends, Vegeta…” Frieza proclaimed with vile arrogance, the amethyst glow of the deadly beam awaiting at the tip of his finger, pointed straight to the aching flesh exposed through the cracks of his useless armor. “Say hello to your Father for me…” He purred sardonically, the syrupy laughter accompanying his glum prophecy stabbing Vegeta’s heart long before the Lizard’s weapon ever could. “I’m sure that you’ll both be very…”

The Prince would never learn of the disturbing, final wish that Frieza had in mind for him and the late King. Instead, his eyes were sole spectators, right through the mortifying tears glazing them, of his Master’s smug confidence vanishing into thin air when he turned his gaze to the blanket of darkness that Namek’s green skies had suddenly become.

Vegeta watched in powerless horror the range of expressions distorting the Icejin’s rubbery face, staring in utter bewilderment at the artificial night now enveloping them both; emotions running from initial shock to comical confusion, culminating in the most terrifying rage when he set his snake-like eyes on the titanic, mystical figure surrounded by golden flames while floating in a starless sky.

“Wha-What…? What is that?! What…?” Frieza stuttered to himself, eyes broadening as soon as his laughable turmoil began to gradually fade away. “N-No… No!” The Icejin thundered with a fury that shook the very foundations of the fragile planet. “NOOOOOOO!!!”

The last thing Vegeta saw, before an unforgiving blackout claimed him, was the maniacal shape of his enemy exploding into red-blooded blazes and taking off into the skies, hysterically roaring a vicious string of depraved curses as he flew in the clear direction of the woman he’d just abandoned to her own cursed luck.

The end.

That should have been the end of it all.

But, on that decisive day, as the Prince lay on the brink of Death amongst a bloody bed of wild grass, Fate made the unprecedented choice to give him one final chance for redemption. And, when Vegeta’s weary eyes found the rare strength to open one more time, it wasn’t Hell what they encountered, but a pair of small, green hands enclosing his torn body in an equally green bubble of curative light.

“P-Prince Vegeta…” The little Namekian spoke with fearful respect as he worked his alien magic on the warrior, healing every single fatal wound with astonishing ease. “My name is Dende, Prince Vegeta… Miss… M-Miss Bulma and I already made the first two wishes, but… But Frieza interrupted us when we were about t-to…”

“B-Bulma…” Vegeta rasped weakly, still lying helpless on the ground, a raw desperation lacing his voice at the thought of Frieza having set his sights on his vulnerable mate. “Where…? Where is she? What…?”

“The Namekian warriors are fighting him, my Prince,” the child quickly informed, appeasing the Saiyan’s greatest fears, if only for a short moment. “They… They were still fighting him when Miss Bulma asked me to come and find you,” Dende patiently explained while wiping off the sweat from his brow, already starting to really feel the fatigue derived from having to restore Vegeta’s colossal strength back to full health. “We’re… We’re almost done now…”

Vegeta’s tough fists clenched and unclenched several times as he carefully sat on the grass, assessing a newfound power shockingly greater than the one he possessed mere hours ago, thanks, once again, to a miraculous recovery after having endured another one of his Master’s almost-lethal poundings.

“Where…? Where’s the Dragon?!” The fighter asked with heated franticness, fearing the worst possible outcome at the sudden vision of the sky above them having fully returned to its natural green hues.

“We… We unsummoned Him, my Prince, He… He’ll wait for us t-to make our final wish…” The young boy further clarified, taking a few cautious steps back when he proudly finished his task, never taking his eyes off the imposing stranger now standing on wobbly feet, towering above him while staring, completely wide-eyed, at the open palms of his gloved hands in marveled disbelief, a part of him still wondering if that moment was real, or just some kind of wicked hallucination preceding his final breath before he abandoned this world.

But it was real, as real as the deep, determined lungful of cool air filling his lungs right before he burst into a white sphere of raging fire, powering up and wrapping a rough, shielding arm around the little Namekian, bringing him with him as he blasted off in search of his woman.

Vegeta flew the skies with panicky desperation, stomach sinking, blood throbbing hotly in his chest, as he implored, to whatever Saiyan Gods still willing to listen to his pathetic prayers, for one last miracle, just one, the unlikely miracle of his Bulma having survived being in the doomed presence of the Emperor for as long as she had.

It was at this point that the truth of such crucial events began to dissolve in his memory, his last, truly clear recollection being the sensation of his unsteady feet touching solid ground, just in time to witness the most horrifying scene a man should ever be forced to live through.

Before his gritty eyes, three Namekian bodies lay scattered across the shore of a small pond of emerald waters, the very same pond where he’d sat with his woman mere hours earlier, a place that had once marked Bulma’s optimistic joy, but which had now become a grisly battlefield.

And, right in the middle of such a bloody spectacle, standing above one of the rocks where his beautiful mate had once candidly shared her innocent tales of youth with him, stood Frieza himself, one creepy hand firmly wrapped around his woman’s graceful neck as she strangely succeeded in finding the courage to look the Monster straight in the eye, just like she’d once looked at him during their first encounter, back in her old laboratory, instantly earning his respect with the quiet dignity she’d displayed in spite of her hidden fears.         

“Well, well, Vegeta…” The Lizard’s sugary voice purred with devilish amusement, easily sensing the Saiyan’s presence, even with his back still turned to him, while choosing to keep his sights on the terrified earthling instead. “So, this is the real reason behind your betrayal… Isn’t it?”

“Let go of her,” Vegeta murmured menacingly, his speech low, unusually subdued, concealing to perfection the inner clash beginning to stir inside of him, a mystifying battle between the disgraceful horror that his Master’s presence never failed to awaken, and the savage electricity coursing every cell of his lethal body at the vision of one of the bastard’s claws daring to touch the sacred mark that he’d forever imprinted on his woman’s porcelain skin. “Now…”

His ominous threat would have been enough to freeze the heart of any of his numerous enemies, but not of someone with the power and insolent superiority of the mighty Overlord, who chose to burst into a degrading bout of syrupy laughter instead.

“You’ll never learn…” Frieza concluded with feigned disappointment, finally deigning to turn his face to him, revealing that wicked gleam sparkling in his lizardry eyes whenever a particularly immoral idea was concocting within the depths of his debauched mind. “Won’t you?” His head tilted to the side, flashing him the most malicious smirk in his collection before turning his eyes back to the woman standing oddly still under his omnipotent grasp.

“I mean it, Frieza…” Vegeta threatened once again, eyes seeing red, broad chest heaving as he struggled to handle the wild rush of otherworldly energy painfully repressed in the confines of his vibrating body. “Now…”         

The Emperor rubbed even more salt into the fighter’s wounded ego by continuing to arrogantly ignore his hostile commands, inducing a wave of repulsed nausea in both lovers at once with the way he kept stroking the distinctive scar firmly engraved near Bulma’s delicate collarbone.  

“You see, my Dear…” Frieza spoke to her, talking like one would to an old friend while happily pretending to ignore the clear disgust written on the woman’s flawless face. “Prince Vegeta is not allowed to keep anything, or anyone, for himself…” He explained with humiliating condescendence. “It’s a lesson I taught him a long…” His slimy claws tightened around the woman’s frail neck. “Long, long time ago...” His ruthless grip on her sore flesh loosened slightly, giving her a brief moment of respite as he brought himself even closer to his defenseless prey.

“Perhaps it’s time to teach him a new lesson… Don’t you think, my Dear?”

His breath, both cold and sickeningly alien, invaded her oversensitive senses, and never had Bulma felt more pity, more heartbreaking compassion towards the man standing behind her tormentor, looking as if he were about to murder every single living creature in the Universe, as she did in that instant, for she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like to spend an entire lifetime subjected to the revulsive presence of such a hideous, heartless beast.

“Perhaps…” Frieza carried on, running the tip of his gelatinous tongue across his upper lip with devious libidinousness, fully basking in the obvious repugnance that such a meager gesture provoked in the Earth woman. “Perhaps I should take you for myself…” His sharp fingers inflicted even more pressure on her tender neck, a rush of unbearable agony hitting her as he pulled her roughly towards him, the move so sudden, so harsh, that she couldn’t even try to repress the sharp hiss of pain slipping through her clenched teeth. “Perhaps…” He smirked sadistically, visibly pleased to finally get a physical reaction out of his new little play toy.

“Perhaps I should make you mine…”

Bulma’s expressive blue eyes widened perceptively at the foul implications within the Monster’s insinuation, swallowing a tight knot with difficulty as she winced in pain, an excruciating, penetrating brand of pain that she’d never endured before, reminding her of how incredibly lucky she’d been to have lived a relatively safe existence during those past few months, even after she’d been deprived of her home and all of her loved ones.

If there was a time to surrender, to finally give up on the charade of confidence that she’d somehow perfected as her one and only means of survival, that should have been it. And, to that day, Vegeta knew that another woman, any other woman, would have inevitably fallen on her knees, curtsying before the Supreme Ruler of the Universe and begging for Mercy, using every charm and act of contrition in her feminine repertoire to fool the bastard into sparing her insignificant life.

But Bulma Briefs was no conventional woman, and all she had to do to proclaim such a feat was to raise her stare from the bloodied grass with slow determination, piercing her incredulous mate to the ground with the most intriguing look, that peculiar, familiar expression that always made him believe that she possessed the exceptional power to discern a Truth buried in his heart which he didn’t even know himself.

“Never,” she answered smoothly, her face but a mask of unreadable stone as she held the Emperor’s gaze with astounding ease.

“Oh?” Frieza instantly shot back, his honest surprise at the puny creature’s retort manifesting in the arching of an intrigued brow. “What was that, my Dear?” He asked, the false sweetness in his question contrasting with the intimidating claw now enfolding the chin that Bulma was lifting in infuriating defiance.

“I said never,” she repeated with even greater confidence, both hands insolently clutching the cold arm still keeping her prisoner in its ruthless grip. “I will never belong to someone like you…” She spat out, the most vicious of challenges entwined with the misleading quietness in her tone.      

“My, my…” The Monster snickered, highly amused by the defiance shot right at him, so utterly uncommon indeed, that he couldn’t help but admire the guts of such a worthless female. “You really got yourself a feisty little thing, didn’t you Vegeta?” Frieza concluded with glee, already contemplating the endless possibilities, the twisted games that someone like him could play with such a beautifully untamed creature. “That’s quite alright, my Dear…” He crooned, eyes squinting in anticipation as he lowered his voice, with the utmost certainty that the stunned Prince would still be able to hear every single word of his malevolent threat. “I prefer it this way…” He declared, staring at the distinctive Saiyan bite tattooed on his victim’s neck with obsessive fixation. “It will be a real pleasure to break the little pet of my favorite Monkey Prince…”

Vegeta’s boots remained firmly planted on the battlefield as he watched the surreal exchange in wordless stupefaction, his entire being wrecked by that foreign flood of primal energy, yet powerless to move, as if his bloodthirsty hands were still bound by a thin, invisible rope.

And, if he hadn’t already loved his woman to the point of stupidity, he would have fallen for her right there and then at the marvel that were those lips, curling into a smirk whose disdainful cockiness could only rival his own, opening that pretty mouth of hers and addressing Frieza in a way that no warrior, dead or alive, had ever dared to before.

“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Lord Frieza…” She snapped, with a honeyed mockery identical to the one employed by the dumbfounded Icejin. “You see, Lord Frieza…” Bulma uttered again. “Today is the day you die…” She proclaimed with a suave smile, as if the aftermath of her bold announcement had already occurred. “And I will be the lucky little pet who’ll get to stand here and watch it happen, My Lord…”      

And then, the Gods had mercy on the Prince’s poor soul, then she hooked her eyes right back on him, completely oblivious to the Monster’s furious reaction to her daring statement, or to the new stream of pain brutally gushing through her as those black claws from Hell tightened even harder around her neck.

Instead, when her gaze found her lover’s, it wasn’t one of those girlish blushes what he encountered, or another one of those pleading, watery smiles that never failed to melt his sullen heart.

This time, her eyes were not the warm, compassionate eyes of his Bulma, but two cold gems of blue steel, the hard, inscrutable eyes of the Holy Goddess of War herself, using her mate’s fragile body as an earthly vessel, with the sole purpose of making sure that The Prophecy would, once and for all, be fulfilled.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR, VEGETA?!” Bulma roared unforgivingly, a full-blooded Saiyan Queen leading her troops to a barbarous battle, commanding them to die in her name if needed be. “Do it, Vegeta! KILL HIM!!!” She demanded with untamed fury.

“DO IT FOR US!!!”

Us.

Not for him or for her, not for the rotten memory of an absent Father he barely ever knew, the obscure memoirs of a fallen race that mattered no more, or the cursed Saiyan pride which was the one and only token preserved as a painful reminder of his identity.

But for them.

Her words were the spark that kindled the fire, a Northern Star guiding him through the darkest night, liberating him from that last imprisoning rope holding him back from ultimate revenge, and unleashing the Golden Demon that would free them both.

There it was, an explosion of energy so vast that his physical body could barely contain it, the same flame only ignited once before, back during that surreal fight in his disturbing mission with Zarbon. That clandestine combat was almost gone from his vague recollections, but as his wild blood coursed through him, filling every throbbing vein of his now pumped up muscles, and even with his own rationality still madly out of control, he knew, fully identifying the mystical transformation about to materialize, and savoring the masterful victory already held in his deadly hands.

Time twisted and warped as his body soared to his anticipated Super Saiyan status, standing amongst a proud cloud of golden flames under the watchful eye of the woman who’d made it possible, the frail little creature who kept standing with just as much pride, boastful smirk never fading from her lips, with the triumphant conviction that she’d been the Master instigator of it all, a Goddess claiming full ownership of her man’s Destiny.

In the blink of an eye, his elbow sank deep into the Demon’s stomach, the blow clean, effortless, bringing him to his knees as a flow of crimson blood burst from Frieza’s panting mouth. And, without giving him even a chance to recover, Vegeta feasted on the Monster’s unhinged jaw when he pushed him away from his woman, throwing him on the ground with a brutal kick to the ribs.

The Prince’s memory was unclear from now on, all he knew was the rare inner peace sweeping through him back then, a purity of spirit, undoubtedly connected to his love and desire of protection towards his treasured mate, which would eventually turn his glorious victory into an experience unlike anything he’d ever envisioned for himself, throughout those countless fantasies daydreamt while bearing the hardship of years of demeaning slavery.

Vegeta had always projected that fateful moment as a magnificent event, the day when he’d finally have the opportunity to avenge, not only his Race, but every single humiliation inflicted upon him by the Devil who’d made a living Hell out of his entire existence.

In the end, as he returned and perpetrated hit after hit with chilling ease, listening to the manipulative pleas and offers of the filthy creature stupidly refusing to accept his demise, there were no heroic speeches or arrogant bouts of maniacal laughter, nothing but a stone-cold face and an unnervingly calm sneer, as if Frieza didn’t even matter anymore, as if all of this were purely a tedious trial that he had to endure in order to share the rest of his life with those he loved the most, the only ones truly worthy of his time.

The sinful Icejin kicked and fussed, using every trick in his dirty book of lies to attempt to buy his way out of the bottomless abyss he was being buried into. He’d switch from insulting the Saiyan warrior, swearing that his Ascension was but a useless hoax, a chimeric illusion that would amount to nothing, to begging for clemency whenever Vegeta would effortlessly put him in his place, right on the mud, where he belonged, and even going as far as offering him a place by his side, sharing his godlike throne and never-ending riches with him if that meant getting to keep his miserable life in return.

Ultimately, after Vegeta’s superhuman strength made it redundantly clear that none of those worthless offers would ever become a real temptation, and that both he and his woman were far above such superficial ambitions, Frieza decided to swallow the leftovers of his pathetic pride, resorting to addressing Bulma instead, begging her to convince the Prince to spare his paltry life, in hopes that the softness of a feminine heart would show him the undeserving mercy that he was so desperately seeking.

“You will never speak to her again!” The Saiyan ferociously commanded, reinforcing his order with a vicious kick in the lizard’s battered back, making him lose his balance and drop pitifully on his bloodied knees. “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY!!!” He roared into the air, wrapping five hateful fingers around the nape of his victim’s neck, and pushing him savagely into the ground until he had him on all fours, ready to die by his unforgiving hand.

“Ve-Vegeta… D-Don’t… DON’T!!!” The bastard slurred in pure misery, broken tail thrashing wildly, mangled claws sinking into the blood-soaked ground, as if hanging onto Life itself.

“This is how it ends, Frieza…” Vegeta uttered with quiet somberness, surprising even himself, in spite of his delirious state of mind, with how calm, how utterly unperturbed he felt now that he literally held the dream of a lifetime in his vast hand.

There was no brash pride or scornful laughter, not even a trace of that black mass of poison incessantly spreading within his heart at the mere thought of his Master’s existence, just like he had no interest whatsoever in prolonging the torture that he’d always planned on inflicting upon the Emperor when this day would come. 

It was as if he’d finally understood that the wretched Demon didn’t even deserve a second more of his hatred or energy, realizing that he much preferred to get this over with as soon as possible, eager to dedicate his valuable time to the unique woman witnessing his triumph in absolute marvel, and to the life of happiness that he now knew was awaiting them.

His apathy was such that he didn’t even bat an eyelid when Frieza lowered himself to one last vindictive tactic, striving to cause his detested slave just as much pain as the one he was suffering through during his last minutes in this world.   

“N-Never! NEVERRRR!!!” The loser yelled in the most insufferable screech, like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum, purely because the time had come for him to stop having his way. “If… If I go…” He murmured maliciously, rivulets of the darkest blood dripping from his mouth. “I’ll t-take her with m-me…”

Before he even had the chance to point his fatal finger at the stunned earthling, Vegeta took a fierce hold of Frieza’s wrecked arm, ripping it off his body like that of a paper doll, and throwing it, without any scruples, right into the tranquil pond where the bastard had almost taken Bulma’s life mere minutes earlier.  

And just like that, with no desire to listen to the hopeless pleas of a breathing cadaver, the Prince of All Saiyans took unexpected mercy on the filthy creature responsible for every one of his childhood bad dreams, placing one hand at each side of the freak’s head, and putting an end to his life with the merciless twist of a wrist and the dry sound of a cracking bone.

That was all.

The rest of that auspicious day was an anarchy of ethereal images, the extraordinary sensation of the world, as he’d always known it, shifting radically beneath his feet as he bent down and picked up the lifeless carcass of the beast who’d once dared to call himself Ruler of the Universe.

Vegeta walked the short distance separating him from his mate with slow but purposeful steps, dragging the limp body across the mud-covered grass and laying it at Bulma’s feet, right where he’d promised himself to rest it when the time came for him to destroy his woman’s cutthroat enslaver.

His drained body followed soon after, falling on his worn-out knees while the golden flames that once enveloped his body gradually faded away, as if his physical form still weren’t sufficiently prepared to handle the stormy fountain of energy flowing through him. And he simply knelt meekly on the spot, arms drooping at his sides and head bowed down in submission, battling the disgraceful need to surrender to unconsciousness as he docilely awaited his mate’s command, not even fearing the certitude that he’d follow her wherever she asked to go next.

The last impression he could still evoke with a smidgen of clarity, before their alien surroundings would literally dissolve all around them, was the heartwarming pair of shaky hands encircling his face as she joined him on the ground.

His Bulma’s hands.

Her touch was gentle as ever, but firm enough to make him lift his weary head, so that he could see for himself the one emotion that he never, in a million years, imagined seeing in the eyes of another being.

Vegeta had already seen pure hatred in the stare of his innumerable enemies, and the unsettling fear of the defenseless creatures that had died by his own hand during his many dreadful assignments. Perhaps, the only positive emotions ever directed at him had lied in the eyes of his Father, or in those of Raditz and Nappa, as they’d admired his colossal strength during those early years of life spent as his People’s youngest prodigy.

But, if he was truthfully honest with himself, he had to admit that there’d been a cold selfishness in their admiration, the selfishness of those who’d perceived him not as a man but as an instrument, taking pride, not in the boy that he’d once been, but in the vast potential of the man that he could become, and in all of the infinite privileges that his future achievements would someday bring to the Saiyan race.

But not her, not this woman, not the one who’d anticipated his victory long before he ever could, loving and accepting him for who he was, and blindly believing in him, even when he had no will left to believe in himself.

“I knew you’d make it…” Bulma whispered with conviction, tears of euphoria running down her cheeks as she smiled with the fondest look of pride in her eyes.

Pride in him.

She erased the confused frown in his brow with her lips, still holding his face in her calm grasp as she kissed the tense little spot with excruciating tenderness, holding back a sob of relief when he let himself go at last, resting a jaded forehead on her shoulder and releasing the longest, most relieved breath of his life when she took him in her arms, gladly deciding his future for him.

“It’s time to go home, Vegeta…”

Home.

Home was a planet as blue as Bulma’s marvelous eyes, a lush sphere of green pastures, fresh air and crystalline waters, a place that made him understand her just a little better every day, finally grasping where most of her innate beauty originated from.

Home was warm milk and bedtime stories, no longer an errant life of futile purging missions, and that never-ending quest for pointless revenge and domination, always surrounded by immoral men and revolting tales of depravity, narrated by some bonfire ignited on a pile of rotting corpses, doing his best not to choke on the foul smoke emanating from it while chewing on whatever edible grub he could get his hands on.

Home were long dinners around the lavish kitchen table, listening quietly to his wife’s melodic voice while gorging on the most delicious foods he’d ever tasted, smiling proudly to himself as she discussed some brainy, groundbreaking idea with his equally brilliant father-in-law, and interrupted, every now and then, by Panchy Briefs and her charmingly frivolous chatter, sharing one of her dizzy discoverings, such as some new bakery shop that offered a particular type of sprinkled cupcakes that was ‘just darling’, all of it seasoned by his son’s childish questions and his bouts of bright laughter.

Home was trust, a life well-lived in the company of people he’d never expected to cross paths with, those who’d never use or betray him, and a pair of loving arms and lips always willing to scatter the decaying fragments of his old Demons away, scaring them silly with nothing but a girlish smooch and a loving hug, never failing to remind him that there was nothing left to fear anymore, and never would be.

Home was family.

“Mama!” Trunks crooned with enthusiasm, bringing his brooding father back from his nostalgic reverie, and making him set his puzzled eyes at once on the excited little boy.

By now, the Prince could read and detect the individual ki of every single creature on the planet without any kind of technological assistance, and he was particularly in tune with his wife’s life essence, distinguishing her location, and even her emotional aura, with astonishing effortlessness. It was precisely such a sharp connection what confused him so, given how, earlier in the morning, he’d clearly spotted Bulma’s distinctive energy firmly planted in the headquarters of Capsule Corporation, at the heart of West City’s hectic business district.

But, one look at the stiff finger that Trunks kept waving happily in the air, as he pointed right in front of him, told Vegeta that the little brat wasn’t talking directly to his adored Mama, but to a picturesque representation of her, in the shape of a colorful item carefully placed in the middle of the massive table by his Nana herself.

A large vase of yellow roses in full bloom.

“That’s right, Pumpkin! Those are your Mama’s favorite flowers!” Panchy applauded him, dotingly ruffling her grandson’s tousled hair while pouring him another glass of chocolate milk. “And what are they called?” She asked in encouragement, patiently testing the boy’s ever-growing vocabulary.

“Roooooseeeees!!!” Trunks sang with confidence, joyful as a little mockingbird as he chewed on a crunchy green apple.

“Very good!” The chirpy woman praised him, leisurely circling the table and resting a friendly hand on Vegeta’s shoulder. “I’ll hang it in your side of the closet, is that alright?” She questioned, a smile of understanding spreading in her mouth when her son-in-law frowned in subtle response to her words, realizing that, as usual, she must have lost the young man’s attention at some point during the morning. “Your tuxedo, darling,” she reiterated in her best maternal tone, cleverly reminding the Prince that, behind her airheaded exterior, the woman was far more perceptive than she looked. “I already have your tuxedo for tomorrow night. I’ll hang it in your closet for you.”

Vegeta’s reply was a light grunt and a nod, appreciating the woman’s naturally tolerant nature as he chomped on his crispy bacon, ogling in anticipation the hot tray of blueberry muffins that Panchy was now removing from the oven.

“By the way…” Panchy uttered distractedly, distributing the freshly baked goodies on a serving plate with meticulous precision. “I talked to Bulma this morning,” She informed. “And she asked if you could spend some time with Trunks away from home today. You know… Since the construction workers will be here all day…”

She winked another tongue-in-cheek eye at him, earning a tacit smirk from the Prince himself when she set the enjoyable treats on the table, promptly turning on her feet and walking right back towards the oven, ready to bake one last batch of them.

The warrior peeped at his son with pensive interest, taking a large bite of a mouthwatering pastry while pondering on his wife’s wise instructions. It was clear by now that Trunks’ heart was just as pure as his mother’s, but it’d also become more than evident that the little boy had inherited his parents’ hotheaded taste for adventure, getting into trouble far more frequently than he should; and such inborn intrepidness, together with the endless flood of Saiyan energy streaming through that small body of his, could make for a pretty lethal combination, especially if a group of poor, defenseless human workers was added to such an already dangerous mix.

It didn’t help matters that the child had been especially unhappy and clingy lately, no doubt due to dearly missing his mother, who hadn’t been around as often as usual during the past couple of weeks, obsessively focused on the exhaustive preparations of the first-class event that would be thrown in her honor. 

“Trunks,” Vegeta said after a few moments of introspection, gently seeking the child’s attention after having come up with the perfect plan to keep them both occupied for an entire day.

“Yah?” Trunks answered without delay, avidly munching on one of his Papa’s yummy muffins.         

“Finish your food, boy. We’re going out today…” He announced, smirking proudly at the bright grin suddenly illuminating the little Saiyan’s face.

******************************************

The tip of her fountain pen caressed her mouth, expensive rose gold distractedly tapping her bottom lip as she rummaged through the chaotic contents of the wrinkly papers secured in her hand, trying to make some sense out of the anarchic assortment of ideas sloppily scribbled during the brief spare time of her lunch hours, before sighing in defeat and finally deciding to call it a day, too exhausted to finish such an important task at this hour of the night.

She lay her messy notes on her equally muddled desk, stretching her arms like a lazy kitten while letting out the loudest of yawns, taking off her shoes and resting her bare feet on the seat of her chair, ready to expose the familiar intruder who’d been spying on her, through the balcony’s flimsy curtains, for a good ten minutes.

“Hey Stranger…” Bulma purred in a playfully seductive tone, wrapping her arms around her bent legs as she pressed her cheek on one knee, smiling at the unmistakable silhouette of the man now taking a casual step forward, walking into their bedroom. “How long have you been snooping for?”      

“Hn!” He hmphed grouchily while leaning cross-armed on the balcony’s door frame, pretending to be far more annoyed than he actually was. “Ever since I went to pick up my wife from work, but she’d already left without telling me.”

“Aw, Sweetie… You did?” She asked back, her face clouding over in guilt. “I thought you wouldn’t pick me up today,” Bulma justified, secretly reveling in the way her husband’s attention quickly shifted, now that she was coolly untying her hair as she addressed him. “I called Mom during lunch break, and she said you’d taken Trunks out today.”

“I did,” Vegeta confirmed, impotent to stop the tip of his tongue from running across his thirsty lips at the sight of his wife’s disheveled hair.

Ever since they’d embarked on their new life on Earth, it hadn’t taken him long to discover that the heiress had a taste for changing her physical appearance at a surprisingly fast rate, bidding goodbye, long ago, to the wild curls he’d fallen in love with back in the early days of their romance, and giving way to a wide collection of hairstyles, culminating on the glossy, stylish bob which she was currently flaunting.

The Prince had never cared much for such nonsense, finding his woman just as beautiful every time, but there was something about seeing her freeing her hair at night, after a long day’s work, that always seemed to push him over the edge, and tonight was no exception.

“So?” Bulma asked casually, leaning back on the chair, and twirling a turquoise lock around her finger as she smiled at him like the cat that got the cream. “Did you two have fun today? Where did you go?”

“We trained in the mountains,” Vegeta replied with just as much coolness, already proceeding to take off his leather jacket and shoes, preparing to enjoy his absolute favorite part of the day in his wife’s company. “And then we flew to that beach the boy likes so much.”

“I see…” She muttered in agreement, her sneaky smile widening now that her initial suspicions were proven right. “The one in Tahiti?” She asked again, swallowing an amused chuckle when she noticed the clear blush tinting her husband’s naturally tanned cheeks as he nodded in assent.

“Yes,” he confirmed, clutching the back of his navy-blue sweater’s neck and pulling at once, taking it off in one smooth move, and revealing a flawless, naked torso that would put the Greek Gods themselves to shame.

“And did he shower before going to bed?” Bulma prodded, already knowing the answer to her devious question, given how she’d checked in on her little boy as soon as she’d gotten home.

Vegeta nodded again, his blush intensifying, staring at the cashmere sweater still held in his hands as if it’d suddenly become the most interesting item on Earth. “I bathed him myself,” he confessed, with that bashfulness that he used whenever he shared with her the things he’d done with their son, that painfully shy voice always revealing how insecure the Prince still felt about anything having to do with him caring for the child on his own.

‘That explained it…’ Bulma thought astutely to herself, her understanding smile never faltering as she evoked the short visit that she’d earlier made into Trunks’ room, just as she always did, in search of a goodnight kiss from her little boy.

Her child was already in bed when she’d sneaked in, hugging the heavy-eyed boy with one arm and running her nurturing fingers through his still damp hair with the other, bumping into a few grains of sand still lingering in his scalp while Trunks slurred sleepily in her ear, happily sharing with her all the things that he’d done with his dear Papa that day.

Vegeta’s child bathing skills may not have been perfected yet, but the mental image of her husband bathing their little boy was enough to make her heart both melt and swell with pride, proudly acknowledging just how far her man had come, both as a husband and as a father.

It was quite an achievement, especially considering how scarce his interactions had been with Trunks during his first months of life, not because he wasn’t willing to assist her in caring for their infant son, but because of how deep the dark self-doubt still plaguing him run, those poisonous beliefs of incompetence that made him fear even the simplest tasks, such as holding the baby in his arms, terrified of losing control of his immense physical power and causing their child some serious harm.

Those early days had been challenging indeed but, persistent as ever, Bulma had stubbornly refused to give up, never losing hope in her husband eventually coming out of his shell as a father, in the same way that he had on the day he found the courage to admit his romantic feelings for her, daring to make her his lifetime mate.

In the end, all of her passionate efforts had been worthy, and the earthling had the honor to proudly witness, first hand, a slow but steady development in her husband’s growing relationship with their son; from those adorably shy moments in which the Saiyan would take the child out of his crib when he thought that no one was watching, anxiously holding his breath while struggling to accommodate the helpless little cub in his arms, to those times when his confidence grew bolder and bolder, going as far as offering to change a diaper or two, or observing her as she bathed and bottle fed Trunks, timidly asking all sorts of insightful questions in aims of understanding the purpose of every one of her actions, so that he could later imitate them in return.

As expected, it was after Vegeta initiated their child’s training in the arts of battle, soon after the precocious boy took his first steps, when the initially frail ties between father and son began to truly solidify, strengthening and evolving into an infinitely deeper connection, a profound, almost primal, Saiyan bond of blood and trust that Bulma herself had keenly encouraged, inviting her husband to keep the fragile memory of his heritage alive by passing his vast knowledge to their unpredictably powerful little boy. 

In recent days, and even though their training sessions had increasingly grown in length and intensity, her husband had still succeeded in surprising her anew, braving to ask her and his father-in-law to teach him how to improve his reading and writing skills, skills which he had perfected with shocking speed, in hopes of being able to help Bulma now that Trunks was a bit older, and she had begun to seriously work on his academic education.

“Are you done with your speech?” Vegeta questioned, a hint of impatience lacing his voice as he examined attentively the heap of wrinkled papers scattered all over his wife’s disorganized desk.

“Uh?” Bulma asked back, so lost in her musings that she had to follow the Prince’s stare to remember just what it was that she’d been doing before her man had made his presence known. “Ah, no… Not yet, anyway…” She shrugged tiredly, the tiny yawn on her lips reminding her of her obvious fatigue. “I guess I should try to…”

“I’m sure you can finish it tomorrow,” the Prince cut her off at once, loathing the frown of determination on his woman’s face as she gave another look to the unfinished speech awaiting in front of her.

The word ‘workaholic’ seemed to have been specifically designed for his genius wife and, whilst Vegeta had always admired her fervent dedication towards her career, there were times when he found himself putting his foot down and forcing her to take a break, especially now, with Bulma juggling taking care of organizing such a prestigious event while dealing with the unpleasant symptoms of her early months of pregnancy.

“I guess you’re right,” she smiled at him, grateful for her husband’s protective concern, but still nudged by that tenacious little part of her overactive brain that always made her keep pushing herself beyond reason. “But maybe I could still…”

“Bulma,” he interrupted her again, his attitude leaving no room for argument. “Shower. Now.” He commanded, giving her no further chance to complain, and tempting her to follow right behind him by promptly disappearing into their room’s private bathroom, clad in nothing but that sexy pair of blue jeans that his wife loved so much on him.

Coming from any other person, such sternness would have exactly the opposite effect, making her disobey his orders, if only to prove that she could, and that no one would ever hold the power to tell Bulma Briefs what to do.

But, in her husband, she could always sense a heartfelt concern for her, the very same distress that she experienced when she had to resort to disconnecting his beloved Gravity Room, whenever his strenuous training sessions verged on self-punishment, hinting at just how frighteningly similar they both truly were, two stubborn peas in a pod, always saving each other from their own strongminded selves.

“Yes, Your Highness…” Bulma murmured petulantly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head to herself, summoning her most coquettish smile while lazily undressing herself, ready to shower her poor, neglected husband with some well-deserved affection.

By the time her bare feet touched the cold tiles of their luxurious bathroom, the air was heavily clouded with sizzling steam, and a very naked Saiyan Prince stood inside the marbled shower, giving her his back as he tried to relax under the soothing stream of hot water, releasing a long, heavy sigh of relief when his woman’s arms draped themselves around his perfectly sculpted abdomen, her mere presence enough to make his day complete.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetie…” Bulma candidly apologized, doing her best to vanish her man’s grumpy disappointment with the help of a couple of silky lips and ten very skillful little fingers, raining the softest kisses on the nape of his neck while her hands drew long, indolent circles all over his midriff’s smooth skin. “But thank you for trying… You know how much I like it when you pick me up from work…” She admitted, though, at times, she strongly suspected that her husband enjoyed visiting her in her Company’s central offices even more than she enjoyed those spontaneous visits herself.

She’d never really ventured to ask Vegeta why that was, knowing that her snoopy questions would do more harm than good, most surely embarrassing him instead. But, based on how much pride he always appeared to take in his wife’s professional accomplishments, Bulma had guessed long ago that it was very possible that the man of her life simply enjoyed seeing her work, and develop her groundbreaking discoveries, in her own element.

“And thank you for taking care of Trunks,” she whispered in his ear, rejoicing in his gentle grunt of acceptance, vibrating right through her as she pressed her enticingly nude body even closer to his. “He said you two had fun today,” she confessed, rubbing the tip of her nose on his shoulder and giggling vivaciously as she recalled Trunks’ special request, no doubt replicating his father’s exact words. “And he also asked me to remind you to talk to the Tooth Fairy Woman tonight…”

“Hmph!” Vegeta exclaimed in mocking outrage, still in disbelief at the peculiar qualities of his son’s physiology. “The brat keeps losing his teeth…”    

At that, Bulma had to seriously bite her lower lip, using everything in her power to stop herself from bursting into laughter at how cute her husband looked each and every time he discovered qualities in human culture which he’d never heard of in any other alien race, particularly those occurring in their own little boy.

“Aw, Honey…” Bulma cooed, reaching out for the bottle of her man’s favorite shampoo, and smiling to herself when he instinctively leaned his head back in response, completely accustomed by now to having a woman taking care of his needs for him. “I told you he’ll get some new ones soon…”

“Tsk! Pointless…” Vegeta mumbled through grouchy teeth, still incapable of understanding just what the point was in enduring the torture of an infant boy crying bloody murder while he grew his first set of teeth, only to lose them a few years later, apparently getting some new replacement in return. “No Saiyan kid would ever lose his goddamned teeth…” He murmured, finding it increasingly harder to maintain his typical level of grumpiness, not with those magical fingers of hers massaging his scalp with such delicacy, and feeling so unbelievably good.

“Well…” Bulma quietly explained, resorting to the same patient tone as the one she used during her son’s reading lessons. “Trunks is still half human, remember?”

“Hn… Don’t remind me…” He nagged sarcastically, following his woman’s kind instructions as she silently guided him underneath the stream of water again, running her fingers through his wild mane with great care as she proceeded to tenderly rinse off the copious soapy bubbles.

“Mhmm…” She hummed in good humor, already used to her husband’s harmless irony regarding the apparent weakness of her own race.

The couple had only really discussed Trunks’ hybrid nature once before, with Bulma being the one to bring up such a tricky subject herself. While the earthling would have never even given such an unimportant issue a second thought, it was through the supernatural bond binding her spirit to her husband’s that she learnt that the child’s unusually mixed blood was something that the Prince’s lost race would have strongly frowned upon.    

In effect, it was during those early days following her child’s arduous birth that Bulma had access to the alarming sequence of dark dreams incessantly plaguing her mate’s mind, disturbing hallucinations in which she had the dubious honor of being introduced to the sinister figure that would have been Trunks’ Grandfather, if only Destiny had reserved a different future for the Saiyan People.

She repeatedly heard the King’s ominous voice, the depressing echoes of a man who was clearly not even a real memory anymore, but a symbolic representation chasing and tormenting, with relentless cruelty, the shattered heart of the man she’d chosen to spend the rest of her life with.

The Monarch’s message would always be the same, a voice filled with reproach and bitter disapproval, striving to remind his son, the very same son cruelly abandoned to his own luck so many years ago, of the Ruler that he was still supposed to become, and what a foolish waste it was to live his life on some remote mudball, in the meaningless company of a weak woman and a half-breed child.

At first, Bulma had made the hard decision to ignore such hurtful visions, fearing that she might mortify her husband if she confessed to having had access to such painfully intimate imagery but, after waking up in abrupt shock one night, finding herself alone in the middle of an empty bed, she resolved to confront the troubled Prince, in desperate search of some much-needed peace of mind.   

“You saw Him?” Vegeta’s gloomy voice murmured into the night, his question dripping with sad resignation, addressing her as soon as he felt her joining him on the luxurious balcony, stepping behind him with light feet.

Bulma chose silence for a while, trying to heal his bleeding wounds by wrapping her arms around his bare torso, softly caressing his skin while leaning a cold cheek on one of his firm shoulders, struggling to ignore the excruciating soreness still debilitating her body, not yet recovered from the challenging trauma of childbirth.

“Does it bother you?” She inquired back, answering his question with another one, not even bothering to hide her raw vulnerability from him anymore, and how deeply terrifying it was to wonder if the father of her child would end up rejecting and abandoning them both, in search of a life that he deemed more deserving of a Royal warrior.

And it was in his woman’s poignant candor where he found his desired answer, an essential Truth that he’d known all along, but which he’d found impossible to properly give shape to, not until she’d needed him to do it in her name.

“He’s my son, Bulma,” he declared in the fiercest of whispers, turning to her and taking her weepy face in his hands, vanishing her daunting fears with the help of two words, two words simple in appearance, but carrying the meaning of a Lifetime at heart. “Our son…”  

“Then that’s all that matters,” she smiled through those unruly tears of gratitude, still shaken by her husband’s upsetting visions, but feeling a burdensome weight lifting off her shoulders when she sensed the immense pride that he took in fathering their child.

And, although Vegeta had been the one putting her at ease that night, Bulma couldn’t help but attempt to envelop him with her own reassurance too, stroking his flushed face with trembling fingertips as she set him free.

“This is your life, Vegeta,” Bulma whispered with blunt passion, avidly reminding him that he was now the sole holder of his hard-earned freedom. “You have the right to live it your way,” she promised, with such conviction that no man would have ever dared to question such a zealous declaration of independence. “You don’t owe him a thing…” She prompted him, challenging him to destroy the oppressive chains still tying his soul to the distorted memory of a dead man whose cowardly choices had brought him nothing but dishonor and pain. “You don’t owe anything to anyone…”

He stared at her with the most enigmatic look in his eye, awed by his woman’s inner strength as he invited her lips to join his into a long, desperate union, kissing her fondly, passionately, and taking her exhausted body in his arms when her legs began to falter, cursing himself for making his woman endure his own emotional demons while her body was still suffering the taxing consequences of bringing their son into the world.

Neither one of them uttered another word but, when the Prince settled her back into the comfort of their cozy bed, instinctively lying by her side and holding her carefully against him, Bulma knew that that night had perhaps been the most significant one in her mate’s existence, the beginning of a grueling, but unstoppable, journey towards freedom and recovery.

“I’m sure I can find a thing or two that you like about humans…” Bulma teased him, rubbing her voluptuous breasts against him kittenishly while running her thin fingers through his wet hair one last time, making sure that she’d gotten rid of all the aromatic bubbles.

She was proven right when Vegeta impulsively turned towards her, powerless to resist the temptation that was the alluring contact of his wife’s beautiful softness against his own masculine hardness.

“I suppose…” He murmured in his most irresistible bedroom voice, starved eyes roaming all over her, losing control of the calloused palms finding a home on her inviting hips. “Some humans are quite… Acceptable…”

One of Bulma’s eyebrows rose at the Prince’s insolent banter. “Oh?” She gasped in mocking affront. “Just acceptable?” She newly asked, her sweet breath feathering his mouth as she brought herself even closer, arms encircling his hard neck, fooling her more and more excited husband into believing that she was about to reward his cheekiness with a kiss, only to stretch her arms even further behind him, throwing a jar of cold water on his libertine expectations by grabbing a bar of soap instead. “That’s too bad, then…”

She lathered up the fragranced little item with practiced ease, chuckling in hilarity at Vegeta’s low groan of frustration, but taking enough pity on him to leave his needy hands right where they were as she continued to indulge him in what she knew was his favorite moment of the day.                     

Her palms smoothed musky soap suds all over his broad chest, taking her time as she massaged him in slow, languid circles, and finding it progressively harder to focus on her task when she had such a fine male specimen trembling in need beneath her hands, barely keeping his urges in check while he waited for her to be done with him, his dirty mind already fantasizing with the sensual way in which he’d ravish his wife tonight.

“I guess we’re in luck,” Bulma said, trying to change the subject with the mischievous intention of prolonging her naughty husband’s agony just a little longer.

“About?” Vegeta answered distractedly, a jolt of excitement making one of his biceps twitch uncontrollably now that her skillful touch was working on his beefy arm.

An impish smile erupted on her face, secretly basking in the power that only she held over the otherwise unbreakable warrior. “Well, as it turns out, the Tooth Fairy Woman made a new gi for Trunks a couple of days ago,” she patiently explained, switching to cleanse Vegeta’s neglected arm. “So now the Tooth Fairy Man can take the perfect gift into his room tonight…”    

“Hn…” He huffed crankily, ready to nitpick on his wife’s orders, even though in truth he didn’t mind them whatsoever. “And may I ask why the Tooth Fairy Woman can’t take the blasted present herself?”

“Because, my Darling…” Bulma purred, lightly tapping his shoulder in hushed encouragement for him to turn around and let her wash his back. “The Tooth Fairy Man can hide his ki, but every time the Tooth Fairy Woman visits Trunks’ room, he always wakes up.”

Her insightful explanation made Vegeta laugh for good this time, freely allowing the great pride that he took in his son’s skills show as he took advantage of his wife not being able to see his face right now.

Because she was right, of course, and it’d become evident to both of them by now that their son never failed to notice his mother’s distinctive ki whenever she was around. Vegeta wasn’t entirely sure if the reason behind it had to do with some kind of mystical bond formed between Bulma and the little brat, or if perhaps such an intimate connection was due to the ferociously protective instinct that Vegeta himself had instilled in the boy from their early days of hard training together.

Whatever the case, Trunks’ spirit was now so deeply in tune with his mother’s that it was virtually impossible for her to approach him, or to simply wander about in Capsule Corporation’s vicinities, without him noticing the uniqueness of her presence and, quite often, rushing to her side to check in on her safety, demanding a hug or two out of his treasured Mama on the way.

Out of all of his miraculous achievements, this was perhaps the one that fulfilled Vegeta the most, the absolute conviction that the little boy with the toothless grin and Batman pajamas would, one fine day, grow up to become a new breed of warrior. A fighter with his Mother’s kindness of heart and his Father’s incommensurable power and sharp battle skills, an honorable young man raised with a strongly inculcated belief which had taken his own ignorant father a lifetime to understand: that there was no greater, more noble use for a man’s physical power than its full devotion to the protection of those who mattered the most.

“Then maybe…” Vegeta suggested, leaning precariously against the shower’s marbled walls with wide open palms, trying to repress the dangerously stimulating effect that his wife’s hands were stirring inside of him as she knelt behind him, soaping up his well-built legs. “The Tooth Fairy Woman should finally learn how to hide her darned ki…”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Prince Vegeta,” Bulma retorted, making good use of that whispery, naïve tone that she resorted to whenever she was about to play her seductive games with her husband. “But the Tooth Fairy Woman thinks that there’s not a chance in Hell of that happening…”

A sexually tense silence surrounded them as her hands kept massaging his hardened flesh, travelling upwards, from his ankles to his knees, in a slow, erotic torture, making Bulma’s sharp teeth bite on her lip when Vegeta inhaled brusquely through his nose, his perfectly sculpted buttocks clenching in spontaneous reaction to the clever little fingers now reaching his sensitive thighs.

Her hands traced long, wide circles, kneading his solid muscles with slightly harder pressure at first as she worked on thoroughly cleansing his skin, only to gradually switch to softer, lighter caresses when her main job was completed, and her carnal body let him know that it was time to get dirty again.   

Feathery fingers explored his inner thighs, running up and down the sensitized flesh, and playfully raking those long fingernails across his skin while delighting in the way his toes were now curling and uncurling against the floor, his robust legs trembling in want and anticipation when her touch dared to take one step further, making its way up to his sexy bottom.

Bulma stood gracefully from the shower plate, her hands never ceasing those teasing ministrations as she fondled his juicy cheeks, drinking in his needy groan when she reached the elusive scar resting in the small of Vegeta’s back, right where his sneaky tail used to be.

Contrary to her husband’s old beliefs, the intriguing appendage never grew back and, though she sometimes still missed, almost as much as the Prince did, the sensuous things that he could do with it, the extremely sensitive mark left behind had turned out to be almost as much fun as the tail itself, a sexy little spot that could turn him on like a shot, a lustful weakness that Bulma loved to exploit any chance she got.     

“Mhmm…” She moaned into the damp skin of his shoulder, a wild shiver visibly rushing through his spine when her fingertips began a torturous exploration around the steamy spot, drawing idle circles all around it with unbearable slowness as she brought herself even closer, ripe tits pressed against his back. “You like this… Don’t you?”

“B-Bulma…” He mumbled throatily, hating and loving her for knowing just how to push his every button so damn easily.

A loud grunt burst in his throat when, just as he was about to turn on his feet, ready to face her and take full control of the situation, she draped one greedy arm around his abdomen, stopping him dead in his spot and reaching down with her other lascivious hand.

“Oh, yeah… Just look at you…” Bulma murmured seductively, wrapping her soapy fingers around his already stiff cock, her own arousal building up at the sound of her lover’s helpless sigh as he tilted his head back, closing his eyes and leaning on her shoulder as she provoked him relentlessly.

Her grip tightened on him, working him with long, powerful strokes, and smirking devilishly against his exposed jawline while nipping at it, rough and animalistic, just how he liked it.

“You just can’t help yourself… Can you?” She teased in a husky whisper, manicured nails digging harshly into those hard-rock abs as she kept tormenting him, running her impish fingers up and down, from its throbbing base to its tip. “You only get hard for your wife, don’t you?” She purred again, knowing how much Vegeta loved to refer to her as his ‘wife’.

“Wo-Woman…” He threatened hopelessly, hands almost cracking the shower tiles, and that familiar, coppery taste spreading through his mouth as he chewed hard on his inner cheek, his weak self-control slipping when her velvety fingertips found the thick tip of his cock, drawing lazy circles all over it, only to wrap a firm hand around him again, setting up a new, excruciating rhythm, jerking him faster, harder, making him lose all reason as only she knew how.

Her tiny teeth sank on his earlobe, savoring the desperate hiss caressing his tongue, ready to give him one final push, setting the wild beast free now that she had him right where she wanted him.

“You only get hard for me…” She husked cockily, the hand just holding him against her suddenly clutching a handful of his dripping wet hair, pulling as hard as she could, challenging him just like a fearless Saiyan female would.

That did it.

“Impudent little wench!” He roared savagely, forcing her to let go of him at once by turning around, splaying both hands around the creamy flesh of her sweet little ass and lifting her off the ground faster than Bulma’s thrilled eyes could see, trapping her defenselessly, her bare back right against the shower wall.

Bulma yelped in exhilaration, arms and legs fiercely holding onto his body as if he were the only thing she had, hooking her ankles around his waist as she threw her head back, eyes shut tight, waiting for her husband to ravish every inch of her incensed body. Her breasts heaved in repressed need, drowning in the sensuality of the hot water gliding over her hard nipples and the aching, inflamed flesh of her husband’s manhood fully erect, pressed against the soft curve of her belly.

She could feel his body responding to hers, his frantic need for her shamefully written in his erratic breath, and in those trembling fingers, digging roughly into her milky thighs as he held her, building her own desire to a fever pitch, incapable of waiting any longer for him to give her what she needed so badly.

“Hey…” Bulma whispered shakily, opening her eyes and looking at him through a questioning haze, noticing the frustrating hesitation in that black gaze. “What’s wrong?” She asked, trying, with little success, to keep under control the ragged breath betraying the burning fire consuming her.

“Are you…? Are you alright?” Vegeta rasped, heartbreaking guilt lacing his gruff voice as he battled his most primal desires.

“I’m fine, Vegeta,” she smiled fondly at him, realizing that her loud squeal had suddenly made him fear that he’d been too rough on her. “More than fine…” She reassured him, deeply moved by how incredibly protective he always acted towards her, especially during her pregnancies, even if she’d just barely crossed the second month mark of the current one. “Come here…” She whispered friskily, chuckling girlishly while pulling aside a roguish lock of hair hiding one of his eyes from her, erasing every one of his insecurities with the help of her mouth, erotically brushing his parted lips with the tip of her tongue before pressing her own mouth against his, rekindling the uncontrollable flame burning between them beyond any rational control.

One of her arms curved itself around his hard neck, her other hand boldly skimming over his shivery abdomen as she reached down to stroke him, smirking in smug satisfaction as she watched the absolute rapture on his face. Her legs imprisoned him possessively, smashing his self-control when she rubbed the sensitive scar in his back with one mischievous heel, crossing her ankles around his lean hips and pushing roughly, bringing him as close to her as she could.       

Her body flowed against him, sinuous hips swirling, rolling, moving with the same sensuality of the sweltering water raining above them as she tangled her own pleasure with his, sliding his pulsing hardness between her soft folds, using him for her own selfish gratification.

“Vegeta…” Bulma moaned wantonly, a sizzling spark burning between her legs, feeling herself about to lose at her own wicked game. “I… I want you inside me…” She pleaded, stealing another fiery growl out of him when she stroked him one last time before guiding him to her entrance, lowering herself onto him with agonizing leisureliness and gladly surrendering her power back to him. “Make love to me…”

The Prince shuddered in relief, groaning madly as he plunged slowly into her tight warmth, one hand keeping her firmly held against his waist while another protective hand nestled her head, kissing her in a frenzy. It was his turn now to make her his, and as his hips started to move on their own, he knew that he was ready to make the most of it.

The air was electrifying, hot steam impregnated with the overwhelming scent of fragranced soaps, salty sweat and the infuriating, saturated perfume of her arousal, the luring perfume of the woman whose sharp nails where now poking the nape of his neck, piercing hot needles reminding him of his wife’s irrational desire for him.  

“G-Gods! I’m… I’m so close…” She whimpered pitifully, their noses touching as she pressed her brow against his and squeezed her eyes shut, almost ashamed at how naturally she fell apart in her man’s arms.

And, if Vegeta’s mind hadn’t been already on the verge of splitting, he would have laughed at her helplessness, at how easy it was for him to bring the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen to ecstasy. But he couldn’t, not when he could feel his own reason slipping already, that unbearable pressure growing in his loins, and those cherry-colored toes curling and uncurling into his heated skin, awakening his most primitive instincts with the wicked way they kept brushing that goddamned tail spot.     

“Bulma… Tell me when…” He demanded fervidly, hips unyielding, grinding, pounding into her, hard and fast, while looking her straight in the eye with terrifying intensity. “I want us to cum together…” He begged, a dying man searching for one last, heavenly meal, emphasizing his anxious request with a thrust that made the most succulent cry melt in her pretty throat. “Tell me…”

She didn’t even know if she’d replied to his frenzied demand, all she knew was that no woman had been taken like this, fucked like this, ever. Not this deliciously, filling and completing her, merging his body with hers and making her feel that, if he kept this up, this maddening, domineering intensity, he’d break her apart and leave her still begging for more.

“Ve-Vegeta...” She mewled, shiny beads of water glistening in her lips as her mouth opened wide in abandon, her choked sounds stripping him from his inhibitions, ramming into her completely unrestrained when he felt her pulsating around him.

“Tell me!” He implored, grappling with a raving need to let go, to join her as she blissfully luxuriated in her own climax. 

“N-Now… Now… Now!” Her raspy voice gasped, carving fresh scars into his already marred skin when he bucked his hips against hers one last time, shooting his hot seed in her tight little pussy as she kept narrowing around his swollen cock, draining every drop of his thick essence as her ears embraced the animalistic roar of his sated release.

Bulma’s head dropped heavily on his shoulder, hiding her rosy face from the stream of hot water cascading above them, losing herself in the afterglow of their mind-blowing orgasm. She run both hands across her husband’s back, trembling legs hanging limply on both sides of him, smiling weakly into his musky skin when Vegeta’s strong arms tautened around her, a faithful reminder that he’d never let her fall, not even when he himself was overcome by his own faintness, never stopping that slow, sensual friction against her, basking in the intimate aftermath of their lovemaking.

In a moment such as this one, it was impossible not to evoke that remote, long-lost night, it seemed like centuries ago now, in which her Prince had first experienced the desire to comfort another being, and how the man holding her in such a passionate, yet natural embrace, was a far cry from the one she’d met in a different lifetime, that silent, distant warrior who’d once strived to ease her pain with the help of a fearful mouth and two hesitant hands, a man who’d never cared or been cared for, a man who’d not once loved or been loved in return.

Back in those days, those forgotten days of furtive encounters, alternated with the most lonesome of nights, Bulma had promised herself that, if only Destiny ever gifted her with a real shot at true happiness, she’d spend every minute of such a priceless opportunity healing the wounds of the man who’d one day, against all odds, become her husband.

Her new existence on Earth had been an unexpected gift indeed, and though Bulma had squeezed every precious drop of her second chance in life, and there were already far too many achievements and discoveries to her name to count, there was nothing that enthused more pride within her heart than having had the patience, and the emotional skills, to fulfill her vow of protection, opening the eyes of the man whose hands were now gently lathering up her satiated body as she leaned onto him for support.

Vegeta’s bleeding wounds run deep and she knew, far deeper than those of any other man she’d ever known but, tonight, the tender confidence of those hands told her that they’d made it, and that her Prince had long ago accepted kindness as something real, an authentic gesture that he was both worthy of giving and receiving.

His touch was no longer timid but quietly confident, unafraid of its inborn roughness causing any harm to the fragile creature he’d chosen as a lifetime companion, spreading those sumptuously perfumed bubbles all over her porcelain skin with the surprising self-assurance of a man who’d happily welcomed his new, unanticipated place in life, just a husband caring for his wife, with the innate security that she’d always care for him just as much.

“Thank you…” She murmured appreciatively against his still damp cheek as he assisted her in wrapping herself in her baby blue bathrobe, grateful for him, not only washing and rinsing her body and hair with great care, but for even going as far as running a small comb through her turquoise tresses for her, in the clumsiest, most adorable way she’d ever seen.

Her gratitude was rewarded with an embarrassed grunt, with Vegeta doing his best to put on his own robe while his wife’s puny arms attempted murder on him, cutting off his air supply by cuddling his neck to death, and showering his face and neck with the loudest, most sweetly annoying smooches, bursting into the very same luminous laughter that she shared with their son when he took her in his arms, carrying her back to the sanctuary of their private bedroom.

The Prince took a seat on one of the large armchairs awaiting them in their suite’s lounging area, just as he often did after their intimate showers together, securing her tiny figure on his lap as they both savored those last cozy moments of the night, before the plush warmth of their bed would tempt them to retreat into its lavish comfort.

“Thank you for taking care of things these past few weeks,” Bulma whispered, succumbing to the protective arms shielding her from the cool air of the night. “I know I haven’t been around as much, and I’m sorry…” She apologized, touching remorse gleaming in her tired blue eyes as she petted his cheekbones with devotion. “It’s just that… Tomorrow means a lot to me…”     

“I know, Bulma,” he answered without delay, hands comfortingly squeezing around her slender frame, trying to reassure her, to convey without words that there was no need for her to express regret for the consequences of her own success. “Although the boy has missed you,” Vegeta admitted, the sad longing in his voice revealing that Trunks hadn’t been the only one of her favorite boys who’d lately suffered the void of her absence.

“I know, Sweetie…” Bulma muttered in acceptance, bringing herself even closer, and instantly lifting his spirits with a dazzling smile. “But I promise I’ll make it up to him,” she assured him, sealing her hopeful promise with a long, deep kiss, one of those kisses that turned him into nothing but a love-struck idiot by the time she was done with him. “I’ll make it up to you both…”

His thumb lightly brushed the beauty that was her mouth. “Did you discuss matters with your father?” He asked expectantly, a glint of contentment beaming in his regal features when she hummed and nodded in quick agreement.

“I did,” she happily informed, bopping the tip of his nose with a playful finger. “My Dad will be taking my place in the company during the rest of my pregnancy,” she promised, feeling her husband’s pure relief washing through her as if it were her own. “And he’ll be working with my first assistant too.”

“Good,” Vegeta responded, obviously pleased to see his woman taking her delicate physical condition more seriously these days.

Carrying a Saiyan child was already a high enough risk for a human female and, while Bulma had always taken good care of her health during her pregnancy with Trunks, her reckless tendency to overstrain herself, and those addictively long hours locked up in her massive laboratory, had resulted in some minor complications the first time around.

Thankfully, those few health scares had come to nothing, but they’d been severe enough to bring her ridiculously worried husband to the brink of a heart-attack more than once, with the Prince solemnly promising himself that, if they ever decided to try for another child, he’d make damn sure that the careless woman took good care of herself the second time, taking matters into his own hands if necessary.

“You’ll be getting some rest this time,” Vegeta cautioned her, resorting to that serious tone that passed as a grave warning, but which actually hid a secret plea, the humble plea of a man married to a little firecracker of a woman that nothing, and no one, would ever fully tame. “Or I’ll tie you up to the bed, and I’ll keep you there until you birth the damned brat…”         

“Ummm…” Bulma squinted with joking seriousness. “Is that a threat?” She asked flirtatiously while wiggling her eyebrows at him, bringing a rush of scarlet to his cheeks when she made him realize that his statement could definitely be misinterpreted in a very different way. “Because that sounds kind of fun, actually…”   

“Tch!” He pouted, the tips of his ears burning like those of a shy adolescent. “Must you always be so vulgar?”

“Yeup!” She proudly exclaimed, not even a hint of shame hiding in her lively chuckle as she smiled coquettishly at him, her body quickly shifting in his hold with the limberness of a cat, now straddling his athletic thighs between her shapely ones. “So?” Bulma promptly asked, oceanic eyes shining in the dark with contagious excitement. “Did you check tonight?”

“Not yet,” Vegeta confessed, a smile of amusement twisting his lips, and those large hands already finding the inviting opening of her robe, sneaking underneath the fluffy fabric in the hunt for the still invisible curve of her smooth abdomen.

Bulma sought his strong shoulders for support, dainty fingers resting on the groove of his neck while she kept glancing down with curiosity, full lips gaping in naïve expectation, gasping tiny puffs of cool air at the ticklish sensation of her husband’s blue ki caressing her tummy in what had become a nightly ritual by now, the fascinating quest for their child’s elusive gender.

“I can’t…” The Prince frowned while slowly shaking his head, hardly suppressing the slight disappointment shared with his disillusioned wife every time he failed her.

“I see… I guess it’s still too early to tell…” Bulma whispered, almost as if talking to herself, her face dropping in disenchantment for merely a few seconds, only to quickly pick herself up, fearing that, if she brooded for too long, her poor husband might end up feeling inadequate for not being able to satisfy her wishes yet. “I think it will be a girl this time…” She boldly guessed, traces of a secretive smile illuminating her immaculate face when her eyes met his again.

“How come?” Vegeta rapidly asked back, genuinely intrigued by his woman’s mysterious prediction, especially considering that it was the very first time she’d ventured to take a guess at the sex of their unborn child.

Her radiant smile widened, cleverly picking up on the not-so-subtle tinge of terror sullying her husband’s masculine voice, suddenly hit by the realization that the Almighty Prince of All Saiyans’ greatest fear may end up taking the shape of a beautifully vulnerable baby girl.

“I don’t know,” she answered casually, shrugging with charming nonchalance while scrunching her pretty nose at him. “Just a hunch, I guess…” Came her honest reply, fluttering her airy eyelashes at him while nuzzling his cheek, laying the most alluring kiss on the corner of his captivated mouth. “A little girl who looks just like me…”  

‘The Gods help him…’

A little girl who looked just like Bulma would be the death of him, not only because Vegeta didn’t have the faintest idea as to how to raise a young daughter, or what to even do with her, but because a lovely girl with Saiyan blood and her mother’s gorgeous looks would have him wrapped around her little finger without a hitch.

It was hard enough for a man like him, a coldhearted warrior who once used to purge and destroy entire planets for a living, to admit to himself that the mere thought of his wife and son was enough to turn him into a big lump of fluffy marshmallow, but he knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t survive a stunning little brat who looked just like a miniature version of the inimitable woman who’d stolen his heart.

His hands instinctively tightened around her, a brief pang of panic overwhelming him at the dreadful prospect of not being able to rise to the occasion, proving himself useless in assisting his wife to care for their second child, and letting down both her and their newborn, just like he’d done during Trunks’ earlier months of life.

But then his Bulma snuggled sleepily against him, her body’s heartening warmth curling up in his arms, as if some exotic Deity had specifically designed her for him alone. And, when he felt those slender arms longingly clinging to the safety of him, and those small, pale feet glowing under the moonlight while resting comfortably on his lap, he couldn’t stop his overactive imagination from running wild, trying to imagine what it would feel like if Fortune deemed it fair to bless him this time with an angelic girl who was just the spitting image of his woman, just like he couldn’t contain the serenity of the smile springing on the mouth now kissing his wife’s fragrant hair, a beautiful reminder that there were worse, way worse ways to die than dying of love.

Chapter Text

Who can control his Fate?

[William Shakespeare; ‘Othello’]

******************************************

Bulma peeped discreetly at the large salons from behind the thick, heavy curtains that hid the wooden platform, where she’d delivered the best speech of her life mere hours ago, burgundy velvet held with one hand, while distractedly petting her still-invisible baby bump with the other, thoughtfully trying to figure out if the time had come for her to finally make her furtive exit, eager to join the grumpy Saiyan Prince who was surely awaiting her in her mother’s gardens by now.       

“Bulma?” A recognizably raspy voice muttered right behind her, a reassuring hand laying itself on her bare shoulder so as not to startle her.

“Hi Daddy!” She greeted him in a bright whisper, promptly turning around and throwing her arms around her father’s neck, smiling softly into the smooth fabric of his tuxedo as she took in the old, comforting scent of lavender cologne and black tobacco that she’d missed so much, back during those dark times in which he’d been so brutally taken away from her.

Dr. Briefs happily returned his daughter’s innocent embrace, rubbing and patting her back in the most tender manner, still basking in the afterglow of paternal pride swallowing him up after Bulma’s flawless performance.

On a night like this one, it was hard to believe that the fully-grown woman, clad in such a sophisticated red dress, was the same little girl who used to wreak havoc in his laboratory once upon a time, with adorably blue pigtails and a chaotic cluster of questions about science, far too advanced for a child her age. And yet, here she was, the extraordinary female who was, not only the most brilliant scientist on Earth, but the one who’d greatly contributed, with the help of her fiercely enigmatic husband, to the miraculous revival of their lovely home planet, and all of its fallen inhabitants.

“Is everything alright?” The older man kindly asked, sensing his daughter’s delicate emotions closer to the surface than usual tonight.

Her speech had been as impeccable as ever, both cleverly charming and witty, but his wise eyes hadn’t missed the way her voice had subtly shaken more than once, particularly when she’d openly thanked her husband for the ‘invaluable support’ that he’d always offered her, both in regard to her family life and unstoppable career. It’d been an unexpected gesture indeed, so unexpected that he’d even detected a rare glint sparkling in the impenetrable black eyes of the typically aloof young man.    

“Uh-huh…” Bulma mumbled childishly, holding onto him a little longer, just a little, trying to regain her composure before leaving the party.

Tonight was a night for celebration, and she refused to let Vegeta see her like this, loathing to spoil the special surprise she still had in store for her poor, neglected husband, especially when she knew just how useless he still felt whenever she was in an overly emotional mood.

“How did I do?” She questioned with modesty, breaking her father’s hug, but still keeping her gentle hands resting on his shoulders.

A knowing smile widened on the older scientist’s mouth as he held his daughter’s splendid face in his hands, deeply moved by how surprisingly humble, how starved for approval his youngest child still was, even when it’d become painfully evident that Bulma’s intelligence had, by far, surpassed his own a long, long time ago. The torch had already been passed to the new generation and, although in recent years most of his company’s new discoveries and technological developments had been his daughter’s brainchild, something told him that he’d never see a day when he’d ever lose her deepest respect and admiration.

“You were perfect,” he admitted in a fond whisper as he kissed her forehead through those feathery bangs, her luminous giggles reminiscent of how adorably proud she’d looked when she won her first Science Medal, at the precocious age of five.

“Thank you, Daddy…” She whispered back, letting go of him after one last bear hug and a loud smooch on the cheek. “So… You think I can leave now?” She asked mischievously, a cheeky thumb wiping her flashy rouge mark off her father’s face. “Or is there someone else I should talk to?”       

“Ummm… I don’t think so…” Dr. Briefs answered with benevolence. “I’ve already seen you talking to all the big sharks tonight, so I think you can make your escape now,” he smiled shrewdly at her, taking her hands in his and leaning to her ear, ready to let her know that he was well aware of why she was already plotting her getaway. “Besides… I believe there’s a young man waiting for you outside…”

Bulma’s ears flushed crimson at her father’s implications, still, she couldn’t help a tiny chuckle as she timidly looked at him. “There is?”

“Mm-hmm…” He hummed in confirmation. “He hasn’t even changed into his armor yet. He’s still wearing his suit.”

“That’s good!” She playfully snickered, realizing that her amused father was referring to the first time her Prince had ever attended one of Capsule Corp.’s lavish galas.

Her poor alien mate had actually displayed astoundingly good manners throughout the first half of the event but, as soon as the heiress’ speech was over, Vegeta secretly fled the place at the speed of light, swapping his expensive tuxedo in favor of one of the training armors that Bulma so loved to design and craft just for him.

Later that evening, Dr. Briefs had been the one to communicate to his daughter that one of the waiters had accidentally located the warrior’s posh suit crumpled carelessly on the ground, hidden amongst one of the lush bushes of Panchy Briefs’ famous rose garden.

Initially, Bulma had worried that her father would have thought the Saiyan’s actions to be rude or disappointing but, much to her surprise, the older scientist found his son-in-law’s behavior absolutely hysterical, and not at all shocking, if one took his rough, bellicose background into account.

She may have never fully described, in great detail, every single aspect of her husband’s violent past, but the Doctor had known enough, even back then, to make an educated guess, figuring out that it would surely take the new man of the house quite a bit of time to get accustomed to such a radically different way of life, here on Earth.

And it wasn’t long before Bulma fathomed that her father had taken an instant liking to the most unique addition of the family, having the astute ability to see beyond Vegeta’s apparent impassivity, in exactly the same way she had, and genuinely sympathizing with the reformed mercenary who’d saved his daughter’s life, sweeping her off her feet, and making her infinitely happier than he’d ever seen her before along the way.

“He’s been so good with Trunks lately, Daddy,” Bulma confessed, her radiant face beaming with the awe-inspiring pride that she always took in her husband. “You have no idea…”

“I know, Sweetheart, your Mother already told me,” he retorted with just as much pride, giving away the fact that the Prince’s amazing metamorphosis hadn’t gone unnoticed in the Briefs household. “That’s why I think you should go and spend some time with him now.”

“Are you sure?” She asked again, hopeful hands lovingly squeezing her father’s in search of assurance.

“Sure,” he enheartened her, holding her close and kissing her cheek one final time, his fuzzy mustache tickling her sensitive skin as he whispered his encouragement in her ear. “Go with your husband. Your Mother and I will take care of things.”

“Okay,” she muttered with resolve, fervently cuddling and kissing him back for an affectionate instant. “Goodnight Dad…” Bulma bid goodbye, lovingly stroking his face as she flashed him her most grateful smile, before turning on her feet and disappearing into the busy chaos taking place behind the curtain.

She got lost amongst the crowd of engaged workers, in search of the backdoor exit that would lead her directly outside the house, without having to waste any more of her valuable time dealing with the horde of bothersome guests that would, as always, still be waiting for her, looking forward to being offered the opportunity to get to talk to the star of the night and, more often than not, trying to sell her one of those fantastic ‘once in a lifetime’ deals, in hopes of reaping some kind of eventual benefit for themselves in return.

An invigorating rush of fresh air enveloped her when she finally succeeded in breaking out from the place, landing on one of her colossal mansion’s side balconies, precisely the one with a view to her mother’s blossoming gardens, where an unmistakable silhouette was already patiently anticipating her company.

Bulma walked a few measured steps in his direction, leaning carefully on the white, marbled railing as she looked over, admiring the impressive vision that was the man who, even after all these years devotedly sharing his life with her and their child, still remained as cabalistic, as alien as he could be.

There he was, a calm, dignified figure standing collectedly by the small fountain, right at the center of a lively oasis of colorful flowers, hands casually stuck in the pockets of his silk suit, and his stare high, gazing at the night full of stars, just as he often did whenever he was feeling particularly museful or sentimental.

In the early days of their new existence on Earth, there had been times when Bulma worried about the cryptic explanation behind such a contemplative practice, dreading that, perhaps, it would mean that the warrior’s Saiyan blood would be calling out for him, temptingly inviting him to abandon his insignificant life as a family man, and go back into Space, that vast, unexplored field of riches and power that he had so easily renounced to when she’d walked into his life.

But, the more her husband opened up to her, fleshing out more of those dark, forbidden tales from a past which had shaped and forged him into the man he was today, the more she understood that such a gesture was built purely out of habit, the unfortunate habit of a young, vagabond boy who’d grown up without a home, looking at the stars, night after night, in search of an answer, and slowly deceiving himself into believing that, if only he could one day emerge as the strongest fighter in the Universe, controlling, taking possession of it all, then maybe one day, he’d find a place in the world, a place to call his own.

It’d certainly been a powerful lie to live by, but a lie nonetheless and, much to her relief, Bulma needn’t wait for long to see such a lie inexorably evaporate, vanishing into nothing but thin air as soon as her Prince grasped that, sometimes, a weak woman and a small child were all a man would ever need to make him find peace, to make him feel that he truly had it all.

A soft spring breeze brusquely prickled her neck’s delicate skin, fully exposed to the elements now that her turquoise hair had been elegantly tied up into a classy chignon, the crisp air of the night announcing that it was time to bring her naughty plan to fruition.

But tonight was no ordinary night and, before she was even given a chance to leave the grand balcony in pursuit of her lonesome husband, Bulma Briefs would be met face-to-face with the Past, in the startling shape of the one person who’d mattered the most to her for far too many years, that is, until a certain Saiyan Prince made his unexpected entrance into her life, stealing her heart in ways she’d never known.

“Hey B.,” a low voice mumbled sheepishly behind her back, a unique, modest voice that she’d have the ability to recognize anywhere, at any given time, even if she hadn’t heard the sound of it in more than five years.

“Hi Yamcha…” Bulma whispered back after a few confused seconds, her slight apprehension fading away when she turned to face her uninvited guest, quickly noticing that her ex-lover seemed to have chosen to come back to her holding out an olive branch in his hands.

His anxious face instantly softened in reaction to Bulma’s kind demeanor, visibly relieved to see her so relaxed and, with a bit of luck, just as willing to reconcile, and to leave their hostile history behind, as he obviously was.      

“It’s good to see you,” he praised her with shy sincerity, briefly staring at the ground while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, in exactly the same way he used to back in the day, every single time he’d guiltily try to sneak his way back into her bed, right after disappearing for days, or even weeks at a time, without even a proper goodbye or justification of any sort.

“Thank you, Yamcha,” she smiled considerately at him, taking a good look at his guise in hopes of figuring out how he’d been doing these days. “It’s good to see you too. You look good…” She commended him, pleased to see him looking much closer to the man he used to be, back when they were both a little younger and way more foolish.

It was a far cry from the ghastly appearance he’d displayed the last time she’d seen him in person, on the day of the horribly unpleasant event which had ended up with him being kicked out of Capsule Corp. grounds by her livid Saiyan mate, and effectively ending their friendship for good this time, or, at least, so she’d come to believe after all these years of absence.

The decline of whatever had remained of their relationship back then had begun right after his resurrection when, soon after their arrival to Planet Namek, Vegeta and Bulma had the privileged opportunity to meet the venerated Grand Elder himself.

As it turned out, the Namekian Dragon Balls, though surprisingly similar to the ones she’d once discovered on Earth, still held some differences when compared to her planet’s equivalent, the main one being that they did not possess the power to bring back to life more than one person at a time.

In spite of the couple’s disappointment, and bright as she always had been, it was Bulma the one to ideate a solution to solve such a disheartening predicament, realizing that all that would be needed for them to do was to use the first wish to restore her magnificent planet. A second one to resurrect Kami, the Namekian Guardian of Earth, a miracle that would simultaneously reinstate Earth’s own Dragon Balls, which did hold the power indeed to bring back all of the population who died during the brutal purge so viciously executed by Frieza’s Ginyu Force, including her own group of warrior friends. This would only leave them with a third wish, the one eventually spent in asking Namek’s majestic Dragon to transport them both safely to their brand-new home.

Once on Earth, the Saiyan Prince, with the assistance of his fearless partner, the genius invention that was her Dragon Ball radar, and the mysterious company of Piccolo, a shockingly powerful Namekian warrior who’d been resuscitated at exactly the same time as Earth’s Divinity, due to having been both merged into one single creature in the past, wasted no time in getting to work, collecting all seven magical items at once, and proudly presenting them to his Bulma, always keeping his promise to give her the right to make use of such mystical forces to her heart’s content.

A barren wasteland was the spot meticulously selected to perform the private ritual, the same desert that once witnessed the tragic fall of every one of her best friends, and the very same land where all of them would, one more time, reenter the World of the Living.

Bulma prepared and performed the customary ceremony to perfection, under the watchful eye of the two strong fighters who’d made it possible, and thoroughly intrigued, in particular, by the Prince’s imminent reaction to his first time meeting the younger man who’d shared the majority of her wild adventures of youth with her, eventually becoming like the little brother she’d never had.

Back in the early stages of their clandestine relationship, in the dark of one of those ardent, sleepless nights shared in the secrecy of her tiny apartment, Bulma had curiously confessed to having once befriended an odd boy who also had a tail, a physical feature highly unusual in those belonging to the human race.

While, at first, Vegeta had carelessly dismissed the possibility of the strange little brat being a Saiyan child, the earthling’s revelation of this so-called ‘Son Goku’ almost killing her and her friends on more than one occasion, straight after having transformed into a Giant Ape, interested him at once. Bulma had soon learnt that such an astonishing metamorphosis only occurred under the influence of a Full Moon, and it was this precise tidbit of information what finally got the soldier’s full attention, finding it too great a similarity with the unique characteristics of his own fallen race, for it to be a mere coincidence.

The only possible explanation he’d been able to formulate to explain why a Saiyan child would have somehow found himself inhabiting Bulma’s planet, had been the strong likelihood of the boy being classified as a third-class warrior, a systematic evaluation consistently carried out soon after the birth of every Saiyan infant, with no exception, that always ended with the heartless consequence of sending the baby away on his own, in the only company of a space pod and a ruthless mission, mentally programming the child’s young brain with the deeply ingrained belief that his new purpose in life would be the merciless conquest of whatever recondite destination he’d been exiled to.

Seeing how the boy had obviously been given a human name at some point, and based on the earthling’s detailed descriptions of the child’s remarkably friendly nature, Vegeta accurately concluded that something had gone terribly wrong with the little boy’s hostile programming, and that he must have, for reasons unknown to him, forgotten any traces of his true Saiyan identity, or the real purpose of his imposed visit to a foreign planet he’d grown to love and protect as if it were his own.

Bulma would never forget the meaningful smirk springing on her lover’s mouth the moment he set his eyes on the younger man materializing before them, right at the feet of Earth’s splendid Magical Dragon. The Prince may not have known yet the intriguing identity of his mate’s best childhood friend, but the excitingly distinctive gleam sparkling in those pitch-black eyes, together with a power level infinitely higher than that of Nappa and Raditz combined, revealed that the goofy male was a Saiyan indeed, one that would soon become Vegeta’s biggest challenge and, by far, the greatest sparring partner he’d ever get to share his grueling training sessions with.

The most surprising finding took place when the kindhearted warrior cordially walked to Vegeta’s spot, with the cheeky intention to formally introduce himself, boldly shaking the Prince’s hand while seemingly ignoring the joyful chaos arising as the rest of their friends began to gradually pop up, one by one, all around them.

Though he first announced himself by his human name, he immediately let it be known that, during the months spent in Otherworld, he’d been efficiently informed by King Kai, one of the Deities in charge of his special training, of Bulma’s shocking whereabouts, with the vastly knowledgeable God enlightening him about his true origins, both his own and those of his forgotten People, including the Saiyan name that his parents had chosen for him, before he’d been sent away on a failed mission to Earth.

In a new twist of Fate, one of those transcendental coincidences which had become such a pivotal part of his and his mate’s existence, the name ‘Kakarot’ quickly rang a bell in Vegeta’s sharp mind, making him dwell deep into his still fairly recent past, and bringing up memories of Raditz himself sitting by the bonfire after one of their habitual purging assignments, confessing to having a younger brother going by such a name and, at times, wondering, not without a tinge of sad melancholy, on whether the younger man would still be alive, or if they’d ever get to meet again.

But the happiness of such a festive reunion would soon come to an abrupt end, when the last member of the gang of brave men killed in battle was brought back to life, the final piece in the puzzle of the mad rollercoaster that the journey of Bulma Briefs had always been, none other than the former desert bandit who’d once claimed ownership of her heart.

Yamcha.

The blue-haired beauty had been so engrossed in the emotional ups and downs of those past few weeks, still recovering from the hopeless grief of her false belief in her mate’s death, and the subsequent joy of his return, his glorious victory before his diabolical Icejin Master, and the real prospect of a life together on Earth, raising the little boy who’d been conceived out of the purest love, that she’d completely forgotten about her old flame, and the rotten possibility of the human fighter still thinking of her as his own, even if they had already put an end to their romantic relationship before the collapse of their treasured home planet ever happened.

Her worst nightmare became a sour reality when Yamcha run to her, quite literally, the minute his body fully emerged before her stunned eyes, taking her in his arms and lifting her off the ground while spinning her around, just like he used to do in past times, whenever they’d celebrate one of the many victories of his popular baseball team.

Only, this time, Bulma didn’t reciprocate with the loving excitement of her old, teenage self, her dizzy body uncomfortably stiffening beneath his touch instead, waiting with apprehension for him to let her go, and absolutely dreading where this was going, trying to come up, in vain, with a way to break the news of her engagement to Vegeta to a man who was so clearly, and absolutely, besotted with her still.

In the end, there was no chance for such an awful conversation to even present itself for, just when her feet were finally allowed to touch the dusty ground, Yamcha’s lips sought hers right away, awkwardly touching her cold cheek as she instinctively turned her face from him, finding herself naturally rejecting his unwanted advances now that she belonged to someone else.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Vegeta’s enraged voice boomed in the air, a grimy cloud of dry sand enveloping all three of them as he violently pushed the speechless man away from his woman, throwing him on the ground, and standing in front of her in his most furiously protective stance.

“Ve-Vegeta…” Bulma nervously mumbled, suddenly overcome by the rarest conflict, split between loving her mate more than she ever thought possible, while feeling her soul break a little for the incredulous man still sprawled on the dirt, fully understanding now that her heart had let go of him a long, long time ago.

“Dude!” Yamcha shouted in confusion, wiping off a few droplets of blood from his lip with the back of his hand as he struggled to stand back up again, utterly disconcerted, not only by what appeared to be the most irrational reaction but, also, because a quick scan of the incensed man’s ki immediately showed that, whoever this mysterious stranger was, he was substantially stronger than he ever would be, perhaps even more powerful than Goku himself. “What…? What the Hell is your problem?

“My problem?!” The Prince roared, angry fists gritted, shaking in pure rage, barely keeping his murderous instincts at bay for the sake of his woman. “My problem is with you trying to touch MY MATE!!!”

Whatever was left of Yamcha’s blood abandoned his body at the sound of the Saiyan’s words, words that he’d never, ever, expected to hear spewed from another man’s mouth, regardless of how rocky or volatile his relationship with Bulma had undoubtedly been at times, or how miserably often they’d put an end to their romantic union, only to end up getting back together again, mostly at his own sheepish request.

And, seeing how crudely the jubilant celebration was cut short, with every one of their friends so completely shocked that they even failed to bid farewell to the Almighty Dragon who’d made it all possible, as he vanished into the dark skies, the scar-faced human wasn’t the only one shaking his head in incredulity at these new revelations.

Only Goku remained amazingly calm, never losing his cool as the scandalous news gradually started to sink into everyone’s dazed consciousness, not just because he’d been the only one already briefed, during his one-on-one training sessions in Otherworld, about Bulma’s new surprising choice for a life partner; but because, unlike the rest of her eccentric comrades, the younger Saiyan was unusually supportive and accepting, since day one, of her relationship with Vegeta, as if he’d always instinctively known that the secretive Prince was a much better suited soulmate for his best friend than Yamcha ever was.

“M-Mate?” Yamcha breathlessly stuttered, seeking the eyes of the pale woman shyly standing behind the new man of her life, the sad guilt obscuring her beautiful face letting him know that the terrifying man she kept holding onto was telling the truth. “Bulma… What…? W-What…?”

“I’m sorry, Yamcha…” She apologized with timid remorse, her trembling hands firmly clutching one of her mate’s biceps in silent warning, reminding him that, even if she held no romantic love anymore towards the defeated human standing shakily before them, his bold actions held no malice of any kind. “I’m so sorry, but it’s true. I’m… I’m with Vegeta now. But… But I still care for you, and we… We can still be fr…”

Before she could even finish her honest friendship proposal, Bulma gawked in stupefied horror at the way her ex-lover took a few clumsy steps back, ashen features frozen, holding his nauseous stomach like a man mortally wounded would while klutzily turning on his feet, blasting off and disappearing into a white mass of cottony clouds without so much as a goodbye.

The heartbreaking incident had left the most upsetting taste in her mouth but, as always, a mere glance from her loyal mate, both calm and quietly reassuring, was enough to highlight the miracle that such a day had represented for all of them, making her gratefully conjure up the mental image of her parents, already awaiting them back at Capsule Corp., and that of the unborn little boy who’d happily expand the Briefs clan in just a few more months.

Some days later, whatever hopes of Yamcha coming around without a hitch about the idea of the heiress finally moving on, and building a proper future with another man, were effectively rejected, when he showed up, wholly uninvited, in the privacy of their own home.

He broke into their kitchen in the middle of the night, interrupting a peaceful family dinner by stumbling drunkenly around the massive house, reeking of filth and cheap booze, and growling an incoherent string of derogatory accusations, so filled with hatred and blatant disrespect, that no other man on Earth would have ever gotten away with it.

Still consumed by her own guilt, Bulma initially attempted to handle the situation on her own, trying to keep away her dismayed parents, and the fuming Saiyan Prince who looked on the verge of giving the insolent bastard a one-way ticket to Hell, while Yamcha hysterically yelled and barked at her, trying every manic trick he could possibly think of to trigger her emotions at any cost.

He switched from viciously insulting and reproaching her, accusing her of being an ‘unfaithful little bitch’, to bursting into drunken sobs and playing the victim, pathetically begging for her to take him back, going as far as offering to raise the other man’s child with her ‘like his own’, and offensively implying, out loud, if perhaps her pregnancy had been the result of her alien mate forcing himself on her against her will.

The disgraceful insults against his woman’s moral integrity had already dangerously pushed Vegeta’s precarious self-restraint over the edge, but the dishonorable implications of his son being conceived in such a heinous way was what ended the night with the Saiyan’s fist crossing the wasted human’s face as he kicked him out of his new home, throwing him right through the large glass windows, and into a puddle of hot blood and broken glass on the damp grass of Bulma’s gardens.

To this day, those who’d unfortunately witnessed such a hostile incident knew that, the one and only reason why Yamcha made it out of that house alive that night, was because the alien warrior had kept his own deadly instincts in line, out of consideration towards his horrified mate, and the hopeful feelings of friendship, and compassion, that she still seemed to hold for the weaker man who was once lucky enough to call himself her ‘boyfriend’.

That gloomy evening was to be the last time Bulma would ever get to see her ex-partner, at least in the flesh, for a very long time, only catching vague glimpses of him here and there, throughout the next few years.

After an enigmatic absence, waning from the face of the Earth for a good handful of months, and following his expulsion from Capsule Corp.’s surroundings, the former martial artist made an unforeseen comeback during a baseball match with his old team, the Taitans, winning both his first game and his once prestigious reputation on the way.  

From that moment on, Yamcha’s newly regained status as a moderately famous celebrity, allowed the scientist to somehow keep up, with a little help from West City’s most infamous local tabloids, with some of the most recent developments in his new life away from her, including two failed marriages, each one briefer than the last, first to some pretty, but particularly dim-witted sports anchorwoman, and later to an even less brainy Reality TV ‘star’.

All in all, it’d been fair for Bulma to assume that the baseball player still remained somewhat emotionally troubled, never having made a full recovery from the traumatic wound that their split had cruelly inflicted upon his heart. And, although Bulma’s personal and professional life had been steadily on the rise, achieving a harmonious balance of happiness and success which she’d never, in her wildest dreams, ever expected to accomplish, the memory of Yamcha’s heartbreak never fully abandoned her, like a minuscule, yet venomous thorn on her side, the one score left for her to settle before she could make that one last shred of peace with her past.

“So… I guess…” Yamcha’s shaky voice murmured, timidly withdrawing her from her glum recollections, and bringing her back to the reality of a night bursting with pleasant surprises. “I guess I should congratulate you on baby number two?”

“How…? How do you know?” Bulma gasped back, absolutely dumbstruck by the man’s insightful guess, especially taking into account that no one but her husband, Trunks and her parents knew about her second pregnancy, having all chosen to wait until she hit the third month mark, trying to be on the safe side before announcing it to the rest of their close circle. “Am I showing?” She asked with vain concern, suddenly looking down at herself, scanning her still flat tummy through the impossibly tight dress she’d selected to celebrate such a special night, trying to make the most of her slender figure before pregnancy would take charge of her usually small frame.

“Uh? Ah! No, no!” The blushing man rebutted, waving his hands in denial in front of him, while smirking inwardly to himself. The knockout woman in the sensational red dress may now be a respectable wife and mother, but it was oddly comforting to see that certain things in life would never change, and Bulma Briefs being as proud of her beauty as she always had been seemed to be one of them. “It’s just that… Um, well, I noticed your ki when you… When you were on stage…” He confessed in embarrassment, suddenly worried about the heiress’ reaction to him having listened to the strangely personal speech she’d addressed to her guests tonight. “I figured you were either pregnant or that you’d just, you know… That you’d gotten really strong since I last saw you…”           

His harmless joke broke the ice at last, stealing a bright chuckle out of her as she saw him walking a few coy steps towards her, carefully leaning by her side, hands on the marbled rail, and glancing back at her in good humor while she inspected him a little closer.

He looked good, like night and day in comparison to the broken, disheveled man who’d once burst drunkenly into her house in desperate hopes of winning her back. And, while he gave the impression of being slightly nervous still, Bulma smartly presumed that his anxiousness arose from his fear of being unwelcome in her home, not from his spirit. He was healthy, clean, and the evident guilt in those black, puppy eyes told her that, the more than obvious crush that he still had on her, wasn’t going to stop him anymore from trying to wipe their slate clean, hopefully bringing some closure to the wrong way in which things had ended between them, and trying to forge a connection, a strong foundation upon which a new friendship could someday flourish.

“Oh, right…” Bulma mumbled in acceptance, softly rubbing her abdomen once again, in that maternal, almost unconscious gesture that had become so common to her during both of her pregnancies.

“Those Saiyan genes are really something, uh?” Yamcha muttered half-jokingly, having accepted, a long time ago by now, that he’d never stand a fair chance against one of those incredibly powerful freaks of Nature.  

“Tell me about it!” She agreed with amusement, still finding it hard to believe sometimes, even after having enjoyed a home with her two strong Saiyan boys for more than five years, that a two-month-old baby bean could already be far stronger than her.

They both laughed quietly for an affable minute, still somewhat overcome by the awkwardness of their unplanned reunion, but slowly falling into a friendly spell as Yamcha steadily braced himself, gathering the courage to speak the apology which he’d known, for far too long, that he still owed her.

“Bulma, I… I came here tonight because…” He began, his gaze dodging hers as he watched the silvery, crescent Moon, too ashamed by his past behavior still to look her straight in the eye. “I want to apologize…”

“Yamcha…”

“No, please! J-Just… Just let me finish…” He anxiously exclaimed, teeth grating in frustration, fretful fingers clutching the cold railing, striving to remind himself why he was here, not in search of pity or undeserved sympathy, but of true forgiveness. “I want to apologize, Bulma. For… For everything.” He firmly remarked, grimacing to himself with remorse, deeply mortified by his own stupidity. “The last time I saw you, I said things that… That I shouldn’t have. It’s just that… I guess, I always… I always thought you were mine, you know? Even…” He sighed in weary disappointment. “Even after we broke up. I just…”

“I know, Yamcha,” Bulma muttered in understanding, an amicable hand laying itself atop one of his, trying to alleviate his heavy conscience as best as she could. “I felt like that too.”

Her unpredictably frank admission gave him the strength to meet her eyes at last, finding nothing but that pure, almost naïve warmth that had always been one of Bulma’s most beautiful qualities to him. “You did?” He promptly asked, entirely taken by surprise this time.

“Yeah…” She assented, delicately squeezing his hand, her kind smile widening with barely concealed hilarity as she reminded herself that Saiyan or human, in the end, it didn’t matter, for they both seemed to be just as inept when it came to fully unraveling a woman’s intricate heart. “I know that we broke up long before Earth was gone but… But for… For a long time, I did, Yamcha. I did think of you as my boyfriend.”

Bulma paused for a brief, painful silence, the reminiscence of those cold, lonely nights, hiding cowardly beneath her ragged blankets in a stubborn quest for survival, hitting her in full force, even if most of her emotional damage had healed by now, thanks, for the most part, to her husband’s quiet but unrelenting support, the only one who’d ever understand the foul, miserable hardships she’d gone through, if only because he’d survived to his own personal Hell in return.     

“And then… You know…” A long, ragged breath filled the air as she contemplated, with misty-eyed fondness, the solemn figure stoically waiting for her in the gardens, with the unshakable certainty that, if Vegeta’s resolute path had never crossed hers, she would have buckled under the pressure sooner or later, perhaps even before that monstrous Lizard ever had the chance to set fire to innumerable galaxies, just as he’d always evilly planned to do. “I just…”

“You really fell for him, didn’t you?” He answered perceptively, lips looped into a sad smile at the shocking sight of how incredibly emotive the heiress could still get at the mere thought of having met the man of her life.

“I did, Yamcha,” Bulma attested with a shy nod. “And I’m sorry about… About the way…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Bulma. That’s what… That’s what I’m trying to say.” He professed fervently, taking the shuddering hand that she’d so generously offered between both of his and turning around, fully facing her as he battled to find just the right words to convey his feelings. “I was an idiot. Even… Even when we were together. I never treated you like I should. I never…”

“It’s okay, Yamcha, really. You don’t have to…”

“I’ve seen it, Bulma,” he confessed, a calm confidence somehow making its way through his own edgy sentiments. “I’ve seen it tonight.”

Her tearful eyes squinted with interest at his cryptic statement, not fully comprehending what it was exactly that he was referring to. “What…? What did you see?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. You never…” He struggled pitifully, expressive eyebrows knotting as he shook his head to himself, still a little mad at his own inability to conquer this unique woman in the way that husband of hers had. “You never looked at me like that.”

“Yamcha,” she tried to cut him off, fearing that such fruitless thoughts would lead him to a path of irrational jealousy. “You shouldn’t think like that. You shouldn’t…”

“And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Bulma…” The pensive man reluctantly acknowledged, finally admitting to himself that, as infatuated with her as he always had been, he’d never valued his first lover as much as she truly deserved. “I never looked at you like that either…”      

It was the truth.

At the opening of the festive tribute, when Bulma had elegantly entered the stage with that aristocratic poise that only she possessed, Yamcha sought refuge in a dim, secluded corner of the auditorium, with the sole intention of keeping a low profile until the time came for him to let his presence be known, mostly out of concern for the woman of the night, utterly terrified of making her nervous if she happened to get a glimpse of him amongst the crowd while she masterfully delivered her speech.

He’d simply stood there, silently leaning against the wall, drinking in Bulma’s every word and exquisite gesture as she took full command of the entranced spectators. Every now and then, his eyes would divagate, wandering carelessly throughout the unfamiliar crowd, and paying great attention to the unanimous reaction written on every one of those rivetted faces, smiling to himself at the clear fascination that the gorgeous genius celebrated tonight held the power to elicit.

Bulma Briefs was now a little wiser, a little older, but age, and whatever Inferno she’d survived to during the tragic limbo following their home’s annihilation, hadn’t marred her, if anything, her extraordinary life experiences, and triumphant survival, had made her even more interesting, far more irresistible than she ever was.

That evening, Yamcha had noticed an exciting diversity of emotions sparkling on those captivated gazes, from authentic admiration towards the scientist’s supernatural brains, to more than a few lecherous glances, instigated by that slinky red dress, so damn skintight that, if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought it to be painted to perfection on top of every curve of her voluptuous body. But, out of an entire mob of strangers, only one of them held the impressive power to get his full, undivided attention at once, none other than the elusive Saiyan Prince who’d eternally laid claim to Bulma’s coveted heart.

Yamcha’s intrigued stare had stumbled upon the aloof warrior as he’d calmly looked around, in search of the table of honor located right at the center of all the others. Formally seated around it, he identified with great ease the proud figures of Doctor Briefs and his bubbly wife, together with an adorable little boy, with perfectly combed lavender hair and the distinctively turquoise eyes of his young mother, happily munching on a large tray of fancy snacks while sitting on the knees of his besotted grandfather. To his right sat the boy’s father, leaning against the lavish chair without a care in the world, arms crossed nonchalantly in front of his robust chest as he side-glanced at the vivacious little brat from time to time, his attentive, paternal eyes vastly contrasting with the blasé attitude that he seemed so desperate to make-believe.

It became obvious, right from the start, that the Prince’s aloof behavior was but a fabricated act, a pretty convincing one, admittedly, but an act nonetheless, a sham that pathetically crumbled the moment the stunning scientist stole the spotlight, taking everyone’s breath away, and her husband’s above all the others.  

The weaker fighter gawked in awe at that unreal flicker burning behind the Saiyan’s onyx gaze as he devoured his wife’s wit and refined mannerisms, watching her with a rapt intensity which verged on the obsessive, an obsession that grew heavier as the night progressed, when Bulma exited the stage, blending into the mesmerized crowd.

Vegeta had certainly given his woman the freedom to do as she pleased, respectfully watching her from afar as she chattered and entertained her eminent guests. But, through it all, there was never a moment when he ever lost sight of her, not even with the demanding distractions of his lively little boy, those endless trays of delicious food, and a horde of people getting tipsier by the second.

There was something in that man’s eye, a fierce protectiveness that let the entire world know, without a doubt, that if anyone ever dared to try to mess with his woman, they’d have to mess with his dead body first.

The most astonishing moment of the night had presented itself when Bulma sat quietly back with her family for a quick minute, sneaking a secretive hand under the table, and carefully petting her husband’s thigh with delicate warmth. She’d leaned gently towards him to whisper something in his ear, a faint smile beaming in her lips when the warrior’s coarse hand briefly covered her own, listening to her instructions with enraptured attention, and following her orders uncomplainingly as he took the half-asleep child in his arms, leaving the party with the clear intention of putting the boy to bed, never to be seen again for the rest of the evening.

Everything in their public demonstrations of affection was subtle, understated, but tonight had been the night in which Yamcha finally understood that, behind those long fingers tenderly scratching the nape of the Prince’s neck, or in the tiny kiss lingering in the blushing man’s cheek when Bulma said her goodnights to her husband and son, there was love, true and simple, that rare kind of love that very few creatures in this Universe ever got to fully experience, the one with enough power to transcend time and space, and whatever hellish adversities Destiny would ever throw their way.

“Do you think it was Fate?” Yamcha asked with a brooding smile as he let go of the woman’s small hand, her pleasant touch stirring his own nostalgic emotions still, too overwhelmed by how surprisingly understanding she was being tonight, perhaps more than he deserved after everything he’d put her through in all the years they’d known each other.

“Fate?” Bulma inquired back, curious both about her ex-lover’s puzzling assumption, and his introspective demeanor, so unlike his usual happy-go-lucky self. “What do you mean?”  

He rested on the solid rail, hands splayed on the white marble as he gazed across the starry horizon, thoughtful eyes settling on the imposing silhouette of the compact, yet awfully intimidating alien warrior, patiently awaiting his wife amongst the lush greenery.

The Saiyan’s back was still facing them, those powerful hands buried imperturbably in his pockets, and though he may have admirably perfected the complicated art of keeping his cool at all times, Yamcha knew, as sure as there was Sun in Heaven, that the Prince had detected his intrusive presence from the very moment he’d set foot on Capsule Corp. grounds. But he’d simply chosen to steer clear, giving his wife the liberty to handle her business in her own way, respecting her in exactly the same way she devotedly respected his primal need to tone down their demonstrations of love in front of others, and only coming to her aid when strictly necessary, such as on that ill-fated night when far too many lines were unjustly crossed.

“You two…” Yamcha softly clarified, his droopy smile widening slightly now that his piercing suspicion, the one obsessively swarming his mind as of late, had grown into an absolute conviction. “I mean… What were the odds, right? Of you two meeting, and… And everything…”

His mouth twisted in the most peculiar way, nipping at his bottom lip as he wondered if he should confess what he’d recently been up to. “I went to visit Chichi and Goku a few days ago. And they… I asked them, about you and him, and… And about how things happened between you two and, I just…” He sighed harshly, still baffled by his own imbecility. “I didn’t know, Bulma,” he admitted, with a humbleness she’d never once seen in him before. “I mean… I guess I always kind of figured that you… That things were rough for you, after Earth was gone and everything, but… I never… I never stopped to think about how hard things were for you guys…”

He wasn’t lying.

His unanticipated gatecrash into Bulma’s party may have caught her by surprise but, what she didn’t know was that, in fact, such an entrance was the culmination of more than two weeks of arduous preparation and crippling self-doubt, from the time the baseball player watched the official announcement of the scientist’s latest award on television, and its subsequent recaps in practically every glossy publication in town.

It wasn’t rare for him to use West City’s nosy tabloids as a means to catch up with some of the latest developments in his ex’s life, but this had been the first time in which Yamcha genuinely realized just how much he’d missed her dazzling presence in his life, the first time he’d truly committed to attending her special occasion, making a sacred vow to himself to find the nerve to apologize for his past mistakes this time, and to do his best to make peace with the woman who’d been such a significant part of his existence, for so many years.

At first, his main issue had been not quite knowing just how to make such an ambitious reconciliation happen. So, in the end, he meekly resolved that perhaps a little help from some of their mutual friends would be required this time, and no one was closer to Bulma than her best friend from childhood and his ballsy human wife.

After a quick phone call to the lovely married couple, practically inviting himself over to their isolated home in the mountains, Yamcha showed up a few days later, partaking, for old time’s sake, in a friendly sparring session with the younger Saiyan, followed by a scrumptious lunch and the most intense table talk he’d ever engaged in, one that no one, not even a former outlaw like himself, would have ever been mentally prepared for.

From Son Goku, he learned of Vegeta’s notoriously dark past, discovering that the petrifying warrior had basically purged and, at times, even blown up, entire planets and civilizations for a living. Such a frightening track record had been enough to make Yamcha’s skin crawl, absolutely horrified at the idea of a sensitive woman like Bulma sharing her life, by choice, with a coldblooded monster of such caliber. That is, until his friend readily carried on with his surreal account of events, filling in the gaps in the alien’s disastrous past, and succeeding in creating a much broader vision of what most of his catastrophic existence had been in reality.

The final picture resembled that of a Shakespearean tragedy, rather than the actual life of a man; the unfortunate tale of a Prince with no throne, home, or people to call his own, handed over by his own Father, with not one hint of remorse, to the most despicable Tyrant to ever rule the Universe, with the sole purpose of doing his dirty business for him.

The warrior may have been occasionally compensated monetarily for his violent efforts, but it soon became crystal clear that Vegeta had been, just like his wife, little more than a glorified slave, bowing down, for a lifetime, at the feet of a Master he despised with all his heart, all of it while resignedly bidding his time, until the time came for him to attain enough power to liberate them both.

Son-Kun, who now regularly indulged in the most brutal training sessions with the older Saiyan, had acknowledged, in all seriousness, that there was a very real possibility of Vegeta being an even stronger fighter than him, but he’d also admitted, with just as much candor, to not being in the least concerned by the Prince’s immense potential.

By all accounts, and Bulma’s in particular, the former mercenary had been well on his way to Redemption from the moment his tortuous path had entwined itself with hers, and the earthling had proudly confided to those closest to her, that her husband hadn’t harmed a single creature ever since he’d officially rebelled against Frieza, leaving his barbarous ‘army’ behind, never to look back.

If Bulma’s passionate faith and trust in her husband had somehow placated many of Yamcha’s reservations regarding the Prince’s authentic nature, Chichi’s turn to narrate some of the scientist’s own horror stories flat out resurrected his earlier repulsion, and then some.

Goku’s wife had cleverly omitted the most intimate details of such an extraordinary romance, those explicit tidbits only exchanged in the sacred privacy always arising between two women, but she did open up enough for Yamcha to soon sympathize with the couple’s predicament, making some final sense of just how terribly gruesome their forbidden affair had been, right from the start.

Through Chichi’s words he followed Bulma’s terrifying Odyssey, from her coerced capture, occurring before the immediate destruction of their home planet, to a miraculous escape from a degrading future as a pleasure slave, finding instead a more noble position in one of Frieza’s countless science departments. Her new job may have held way more dignity than the life of a mere concubine, but her living conditions had been squalid to say the least, with long working hours, paltry wages, and a continuous come and go of unscrupulous, uncivilized warriors, with not a single day going by in which she wouldn’t fear, in one way or another, for her life.

By the time Yamcha called it a night, leaving the Son house and wandering aimlessly through the still crowded streets of West City, too distraught to return to his bachelor apartment, it’d become impossible for him to cast out the mental image that Chichi’s distressing stories had forged in his stunned imagination.

He couldn’t stop picturing Bulma just as she’d been described to him, all alone in some tiny, miserable dump, in the middle of nowhere, working herself to exhaustion while subsisting in a constant state of semi-starvation.

Such a deplorable portrayal alone had been enough to make him sick to his stomach, but her confidential confession to her best female friend, on how incredibly painful and complicated her clandestine affair with the Prince had been, was the final stroke that changed, not only his whole perception on the situation, but his own wishes towards a woman who didn’t even belong to him anymore.

In effect, Bulma had shamefully admitted to an instant attraction to her mysterious husband, even from a time when he was but a dangerous stranger to her. Their lonesome lives had converged by absolute chance, quickly engaging in what had begun as a purely sexual affair, but that turned, even faster, into a passionate romance on the brink of a lovesick compulsion, with deeper and deeper feelings growing with each one of the sporadic encounters that had become their only reason to keep themselves alive.

And, even if Yamcha may not have derived much pleasure from the vision of his ex-girlfriend forever tying herself to another man, he couldn’t deny any longer that, whatever it was that had brought the two lovers together, it must have been a spiritual force of some sort, a mystical power that perhaps no one would ever fully understand, not even them.

Life had seemed so diabolically determined to keep them apart, that no other reason would do, nothing else that could possibly explain their phenomenal success in just being together, surviving every abominable adversity coming up against them.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for a kindhearted woman like Bulma, to fall in love with a man helplessly chained to an army run by some filthy Tyrant, making the most of whatever meager hours they’d get to enjoy together, before he’d be so savagely taken away from her once again, both of them immersed in such a violent, chaotic Universe, that they’d even wrongly believed the other to be dead at one point or another.

Yamcha’s brave decision to go ahead with his plan to visit, and reconcile, with his old flame, had originated at first from his own selfishness, the egotistic hope that, if only Bulma were as willing as he was to forgive and forget, then maybe, just maybe he might find some peace of mind, a serenity that would allow him to move on to a better future, hopefully devoid of some of the stupidly impulsive choices he’d made, in his personal life, during the past few years.

But, his shockingly revealing conversation with Goku and his wife, together with the small, but unmistakable signs of profound love witnessed tonight, as he’d secretly pried on the couple’s actions, had made him develop a new sense of respect and honest admiration towards them, awed by their faithful loyalty, and by how obstinately they’d stuck by each other, through thick and thin, throughout their inhumane misfortunes.       

“Are you really happy?” Yamcha calmly asked, the tranquil voice breaking the silence clearly showing, not only that he positively knew the answer to his question, but that he’d already come to terms with her future response.

“I am, Yamcha,” Bulma replied with quiet confidence, a tight lump narrowing her throat, never having felt prouder of the man who’d been her first love as she was in that lifechanging instant. “I really am…”

“Then I’m happy for you,” his promise came at last, a clammy hand reaching out to hers this time, the unshed tears fizzling in his dark eyes mirroring her own. “And I mean it, Bulma. I want you to be happy, even… Even if it’s not with me…” He professed, the minute tinge of nostalgia still tainting his words quickly fading away when he saw how easy it was for her to reciprocate this time, her equally nervous hand tenderly holding his. “Do you…? Do you think I’ll get killed if I give you a hug?” He asked with touching modesty after a brief pause, pointing half-jokingly with his head to the regal figure of the Saiyan who’d been standing in the gardens, strangely immobile, all this time.

Bulma’s arms gladly complied with Yamcha’s shy request, unable to suppress a teeny chuckle of amusement as she gave him a big hug, thoroughly entertained by the idea of her ex-lover still looking so utterly terrified of her husband, even if they both knew damn well that Vegeta would never take a single life anymore, unless his adored wife asked him to.

“Don’t worry, tough guy. I’ll protect you…” She whispered tongue-in-cheek in his ear, smiling gently into the soft fabric of his jacket, instantly teleported to the past by his oddly familiar scent, a scent of youth and sheer purity, of old memories still worth preserving forever in her mind.

Her contented reassurance was such that Yamcha couldn’t help but giggle back, daring to deepen his innocent embrace even further, while trying his best not to get lost in the whirlwind of emotions that Bulma’s near presence was stirring. The woman in his arms was still as gorgeous as she’d always been, perhaps even more so, now that motherhood, and the profound peace that she’d so clearly found in life, had contributed to enhance her natural beauty.

But, as he basked in her refreshing presence, so painfully reminiscent of the silly teenage girl he’d so foolishly taken for granted so many years ago, and yet so different, he realized that he could do it, that they could do it, and that this was a real chance for him to find the strength to cast aside for good his hopeless romantic sentimentality towards this woman, and find a way to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, a fresh start, a new beginning, a path they could both walk together through sincere friendship, like the best friends they’d always been at heart.

“Do you…?” Yamcha hesitantly went on, his feeble voice breaking already at the significance of the proposal he was about to utter, a role he’d never envisioned himself playing in Bulma’s life before, but one which he’d be immensely happy to fulfill if only she’d let him. “Do you think that maybe…? That maybe Uncle Yamcha could visit the kids from time to time?”

The relieving sound of her weepy laughter, together with the distinctive sensation of those hot, salty drops of moisture dampening his neck, were all the answer he needed, the promising sign that the heiress’ eternally generous heart had forgiven him, yet again, for his cursed stupidity during all of those wasted years spent apart.

“If Uncle Yamcha doesn’t visit often,” she warned in a lively whisper, her tiny sniffles betraying her still barely contained emotions. “Mama Bulma will find him, and she’ll kick him in the butt until he does…”

“You got it, B.,” he gratefully whispered back, happy to comply with her wishes, ready and willing to get to know the sweet little boy he’d finally had the privilege to meet in person tonight, if only in the distance. “You got it…”

Their affectionate cuddle lingered a tad longer as they gradually got reacquainted, both confidants struggling to keep a tight rein on their skin-deep emotions at the unexpected, yet incredibly exciting prospect of a future where they’d both truly get to be a part of each other’s lives again.

Until the retired martial artist expertly picked up on the easily recognizable ki of the two dim figures falling, quite literally, from the sky, landing with meticulous precision right in front of the cross-armed Prince still quietly sulking amidst Panchy Briefs’ magnificent gardens.

“Hey… Isn’t that…?” Yamcha asked in a snooping whisper, tilting his head to the side as he blinked with curiosity, squinting at the inimitable outline of the two people who were, beyond question, the most eccentric duo he’d ever met in his life. “Isn’t that Goku’s brother?”

“Uh?” Bulma softly gasped, rapidly breaking their friendly hug, and following the man’s line of sight without delay. “Kami! They made it!” She exclaimed with childlike enthusiasm, eyebrows raising in pleasant surprise at the discovery of her most unpredictable guests having decided to make a last-minute appearance, after all. “Do you mind?” She asked again, not without a hint of regret in her, feeling just as guilty about spoiling such an emotional moment as she felt elated at the prospect of catching up with two of her closest friends.

“Ah! Sure, B.! You can go with them!” He agreed, a wide smile spreading on his flushed face, fidgety hands sheepishly scratching his head. “It’s fine! Really! I should just… I guess I should just be going anyway…”

“Really? Already?” She lamented, thoroughly amused by how ridiculously shy he looked right now, bringing back vivid memories of the inexperienced young man he’d once been, back in the old days when he tried to steal the mystical Dragon Balls for himself, so that he could wish for his pathological terror of women to miraculously vanish forevermore. “You’re welcome to stay, you know that,” Bulma kindly offered. “I was about to call it a night anyway, but you can stay for a drink if you like. Besides…” She winked irreverently at him, her tone lowering in pure mischief. “There are some really nice girls at the party, you know?”

“Oh? Ah! Right…” He timidly stammered, breaking into a light bout of nervous laughter. “Well, I guess I could… Uh… I guess I could stay for a bit…”

“You really should!” She gladly concurred, shooting him her most dazzling smile as she took his hand one last time, squeezing it in silent goodbye. “I really should get going… I’ll see you around then?”

“Sure thing!” Yamcha’s optimistic promise sealed the deal with a cheerful chuckle, relaxed hands finding his pockets as he watched her walk away with great interest, fascinated by the way those dainty hands delicately lifted her dress, enough for her to walk down the flight of marbled stairs separating them from the extravagant gardens, without tripping on those deadly stilettos on the way.

“Oh! And Yamcha?” Bulma cheekily called out, one foot already on the stairs as she turned to face him for a split second, happy to share a little piece of wisdom with her impulsive friend.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t marry any of them tonight…”           

Her sassy smirk, and a playful tongue sticking out to him, stole a grand guffaw out of him this time. As it turned out, he hadn’t been the only one resorting to West City’s trashiest tabloids in order to keep up with his ex-lover’s whereabouts, and the heiress was well aware of the two failed marriages he’d already left behind.  

“Ah, yeah! No worries, B.!” Yamcha assured her, his smile never faltering despite the furious rush of scarlet burning his cheeks, still ashamed of his own hotheaded idiocy, but at least humble enough to laugh at his own reckless choices. “I promise I’ll wait at least a whole week this time. Third time’s a charm, you know?” He winked back at her with just as much hilarity.

“Good boy… Goodnight then!” She jovially applauded him, waving goodbye as she disappeared into the night.

Her feet cautiously descended the luxurious stairs, her impatient steps accelerating once she reached one of the few stone pathways leading to her garden’s lovely fountain, where three of her favorite people stood patiently, already anticipating her presence, and watching her carefully as she almost run to join them.

“Launch!” Bulma cheered, greeting her closest girl-pal with zeal by literally throwing herself at her, happily wrapping her arms around her neck.

“Hey Blue!” The blonde replied in unison, huffing a loud puff of air at the sheer force of her friend’s effusive hug. “How’s everything going?” She questioned back, pressing a saucy cheek against Bulma’s as she instantly returned her fierce embrace.

“Good! Everything’s good!” The scientist candidly replied, holding onto her friend for a few more seconds before gently disentangling herself from her, taking a small step back so as to give her a good glance over, pleased to see her looking every bit like her usual feisty self. “Hi Raditz!” She greeted, eagerly turning to the gigantic man coolly witnessing such a girlish exchange, arms folded on his chest as he stood a mere few steps away from the Prince himself.

“Bulma,” Raditz sharply nodded, the odd solemnity in his initial tone quickly betrayed by the fun-loving gleam sparkling in his eye when he audaciously reached for her hand, kissing it just like a true human gentleman would, and promptly setting her free when Vegeta’s sharp clear of a throat issued him his first warning for the night.

In spite of her husband’s grumpy threat, Bulma knew that the taller man’s actions were completely harmless, and devoid of any malice. And, of course, so did Launch, who was now side-eyeing her mate with the naughtiest of smirks, the roguish expression of a woman who shamelessly enjoyed being the only female on Earth, second only to the heiress herself, with the power to tease the Mighty Prince of All Saiyans to death without getting brutally murdered in return.   

Bulma quietly stared at the couple’s impish interactions for a while, one arm still firmly draped around her friend’s shoulders as she leaned on her, taking great pride in being the master matchmaker who’d made the most volatile romance ever known to Mankind happen.

Indeed, the deep desire to restore Launch back to life had weighed heavily upon her ever since she’d commenced her brand-new life on Earth with her family, a longing openly shared with her husband right from those early days, and one that Vegeta had naturally agreed to, both due to his distinct memories of the pain that her friend’s death had inflicted on his Bulma, and to an odd sense of gratitude, one that made it impossible for him to forget that, after all, the madwoman had been the one crazy enough to come up with the mischievous scheme that set in motion the most significant encounter of his life.

What the Prince hadn’t anticipated, however, was for Bulma to also propose the idea of reviving both Nappa and Raditz, on the basis of them being the only two full-blooded Saiyans who could still be resurrected, and her hopes for their existence to bring some comfort and camaraderie to her lonely alien mate.

It’d been an intriguing suggestion, that was for sure, especially if one considered how visibly repulsed the earthling had been when she’d opened up to him in the past, depicting, in great detail, just how sickeningly disrespectful Nappa’s treatment of her had been, back when he’d been sent to deliver Vegeta’s scouter to her old laboratory.

His wife’s humiliating experience had been enough to make his blood boil in violent rage, making him wish to bring the bald bastard back to life, only to have the precious opportunity to be the one sending him back to Hell this time. But, forgiving as always, Bulma had been willing to leave the past behind, disregarding the brute’s rudeness if it meant that her husband would get to enjoy the company of his oldest friends again.

In truth, the little genius’ main interest hadn’t even been Nappa to begin with, but Raditz, the youngest of the three, for not only had she recently stumbled upon the shocking truth of his blood ties to her dear Son-Kun, but he was also the enigmatic warrior who seemed to have shared more than just a handful of torrid nights with her intrepid friend. And, perhaps, if her womanly intuition was proven right, the perfect candidate to conquer Launch’s spunky heart, if their paths were ever given another opportunity to meet again.

Consequently, the couple made all the necessary arrangements to perform a new ceremony, pleasantly surprised to learn that the People of Namek were so infinitely grateful to Vegeta for saving their home planet, rescuing the Universe from Frieza’s forceful reign of terror, that they offered them one more chance to make use of their esoteric Dragon Balls, thus reducing the waiting time from a whole year to a mere three months.

When the appointed hour came at last, both the Briefs and the Son family gathered together in one of Capsule Corp.’s most secluded gardens, relying on King Kai’s telepathic abilities to communicate with the clan of Namekians who’d already collected all seven magical items, ready to fulfill whatever three wishes their saviors desired.

By cause of the physical destruction of the original scenarios where their friends had perished, it was prudently decided to transport their souls to Earth’s realm with the first wish, leaving the possibility of only two resurrections to be completed by the Mighty Dragon.

This new conflict, although disappointing, was fairly short-lived, an obstacle resolved in a flash when Nappa himself categorically refused for his life to be restored, not if the end goal was a harmonious existence on a peaceful planet like Earth. The older Saiyan belonged to a different era, too set in his old ways, accustomed to endless years of brutal carnage and war, and to that ever-present promise of infinite riches and universal domination, to settle for anything less, and he found not one attractive quality at all at the prospect of ending his days enduring an apparently mundane life in some unknown, backwater planet.                

Raditz, on the other hand, was a different story altogether, keenly willing to broaden his mind, and to make the most of such a prodigious opportunity, not only to get an exceptional new shot at life, but to get to know the younger brother he was never given a true chance to bond with.

On that account, it didn’t take long for the two chosen ones to wondrously materialize before their marveled eyes, two figures standing on wobbly legs in the middle of the night, amongst an opulent garden beautifully illuminated by colorful candles and paper lanterns, looking around them, and at their own corporeal bodies, in complete and utter awe, initially struggling to come to terms with their new reality and surprisingly good fortune.

And, even someone as hopelessly clueless in the matters of the heart as Vegeta, could plainly discern the more than palpable chemistry radiating between the bewildered couple, gaping in incredulity at the extraordinary metamorphosis in their faces when their glances finally met, two pairs of stunned eyes widening in shock as they instantaneously recognized each other, wondering what all of it meant.

“See?” Bulma whispered knowingly in the Prince’s ear. “I told you we had nothing to worry about…” She declared with proud confidence, the smirk popping up on her lips mirroring the smug one that Raditz was shamelessly shooting at Launch, clearly savoring the attractive blush now shading the blonde’s cheeks.

Vegeta had privately confessed to Bulma his own reservations at the idea of resurrecting his Saiyan comrades, fervently promising to keep both warriors on a leash if they ever chose to rebel against a pacific existence that would be so foreign to them. But, as always, Bulma’s amazingly carefree attitude proved to be right, and every one of her husband’s worries went out the window as soon as he saw those devil-may-care idiots disappear into the night skies, shortly after the copious welcome dinner thrown in their honor was over.

As far as everyone knew, and unlike the other two full-blooded Saiyans, Launch and Raditz had never really formalized their union through the human rite of marriage, but their relationship seemed just as strong either way, their unbreakable bond always surviving intact to whatever kooky trouble they’d get into on a dangerously regular basis.            

The long-haired warrior had gladly fulfilled his role as Son-Kun’s older brother, regularly frequenting the younger man’s home in the mountains, and spending some quality time with his new family, either sparring with Goku, and with Vegeta if he happened to be visiting as well, or sharing a whole slew of colorful stories from his youth as he sat at the table, enjoying one of Chichi’s delicious meals, and always taking great care to omit the most violent details while in the presence of the couple’s two young children.        

But Raditz’s naturally undisciplined nature, which matched his go-getting mate’s to perfection, often meant that the two of them would disappear from the face of the Earth for days on end, apparently enjoying an explosive existence walking the line on the edge of the Law.

So far, Vegeta wasn’t too impressed with the couple’s dishonorable life, but he’d managed to find some consolation in the fact that they had, at least, obediently abided to his ‘no-murder’ rule, and in his Bulma finding the whole thing totally hilarious for some reason, always downplaying the couple’s nutty antics, and giving them a helping hand, every now and then, whenever things would get a little more out of control than usual.

Their last crazy adventure had ended up swinging things in the Prince’s favor, after he’d grudgingly agreed to join Bulma on a trip to bail Launch and Raditz out of some grungy jail in a foreign country. As expected, Vegeta spent the majority of the time grumbling sullenly, hating the younger Saiyan for actually following his instructions this time around, obeying his orders to always pretend to be human under such circumstances, so as not to stand out too much while he waited for either Bulma or himself to handle the situation as diplomatically as possible.

With the heiress’ vast fortune and connections, getting the bonkers couple out of that blasted place had been a real piece of cake, and his wife had been so pleased with his docile support, that she’d decided to reward her Prince for being ‘such a good boy’, turning a quick excursion to Mexico City into a four-day weekend on the crystalline beaches of Tulum, locked up for hours on end inside the most luxurious hotel suite, and only leaving the coziness of their lavish room to indulge in some extra-naughty nocturnal activities, such as those secretive nights skinny dipping in the hotel’s natural pool.

When the time came for the enamored couple to go back home, reluctantly resuming their daily routines, Vegeta’s annoyance at Launch and Raditz’s crazed shenanigans had completely died out. What’s more, by his clever calculations, he was now pretty damn sure that their second child had been conceived during one of those hedonistic nights of Latin passion and tequila.

“I thought you guys wouldn’t come…” Bulma admitted, her warmth a sign of her having grown quite used by now to the unpredictability forever surrounding these two lovable nutjobs.

“Ah! Yeah…” Launch replied, a shocking pinch of guilt in her tone. “Weeeell… We run into a bit of a pickle on our way to West City. And then it was too late for someone to find a tuxedo that fit…” She explained, flashing her towering mate a lewd smirk which implied that, despite her protests, she liked her man’s enormous physical size just fine.   

“Meh!” Raditz huffed, shrugging with nonchalance at the blonde’s absurd complaints. “It ain’t my fault that’s so damn hard to find clothes around here…”

“I know, guys, and it’s okay…” The scientist tranquilized them, readily putting their worries at rest. “I’m just glad to see you. Come! Come sit with me!” She urged her girlfriend, already dragging her by the hand as she guided her towards a wooden bench nearby, dying to know just what kind of insane exploits those two had been up to ever since she’d last seen them. “Oh! Raditz! You see that guy over there?” Bulma briskly turned around, pointing in the direction of one of her home’s backdoors, the one where the industrial kitchens were located. “Ask for the main butler, he’ll give you a couple of capsules with a few cases of Champagne, and some other stuff I prepared for you guys…”

Raditz didn’t need to be asked twice, nodding his assent and following Bulma’s directions to a T, leaving that pair of chatty women behind to catch up and share those pointless, gossipy anecdotes that human females were so strangely addicted to, while the Prince kept himself at a respectful distance, his solemn stare taking in the immense mass of glitzy stars beaming in the firmament, as his remarkably sensitive hearing covertly followed his wife’s frivolous chatter.

Their conversation lasted but a handful of minutes, silly talk replete of girly anecdotes, and of more than a few infamous acts committed by the blonde lunatic herself, but it was hard for Vegeta not to crack a minuscule smile at the rare sense of peace that listening to the joy permeating Bulma’s voice infused inside of him, for he knew the deep meaning lying behind those giddy words.

Both females couldn’t have been any more different from each other, with his Bulma being fully devoted to her cherished family and hugely successful career, and with Launch dedicated to only the Gods knew what.

And yet, the supreme bond binding them together was as evident as ever, an indestructible tie of literal blood and tears, forged between those who’d been lucky enough to beat the odds, enduring together the most humiliating pain and misery, and living to tell their story through it all. Each and every one of their sporadic encounters, however brief or superficial, was a victory, and the warrior knew that his woman’s uniquely personal history with her fearless friend meant that Launch would forever remain close to her heart.

When the perky duo was done tending to gossip, they decided to reunite with the taciturn Saiyans awaiting them long-sufferingly, their quiet resignation giving away how familiarized they were, after all these years, to the innate loquacity of their human mates, so substantially different from their own reserved nature, but so oddly charming nonetheless.

“Woah, Bulma!” Raditz exclaimed, in honest shock, as soon as the heiress reached their place, standing proudly by her husband’s side. “You guys are having another kid?!”

“Uh? Oh, right…” Bulma conceded, slowly resigning herself to the fact that it would be damn near impossible to keep this pregnancy a secret anymore, not with her being constantly surrounded by a horde of fighters with superhuman abilities. “You noticed, uh?”

“I sure did…” The warrior concurred, a grin of sheer excitement enlivening his features, thrilled at the imminent vision of a new Saiyan little cub joining his revered Royal Bloodline.    

“Damn, Blue!” Launch shot back. “You’re knocked up again?”

“Yup!” She boasted, leaning comfortably into her man’s robust shoulder as she got even closer, locking her arm with his when he loosened it for her in subtle invitation. “This one was Vegeta’s idea, actually…”

“Reeeeeeeally?” The blonde mockingly asked, every hair in Vegeta’s body standing at once at the frightening realization that she’d never stop tormenting him about Bulma’s pesky admission.

And the scientist’s innocent giggles surely agreed with him. “Yeup! Vegeta thought it was time to try for baby number two, so here we are…” Bulma teased even further, pressing her soft cheek against her hubby’s burning one, and rubbing it playfully back and forth.    

“Eager to keep spreading that Royal seed, aren’t we?” Launch kept taunting as she winked one cheeky eye at the flustered Prince, utterly unafraid of the homicidal look he was now firing in her direction.

“Um… Well… Congratulations!” Raditz interjected, desperately trying to change the mood before Vegeta ended up making him pay for his mate’s usual recklessness during their next sparring session. “So… What do you think, babe?” He half-questioned, friskily spanking Launch’s booty as he peeked at her. “You think maybe we could have one of those?”

“Uh? One of what?” She retorted, her Vegeta-themed jokes rapidly forgotten, eyeing her man with suspicion.

“A kid!”

Launch’s face froze on a dime, long enough for the Briefs couple to be the ones getting the last laugh this time. “Tch!” She grumbled, arms folded in embarrassment, and a face as red as a beet. “I don’t think so…”

“Aw!” Bulma cooed in approval, pouting her lips in the cutesiest manner. “That would be so adorable!”

“Hmph!” Launch protested, her comical embarrassment implying that she may or may not have already given her mate’s proposition some thought of her own. “The only way we’ll be having one of those is if you are the one changing those diapers, buddy…”

“Uh?” Raditz’s lashes fluttered in confusion, his sudden naïveté making him look surprisingly like his younger brother. “What the fuck is a diaper?”

“Ugh! See?” The blonde asked to everyone and no one in particular, shaking her head to herself as she rolled those spirited green eyes. “What did I tell you?”

“Wait,” Bulma interrupted, now more puzzled than Raditz himself. “How can you not know what a diaper is? You’re always spending time with the kids!” She purposely reminded him, referring, not only to both of Son-Kun’s children, but to her own little boy as well.

In fact, Trunks had grown so incredibly attached to Son Goten, Goku’s youngest son, that the adorable brats had become practically inseparable these days, to the point of behaving pretty much like brothers, and that included the lavender-haired child getting to call Son-Kun’s brother ‘Uncle Raditz’ as well.

During his frequent visits to Capsule Corp., Goten, who’d been conceived shortly after Earth’s prodigious restoration, making him barely a year younger than her son, would incessantly share with her all sorts of stories involving his cool Uncle, who’d turned out to have a pretty good hand with children after all, and who seemingly enjoyed playing and training with all three kids, whenever he was around.

Whilst Trunks and Goten had more than obviously inherited that full-blooded Saiyan love for battle, Son Gohan, the oldest child in the Son family, had been born with a much softer disposition. And, while the eleven-year-old boy often took pleasure in joining the younger kids during their animated sparring sessions, he’d also developed quite a taste for science, an intellectual pursuit that Bulma happily catered to on a regular basis, habitually inviting the awfully intelligent boy to make good use of her home’s extensive library and science installations, actively trying to make up for her shameful neglect in past years.

Her stroke of luck at a new existence in her home planet had, beyond a doubt, made her appreciate her beloved family and closest friends more than she ever did but, ironically, it was Gohan’s presence, the presence of a brilliant child whose existence had remained a complete mystery to her, right until his resurrection, the constant reminder of the things that truly mattered in life.

Back in her past lifetime, the young scientist had been so caught up in her own little bubble, and in the ambitious insanity of being Bulma Briefs, that, at times, she’d ended up nearly losing touch with reality, keeping an inattentive distance from those she loved the most, even from her precious Son-Kun.

Her last harrowing memory of her dearest friend had been that of seeing him die powerlessly in battle, after a complete absence of almost five years. And, whereas Bulma had, indeed, gotten to briefly meet his young fiancée the last time they’d seen each other, during one of the most brutal combats ever disputed at the World Martial Arts Tournament, the busy heiress hadn’t even made a real effort back then to make the time to attend their impending wedding, or even one courtesy visit to the happy newlyweds in the following years.

If only her priorities had been half as straight as they were these days, Bulma would have been introduced, early on, to Son-Kun’s darling first born, thus learning that the possibility of her and her Saiyan mate conceiving a child as a result of their sexual encounters was a very real one, after all.

“Well… Yeah! I play with the kids!” Raditz professed, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to spend time with his nephews, and yet to not know just what in Heaven’s name a diaper was. “But I always stay away from Chichi when she’s doing all that baby stuff! Man…” He sighed to himself, visibly shivering at the simple thought of his sister-in-law’s dominant temper. “You’ve seen her, right? She scares the crap out of me! The last time I visited, she…”     

“Shouldn’t you two clowns be somewhere else already?” Vegeta sharply cut him off, his tone chillingly calm as he looked the taller Saiyan straight in the eye, a menacing eyebrow raised in warning, announcing that he was getting closer and closer to reaching his quota for nonsensical stupidity for the night.

It was one thing to sit still, and to actually enjoy, his wife’s special celebration, and he’d even tolerated her long-drawn-out conversation with that weakling idiot who used to be her ‘boyfriend’, or her gossipy babbling with that disrespectful headcase of a woman, but he’d be damned if he was now going to let these two dimwits entirely ruin his mood by making him think of Kakarot’s screeching harpy, of all people.

“Uh? Oh, yeah… Sure, Vegeta!” Raditz meekly complied, awkwardly rubbing his neck in the most un-Saiyan-like way.

His relationship with the younger warrior had greatly evolved through the years, and he’d even go as far as daring to call it a ‘friendship’ in recent times, but he also knew that Vegeta would never lose that majestic ability to draw an invisible line when it suited him, and to never allow him to forget that he ultimately was, and always would be, his Prince.

“Come on, big guy…” Launch acquiesced, taking pity on her friend’s noticeably irritated husband. There were fewer things she loved more than pestering the snooty asshole, but she wasn’t about to spoil Bulma’s exultant night by pushing the buttons of the Mighty Prince of All Grumps far too much. “I’m sure these two sweethearts are dying to have a private celebration… Am I right?” She winked evilly at Vegeta, reaching for Bulma in search of one last hug. “Take care, Blue…” She whispered in her ear, with the wicked certainty that Vegeta could hear her every word. “And if that husband of yours ever acts up, just let me know, and I’ll kick his ass…”

The scientist couldn’t repress her vivacious giggles at such a priceless mental image, knowing that her husband would never go astray, just as much as she knew that her courageous friend would keep her promise if he ever did.

“Don’t worry, girlie,” Bulma murmured back, her arms closing around her pal as she eagerly returned her fond embrace. “If he ever acts up, I’ll kick his ass myself…”

“That’s my girl…” The blonde applauded her, lightly pinching her friend’s cheek in approval before releasing her, walking to her gargantuan mate and jumping straight into his big arms, comfortably clinging to him as he slowly proceeded to levitate. “See you around!” They both bid farewell, taking off into the skies in search of a new roguish adventure.

“You are absolutely insane…” Vegeta muttered in a low voice, piercing eyes never losing sight of the two flamboyant figures vanishing into that dark mass of clouds, making sure that their two irksome visitors were gone for good this time.    

“Uh?” Bulma frowned, taking her eyes off the stars and staring at her husband with plain curiosity, tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of his suit as she kept holding onto his crossed arm. “What do you mean?”

“Are you seriously trying to encourage those two idiots to breed?” He watched her with the faintest scowl, truly wondering if his genius woman hadn’t inherited some of her mother’s terrifying dizziness, after all.

“Aw, Vegeta…” She whined in amusement, mockingly puckering her bottom lip out. “You don’t think they should have any kids?”

“Hmph!” He huffed, grimacing to himself while struggling to avoid the imagery of what kind of parents that pair of moronic misfits would make. “She’s out of her goddamned mind… And he’s a disgrace to his race…” He protested grouchily.    

His adorable moodiness was enough to make her want to smother him with kisses, and she just broke into a string of soft laugher, throwing her arms around him as she got ready to call him on his bluff.

Her arrogant Prince may talk a big game, constantly finding fault, and even reprimanding, on the couple’s unconventional lifestyle, but Bulma unquestionably knew that Vegeta had grown to care deeply for every single member of their idiosyncratic group of friends, even if he’d never be caught dead admitting such a ludicrous truth.

“I don’t know…” She shrugged carelessly, resting her brow on his, those wide, radiant eyes of hers irreversibly erasing his frustrations. “I think they’re cute…”

“Hn…” He rumbled inaudibly, calloused hands acting beyond his control as they settled on her hips, the satiny fabric of that bright red dress feeling like his first taste of real Paradise tonight. “Everything’s ‘cute’ to you…” Vegeta mumbled huskily against those invitingly smiling lips. “Isn’t it, woman?”         

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned melodiously, nuzzling his nose with maddening irreverence. “Not everything,” she confessed. “Just Raditz, and Launch…” Her nose slowly brushed his again. “And you…” Playful lips laying a kiss as light as air on the corner of his mouth. “And your cute little butt…” She whispered teasingly, one hand descending on him, and squeezing that juicy Saiyan peach to let him know just how much she enjoyed that particular part of his anatomy.

She’d presumed that her insolence would be rewarded with some legendary quip, perhaps a flustered ‘vulgar woman’ gruffly mumbled under his breath, but his body’s response turned out to be quite different than she’d first anticipated, affectionate proof that her husband was feeling a tad more sentimental than usual tonight.

His touch left the haven that were her hips, indolently folding his arms around her as he brought her even closer, a mild grunt ghosting the fragrant skin of her shoulder as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck, the hot mouth grazing her bare flesh drawing in a new smile on her lips.

Bulma instinctively returned his tight embrace, knowing the profound meaning behind his long, deep breaths, and those rugged fingers delving gently into the porcelain skin exposed through her backless dress, the gentle but possessive gestures of a man who was using her as a beautiful instrument to sooth his taut nerves.

The man sharing her bed was night and day in comparison to the cold, broody warrior who’d first won her heart, and not a day went by when Bulma didn’t appreciate and give heartfelt thanks for how far he’d come these days. Still and all, she’d never fail to remember that her Prince still remained a lonesome man at heart, a man who’d fortuitously grown to find comfort in a life as a family man, but one who still abhorred multitudes and formal celebrations of any kind, merely putting up with such draining events for the sake of a wife he adored more than life itself.    

On nights such as this one, Vegeta’s patience seemed to be hanging by a fine thread at all times, and his emotional exhaustion would always be quite noticeable to her by the end of the day. But the heiress had also learnt by now just how little it took for her to fully heal him, casting out his heartbreaking anxiety with the mere help of a naughty joke, or a few well-placed kisses on his jaw as she let him hold tight onto her, taking in her balmy scent, and getting lost in the soothing sensation of his wife’s long fingers delicately petting the nape of his neck.

“Are you done for tonight?” He asked in a hushed undertone, after a long, comfortable silence, needy hands returning to her tempting hips as he gingerly broke their comforting hug, locking those dark, wistful eyes with her own expectant ones.

“Mmm-hmm…” Bulma hummed in soft affirmation, smiling proudly at how visibly relaxed her husband’s dapper features looked now. “Dad said I was dismissed,” she announced. “He said he and Mom would take care of things for the rest of the night.” Tender fingers fondled his striking cheekbones, cupping that handsome face and effortlessly bringing it nearer, her sweet breath merging with his. “That means I’m officially off duty…”

Her promising words, and the unmistakable coquettishness enveloping her mellow voice was all he needed for his mouth to seek hers, melting into a long, passionate kiss, a kiss full of all the need and desire building up through the night, agonizing hours following her every move, envisioning what he’d get to do to her when he’d finally have her all to himself.

“Uh-Uh!” Bulma cheekily chastised him, using everything in her power to pull away from those smoldering lips when his hands started to get a little too frisky, roaming down from her hips to her luscious bottom, and gripping it with a hunger that laid bare his impatience to get their own private party started. “Not yet,” she forbade in the most flirtatious of whispers, a manicured finger bopping the tip of his nose, giggling at the lopsided sneer curling his lips as he groaned in frustration. “I have a surprise for you tonight…” She revealed.

“Follow me…”

Perverse hips swung sinfully as she turned around, breezing into one of the sinuous paths crossing her Mother’s ornate gardens while smiling inwardly to herself, savoring the exciting sounds of her husband’s steps on the gravel, following right behind her like a submissive little pup.

Power.

There was an incredible sense of power in having this man, a man who’d once belonged to nothing and no one, obeying her every command, so head over heels in love with his woman, that his loyal trust in her had become a greatly intrinsic part of his very soul.

And so, he pursued her, predacious eyes feasting on the way the shimmery fabric of her skimpy dress moved as her body flowed beneath it, the long garment covering up those interminable legs, except when one of them would try to escape through the indecent slit on the side, with each provocative step. Her back was completely bare for everyone to see, her gown barely clinging to that shapely figure with the help of two thin spaghetti straps seductively crossed on the back, exposed alabaster flesh glowing under the moonlight, holding him captive under its hypnotizing spell.

He should have grown accustomed to seeing her like this on such special occasions, irresistibly dolled-up, and leaving every man within a mile of her bewitching magnetism out of breath, just like he should be used to swallowing down the poisonous jealousy consuming him every time he discovered any of those lecherous bastards inappropriately ogling at his Bulma. But Vegeta had long ago embraced his Fate, those butterflies fluttering nervously in his stomach whenever she enamored him like this, roping him into her dangerous little mousetrap, with the frightening certainty that he’d never tire of this, of her, and her lustful diversions.

The mesmerized Prince wasn’t even surprised by her suggestive choice to stop her stride in a very particular spot, a tiny clearance surrounded by the garden’s most beautiful corner, the one which would forever hold the greatest meaning to both of them.

His wife’s lithe hands gracefully reached for her hair, her enticing back still turned to him as she lazily untied the loose French twist tying back her elegant bob, nostalgic recollections flashing through his mind as she set those tousled blue locks free, her wind-swept hair bringing back memories of a distant night, it felt like a Lifetime ago, in which she’d tried to distract him from his own physical pain by stripping sensually for him under the incandescent moonshine.

Once upon a time, he met the saddest creature he’d ever known, a brokenhearted girl dressed in an old white dress and sparkly shoes, seeking comfort in the company of the ruthless killer she’d inexplicably fallen in love with. She’d looked so utterly lost back then, so heartbreakingly out of place, that the Prince had truly believed her to be the embodiment of the sadistic injustice of Life.   

But, in the end, just like in so many other occasions, the Universe had proven him wrong, and Destiny had found a way to subvert every wrong ever befallen upon his wife, ultimately finding a spectacular way to place Bulma Briefs on top of a golden pedestal, right where she belonged.

And he was the Chosen One, the lucky idiot methodically selected by Providence to restore the equilibrium, forever exterminating the Tyrant responsible for the enslavement of such a marvelous woman, and winning a piece of the trophy on the way, generously compensated in return with the honor of getting to be the one to share the rest of her life, and father her children.

Seeing her celebrated like this, walking amongst that crowd of prominent figures like an authentic Queen, righteously laureated for her many accomplishments, had made Vegeta grown to hold the belief that the sole reason for his existence had been that of doing justice to her, assisting in reinstating his Bulma into her well-deserved place in the World.

At first thought, it might not have seemed a very noble Destiny, certainly not the heroic one he’d envisioned for a Royal warrior such as himself, throughout all of those bloody years of degrading captivity. And yet, seeing his woman’s ethereal eyes closing idly as she tipped her head back, lifting her elegant chin and humming in absolute pleasure as she deeply inhaled the sweet-smelling scent of her favorite flowers, made it all worthy, making him comprehend that no other possible outcome in his chaotic life would have ever brought him the profound peace that life as a family man had.

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned in delight, both at the intoxicating effect of that crisp night breeze, saturated with the heady scent of fresh flowers, and at the pair of strong arms enveloping her protectively as her husband hugged her from behind. “Mom’s roses are in bloom…” She murmured, resting her hands atop his, and smiling at that unworldly spark of blue light beaming beneath Vegeta’s fingers as he caressed her tummy, embarking on that nightly routine in search of their baby’s elusive gender, sighing in defeat when the stubborn child refused to make its secrets known yet.

His lips found her naked shoulders, never breaking his tender embrace while kissing the alluring warmth of her creamy skin, taking in a lungful of the aromatic perfume inundating the air as he allowed himself to evoke the very first time he’d set his eyes on those coveted yellow flowers.

With Bulma’s splendid planet having been restored during her country’s cold season, Vegeta had to wait a few months before he was given a chance to uncover her home’s greatest treasure.

Spring had finally made its anticipated advent when he found his mate standing by Panchy’s side in the flourished gardens, in exactly the same spot where they stood tonight, nimble arms draped around her mother while her head rested on her shoulder, and a serene smile embellishing her then fuller face as she exchanged intimate confidences with the older woman. If their flowery oasis was now in full bloom, then so was his Bulma, for she must have been perhaps around the seventh month of her pregnancy when she noticed the sneaky intruder ambling through their home’s lavish surroundings, after having just finished one of his daily training sessions.     

Vegeta had first worried for his accidental interruption to displease them, but the huge grin bursting on his wife’s glowing face revealed that she was indeed happy to see him, incapable of waiting any longer to show him the small, yellow gems so lovingly cultivated by the Briefs matriarch.

After a few mysterious words carefully whispered in her mother’s ear, both women exchanged an expressive glance, and Panchy proved, once again, to be much more perceptive than her giddy exterior looked to be, when she discreetly made herself scarce, leaving the besotted couple alone to freely enjoy a moment which she knew would be an emotional one.

And he could still see her, he could still see her in her pink summer dress, the flimsy fabric swirling around as she clumsily trotted towards him, carefully holding the alien flower in her hand, her translucent skin shining like the brightest diamond, bathed by the radiantly warm colors of sunset.

“Vegeta! Look!” She called breathlessly, her childlike excitement making her almost shove the darned thing right in his face as she exultantly invited him to explore such an exotic treat.

The Prince needn’t even ask to know the precious trinket to be one of the ‘yellow roses’ his little earthling had spoken so sadly about back in the old days, those long, restless nights spent nostalgically reminiscing on all things lost, hopelessly praying for one more chance, just one, and cursing herself for her careless ingratitude back when the whole world was held at the palm of her hand.

Bruised fingers enfolded her slim wrist as she held the gorgeous flower for him, and he instinctively dipped his nose into those velvety petals, eager to satisfy his profound curiosity, wondering just why, out of all of that vast opulence inundating his woman’s life, she’d chosen such a trivial ornament as a symbol of her own happiness.

And it was then that he understood.

It was then, as a long breath overwhelmed his senses with the most divine of perfumes, that he understood what he had always, in one way or another, known to be an absolute truth: that out of the two of them, she was the strongest one.

A woman born surrounded by love and magnificent luxury, never having lived a day where beauty wasn’t an essential part of her coddled existence, a woman viciously thrown into the darkest abyss, and stripped, all at once, from every drop of affection or humane dignity.

And yet, through it all, there was never a moment when she ever forgot about who she truly was, never a time when she wouldn’t stand still, resorting to quiet poise and impeccable work ethics as a means not to lose herself, never surrendering to a murky decadence that could have easily tempted those with weaker wills and corruptible hearts.

Any other woman in possession of his wife’s celestial looks and exceptional intellect would have made good use of such diabolical gifts, charming her way right to the top, next to Frieza himself if she’d genuinely been willing to compromise whatever shred of moral values she had left within her soul.

But not her, not his Bulma, not the one with enough strength to remain temperate in the midst of a raging hurricane, keeping her chin up and those virtuous eyes down, enduring, with the serene fortitude of those who know themselves to be free at heart, and waiting for the miraculous run of luck that would pull her out of the flames of Hell.

To the outside world, the powerful fighter may have undoubtedly given the impression of being hers and the Universe’s golden savior, the superhuman warrior responsible for the dethronement of the evil Ruler wrecking chaos across their whole wide Cosmos.

But, in the depths of his healed heart, Vegeta lived with the infinite conviction that it was she who had rescued him, she who’d held his hand, taking him out of the infernal tomb where he’d been buried alive ever since he’d fallen prey to his cruel captor, and freeing him from the miserable life of isolation and betrayal that he would have lived had he ever chosen to fulfil his self-imposed prophecy to take Frieza’s place as Supreme Overlord.

There were still days replete with crippling insecurity, days in which he’d still find himself incredulous of his own good fortune, questioning whether he was actually deserving of all the spiritual riches that Life had blessed him with, or if he was nothing but an unworthy fluke.

And it would be then, in his darkest hour, when Bulma would do for him what he’d so desperately strived to do for her during their bleak past, reminding him to take Life for what it was, and relishing every valuable minute as if it were to be the last.

In times of Darkness, Vegeta had made it his duty to get his little lover to let go, pleading her to get lost in those scarce nights of mindless pleasure, those rare, fleeting instants that truly made life worth living.

In times of Light, it was now Bulma’s turn to encourage him to take a breather, to stop foolishly questioning his Divine Providence, and to happily embrace his new lease on life, reveling in the most gratifying role of them all, that of a devoted husband and father, a noble task that the Prince of All Saiyans had accepted with gusto, leaving behind his empty ambitions for a frivolous life of meaningless dominance above those weaker than him.

“Was this your surprise?” He murmured in her ear with playful nosiness, the titillating sensation of his hot breath lingering on her delicate skin making her tingle all over, testing her wicked resolve to delay his gratification just a little longer, in hopes of getting her way before she’d ever give him what he desired the most.

“Nope…” She impishly denied him, setting her mischievous plan into motion by turning fumblingly in his embrace, finding it harder and harder to move, to breathe, with that pair of muscular arms keeping her trapped in the fiercest hold. “I won’t show you your surprise yet…” She spurned, soothing the disappointing effect of her cold words with the help of her plump lips, brushing her husband’s longing ones until she had him fully captured under her spell. “Not until I get what I want first…”

“Oh?” Vegeta softly challenged, cocking a jokey eyebrow as he pondered on whether or not he should play her game tonight.

More often than not, he wasn’t fully opposed to his feisty little woman taking the lead in their salacious adventures, but that risqué red dress calling out his name all night, and sensing the goddamned scent of her old human lover still clinging to her, long after their harmless make up hug, were wildly awakening his most primitive instincts, making him ache to fly her out of there and rip off that blasted garment to pieces, rubbing out any traces of that bastard off her body, and imprinting his own mark all over her instead, just to show her who she truly belonged to.

“You see, my Darling,” Bulma pointed out, her face brashly lighting up, as it always did whenever she was feeling mighty proud of herself. “You haven’t even told me what you thought of my speech tonight…”

She looked at him longingly, those enormous blue eyes reminding him that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly praise her for her outstanding, yet shockingly personal, performance tonight.

And, although there was a more than evident pride beaming brightly in that aquatic gaze, it was still laced with that tinge of defiance ever present during their exciting interactions, wondering if her Prince would bow down to her this time, as he rightfully should, or if he’d choose to tease her mercilessly instead, trying to keep her on her toes, and resorting to some of his usual lighthearted bickering.

“You were magnificent,” Vegeta professed, his tone husky, solemn, gentle fingers lifting her chin, if only to make her look even more majestic, almost as proud of herself as he was.  

His wife’s weepy smile was a definite sign that he’d chosen just the right words, and so was the long, dreamy kiss she rewarded him with. “Of course,” she agreed in a smug whisper, throwing her arms around his neck, and holding onto him as tight as she could. “I’m Bulma fucking Briefs…” She murmured.

“Hn…” He lightly grumbled, having understood, long ago, the impressive significance hiding behind his woman’s full name.

“You know? I took a little nap with Trunks today,” Bulma gave away, welcoming her husband’s warm hands, skillfully stroking her nude back again, as she subtly kept smoothing the way for her very special request. “And he said you’re going to start his Saiyango lessons really soon…”

“That is correct,” Vegeta assented, suddenly overcome by self-doubt at the realization that he hadn’t yet discussed the matter with his mate.

He knew how much importance Bulma gave to their son’s education, always sharing every minute detail with him, but his boy had been so ingenuously excited when he’d recently asked his dear Papa to teach him his ‘old language’, that the Prince hadn’t had the heart to say no to the enthusiastic little brat, agreeing to the boy’s request without even consulting with his wife first.   

“Is that an issue?” He asked tentatively, newly setting his eyes on her. “I know we hadn’t talked about it yet. But I thought that maybe…”

“No, Sweetie, it’s fine,” Bulma quietly comforted him, her heart shrinking at the sight of her mate’s painful uncertainty.

As proud as he obviously was of his fallen race, she could still notice, quite often, Vegeta’s honest surprise each time she encouraged him to share part of his Saiyan culture with their son, as if he couldn’t even comprehend why she was so supportive of him enlightening Trunks about matters that served no actual, practical purpose of any kind anymore.

“I want you to teach him everything about your race, you already know that,” she reassured him. “It’s just that… You know…” She whispered coquettishly, peeking at him through those long, flirty lashes. “It reminded me that you never… You never told me the meaning of those four words you wrote in my book, remember? And I thought that maybe…” She shrugged coyly, her cute nose nuzzling his as she braced herself for her unique demand. “Maybe tonight would be the perfect night… Don’t you think?”

“Is that so?” Vegeta answered in irony, running an idle thumb across his lover’s expectant lips while tipping his head to the side, the Mother of all cocky smirks sprucing up his face when he grasped that his determined wife hadn’t yet given up on unveiling his most shamefully personal secret.

During their first weeks of life on Earth, his Bulma had been relentless in her tenacious quest to decipher the enigmatic message he’d penned for her, after those ten eye-opening days and nights spent in the intimate seclusion of a sumptuous hotel suite, and right before he’d had to leave her side to fulfill his duty as one of Frieza’s captive soldiers.

The cunning little genius had resorted to all sorts of ingenious techniques to get the truth out of him, from shameless seduction to adorable pouting and provoking ultimatums, and the Prince had to admit to having been dangerously close to yielding to her innocent request on more than one occasion. But there was something oddly alluring about holding such tiny power over her, saving this one particular secret to himself, and denying his woman once, if only once, teasing her mercilessly about the one enigma her brilliant mind hadn’t been able to fully interpret for once.

It wasn’t long until her pride, that high-and-mighty pride that was but a dead ringer of his own, got the best of her, crabbily refusing to beg anymore, and stomping out of his Gravity Room like a petulant child, while mumbling under her breath something about ‘damned stubborn Saiyans’, the last time she’d asked her evil teaser of a husband to reveal his most guarded secret to her.   

If memory served him right, her last failed attempt had occurred more than a year earlier, and Vegeta was almost convinced these days that the sly creature had finally given up on her devious scheme. But, as always, he’d severely underestimated his wife’s admirable resolve and, not only had she brought her sneaky plan back to life, but she’d done so carrying an ace up her sleeve, and finding an unanticipated ally in a certain lavender-haired little brat who’d surely end up sharing with his beloved Mama that which his presumptuous Papa had been, deep down, too cowardly to confess.

“So… You’re still not going to budge, uh?” Bulma rightly guessed, insolent fists finding her hips as she looked him in the eye in pure defiance. “Fine, suit yourself…” She shrugged with indifference, already savoring an unexpected victory over a battle she’d thought lost a long time ago. “We both know I’ll find out sooner or later anyway…” She prophesied with an irresistible flick of her hair, turning around and walking away from him with slow, indolent steps, the luring movements of a woman who knew that her man wouldn’t let her escape his greedy clutches without a fight.

She hadn’t walked two steps when an implacable hand quickly took hold of her wrist, his grip firm, yet unbearably gentle, pulling her petite body towards him with just enough force to make her crash against his solid frame without harming her.

But, if Bulma had expected her astute husband to give into her right off the bat, the pair of raven eyes looking at her as if he wanted to eat her alive proved her deadly wrong, for the Prince of all Saiyans may concede to losing a battle or two, but he sure as Hell wouldn’t lose a war without one last fight.

“You’re right, Bulma,” he shockingly sided with her, his gruff, masculine murmur turning his wife’s knees to rubber. “The brat could someday tell you what those words mean, but…” Brazen fingers tucked her tousled waves behind her ear as he brought himself closer, indulging in her gasping moan when he playfully nipped her small earlobe. “I believe those are words that should only be pronounced between a man and his mate...”

Vegeta’s hands were no longer holding her to keep her from leaving his side, but languidly petting her skin, practiced fingers running up and down her nude arms, disarming, seducing her with the same prowess he’d employed the very first time he’d stormed into her life. It felt just like one of those moments, one of those sultry nights wholly devoted to reminding his woman that, although he’d gratefully succumbed to her charms, he still held as much power over her as she did over him.

“Is that true?” Bulma purred back, that blazing spark of curiosity rekindled at her man’s cryptic statement. His raw magnetism was impossible to resist, but something told her that, all this time, he hadn’t denied her purely driven by a wicked desire to play games with her, but because, whatever it was that he’d written in that ancient poetry book, it must have held a deep meaning to him. “Then tell me…” She pleaded once more, her honied breath warming the curve of his neck as she tenderly draped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his wide shoulder in one last effort to get him to open up to her.

“It will be up to you this time, Bulma,” he mysteriously promised, his body impulsively responding to her gripping embrace by hugging her back, his touch growing bolder, rougher, as he kept exploring that maddening taste of naked skin exposed through her wanton dress.

“What…? What do you m…?” She struggled to ask, her last word lost in the depths of Vegeta’s famished mouth when he captured her lips, kissing her madly, desperately, as he reached for the curve of her bottom with both hands, effortlessly lifting her off the ground, his chest rumbling in a frenzy when her long legs bound around his waist, urgently clinging to him.

“What I mean is…” He explained hoarsely, ragged breath betraying his mask of self-control, feeling her already shivering in anticipation. “My telling you what those words mean will depend on your performance tonight…”          

She should have been offended by his presumptuousness, or at least, she should have pretended to be, but the naughty minx had already been planning to rock her husband’s world tonight anyway, just a little recompense for having been such a good boy these days. So, she concluded that getting to find out, at last, the elusive secret driving her absolutely insane for years, would be an unexpectedly pleasant bonus indeed.

Besides, it was getting increasingly harder to cook up a way to prolong her man’s suffering, not with those ten insistent fingers sneaking beneath the fabric of her dress, fiendishly caressing her firm little bum through her transparent French cut lingerie.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Bulma defied him with an erotic whisper, using every weapon in her femme-fatale repertoire to keep her dignity intact, refraining from giving herself to him just yet. “Take us to the guest house…”         

His feet left the grass as soon as she disclosed their hideaway for the night, the shrewd corners of his mouth curling in a complacent smirk when the first glimpses of her raunchy surprise for him quickly began to unravel.

In older times, Capsule Corp.’s enormous guest house had been purely that, just some spare room designed to accommodate the occasional invitees visiting Bulma’s home. But the functional place, although quite useful in its origin, had gradually stopped being of service, mostly due to the Briefs family becoming progressively more protective of their privacy as their wealth and celebrity exponentially grew.

It was only after Vegeta’s arrival that the semi-abandoned spot found a new purpose, turning into the perfect shelter for their steamy escapades, a secure refuge that became practically a bare necessity as their rambunctious little boy grew older and more independent.

Inventive as always, the heiress had found ways to cleverly remodel and renovate the initially austere place, turning it into a cozy love nest that, through the years, had become the safest Haven for the two of them, a private sanctuary where the married couple could evade the pressuring demands of their hectic daily lives.    

He flew her cautiously through the dark, carrying her with great care as they left behind the noisy buzz of the loud guests still hanging about at her grand party, dancing drunkenly to the sounds of the superb orchestra hired for such a special evening.

The further they moved away from the crowd, the deeper their all-consuming intimacy intensified, his senses heightened, feeling every one of those tiny gulps of air on his neck as she heaved in excitement, every small finger tensing into his back as she fiercely clutched the expensive material of his jacket, or those exquisite pumps poking the back of his well-built thighs as her legs constricted around him, holding onto him as she always did whenever she wanted to incite him, knowing damn well the effect that her enticing figure fully pressed against him awakened in him.

By the time they arrived at their hidden destination, his hands itching in need when she disappointingly untangled herself from him, the noisy horde of visitors was but a distant murmur, and he simply stood in the dark, spellbound by the come-hither way in which his siren’s hips swayed as she walked to the small white house, opening the door and waiting patiently for him to join her inside.

A slick hand smoothly pulled from the tip of his loose bow tie, the useless accessory lying forgotten in the grass as he proceeded to follow his wife’s steps, his pace slow, deliberate, a ravishing contradiction to the penetrating eyes making Bulma’s poor heart go to pieces while she kept leaning seductively against the open door.

The Prince briefly punished her by breaking eye contact as he entered the impressive lover’s lane, a sudden rush of chill air making him shudder when the door closed behind him.

His silken jacket soon met the marble tiled floors, stubborn hands finding his pants’ pockets, trying to resist the primal call of Bulma’s sharp heels clacking provocatively while she walked across the luxurious room, strategically launching her impish plan of attack by choosing a calculated spot at the feet of their king-sized bed, and taking a seat with unnerving coolness, waiting for her man to carry through his thorough examination.

Like a true master tactician, Vegeta took his time scanning his surroundings, admiring the way his woman seemed to have outdone herself tonight, and taking in every minute detail, every immaculate candle illuminating the place to perfection, together with the handful of large vases filled with freshly cut flowers, or the heaps of rose petals flawlessly scattered across the spotless white linen where the beautiful heiress sat.  

“Come here…” Bulma’s captivating whisper demanded, a sly smile commanding her man’s full attention at once, the tip of his tongue grazing his upper lip as he approached her, staring at her with a look of pure adoration in his bottomless eyes.

She was a Goddess turned to mortal flesh, a sexy little vamp carelessly perched on her elbows, long legs wide open, with only a shimmery curtain of red fabric hanging loosely between them, hiding the one thing he needed the most. There was only one thing to do with such a holy creature, and that was to worship her, senselessly and without reserve.

And so, he did, falling on his knees as he prostrated himself before her, open palms lightly enfolding her small feet, his weathered thumbs stroking her bare skin while his mouth sought that weakest spot on her thigh. Moist lips laid a kiss inside her knee, raw desire coursing through his veins as his fingers kept fondling her warm skin, roaming from her ankles, up and down, and all the way over her slender calves, as his mouth relentlessly lavished her legs’ sensitive flesh.

This was it, what he’d been waiting for all night, a chance to inflame and arouse her to unbearable heights, only to sate and fulfill her every need as only he could. Gone was the guilt of his old, self-loathing days, that appalling bitterness jabbing him at the sight of the woman’s unreserved love for him, feeling unworthy of every candid kiss and caress, shamefully believing that the compassionate little female deserved far better than some sad infatuation with a heartless monster like himself.

But on nights such as this one, these unforgettable nights that tested his limits beyond belief, enduring the dire torture of watching that worthless bunch of pathetic men swarming about his woman, he knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that he was the one for her, for no other man would ever take his place, or possess the talent to put out that sea of flames ravaging them alive when they were both alone together.

His movements grew bolder, his touch coarser, until he couldn’t take it anymore, frantically filling his anxious fists with handfuls of red satin as he struggled to lift her dress, burying his face between those milky thighs, only for the she-devil he was so eagerly trying to please to throw water as cold as ice on him instead.

“Nuh-uh… Not yet, Prince Vegeta…” She cruelly purred, the tip of a vicious stiletto suddenly a mere inch away from his dry lips, her foot pressed right against his forehead as she pushed him away. “And, by the way,” she threatened with the menacing mellowness of a tigress. “This is an Armani dress. You rip it off. You die.”

She emphasized her ominous warning with just one more tiny push, with the awareness that there was no chance of her husband ever getting hurt by her harmless trickeries, but hard enough to let him know that he could not mess around with this particular garment as he often did with the others, all of those hundreds of designer gowns and fancy pieces of lingerie virtually turning to dust the second her needy husband got his deadly hands on them.

“Take off your clothes,” Bulma instructed, a few locks of messy blue hair seductively hiding part of her pretty face as she playfully tilted her head to the side. “Now…” She insisted with yet another dominant push.

He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, tense fists letting go of the goddamned dress as he growled like a scolded puppy, hating both the woman and himself for letting her play him like this, depriving him of feasting more on that heavenly body of hers, even when she knew how ridiculously worked up he always got after he’d gotten his first taste.

“Come on, Daddy…” She crooned, smirking like the cat who got the cream as she crossed those sculptural legs, swinging one of them repeatedly, back and forth, waiting for her husband to give up on the stupid façade of him being anything other than a lovesick fool. “Take off your clothes for me,” a gentler whisper asked once more, the pointy heel of her swaying leg finding his crisp dress shirt, gliding up and down that row of white buttons with dangerous persuasion. “And I’ll do some really nice things for you…”   

If there ever was a convincing reason to submit to his wife, that was the one, so he chose to take her X-rated promise as a final sign to fall into line, giving her, at least momentarily, the devious satisfaction of her first victory for the night, not without promising himself to even the score as soon as he got a sneaky opportunity.  

And so, he did as he was told, huffing in defeat through his nose as he gracefully stood on his feet, his sharp silhouette towering above the petite figure indecently spread out on the bed, those cursed legs of hers languidly rubbing against one another as she luxuriated in the epitome of masculinity that was her husband.

The Prince had never been quite the experienced teaser that his woman was when it came to removing his clothing, too pragmatic to make a spectacle out of the simple act of stripping, but he wasn’t blinded either to the obvious enjoyment that his Bulma seemed to get out of it, so he spoiled her, dragging out the show just a tad longer, enough to try to stimulate her almost as much as she’d aroused him with her dirty pocket of tricks.

His hands worked, calmly but diligently, on the silver cufflinks of his shirt, suave fingers unfastening the expensive charms while shooting her the most consuming look, a delicious blend of nervousness and self-satisfaction darting through him at the expression of sheer, unadulterated lust gracing his wife’s stunning face.

Nudity had always been something he’d been fairly comfortable with, having been raised used to showering and changing his battle gear in front of countless strangers through the years. But it was his mate the one to instill a new meaning into such irrelevant customs, the only one in possession of the delightful gift, not only to transform the most trivial of habits into an erotic ritual, but to imprint such memorable instants forever into his vivid memoirs.

Vegeta stayed immobile, completely in the buff, long after the last piece of his classic outfit touched the floor, his face impassible, stiff arms hanging edgily on both sides, making the almost impossible effort to not react to his lover’s inviting proximity, or to the way her pearly teeth chewed on her lip as those eyes of topaz openly wolfed down every thick muscle of his perfect physique.

He wanted to touch her, the Gods be damned, he wanted to tear down that useless piece of red fabric, get her down on all fours and fuck her little brains out until she couldn’t even think straight anymore. But if there was one lesson he’d mastered after all of these years spent with his fetching temptress, it was that patience truly was the greatest of virtues and, the longer the wait, the sweeter would be his inevitable reward.

“Good boy,” Bulma murmured in approval as she idly got up from the impeccable bed, visibly impressed by her husband’s expert self-control. “I guess now it’s my turn…” She tantalized him further, his mouth watering at the sweet-scented heat radiating from her as she stood mere millimeters away from him, every salacious curve in her body screaming to be freed from the confines of her fancy dress. “Stay…” She beckoned, airy fingertips lightly caressing his restless hands, before reaching for the thin straps of her frock on her own.

A tiny flick of her wrists was all she needed for the scanty dress to effortlessly drift off her, sliding smoothly across her shapely figure, and falling right at her feet. Only her lacy panties remained, the lush perfume of her arousal letting slip that she was quite a bit more stirred up than she looked. She knew of the devastating power of her husband’s senses, but she never once lost her spunk, chin raised in pure insubordination as her hands found her hips, the rosy crowns of her firm breasts grazing his twitchy nipples.

“Now lie on the bed…” The beautiful despot demanded, the tips of her perfect teeth flashing in the dark as she sneered in disdain, clearly having a little too much fun ordering her oversexed husband around. “Face down.”

Rigid fists clenched and unclenched several times, hard-rock abs twinging almost painfully as Vegeta wrestled with himself, contemplating if whatever prize she had in store for him tonight was really worth the excruciating torture of holding back even longer on a desperate need building up for what felt like the longest evening.

Ultimately, he succumbed yet again, his throat bobbing tensely as he gulped down his pride, together with a wild rush of his basest instincts, and he walked around her, sinking his sturdy knees on the bed and crawling over it compliantly, regretting his decision to give rein to her naughty fantasies almost as soon as he did so, the moment his crafty eyes discovered the small basket, placed in one of the bed’s nightstands, full of a wide assortment of minuscule bottles.

The Prince knew what those bottles meant, and he knew it well, absolutely loathing those tiny recipients, filled to the brim with scented oils and exotic potions, and the serpentine things that his woman’s devilish hands could do with them in her grasp.

Out of all the colorful practices his Bulma had introduced him to, throughout his time of life on her planet, there were fewer things that Vegeta both dreaded and craved more than those infernal rituals which she referred to as ‘massages’, for never had he heard of a method that ended up producing the exact opposite effect it was meant to, as quickly and effectively as those oddly sensual rubbings did.

The first time the earthling had offered to pamper him in such a peculiar manner, had been during one of their nights sleeping together, when the warrior joined her in their marital bed, after having spent almost an entire day testing the magnificent gravity room she’d just designed and constructed for his unique training needs.

Generous as ever, his little Bulma had suggested a ‘massage’ as the perfect way to relax and soothe his drained muscles and, as usual, Vegeta hadn’t had the power to decline her offer, secretly curious as to whether this alien remedy would turn out to be of any use on his Saiyan anatomy.

It didn’t take long for the couple to determine its success, and this ‘massage’ concept certainly showed to be effective, that was for sure, just not exactly in the way his poor, naïve wife had expected. And, soon, what started as an innocent method to relieve her husband’s stress, and to help him get a better night’s sleep, ended up with him shredding her satin negligée to pieces, and pounding her non-stop into the mattress like a sex-starved maniac.   

The precise experiment was performed on several occasions, and in an extensive variety of locations, including a pretty remarkable day in which both lovers locked themselves up in Capsule Corp.’s cramped infirmary for a whole afternoon. But the results would invariably be the same, concluding that, although its therapeutic effects in regards to ‘relaxation’ were practically null, a thorough massage was now one of the best scientifically proven ways for Bulma Briefs to get her man’s powerful engines running lickety-split.       

And now here he was, lying long-sufferingly on the bed like a defenseless little lamb, his pulse racing uncontrollably at the impending sounds of his wife’s fatal high heels falling on the cold ground as she got rid of them, the plush bed creaking beneath him as she kicked off her wicked masterplan, that supple body crawling lazily above him, and settling snugly at the base of his muscular back.

Her warm womanhood lightly rubbed itself against his flesh as she shifted atop him, his large fists furiously holding onto the sheets at the sensation of such soft sleekness, a dead giveaway that his Bulma had also taken off her sheer lingerie before joining him on the bed.

It was unbearable, absolutely agonizing feeling her so brazen, so utterly comfortable sitting and moving on top of her husband, as if his body belonged to her as much as her own, and it was even harder to know that she was just about to deepen his misery, in exactly the same way those ten magical fingers dug into his skin, delicately spreading the honeyed potion she’d just poured all over him, with the meticulous skills of a sensual enchanter.

The exotic oils gradually released their fragrant power as they heated up, melting into his marred flesh while his woman kept working him like a puppet. She drew languid circles over his golden skin, long and slow, travelling a hedonic journey from his lower back, and all the way up to his shoulders, only to start all over again, never relenting, never breaking off her electrifying contact, alternating from a rougher, more intense touch, as she vigorously kneaded his dense muscles, to softer, almost breezy caresses, knowing that those were the ones that incensed him the most.

Luminous fingers traced every one of the noble scars crossing Vegeta’s back, faded marks that once signified his most disgraceful memories, but which had now become tokens of survival and genuine liberation, an intricate roadmap of old wounds whose painful secrets had been revealed to her, inch by arduous inch, throughout all of their years of marriage together.

Day by day, night by night, each story would be brought to light, sickening tales of abusive horror that Vegeta would relate with humble reluctance, still surprisingly daunted by the possibility of his mate judging or scorning him for his past weaknesses, and visibly alleviated every single time his Bulma would take her time reassuring him, kissing him with deep gratitude for daring to bare his soul to her.

With each confession, his heart would become a little brighter, the oppressive weight ever carried above his shoulders less and less heavy, until his true self, the man always buried underneath a noxious gravestone of distorted lies, forever resorting to fabricated masks and falsehood as means to survive in the most hostile of worlds, re-emerged at last, slowly but surely gathering enough confidence to just be himself, baring it all in front of a woman who’d never judge or condemn him for his past faults.

“You’re being such a good boy tonight, Vegeta…” The little flirt whispered coquettishly, mellow hands carefully stroking her husband’s feverish skin as well as his ego, running from his perfect tush and up to his nape, his neck hardening when she didn’t stop this time, smoothly pressing her body against him as she leaned into him, covering his trembling arms with her own, using him like her own personal mattress. “Such a good boy…” Bulma murmured again, the fingers of a hand gently interlacing with one of his, smiling proudly into his shoulder when he instantly reciprocated.

Frisky teeth playfully nipped and kissed his flushed neck, switching back and forth, from her girlish nibbling to the lightest pecks, her greedy hand never letting go of his while the other one premeditated an even more dangerous sneak attack, treacherously reaching down to the sensitive remnant of his once glorious tail.

Vegeta’s body jolted at once, a shock of pure electricity shaking him to the bone, his jaw clenching, anxious teeth gritting, panting wildly through his nose at the sensation of those evil fingers following the outline of his tail stub, her movements slow, calculated, tracing those long, drowsy circles all around it, knowing just how quickly his self-control could crumble when she touched him like this.

“W-Woman…” He protested in a gruff whisper, hips twisting under her, moaning in impotence when her thighs fastened firmly around his waist, trapping him in the most vicious grip as she kept toying with him. “S-S-Stop that…”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Bulma softly hummed, the voice of a wide-eyed kitten lusciously combined with the hands of a seasoned courtesan. “You mean this?” She insisted, cherry-colored nails subtly grazing the delicate pink skin, her tiny body deliciously reverberating against him as she giggled in triumphant delight.    

“B-Bulma…” He grumbled, his ragged sounds getting perilously closer to a warning, unhinged fingers releasing hers, utterly terrified of hurting her as he felt himself losing all reason, both hands frantically clutching the now crumpled bedsheets.

Because it was too much, it was too damned much, her warm softness vibrating against him, glistening skin sliding sensually into his, and that cloud of heady, foreign aromas saturating the air, alien flowers, salt and spice, and her hands, Gods, those hands, fondling and caressing, flowing all over him like a torrid whirlwind.      

“Stop!” Vegeta growled hoarsely, turning around faster than Bulma’s startled eyes could see, his throat dry, needy hands reaching straight for her hips, both to stop her from losing her balance and to keep her where she was, as close to him as he needed her to be.

His wife’s bewilderment didn’t last long, already accustomed to his raw appetite, and it wasn’t long before she broke into cheeky laughter, shooting him a glance of utter mischief as she relished her own power, and how devastatingly sexy her man looked whenever she easily subjugated his impressive self-restraint.

“Aw, Vegeta… Already?” Bulma pouted in pretend disappointment, secretly impressed with how incredibly patient he was being with her tonight. “But I wasn’t even done yet…” She whined babyishly, her voluptuous pelvis grinding against the very erect Saiyan pulsating in need below her.

Her fingers stroked him languorously, that badly-behaved tongue sweeping across her upper lip as she selfishly used him to pleasure herself, rubbing her saturated core against his hard cock, her soft, pink labia and inner thighs already drenched in a libidinous mixture of exotic oils and her own slick juices.

“I wanted to give you something really special tonight, you know…” She tempted him, a half-smile dancing on her lips, showing him no mercy, teasing and tormenting them both with her irresistible technique, creamy legs imprisoning his thighs as she straddled him, and a long, primitive moan filling the room when she felt her own climax slowly building up, playing with her body with the self-indulgence of a woman who knew just how much her husband adored to put her pleasure before his own, feasting on her every gesture, every sign of the ecstasy she could only reach in his presence.

But, as tempting as the decadent pursuit of her own bliss was, tonight Bulma’s wishes were for him and him alone, wanting to endlessly lavish and spoil him rotten, like the King that he truly was to her, and always would be.

So, she deftly released him from her sensuous grip, dainty hands brushing her ruffled hair away from her face as she braced herself to go down on him, ready and willing to give her lover a night to remember, one of those nights in which she’d completely lose herself within him, ripening into the most consummate mistress, her splendid body emerging as a pristine canvas, a pleasure garden brought into existence for his own personal gratification.

“Bulma… Don’t…” Vegeta implored as he instinctively guessed her intentions, her name a shy murmur, so painfully different from his usual overconfident self, that the mere sound made Bulma’s touch stop unconsciously on the spot, gawking at him in hypnotized fascination as she drowned in his eyes, finding an intensity that she’d very, very rarely ever seen during their secret nights of passionate intimacy.

Her mate had softened up considerably through the years, at times displaying a tenderness, and even an astounding romanticism, that Bulma would have never, in a million years, expected in a man who’d once crudely crashed into the shabby apartment that used to be her home. Still and all, even if the once heartless soldier had successfully developed into an honorable family man, her dark Prince had never fully lost his edge, that alluring swagger that made her both want to run into his arms and, at the same time, smack some sense into that hotheaded head of his.

Rare were the times when he wouldn’t gladly accept her numerous gifts as she selflessly offered to cater to him, showing him unconditional devotion in ways that made him feel like her own personal Master, even if they both knew that his wife was, indisputably, the one secretly calling the shots in their relationship.           

But there was something different about him tonight, a genuine vulnerability first exposed to her on the night he made her his without reserve, branding her as his lifetime companion in this Life, and throughout whatever existence would follow them in the Beyond.

“Come here,” he begged meekly, strong hands finding her slim midriff and lifting her at once, as if she weighed nothing at all, forcing her to straddle him again, only closer, nothing standing between their naked bodies but their irrational desire for one another. “I want to be inside of you…” Vegeta confessed, his eyes unguarded, wide open, yet oddly calm, a domineering arm firmly hooked around her waist as he pressed a calloused palm right against her heart, indulging in the private fantasy of it beating just for him, utterly unafraid anymore of humbling himself before her. “Bulma…” He called for her, his hand smoothly ascending across her skin, fingertips lightly exploring her collarbone for a loving instant, only to carry on all the way up to her nape, a handful of sky-colored hair furrowing between his fingers as he gently pulled it to the side, fully uncovering the tender mark tattooed at the base of her graceful neck. “I need to be inside of you, woman…”

Only he could do this to her, turn her emotions around, changing their capricious course in a heartbeat by taking a woman ardently consumed by mindless carnal wants, and bringing her to the brink of tears with a vulnerable honesty he’d never flaunt before anyone but her.

Bulma’s hazy eyes shut languidly as she succumbed to his every desire, anxious breath hitching in her chest, marveling at the heartrending sensation of her husband’s burning lips raining light, poignant kisses all over his precious brand, knowing just how much this meant to him, a symbol of everlasting commitment like no other.

“You can do anything you want…” Bulma caved in in a trembling whisper, febrile trepidation building up in the pit of her stomach as she clung to the solid safety of his neck, the room spinning around her when she felt him pulling her tightly to him, razor-sharp fangs scraping his prized love-bite while he smoothly rolled them over, taking full control of the quivery body avidly refusing to let him go. “Anything…”       

Her passiveness was the most potent aphrodisiac, a powerful love drug hastening through him with the force of a blazing supernova, and as he eagerly rose his body to position himself at her inviting entrance, ready to solidify their sacred union one more time, he couldn’t shake off that ridiculous fear, a random sentiment that made him feel the sudden need to touch her ethereal figure, urgently seeking the reassurance of the realness of it all.

Vegeta found his answer in a pair of dazed blue eyes opening lethargically, and staring at him in confusion, asking herself why he hadn’t claimed her yet for himself when his need for her was so tangible.

She admired him wordlessly in the dark, every ridge and every valley of the unique perfection that was her husband, fibrous muscles gleaming with the faded glow of the ivory candles, an indomitable man who knelt before nothing and no one, no one but his Bulma, the one easily leading him with a single caress, lovely fingertips cupping his face and bringing his mouth to hers, the soothing comfort of her silky tongue making him wonder how, just how had he ever been foolish enough to deny his love for this woman, or how had he even existed without her in his life.

He plunged into her, slow and strong, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he felt her velvety insides instinctively tightening around him, challenging him, testing every drop of his self-control until he poorly managed to get a hold of himself, pressing his forehead against hers without daring to break their smoldering kiss.

A child-like cry howled in her throat when his dominant hands shoved her knees into the mattress, spreading them wide open, so that nothing would stand in his way as he continued to explore her, delving deeper and deeper, with a desperate urgency that frightened even himself.

“I-I love you…” She breathlessly reminded him, half-smiling, half-sobbing when Vegeta shakily kissed the tip of her nose, the affectionate gesture a delicious contradiction with the stern pace of his lovemaking, tender, but savage enough to let her feel every inch of her husband’s inmost animalistic side.

He kept pushing into her, his manhood expertly dragging all the way to her glistening lips, before sinking right back into her liquid heat, the terrifying ease with which he hit just her right spots reminding her that all of those years spent together had not been in vain, and that, far from tiring of her, or making him fall into dull compliance, her constant presence had done nothing but reinforce his profound feelings for her, growing to know and cherish her beautiful body better than he did his own.

“Ve-Vegeta… Gods! Yes…” Bulma mewled into his mouth, doing her best to obey his silent command, and failing miserably as her legs closed against her will, wrapping frantically around his hips on their own accord as the peak of her bliss kept building up, rising unstoppably between her thighs.

He could have tormented her, he could have teased her even further for misbehaving, for being so weak as to allow her body to override her mind, taking over with such abandon as she gave herself to him. But he couldn’t, not tonight, not as he reveled in those heavy-lidded eyes as they closed so captivatingly, her face flushed, a rosy cheek half-buried into the pillow as she gradually slipped away from reality, the world around them disappearing, everything but the delirious pleasure engulfing them both.

Every sob from her lips was a triumph, every cry an answered prayer, every one of those long fingers digging into his back, taking the place of each scar, marks that no longer signified pain but gentle healing, was a victory, an euphoric testimony of his woman’s absolute belonging to him, for he knew that, anything he took from her, was taken solely by virtue of her unlimited love for him, free and absolute.                           

Bulma’s name may have stumbled from his mouth as he let himself go, he didn’t know, all he knew were his wife’s sounds as she struggled to catch her breath, hissing away with every rhythmic assault from his hips, ragged heaving ghosting his sweat-slicked cheek, mumbling words of girly adoration as their feral climax swallowed them both up, their exhausted bodies so deeply interconnected, so in tune with each other’s needs that they erupted together as one.

She cradled him reverently against her chest, her embrace as protective as if she were holding a defenseless child, and all the Prince could think, as his head fell heavily onto her, was that the soft warmth of her skin against his shuddering lips was like Summertime, like one of those somnolent Sunday mornings lazily spent wasting time sprawled out in their massive bed, or lounging around in the gardens, lying on freshly cut grass while grabbing some rays, lolling at the distinctive noises of their son’s bare feet playfully trotting all over the place.

Vegeta’s state of relaxation was such, that it merely took a matter of minutes to find himself dropping off in his mate’s arms, lulled by the rhythmic flow of her fragile body’s breathing as it gradually slowed down, and by the comforting hand delving into his damp hair, fingers running idly through his scalp as she kept cuddling him to her, never letting go.

But, before he could succumb to his fatigue through and through, a singular perfume promptly reawakened his senses, a faint saltiness that revealed that, even if his lover’s physical wants had been assuaged, her obstinate mind remained as restive as ever, her frail emotions still on the edge, incapable of forgetting the promise he’d failed to live up to, so far.

“Bulma?” He asked timidly as he rose to meet her, calm fingers wiping off, with utmost care, the sparkly drops swelling in the corner of her eyes, his initial apprehension quickly going away at the vision of the shy smile springing up through those expectant tears.

“Vegeta…” A tearful whisper came at last, small hands gathering at the back of his neck, bringing him to her so that she could place a long, enamored kiss on his lips, a loud sob burning in her chest at how natural it was for him to give her what she needed the most, renewing her hopes of finding a real answer to her greatest question tonight. “Tell me…” She shyly pleaded, fondly stroking her husband’s face, her demure smile never waning, not even as the first imprudent tears started to run down her cheeks. “Please tell me…”

There was no need for his Bulma to spell out the implications behind her plea, just like there was no point in him trying to suppress the smitten smirk breezing into his features, secretly proud, as he always was, of having chosen as a life-mate a tenacious little creature whose stubbornness could only match his own.

One of his elbows found the luxurious mattress, a strong arm leaning above her head as he rested most of his weight on it, tenderly pushing aside the few strands of hair poorly hiding those sappy eyes from him, eyes bright enough to communicate, with not one word, that an extraordinary night such as this one may just be the perfect time to lay bare one more piece of his soul to his gorgeous wife.

The knuckles of his free hand futilely tried to dry yet another surge of hot droplets, a rugged thumb delicately spreading the salty moisture all over her parted mouth, his brow subtly frowning for a thoughtful instant, before unknotting again when he made his final decision, pressing his lips to her pale forehead and laying the most heartbreaking kiss on her silken skin.          

“Teh est mah Moirehk…” His intimate murmur drifted heavily in the air, remote words fluidly unravelling in his alien tongue, like the exotic waves of a faraway ocean placidly immersing her entire self, forever sweeping her away with him.

“What…? What does it mean?” Bulma’s guileless whisper asked back, her weepy smile morphing into the most loveable ‘O’ now that she was getting so marvelously close to finding her precious answer, her expression painfully reminiscent of Trunks’ adorable face the very first time his father had presented him with a tiny ball of fluorescent energy, during their early training sessions together.

Four words.

Four words which encapsulated the true essence of his venerated bond with his mate, the Universal Lifeblood responsible for the jubilant existence that their lives would one day become.        

“You are my Destiny…”

A furious blush colored his cheeks as he disclosed his most intimate enigma to his wife, but his gaze never eluded hers, penetrating eyes gently piercing her to the spot, trying with all his might to ignore that old, distant side of him, his former self still evoking deep shame at times, whenever he poorly aspired to put into words the supremely powerful emotions that his woman had set alight within his heart.

But, feeling her breath sharply halting underneath him, her small body instinctively responding to his shocking Epiphany, and those resplendent blue eyes staring at him in sheer awe, made it all worth it, destroying every single one of his asinine fears, and carefully reminding him of how much his Bulma always respected him, admired him even, when he found the courage to vocally share his sentiments with her.

“I-Is that…? Is that really what it means?” Bulma stuttered under her breath, her voice full of glee, adorably choking up as she dissolved into bright tears of happiness. “So… You always knew?”

An earnest nod was Vegeta’s response, a quiet, confident hand lovingly encircling her trembling chin as his lips fell on hers, engaging their mouths into an endless, wistful kiss, pouring everything he had, everything he was into it, the electrifying contact never breaking, not even when he slowly rolled them on the bed, lying on his back while effortlessly settling his little lover right in his arms.

They kissed for countless minutes, their bodies rousing as one, hands and legs holding and caressing each other’s exhausted flesh, utterly spent from their impassioned lovemaking, but still finding the miraculous strength to demonstrate their ardor for each other.

Because it was the Truth, it had to be, because Destiny was the only phenomenon that could possibly explain the mystical reason behind their unlikely union.

Two outcasts coldly thrown into the abandoned ruins of a barren Universe, two desolate stars whose originally dazzling glow had turned into a dimmed shadow of their younger selves, after being subjected to the most barbaric suffering, for longer, infinitely longer than most living creatures could have ever endured.

Their first fortuitous meeting might have seemed purely accidental but, with each clandestine rendezvous, with every one of those secret encounters, their bond grew stronger, and their own unique light, the one once believed to have been virtually extinguished, shone a little brighter, until the time came for Vegeta to surrender to the overwhelming evidence.

On the fateful day that saw Vegeta having to say his reluctant goodbyes to his brand-new mate, after having spent those ten paradisiacal days and nights locked up in Heaven with her, the warrior’s strong intuition had already been secretly troubled by the haunting suspicion that, if his Master had one of his usual, sickening plans in store for him and his comrade, he may not ever be reunited with his Bulma again.

But, his dismal terror of never getting to hold his woman in his arms anymore, or laying his eyes on that striking face of hers, was only comparable to the unshakable realization that it was Destiny the one responsible for introducing such a stunning force of Nature into his life, and that, whatever events happened to unfold between the two of them in the following days, weeks, or even years to come, would be the result of the Orphic Spirits which had worked so forcefully to merge their paths into one sole direction.

Only now, as they’d walked enough steps together along the way, were they able to look back with some measure of clarity, connecting all of those dots, so incredibly arbitrary in appearance, but so deeply meaningful in essence, like a handful of sprinkled stars rashly scattered across an immense nocturnal sky, developing, bit by bit, into a flawless constellation.

“Foolish woman,” Vegeta chastised her in a tender murmur, a satisfied smirk finding its way into Bulma’s disheveled hair when she indolently broke their kiss, happily burying her sniffling nose into the protective curve of his neck. “You cry way too much…” He reprimanded her, hearty hands running slowly up and down her shoulders and alluringly nude back, his heart practically leaping from his chest in sight of the blissful relief that his confession seemed to have inspired in his sentimental mate.

“It must be the hormones,” she timidly reasoned, her coy justification making her husband chuckle for good this time. After all these years on Earth, Vegeta still hadn’t quite managed to figure out just what exactly these evil ‘hormones’ were but, whatever they were, they surely appeared to be responsible for a whole lot of crying around here. “I love you, you know…” She half-asked drowsily against his skin, feeling herself already languishing in his tight hold, drifting off into the most peaceful sleep she’d had in longer than she could recall, her entire being liberated, as if her husband’s intimate revelation was all she’d ever needed to breathe easy at last.

The Prince didn’t pronounce another word, detesting to keep disturbing his woman now that she’d officially entered upon her hard-earned vacation, already anticipating the leisured times ahead of them as they’d officially embark in the countdown to their second child’s arrival.

Possessive arms reached down for the comfy bedspread, dotingly covering up his little mate while doing his best not to interrupt her restful slumber. Tucking in the messy sleeper that was Bulma Briefs was quite an art in itself, a meticulous art perfected after a whole slew of insomniac nights wholly dedicated to trying to keep those flapping arms and legs from knocking him cold, and eventually determining that, the best way to make it out alive, was by keeping her close, immobilizing her with the fiercest grip in his vast collection of combat techniques.

So, he joined her under the covers, a suave arm smoothly pulling her to him, imprisoning her in a shielding hug as she naturally curled up against him, a warm little ball of blue zealously trapped in her husband’s adoring embrace.         

Those past few weeks had been so extremely hectic, and the night’s events filled with such a myriad of intense emotions, that it didn’t take much of an effort for Vegeta to emulate his wife, stifling a loud yawn as he gladly got ready to accompany her in her dreams, determined to get some vital rest so as to be in top-shape for the second round of lustful lovemaking that he knew was coming.

But, just as the weight of his heavy eyelids was proving too hard to bear, a tiny fountain of pristine energy breathed new life into his drained senses, a luminous ki, both brand-new, yet unbelievably familiar, emanating from the harmonious depths of Bulma’s dormant body.

‘Could it…? Could it possibly be…?’                       

A timorous hand settled on his mate’s abdomen, a faint spark of silvery light forming on Vegeta’s large palm as he methodically explored the source of such a magical spirit. Until his mouth, so tightly pursed in concentration as he’d searched for reassurance, the absolute reassurance of his innermost instincts being completely accurate, gasped in sheer wonder at his lifechanging discovery.      

There it was.

‘Should he tell her…?’

“Bulma…” He called in a hesitant whisper, struggling with a silent conflict between his guilt at disrupting his wife’s sleep, and the sudden rush of desire to share the news with her as soon as possible.

“Mhmm?” Bulma moaned questioningly, tired eyes closed, and a lazy cheek sluggishly rubbing itself, back and forth, against his naked chest, evidence that, perhaps, this wasn’t such a perfect time for exciting announcements.

“Nothing, woman,” Vegeta sighed in slight disappointment, placing a long kiss on her temple as he pulled her even closer to him, trying to remind himself that what is good is worth waiting for. “Get some rest…”

“M’kay…” She mumbled in lethargic agreement, following his order straight away.

The Prince lay perfectly still on his back, wide eyes fixated on the high ceilings, and an elated heart booming hysterically in his chest, his earlier exhaustion vanishing as if by magic, instantly replaced by the imaginary vision of his wife’s innocent face beautifully lighting up when he’d give away, in just a few hours, the real gender of their second child.

In the distance, he heard the far-flung sounds of Capsule Corporation’s renowned guests as they celebrated his mate’s achievements, the impressive feats of the woman who’d changed it all, the one chosen by Occasio himself to help him rise from the ashes, loving and accepting him just as he was, and graciously walking with him, shoulder to shoulder, on his unstoppable road to Redemption.

He felt his Bulma stir sweetly in her sleep, arms longingly clinging to him as a light spring breeze blew in through the window, the heavenly perfume of that cheerful garden of yellow roses blending to perfection with his woman’s balmy scent, with the quietude of her musical breathing, and with the immaculate essence of their Little One, shining brightly between their entangled bodies as she reclaimed a place in their world.

The prospect of a second child, a new life fully dependent on him for love and caring guidance, was as daunting as ever, but he also knew that, with this woman by his side, there was nothing to fear anymore, nothing that couldn’t be accomplished. And that, somehow or another, they would always find their way, making their flourishing family thrive and prosper, just as they’d determinedly found miraculous means to restore the millions of lives they had once thought lost forever.

Destiny had been benevolent to him, showing him infinitely more kindness than a man like him had at times felt worthy of, and although he knew that he had no right to ever ask for more, tonight, as he quietly dwelled in the Past and the Future, he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of one last prayer, the secret hope that the daughter he’d just discovered dreaming soundly in his Bulma’s marvelous body, would grow up to be just like her mother.

THE END