Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Accidental Redemption ❯ GREEN EYED MONSTERS ( Chapter 5 )

All hail Heartless and Cat who reviewed chapter4. Thanks a lot you two! Now, let's give a round of applause to the awesome group of people known as beta-readers who took time out of their busy schedules to fix my mistakes ~ especially Shen Long. It's highly appreciated, guys!

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ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION

By Evil Saint

V. GREEN EYED MONSTERS

*I am everything you want
I am everything you need
I am everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
I say all the right things
At exactly the right time
But I mean nothing to you

And I don't know why

"So your parents aren't home, huh?" Yamcha queried suggestively, nuzzling Bulma's neck from behind as the pair shuffled in through the front door of her house. He'd wrapped an arm around her midriff while his free hand moved up to glide the spaghetti-strap of her black cocktail dress off her shoulder, lightly stroking her skin in the process.

Bulma grimaced at the caress and wriggled fee of his embrace before turning to face him. She was agitated and well beyond tired. Arranging her perm into a semi-elegant pile atop her head had proven trickier than she'd thought and they ended up being over an hour late for their dinner reservations at the sophisticated Café Toulouse. Fame and fortune have their perks though, and Bulma managed to bribe the snooty, wannabe-French host into giving them a table anyway, hoping that her little moral compromise would appease her petulant boyfriend. Instead however, Yamcha spent the whole evening bitching at her about "rubber principles" and Bulma had to enlist every anger management technique in the book to keep from dismembering him in a restaurant full of West City's beau monde!

Their date was anything but the romantic reprieve she'd dreamed of and by the time they got home, Bulma's patience and energy were completely spent. All the young CEO wanted was a soft bed and a few hours' sleep before re-entering the dog-eat-dog arena of the corporate world and her boyfriend's salacious groping wasn't getting her any closer to those goals. The woman was too exhausted for an altercation, so she took the tactful approach and smeared a sweet smile on her face before leaning in to place a chaste peck on his cheek.

"Thanks for a lovely evening, Yamcha. I had a great time, but now I really want to go to bed."

"No objections here." Yamcha purred with a devilish grin, misinterpreting her dismissal for an invitation, and moved closer to her again. He slid both arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him and leaned forward slightly, forcing her to arch her back. He peppered her neck and collarbone with kisses, hungrily blazing a downward trail to the dark satin straining over her voluptuous chest.

Bulma stiffened at his touch and frowned in aggravation at his misunderstanding of her words.

"Yamcha stop!" She protested in no uncertain terms, pushing against his shoulders with all the strength she possessed in an effort to break the amorous contact between their bodies.

Yamcha sighed as he got the message and stole a short moment to savour the aroma of her Chanél scented flesh before acknowledging her rejection. He steadied her on her feet and stepped back with hurt etched plainly across his face, his arms falling to his sides as his shoulders drooped in disappointment.

"I'm sorry Yamcha…" Bulma apologised, trying to sound sincere as she searched for an excuse that would send him on his way without too big a fuss "… but I… err… I just can't do this with Nurami here, she might hear us."

"Oh and we wouldn't want to upset the little mass-murderer with something as unthinkable as making out, now would we?" Yamcha sneered sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air.

"… I can't believe that's the best you could come up with, Bulma. But if it's not your parents or projects or migraines or your period then I guess homicidal aliens are a trusty last resort, aren't they?" He said bitterly, his features stark with accusation.

"What are you implying?!" Bulma spat indignantly, sounding a little more defensive than she'd intended.

"You're a genius. Figure it out!" He grumbled dryly, straightening his jacket as he turned to walk out the door. He stepped onto the patio and shot one last look at her over his shoulder, wishing she would change her mind. When Bulma did nothing to stop his departure, he huffed angrily and stomped across the yard to his car, glad that he didn't encapsulate it when they arrived. With a deep scowl marring his ruggedly handsome face, he loudly revved up the cherry-red sports model and shot out of the driveway with screeching tyres.

~*~*~*~

Yamcha couldn't believe that Bulma had spurned him yet again. He'd put up with her chastity when they were teenagers, wanting to be respectful of her feelings, but by Kami they weren't kids anymore. They were both in their twenties now and it was getting ridiculous! There were plenty of girls out there just as pretty as Bulma ~ prettier even ~ who would give anything to spend a night in his arms, while the one woman he truly wanted to be with wouldn't so much as cuddle with him; not since that mother fucking monkey moved in…

Yamcha was at a loss when he found out that Bulma had invited Vegeta to stay at Capsule Corp. ~ reportedly right after calling the alien bastard "cute" in front of everyone! He felt so hurt and betrayed, but he couldn't talk to her about it. It wasn't as if she'd listen or consider for just one second how her spur-of-the-moment decisions affected him. She'd just tell him that he was being selfish again, like she always did when he wanted her to see something from his point of view.

Their date was another textbook example of Bulma's total disregard for his feelings. They hadn't been on a proper outing since Goku's return and he wanted to do something special for her to celebrate her appointment as president of one of the world's most lucrative companies. He'd intended to take her out over the weekend, but she stubbornly refused, saying that she had a string of business meetings to prepare for and that she didn't have time to spare. Finally they compromised and Bulma agreed to go out with him on Wednesday evening since she didn't have any appointments scheduled for the rest of the week.

Though the timing wasn't exactly romantic, Yamcha was unfazed in his quest to give his girlfriend one of the most memorable nights of her life and he made sure to check and double check their plans with her to ensure that everything would go smoothly. He wanted the evening to be perfect and it stung like a slap in the face when Bulma opened the door, still dressed in her work clothes. Then that horrible little sidekick of Vegeta's appeared in the doorway, adding insult to injury, and what did Bulma do? She rubbed salt in his wounded pride by rewarding the little bitch ~ his murderer ~ with a nice warm bed for her troubles!

Kami, he felt like he was being disembowelled all over again!

The brat reminded him of the children in horror movies and he didn't understand how Bulma could even consider harbouring the mini psychopath after what she did to him. But of course he was the one being "inconsiderate and unreasonable" for wanting to send the damned hell-spawn back to whichever hole she crawled out of. Sometimes it seemed like his girlfriend was trying to piss him off on purpose ~ almost as if she wanted to get back at him…

"She couldn't possibly still suspect me of cheating on her. Could she?"

Admittedly, Yamcha did have a lot of groupies, but he was an all-star pitcher for Japan's number one baseball team. It came with the job! Those girls were just fans, but Bulma was always so ready to expect the worst of him. Professional sports is as much a popularity contest as any political campaign and Bulma just couldn't understand that sometimes he had to mingle and flirt, simply to keep up appearances. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and she never had to work for a single thing in her life. Yamcha, on the other hand, had to struggle and scrape for every chance he got and he wasn't about to blow it all by being rude to his supporters ~ be they middle-aged males or teenage beauty queens. He was sick and tired of Bulma's suspicions and the embarrassment it caused him!

One incident stood out in his mind like no other and he knew that that was the day trust was lost to their relationship. It was his first big break with the press. He'd just turned twenty-one and had recently been chosen to play for the Titans when the phone call came: FHM wanted an interview with him! Bulma was the first person he told about it and he was so excited he thought he was going to burst out of his skin.

He was meeting the reporter over lunch and as luck would have it, the magazine sent a woman to interview him. She was very flirtatious and it made him uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to wreck his public image by telling her off. Bulma was nineteen and had just finished her combined doctorate in metallurgic and electronic engineering. She'd been appointed as a top-level researcher in her father's company and was almost always swamped with work, which was why he couldn't believe it when she came storming into the restaurant half way through the interview.

To think he was relieved to see her, thinking that now he could introduce his girlfriend as inducement for the reporter to ease up, but that was not at all how it played out. Bulma had accused him of cheating on her and called him a "lying slut" in front of a restaurant full of people. She even threw his Camborne in his face for good measure, screaming that it was over between them and that she never wanted to see his two-timing face again.

"She's always had a flair for the dramatic. If the grease monkey thing didn't work out she would have made one hell of an actress." Yamcha thought, not really amused.

He'd nearly died of mortification and if things weren't bad enough, the skank of a reporter took full advantage of the misunderstanding by devoting most of her article ~ which was supposed to be about his sporting career ~ to painting a picture of him as a playboy and a womaniser, providing Bulma with so-called written proof of his misdemeanours.

Dr. Briefs' raunchy assistant had been coming on to him for some time and he decided to ask her out, reasoning that he might as well commit the crime he'd been convicted of. Technically it wasn't cheating ~ Bulma had dumped him in front of a crowd of witnesses ~ and he wanted to have some fun for a change. He knew having a fling with a Capsule Corp. employee wasn't the best idea, but he was beyond caring at that point.

Yamcha felt the burn of guilt heat his face as he thought back on it now. Perhaps, Bulma wasn't the only one to blame for their problems. He used Kasumi to hurt her and he was regretting it more than words could say…

The man was hardly aware of his surroundings as his hands and feet worked automatically to steer his car in the direction of his apartment building, independent of any instructions from his troubled mind.

He was sure that Bulma knew about him and Kasumi. How could she not? But they'd never had a chance to discuss it openly and clear the air. The Prince of all Assholes showed up and had him killed before he could make amends with her and then, after everything she went through to wish him back, it seemed redundant to bring up the subject of his affair with the "village bicycle."

Was that why she gave asylum to his assassins… to hurt him back?

When Yamcha saw her beaming at him after his resurrection he was certain that they could put it all behind them and that everything would be alright, but now as he pulled into his building's driveway, resting his head against the steering wheel, he wasn't all that confident anymore…

~*~*~*~

It was Monday.

Nurami only hung around for three days before returning to the woods, or at least that's where Bulma assumed she went. Vegeta was still MIA and the woman had practically implored the young alien to stay longer, but the girl declined, explaining that she didn't want "her scent to linger."

Saiyans. Go figure.

That Tuesday was a public holiday and a lot of people were taking the day off so they could have a long weekend. Bulma longed to do the same, but the rest of the world couldn't care less and she had an important meeting scheduled with the head of Capsule Corp's American competitor, Luther Corp, (anything's possible :-P) which she had to spend the whole weekend preparing for. Being the boss really sucked sometimes!

Unfortunately ~ much to acting president Briefs' covert delight ~ Lionel Luther had cancelled their trade negotiations at the very last minute due to some or other trouble at one of his company's factories. This meant that Bulma had the whole afternoon to herself and so she decided to spend the time pretending that she was a regular twenty-something with limitless credit and go lounging about at the West City Plaza, buying useless knickknacks and obscenely expensive clothes and getting her hair done while she was at it.

Her perm was starting to wilt and she was long overdue for a change anyway. She managed to sweet talk her way into an appointment with her favourite stylist to have her hair relaxed and she was looking forward to reaping the rewards of a much-needed deep conditioning treatment. Yamcha always liked her hair down and she was going to knock his socks off with this makeover! They'd declared a shaky ceasefire after Wednesday night's fiasco and she supposed she owed it to him to look pretty when everyone got together to celebrate Umi no Hi, but first she had to make a stop at the Briefs estate to change into more comfortable attire.

She had wished a great many atrocities upon the inventor of the business suit over the past week. Bulma was a technician at heart and much to her mother's vexation, her ensemble of choice was a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, comfy ankle boots and overalls to cover the lot ~ a far cry from the pinstriped three piece and stockings she was currently sporting.

She walked into the house expecting nothing but ear-splitting silence and her face spilt into an ecstatic grin upon hearing the telltale scuffling noises that could only mean one thing…

"Vegeta's back!"

As reclusive as the Saiyan Prince was, his return meant that her solitary confinement of the past couple of days was over and to Bulma that was cause for celebration in its own right. She'd never completely gotten over the fact that Krillin and Gohan ~ the people she trusted to protect her ~ had abandoned her on Namek, leaving her to the mercy of a hostile alien planet without giving it a second thought and as a result she absolutely abhorred being left on her own. On a sentient level she knew that her ongoing phobia was childish and irrational, but subconsciously she just couldn't shake the fear that people would leave and never come back.

She followed the sound of clanking glass and shifting Tupperware to the kitchen where she saw Vegeta, or more specifically Vegeta's towel clad ass, protruding from behind the wide open refrigerator door as he raided the contents. The moment she appeared in the entrance he froze, a deathly silence befalling the room as he placed a hand on the edge of the appliance's door and slowly straightened to his full stature. His long tail was hanging free for a change, instead of bound around his midsection or swishing in all directions. Only the very tip was twitching restlessly and Bulma wondered briefly if it had anything to with the cold billowing from the gaping appliance.

It was clear that he'd recently taken a shower with his wet hair draped over his muscular shoulders in soaked clusters, presenting an interesting alternative to the gravity defying spikes she'd become accustomed to. Little beads of water clung to his skin and her eyes automatically followed the tiny droplets as they lazily made their way down his cut physique… trailing along an old laceration on his finely sculpted pectorals… winding past hardened nipples… gliding over the taut muscles of his stomach and finally trickling across the subtle curve of his lower abdomen to vanish within the folds of the fluffy beige towel wrapped around his hips.

Bulma felt very dehydrated all of a sudden and the liquid progressing down Vegeta's exquisite form seemed like just the thing to slake her thirst. Unconsciously, her tongue slid out to moisten her parted lips as her gaze drifted over the masculine contours of his nether regions, hidden under nothing more than a single layer of plush cloth…

She almost jolted out of her skin when the fridge was slammed closed so hard that several tiles were dislodged from the wall behind it and crashed loudly to the floor where they shattered into a thousand pieces. Bulma shivered when her eyes shot up to meet Vegeta's. The Saiyan's expression was harsh, even for him. He looked fed-up and extraordinarily pissed off and she felt fear seize her, certain that she'd incurred his wrath with her less-than-discreet ogling.

"H-hi." She croaked, her face turning beet red in petrified embarrassment as he glared at her contemptuously from under knitted brows, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his tail curling around his waist. Vegeta huffed in response and started moving toward her. Bulma gasped with fright, thinking that he was going to manhandle her like he did when she refused to work on his training tools, but he just brushed past her roughly. She looked after him in confusion as he made his way to the stairs.

"Don't… don't you want something to eat?" She asked hesitantly, careful to keep her tone as benign as possible.

"I lost my appetite." He bit out hoarsely as he climbed the stairs two at a time, hastily stepping onto the second story landing and out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"Fucking whore!" Vegeta thought as he collapsed face down onto his bed. He would've gone out to the GT-pod for a workout, but he was too ravenous to train. He knew he should've killed himself something to eat before returning to the complex, but he didn't expect Bulma to be home so early in the day. What the hell was she doing at the mansion anyway ~ apart from tormenting him?

He felt the tingle of déjà vu and found himself being haunted by the first time he'd laid eyes on her. They were on the Planet Namek and he was stuck without a scouter. He was getting the hang of Kakkarot's energy sensing technique, but had sent the half-breed out on a scouting patrol to verify his enemies' positions ~ just in case. He was busy conducting his own search for the Namekian Dragonballs when perchance he espied the aquamarine-haired beauty hiding in a canyon. At first he thought she was an hallucination, conjured to tantalise him as punishment for his countless sins. She looked so much like a female of his deceased people that he almost fell from the sky as his heart raced and his insides twisted with hopeful excitement. It was only when he touched down in front of her and she started hollering like a banshee that he realised what she was: An Earthling ~ nothing but a cheap imitation of his once feared race.

He was debating what to do with her when Zarbon appeared on the scene, making the decision for him. He hadn't thought so at the time, but the confrontation with the general had been a blessing in disguise and things turned out for the better because of it… if being cooped up in this Saiyan look-alike infested dome could be considered "for the better." The cursed humans bore such an uncanny resemblance to his own kind that it was easy to forget how weak and pitiful a species they truly were. They were very convincing imitations indeed, but forgeries nonetheless and he would have to remember that if he were to stay sane around them; especially around his feisty shrew of a hostess!

The confounded witch had more of her mother in her than he'd thought. She was courting disaster, just like the brainless blond often did, and Vegeta was sure she didn't even realise it! He was so shocked when the aroma of her arousal tickled his senses that he didn't recognise it immediately for what it was. Once he did though, it took every grain of discipline he had to keep from pouncing on her right there in the kitchen. He knew that her body's reaction was merely an instinctive response to his state of undress; completely beyond her control. She didn't actually want him ~ not really ~ and Kakkarot would castrate him if he laid a finger on her, but that wasn't what restrained him…

It was one thing to rape a nameless creature whose face would fade away into the collage of pained images that was splattered throughout his memory. But to see her face contorted in that look of disbelieving horror and angst; her cerulean eyes lancing his soul with that primal, loathing hatred… he couldn't even bear the thought.

Vegeta didn't know when the woman's opinion of him became an issue. All he knew was that it had, and at that precise moment he didn't feel like analyzing the reasons behind it as he ground his hips against the mattress, trying to find the needed friction to ease the desperate ache bulging within the towel he wore. Perhaps he'd returned too soon. The worst of his rut had subsided, but obviously he was nowhere near composed enough to keep his cool in the physical presence of a female, let alone one as desirable as Bulma.

How long had it been since he'd last had sex? Seven, maybe eight months at the most. He'd been forced to endure much longer dry spells under Frieza's rule, but celibacy was downright painful with the cursed wench always prancing around in his vicinity, enticing him with her lithe body and sumptuous curves. His infuriatingly frequent ruts didn't help either. Sure, the frequency ensured that his hormones didn't fluctuate as much as they had in the past, making the individual ruts easier to bear, but without sex who was to say that the long-term outcome wouldn't be exactly the same? Eventually he'd be overtaken by the blinding urge to sow his seed; all reason driven from his mind until he'd found the outlet his anatomy required. He wouldn't be able to stop himself anymore than a starving man who'd stumbled upon a gourmet banquet!

"Fuck that." He murmured, reprimanding himself sharply. Deprivation driven loss of control was no longer something he had to worry about. He wasn't under Frieza's thumb any more and he could come and go as he pleased. Unappealing as the notion was, if push came to shove he'd just go into space and spend a few weeks squandering whatever currency he had left to his name in one of the brothels he'd visited while searching for Kakkarot. Not that he doubted his ability to seduce an Earthling. He could fake just about any mood called for in a given situation ~ a skill he'd perfected during twenty-two years in Frieza's service ~ and he'd learned enough of human courting rituals to pull it off. From what he'd seen of the planet's general public, he was better looking than most of the native males, but how would he explain the tail?

He sure as hell wasn't about to follow Kakkarot's example of amputating body parts just because they weren't fashionable! For years Frieza had used the Saiyans' sensitive appendage as a means of inflicting misery and torment, plucking both excruciating pain and humiliating pleasure from their bodies ~ sometimes as punishment for transgressions, but mostly just because he could. The pain was terrible to be sure, but it was the sickeningly shameful pleasure that finally drove the prince to fry the responsive nerves with a surge of energy, numbing his beloved tail and robbing the repugnant Iceling of a favourite plaything. Even so, he was devastated when the limb was hacked off during the fight against Earth's Special Forces, and if he ever found out who'd been wielding the offending blade he'd make sure to break every bone in the warrior's body, finishing with his neck!

Vegeta quivered as soft mahogany fur brushed tenderly over the back of his knees, reassuring him that Frieza was gone and his tail was back. He had risen from the dead with the limb's tactility restored and in his aroused state the light touch caused goose bumps to rise on his flesh as a blissful little thrill rippled through him, heightening his excitement.

"The woman won't freak out, though." He thought, grinning wistfully. He had spotted her eyeing the appendage on a few occasions. Who knew? Maybe she found it attractive. He allowed his mind to pursue the idea, conjuring images of the sexy vixen stroking and petting his sensitive tail and rolled onto his back, the towel falling away to expose his turgid cock to the open air.

All unpleasant thoughts were banished as a hand traced leisurely patterns down his abdomen, fingers splaying over the smooth skin before traveling lower to grip his awaiting hardness. Vegeta imagined that it was Bulma's nimble digits curling around him and he drew in a sharp, stinging breath through clenched teeth, his eyes rolling back in his skull as the warm pressure instantly sent a rush of gratification coursing through his veins. His tail snaked in between his spread legs and coiled twice around his left thigh, contracting rhythmically against the corded muscles to further stimulate the tingling nerve endings. Sensations like electric charges ran through the furry length and up and down the prince's spine into his already pulsing manhood, freeing a rumbling growl from low in his throat.

Vegeta bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out as his hand commenced a steady series of hard, pumping strokes over his swollen phallus; the other fisting in the coverlet as his hips lunged forward greedily, demanding more. The tip of his throbbing tail extended in answer and reached out to fondle the heavy sac tightening beneath his erection.

"Ah… Kami…" Vegeta was slightly startled when he heard the strangled moans escape his lips and bit down again, hard enough to draw blood. He couldn't afford to make any noise. The woman was still in the house and he definitely didn't want her to wise up to his bedroom activities. Control was becoming a bit slippery however, as his heightened senses were strained to their limit, overwhelming his brain with the acutely pleasurable impulses being wrung from his groin and tail.

Within moments the Saiyan was panting and gasping heavily, the sheen of shower water replaced with a thin film of perspiration as the stimuli harmonized into a mind-blowing symphony of pure sensation. The pistoning hand paused for a second as he swirled his thumb across his leaking slit, collecting the sticky precum that had pearled there, and massaged it into his skin. In his fantasy the woman had straddled his hips and was teasingly grazing her dripping cunt over the pink crown of his cock. Oh, how he yearned to drive into her satiny depths; to feel her inner muscles convulse around him as he took her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. What he wouldn't give to hear her scream his name in the heat of passion, declaring to the heavens that he was the one giving her such pleasure…

"What the…?" Ever since his sexual awakening, his fantasies ~ filled with aggressive Saiyan elites or coquettish consorts ~ had always centred on his satisfaction and his alone. Why was this female suddenly different?

The question was quickly stowed in the back of his mind. It was not the time to ponder such things as his blood turned to lava in his veins, threatening to burn him alive if he didn't find the release his every fibre was begging for. A raw needy sound, akin to a sob, clawed its way up his throat and he tightened his grasp on his aching shaft, his palm and cock drenched in the slick warmth of his precum as his hips bucked frenziedly into the circle of his hand.

Sweet gods, he was close… so very close...

He shut his eyes tightly and envisioned his celestial temptress moaning and trembling as she rode him hard and fast, her cobalt orbs misty with wanton lust. Her decadent sheath was contracting around his steely length, her juices spilling down his member and onto his pelvis and balls as she squeezed him in her most intimate embrace. His mind latched onto the memory of her heady musk and he imagined that her fingernails were digging into his flesh as she collapsed against his chest, screaming out her climax for the world to hear.

The prince had been teetering on the cusp of nirvana and the mere thought of the woman's orgasm kneading his manhood was enough to send him hurtling into his own release. Stars danced behind his eyelids and his back arched with the tensing of his jewels, his head thrown against the pillow in rapture. A guttural howl climbed up from deep in his chest, but he caught it in time, allowing only a low hissing groan to leave his mouth as liquid flames seared through his loins, burning along his shaft and erupting from the tip in thick spurts of white fire.

He continued milking his cock until he finished cuming. Lying still, he caught his breath before locating the discarded towel to wipe the semen off his torso and the blood from his chin. His climax had hit him like one of Kakkarot's punches, but now that it was over he felt strangely empty ~ save for the vehement desire to decapitate Yamcha. Vegeta knew that Bulma would never willingly come to another male while she had that pussy-whipped weakling lapping at her heels and, for reasons that eluded him, the stray thought caused an oddly possessive sort of anger to swell in his chest.

Rationally, he had no reason to hate the human. The man was a cockroach; a vile little insect waiting to be stomped on. The baseball player / planetary defender was so far beneath Vegeta's notice that the prince couldn't believe he was wasting useful brain capacity storing the man's identity, let alone his valuable energy scorning the two-bit bastard. Besides, it was the blasted woman that was doing this to him. She and this fucked up mud ball of a planet were severely screwing with his biorhythms.

"Stupid mating cycle." Vegeta grit his teeth, forcing his sluggish logic to sift the factual from the imaginary. He didn't want the woman any more than she wanted him. He was just horny and bereft and she was the forbidden fruit ~ within reach, but completely beyond his grasp. That was it. His attraction to her was no more than the lure of the unobtainable. Simple as that. Nothing else to it… Although the notion of killing her pathetic mate was still a titillating concept.

Perhaps once he disposed of Kakkarot he'd go after the scar-faced human. He rather liked what Nurami had done to the snivelling invertebrate. Maybe he'd elaborate on her manoeuvre; draw it out; increase the amount of pain being inflicted…

The Saiyan was distracted from his murderous reverie when the hollow pit where his stomach used to be announced itself with a vengeance, pointedly refusing to be ignored for another minute. Vegeta quickly searched for the woman's energy signature and was relieved to find that he had the mansion to himself again. He hopped off the bed and dressed in his training gear, heading down stairs to the kitchen where he was a little surprised to find the servo-bots diligently preparing a meal large enough to feed an army ~ or a hungry Saiyan warrior. The robots were doing the cooking, but Bulma would've been the one to program them.

It occurred to him then that he hadn't wanted for a single thing since moving into this "Saiyan look-alike infested dome." Most of his needs, like this meal, were fulfilled without him even having to ask ~ or threaten ~ anyone to accomplish it. Come to think of it, he hadn't been treated this well since his brief existence as crown prince of the Saiyan Empire and it was all thanks to the teal-haired girl that had now officially become the object of his fantasies.

He snarled angrily at his own weakness, squashing the tiny glimmer of gratitude his line of thought was threatening to kindle. He was Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, and soon-to-be strongest warrior in the Universe. He owed nothing to no one! Least of all some tragically weak Earthling woman whom he could crush with a mere thought! He never asked for her hospitality and he would've been just fine without it. If she was foolish enough to open her home to a cold-blooded killer and her best friend's worst enemy then that was entirely her business.

Did she think that if she was "nice" to him, he would refrain from killing her friends once he defeated Koola? If that was the case then the female was sadly mistaken!

He stomped his right foot to frighten off the small feline that had come to investigate the interesting flavours wafting from the kitchen and pushed off the door frame with a ragged sigh. Battling down his warring emotions, Vegeta found himself a seat and immediately dug into the pile of egg rolls the servo-bots had just set down.

All he needed was to fuel up and get a good workout in his GT-pod. Then everything would fall back into perspective…

_______________________________________________________________ _______

* `Everything you want' by Vertical Horizon

Next Chapter: Party at Bulma's.

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