Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Back to You (The Sequel to "Proof of Affection"): Complete Version ❯ Back to You (The Sequel to "Proof of Affection"): Complete Version ( Chapter 1 )

Back to You (The complete version!)

Rated NC-17 for lemon.

 

The Sequel to “Proof of Affection”

By QueenSaiyajin

 

 

 

Come back to me…

 

Her words whispered in his mind as he landed on the balcony to their bedroom, his body and spirit broken after the victory that he had had little to do with. It was true, he had helped Gohan in the end, giving Kakarot's brat the edge he had needed against Cell. But the fact remained—his greatest rival's eleven-year old son had succeeded where he, the Prince of all Saiyans, had failed. And Kakarot himself had died with honor, leaving Vegeta to forever wonder if he truly would have been able to defeat the third class warrior who had been a thorn in his side for the past five years. He would never know. But wondering, and having no way to prove himself now, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

 

In retrospect, there was one thing for which he could thank Cell. The horror of seeing his only son die had made him realize that some things actually mattered more than proving his strength. He'd already come to the awareness of what the woman meant to him. But fatherhood was not a role he had taken on well. The rage that had propelled him to strike out at Cell, the blinding fury that had driven him to release every last drop of energy he could muster, had shown him—and to his mortification, all those present—how deep his feelings ran for his son. As he thought of the infant that he barely knew, he silently vowed that this Trunks would have a father in his life. Vegeta would never be the over-emotional and demonstrative fool that Kakarot had been with his son. But in his own way, he would guide the boy, make him a warrior that surpassed all others. And the boy would know of his pride in him. Someday.

 

Bulma sat up in bed as he walked into the room, and he realized that she had probably been waiting up for him. She would know by now of all that had transpired.

 

She would know that he had let their son die. And though Cell's reappearance had taken them all by surprise, he had promised her that he would keep an eye on the boy. He thanked the gods silently for the mystical dragon that had brought Trunks back to life. But not even the gods could erase the guilt that he still felt over letting it happen in the first place.

 

“Vegeta!”

 

“I'm back, woman,” he said tiredly. “For what it's worth—”

 

Before he could even finish speaking she had jumped up and thrown her arms around his neck, pressing her warm body in the short silk nightgown against his body. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, not realizing until this moment how much he'd needed to hold her.

 

“Are you hurt?” she asked worriedly, looking into his eyes.

 

He hadn't even contemplated his physical wounds. He knew his ribs were badly bruised, possibly fractured, but he hadn't really cared. “Nothing broken. I just need a shower,” he replied emotionlessly.

 

“Okay. Come on, then,” she said softly.

 

He didn't argue as she pulled off his armor, then his bloodied combat suit. He'd learned of late that solitude no longer provided the comfort or escape that it once had. She was his comfort, his sanctuary. And as her soft hands gently smoothed soap over his battle-worn body, her touch made the day's failures insignificant. His eyes fell on her naked skin, beaded with droplets of water, her pert breasts inviting his touch, his taste. She kissed him on the lips as he fondled her flesh, his heart racing as his painful arousal pressed against her womanhood of its own accord, finding her so moist and tempting…

 

And as he drowned in her warmth, nothing mattered. Nothing but the fact that she was his…

 

 

 

 

 

The sun was high in the sky when he awoke to find her sleeping in his arms. He'd taken her in the shower, with a desperate and frustrated need that had left him little time to savor her. He'd carried her to their bed then, taking his time with her, cherishing every inch of her sweetness, relishing her softness as he pleasured her over and over. His wounded pride and shame were forgotten in the ecstasy of their lovemaking, as her body welcomed him, and her spirit wrapped him in its protective glow.

 

If only they could spend the rest of their lives in the bliss of each other. But no, reality was as stark as the sunlight through the windows, and the sick feeling in his stomach as yesterday's events came back to him was a grim reminder that once he left her embrace, he was still the failure he had proven himself to be…

 

He was beginning to shake with his rage when she stirred in his arms, obviously sensing his distress. She looked up at him with concern. “Are you all right?” she asked, caressing his cheek.

 

Her touch alone calmed him. He put his hand over hers. “I…don't know,” he replied truthfully. It occurred to him that they had barely spoken since he had returned. Words, even conscious thought, had seemed unnecessary as they had held each other in an unspoken bond of need and desire. With dread he realized that he could no longer avoid acknowledging what had happened at the Cell Games. She had comforted him as only she could—but he had to face what he had done…and failed to do. “When I left you, I was the Prince of all Saiyans. I believed I was the strongest being in the Universe. And now…” He sighed deeply. “I don't know what I am. Or what my purpose is.”

 

Her gaze was unwavering, devoid of the disappointment in him that he believed he deserved. “You're the man I love,” she told him passionately. “The man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

 

His voice was caught in his throat, even as her words made him flush with indescribable

emotion. How could she love him so unconditionally? How could she even bear to look at him knowing that he had let their son die? How could she not mock him, knowing that an eleven year old child had saved his life, and proven himself a more powerful warrior?

He began to question whether she even knew all of these things, whether she had heard of his disgrace…

 

“I know everything that happened, Vegeta,” she told him, without even the faintest hint of shame.

 

“And you still—?” He could not even put in words his amazement that she could love and respect him knowing what an utter failure he was.

 

“It wasn't your fault that Cell shot at Trunks. And I know what you did when you thought he was dead.” At his questioning look, she explained, “Trunks told me. Yamcha told him how you went crazy when you thought Cell had killed him, and attacked him with everything you had.”

 

It was hard to believe that the human had said anything to make him look good in his son's eyes.

 

“It meant so much to Trunks, Vegeta. And it does to me, too.”

 

“I still failed to destroy him,” he replied darkly. “An eleven year old boy did what I could not.”

 

“With your help,” she reminded him. “The guys said Gohan was almost out of strength when you stepped in and blasted Cell.”

 

It was true, but it offered him little comfort. “So that is my purpose in life, woman? To play second string to Kakarot's brat?”

 

In his own bitterness he had forgotten that the mention of the other Saiyan's name would bring this sadness to his woman's eyes. Kakarot had, after all, been as a brother to her, and he had not yet addressed her obvious grief over his death.

 

“Kakarot's `brat', as you call him, will need you to look up to now,” she told him.

 

“Oh, right,” he replied sarcastically. “His father taught him everything he needs to know, not the least of which is how to make a hero's sacrifice. I doubt there is anything that boy would look to me for.”

 

“And what about your son, Vegeta? Don't you think he needs you?” she challenged him, her gaze unwavering. “That Trunks from the future had to grow up without his father. Thank the gods that our baby won't have to go through his life without you! No matter how things turned out, and no matter how disappointed you are that you couldn't be the one to destroy Cell all by yourself—that doesn't matter to me. All that's important is that it's over, and Trunks and I still have you!”

 

There was as much passion in her voice as there had been in her desperate need to be with him last night. Only now did he realize just why she had failed to question him on what had happened. It didn't matter to her. Nothing mattered to her as long as their little family was complete and safe from harm. In the long run, he wondered if anything else really mattered at all. “You are an incredibly foolish, emotional woman,” he chastised her gently, but he knew she could see the tenderness in his eyes as he reached to run his fingers through her hair. And I thank the gods for you, my Princess…

 

She smiled at him brightly as she brought her lips to his, and he was grateful for the bond that spared him from having to say such things aloud. He didn't like talking about his feelings. He had neither the eloquence nor vocabulary to ever tell her just what she meant to him. He didn't think it would even be possible.

 

Once again he lost himself in her. And in truth, he didn't want to ever be found.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He awoke to find her gone, and panic set in before he could consciously even think that she had merely gotten up before him. His only comfort, his only peace, was holding her, and her absence made his heart start to pound in dread. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want his unoccupied mind to dwell on what had happened in the Cell Games, on his weakness, his inability to…

 

She re-entered the room, and the obsessive thoughts were banished as she snuggled back in next to him. He drew her close and let the scent of her wash over him. “Where did you go?” he asked, trying to obscure the real panic that had overtaken him.

 

She looked at him strangely. “Just to the bathroom, silly,” she said as she kissed him on the lips. She tasted so good, and he prolonged the kiss. Gods, how had he ever spent more than a short time away from her? He was glad that he could never again go into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. How had he endured those two years? At this moment, he couldn't imagine ever leaving her side again.

 

She settled against his chest, and for a long while he simply held her, dreading the moment when her work or other duties would take her from him. He was surprised she hadn't had to attend to the baby, but in a selfish way didn't want even his son to take her from him.

 

“Momma is watching him,” she answered his thoughts sleepily. “I figured I'd just stay here with you until you go train.”

 

Her words jarred him, though he wasn't quite sure why. “And if I decide not to train today?” he proposed, running his fingers lightly down her spine, bringing his hand to rest on her soft bottom, pulling her closer so that her warmth rested against his growing arousal.

 

“You? Not train?” she asked, pretending to be aghast, but beginning to rub herself against him. He was rock-hard now, and as he teased her he could feel her moist invitation.

 

“Maybe some other form of exercise would suffice…” he whispered, bringing his lips to hers.

 

 

 

 

 

It was nearly nightfall before he finally let her go. His need for her was insatiable. Drowning in her beautiful flesh, and in the warmth of her unconditional love for him, there was a sense of peace and contentment that seemed to have eluded him all his life. Her emotions washed over him, cleansing him of the rage and self-hatred that was the product of a lifetime. His failures seemed meaningless when her spirit wound itself around his. His pride and determination to prove himself were set aside when she was in his arms. They didn't matter to her. She didn't care if he was the most powerful being in the Universe or not. In her embrace, he found he didn't care either. It had frightened him at first, this awesome power she had to change the very meaning of his existence. But at the end of the day, he knew that those quests had never brought him the true happiness he found here with his woman. With his son.

 

She was beautiful as she set the plate of food in front of him, then turned her attention to the famished infant. Even as he ate he watched that domestic scene, as she tried to feed the boy that horrible mush that she called `baby food'. “He needs meat,” he commented as the boy finished off his third jar. “He's got the teeth for it. That's why he's complaining so.”

 

Bulma looked at him in surprise, and he realized that she seemed pleased that he had taken enough interest to make the suggestion. He had rarely shown any concern at all in how she was raising the boy, telling her he would take over by training him when he was old enough. “Do you really think so? Usually babies can't eat solid food until they're a year old.”

 

“Human babies,” he responded. “The child is Saiyan. He needs red meat, preferably as bloody as possible.”

 

“Yuck,” she commented, making a face. “Like that rare steak you're eating? I can't even look at it without getting sick.”

 

“Silly woman,” he smirked at her. “Here, give me his bowl.”

 

Astounded she watched as he cut pieces of meat from his own steak into bite-sized slices, placing them in the ridiculous plate with smiling farm animals. The child needs to kill and eat these beasts, not find them cute, he thought to her in his mind. “Here, boy, have some real food,” he said, setting the plate in front of him. For a moment the child stared down at the meat not comprehending, so Vegeta lifted a tiny piece to his mouth and gently shoved it between his lips. Instinct took over as Trunks began to chew the meat, then hungrily reached for more, grinning at his father as if to thank him.

 

“You're welcome,” he said to the baby, then looked up at Bulma's face. He frowned as he saw her eyes were misty. What's the big deal? I couldn't let you starve the boy! he grumbled.

 

She didn't answer, even mentally. But as she set another plate in front of him, she leaned close to his face, kissing him lightly on the cheek. He shivered with his desire for her. His face was hot with his embarrassment, though no one but the child had seen. For the first time, he had no thought to chastise her for her open show of affection. It had felt good.

 

And he liked feeling good.

 

 

 

 

He hadn't wanted to train. In fact, for the first time in his life sparring was the furthest thing from his mind. But he was a warrior, and always would be, and despite his depression over recent events, he could not resist an invitation to spar.

 

Especially when the invitation came from his own son.

 

Trunks had been anxious to get back to his time, confident now in his ability to slay the Androids that had once seemed unbeatable. He also knew now that Cell had gotten to this time by killing him and taking his time capsule in search of the Androids. He would surprise Cell while he was still in his Imperfect form, and history would be changed forever. Then he and his mother and the other people of the Earth would be free to rebuild their world.

 

But Bulma had convinced him to stay with them for one more week, promising him that it would not take him off schedule in his own time. She had reset the controls to return to the time just moments after he'd left, thus assuring him that nothing would befall his mother and the others in his absence. In truth, the boy seemed glad for the excuse to stay, and Vegeta was glad too. It would be his last chance to be any kind of a father to this Trunks, and he wanted to send him back with good memories.

 

So when Bulma had told him that Trunks wanted to spar with him, he had been unable to say no. And quite frankly, it would afford him the opportunity to speak to the boy alone on a matter that had been plaguing him since the Cell Games had come to an end.

 

They'd been blasting away at each other for over an hour, and Vegeta was proud of the progress his son had made. Though he hated to admit it, the boy might someday surpass him. But somehow, the thought of that was a lot more comforting than the thought of being bested by Kakarot's brat…

 

A final flash and Trunks was down, though he'd moved quickly enough to escape the main blast. The mountain in back of him had not been so lucky. “Enough,” Vegeta said between breaths, as he came down to stand beside the spot where Trunks had landed. Trunks was up in a moment, as if to prove that he had not been beaten, but Vegeta said, “I know you're nowhere near spent, boy, and neither am I. But there's something I need to speak to you about. It has to do with your mother.”

 

At that Trunks stopped to look at him, worry crossing his face. “My mother here…or in my time?” he asked cautiously.

 

Vegeta breathed deeply as the thought of that other Bulma that he had left all alone filled him with the same guilt as always. “Your mother here. Unfortunately there's very little I can do to make up for—”

 

“That's okay, Dad,” Trunks broke in, seeing his unease. It was just as well. There was too much he felt he had to make up for to even name.

 

“It's not,” he said softly, “and I will always regret that. But in this time, I made a promise to your mother that I intend to keep. I just need your…advice…on how to go about it.”

 

”What is it?” Trunks asked, suddenly curious.

 

How to say it? “I told her I would go through one of those ridiculous Earth customs…that meaningless legal ceremony that Earth couples—”

 

Trunks broke into a big grin before he could finish the difficult explanation. “You're going to marry her?!”

 

Vegeta sighed. “I suppose…it would make her happy.” He looked at Trunks. “Do you think so?”

 

Trunks nodded, unable to get rid of that silly grin. “Yes, Dad. It would make her very happy.”

 

“All right, then,” he said, satisfied. “This is where I need your counsel. Ironic as it may seem, you have known your mother for a great deal longer than I have. Perhaps you could give me some idea on how to go about this?” He felt so foolish asking for help in this matter. But Trunks was the only one he would feel comfortable even discussing this with.

 

“Okay, let me think…” Trunks said thoughtfully as he leaned on a boulder. “Have you already proposed?”

 

“Proposed what?” Vegeta asked, confused.

 

“Proposed marriage, Dad. Officially asked her,” his son explained patiently.

 

“I mentioned it once—before the Cell Games. But we haven't spoken of it since. I assume she remembers.”

 

“Never assume,” Trunks told him. “She probably thinks you've forgotten or changed your mind. And she doesn't want to pressure you.”

 

That sounded just like her. “Go on,” Vegeta prodded, listening intently.

 

“You have to make it a romantic moment—”

 

“Excuse me?” he asked.

 

“A special moment,” he amended at his father's dubious look. “You have to tell her what she means to you…and ask her to spend the rest of her life with you.”

 

“She already knows these things,” Vegeta dismissed him. “And I am not going to profess my…feelings…like one of those weak humans in your grandmother's soap operas—“

 

“Dad, she knows you. She knows you're a Saiyan, and that Saiyans don't really express themselves the same way as humans. But…you can find your own way to do it.”

 

“And then what?” Vegeta asked, beginning to wish he had never brought this up.

 

“Then you give her the ring.”

 

“Ring?”

 

“A diamond ring. It's the traditional engagement ring.” Trunks looked at him knowingly, and added, “A kind of way to identify her as yours so other guys like Yamcha will know it's time to give up.”

 

“Isn't the threat of death if they go anywhere near her enough?” he snorted.

 

“Come on, Dad. You asked what Mom would like. I'm telling you.”

 

“She has thousands of those diamonds. She buys herself new jewels at least once a week—“

 

“Then make it something special.”

 

Vegeta considered. “Where do these diamonds come from?”

 

“A jewelry store, usually—“

 

“I mean where do they originate?”

 

“In the ground…they're made by millions of years of pressure on carbon deposits.”

 

Vegeta smirked, an idea coming to mind. “All right. I know what to do. What's next?”

 

Trunks looked at him curiously, but didn't ask. Good. He wanted this to be something he'd come up with on his own. “Well, then there's the ceremony—“

 

Vegeta grunted. He'd seen these things on television. “I won't stand in front of thousands of people—“

 

“She won't want it that big. It can be just close family. Or knowing Mom, she'd want her friends there too.”

 

He didn't like the idea of those would-be warriors witnessing this, but it did have its advantages. If this kind of public commitment would be the only way those dolts would understand that Bulma was his and his alone for the rest of their lives…

 

“All right, and what do I need for this wedding ceremony? How long does it take?”

 

“You need to wear a nice suit—“

 

“Suit?!”

 

“—and choose a best man—“

 

“I'm the best man. Isn't that why she's marrying me?”

 

“A best man is supposed to be your best friend…someone to stand at your side when you take your vows…” His voice trailed off as he realized the inevitable.

 

“I have no friends,” Vegeta replied emotionlessly, but then an idea struck him. “Do you think…you would want to do it for me?” he asked hesitantly. “You're my son, after all, and that's a hell of a lot better than a friend.”

 

Trunks nodded silently, but Vegeta could see that he was pleased. “Yes, Father, I would be honored to.”

 

“Good,” Vegeta said, content with the plan. “Oh, but you didn't mention how long this thing takes.”

 

“Not very long. Then there's a reception—a party with lots of food and dancing…”

 

“Dancing?” he asked horrified.

 

“You can skip the dancing I guess, although you are supposed to have at least one dance with your new bride.”

 

“What else?” he asked with dread.

 

“Nothing. Then you go on your honeymoon.”

 

He stared at Trunks blankly.

 

“Uh, maybe you had better let Mom explain that one to you,” Trunks said, his face growing crimson.

 

By Trunks' reaction, Vegeta had an idea. And he had a feeling this honeymoon thing would be the best part….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was asleep when he came through the balcony, his face and hands so black with coal from the mine he had just visited that he feared she wouldn't recognize him. She started as he came in to the room. “Vegeta? Where were you? And why are you so dirty?”

 

This was not what Trunks had meant when he'd suggested a romantic moment. Should he shower, or just get it over with?

 

“I had something to do, woman,” he replied in annoyance, deciding that the former was probably a better idea. “Leave me alone. I need to shower.”

 

“Fine, suit yourself,” she replied, turning over in bed. She was pissed off at him. Good. It would come as a total surprise.

 

He showered quickly, then slipped into bed, placing the gift he'd fashioned for her under his pillow. To his delight she was naked, and he spooned against her back, kissing her shoulder, his hand reaching around to knead her breast. He could feel her anger slipping away even as the scent of her arousal reached him. He turned her towards him, looking her in the eyes as he played with her nipples.

 

“So where were you?” she asked softly. “I missed you.”

 

“I needed to find a gift fitting for a Saiyan Princess,” he told her, gazing into her eyes. He took a deep breath. Gods, this was difficult, no matter how much he had contemplated what he would say. “Woman, this is not easy for me. All I know is that before I met you, my life was different. I was different. I never imagined I could find…contentment…on an insignificant ball of rock like this. But when I am with you, everything I have suffered, all my failures…seem unimportant.”

 

Her eyes were filling with tears, and he knew that this was right. Was this what was called romance? It was more. It was baring his soul. But that was something she deserved, wasn't it? Hadn't she given him so much more than he could ever hope to return to her? He reached under the pillow to pull out the treasure he had created just for her. A sparkling diamond the size of a grapefruit.

 

She gasped as she saw it. “You…?”

 

“I made this for you. From coal deposits in that Western continent. I thought it would be more fitting than those tiny ones they sell.”

 

“It's beautiful, Vegeta,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

 

“I don't… have the words to tell you what you mean to me. But if you will have me, I vow to worship and protect you and our son for the rest of my days.”

 

“Yes,” she breathed, bringing her lips to his. He kissed her hungrily, gratefully, tasting the salt of her tears on lips sweeter than the finest wine. And if he had had any misgivings about how much this would mean to her, they disappeared in his relief of finally having done something right for her.

 

I love you… she whispered in his mind. He didn't think repeating those words to her could possibly express what he felt for her. But he knew how his heart had filled with joy as she'd said them to him, and he wanted her to feel just as indescribably happy as she had made him.

 

I love you, Bulma… he thought to her softly. And that doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for you…

 

But it meant something to her. And that was what mattered.

 

 

 

 

 

Later, as they lay together in each other's arms, she became incredibly chatty as she excitedly made plans for their big day, as she called it. Trunks had been on the mark once more. She didn't want a huge affair—she knew anyway that such a thing would mortify him. But she did want her closest friends to be there. The gang as she called them. She would make Kakarot's widow her matron of honor, she told him, though he couldn't imagine giving that harpy a place of honor at all.

 

“I have already chosen a best man,” he informed her, much to her surprise. “Trunks agreed to do the job.”

 

“Oh, Vegeta, that's wonderful,” she gushed. “I know it will mean so much to him.”

 

“So since he's leaving in a week, we should get this thing over with before then,” he suggested, frankly glad for an excuse to do so.

 

“Okay, well, we'll have the ceremony and reception in the gardens. I'll start planning the menu with Momma tomorrow. She will be so excited!! And we can dress the baby up in a little tux—“

 

“A what?”

 

“Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it. I'll get you something to wear, too.”

 

“Don't forget about the rare meat,” he told her, finding the discussion of menu a bit less annoying than his attire.

 

“And I don't have time to send out invitations. I'll just let them know personally—“

 

“Not too many people, I hope…” he said painfully.

 

“Don't worry. Just Chichi and Gohan, Krillin, Tien, Master Roshi, Piccolo—“

 

“And Yamcha?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Her face darkened. “I still consider him a friend. But it you would rather I didn't invite him—“

 

“Go ahead,” he said with an evil smirk. “Let him see for himself that the game is over and he's lost.”

 

“There was never any question of that,” she said softly, slipping her hands around his neck.

 

He kissed her, then pulled away as a thought struck him. “Trunks said something about after the reception—a honey-something. He said you would explain.”

 

Her face flushed lightly as she said, “ Honeymoon. That's when we go off alone together to consummate our marriage.”

 

“Oh really?” he asked, smiling wickedly. “I don't think I quite understand. Do you think you could show me?”

 

She was only too happy to oblige. And he knew at once that this honeymoon would be the best part of this wedding thing. He could hardly wait.

 

 

 

 

The date was set. In three days this whole circus would be over with. It wouldn't be a day too soon, Vegeta thought to himself as he watched the confusion around him reaching a fever pitch. Blondie was in a panic, saying something about Bulma needing a shower. He'd informed her that she had just taken one with him that morning, and the woman had turned red as a tomato and giggled hysterically for some reason. Trunks had explained to him later that it was a party of sorts, to give the new bride everything she would need in married life. That was even more ridiculous, he had snorted. There wasn't a damned thing that woman didn't have!

 

After lunch, Bulma had pulled him aside to show him a dozen brochures with pictures of hotel rooms and beaches, asking him which he thought would be best for their honeymoon. They'd decided to have a small getaway for a couple of days, and return in time for Trunks' departure. She was asking him now what he thought of some resort that was on an exclusive beach in the southern continent. Frankly, he couldn't give a damn which place she chose, and he was getting a headache from all the activity and decisions associated with this “wedding”.

 

“What do you think of this one, Vegeta? It's on a beautiful beach, with all sorts of nice restaurants and night clubs along the strip—“

 

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the point of this honeymoon to spend the whole time in bed having sex?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, glancing around to make sure no one had heard him. “I suppose, but you don't have to put it that way—“

 

“Then just choose a place with a comfortable bed, and twenty-four hour room service, and be done with it. Who cares where it is?”

 

“You are so unromantic,” she complained, closing up the brochures and slapping him with them on the arm.

 

But I will give you a honeymoon you won't soon forget, he countered silently. By the smile on her face he knew she forgave him.

 

“Come on, let's see how Poppa is doing with his tux,” she said, walking away and motioning for him to follow her.

 

Out of curiosity he did, and the sight that accosted him was not a pleasant one. Dr. Briefs was standing with his legs spread apart in a black suit that looked thoroughly uncomfortable, while a strange little man took measurements down his leg and around his thigh. He looked up at them and smiled cheerily, as if unaware that someone was invading his personal body space in such a humiliating way. “Hello, Bulma! Vegeta, I think you're next. Yusuke should be done with me in a few minutes.”

 

At his words, Vegeta grabbed Bulma by the arm and ushered her out of the room. “Absolutely not!” he said when they were alone. “I will not have some blasted midget touching me in that fashion!”

 

“Well how will we get you fitted for your tux? What are you going to get married in, a training gi?” she retorted.

 

That night, he had nightmares of tuxedos, and little men with measuring tapes grabbing at his legs until he had to blast them all. Bulma wasn't too happy about that, and it still left the problem of what he would wear…How simple it would be on Vegeta-sei! He would wear the dress armor that he had always worn on State occasions, with the flowing red cape and gold-trimmed breastplate, sporting the official crest of the Royal House… And Bulma…she would look beautiful whatever she wore… He could see her now, standing at his side as they placed a tiara on her head and he took her to be his Queen…

 

He awoke in the midst of honeymoon dreams, only to find to his annoyance and frustration that Bulma had already arisen. Probably busy planning some other way to humiliate me, he thought to himself as he showered and dressed. He was further perturbed to find her nowhere in the living quarters, simply leaving him a note in the kitchen that she had to spend the day at the lab. He considered surprising her there, as he had on other occasions, and taking her right on the floor of her office. But she would probably have some fucking brochures to show him, or some other nonsense to jabber away about. When would this all be over so they could get back to a normal life?

 

By dinner she had still not returned, and he wondered what she could possibly be doing all this time, especially since she had obviously taken the baby with her. Trunks was no help whatsoever as he questioned him over dinner, and he was sure the boy was hiding something.

 

“So, Father, are you all ready for the big day?”

 

Vegeta glared at him, swallowing the mouthful of meat before replying, “I will blast the next person who uses the term `big day'.”

 

Bulma's ditsy mother was unfortunate enough just then to come passing through the kitchen, exclaiming, “Oh, Vegeta, Trunks! Are you two all ready for the big day?”

 

Trunks' eyes opened wide in alarm as Vegeta extended his palm towards the unsuspecting woman. Vegeta just smirked at his son as he used the hand to reach for another piece of meat. Had he actually thought he would seriously do it?

 

Oblivious as always, Mrs. Briefs went on, “You two are going to look so handsome in—”

 

“Hey, Grandma, have you seen Mom?” Trunks broke in not too delicately.

 

“Oh, she just came back. Trunks—I mean Baby Trunks—was making such a racket! I think the poor dear is hungry!”

 

As if on cue they heard the approaching wail of the little demi-Saiyan. Bulma burst into the kitchen looking utterly frazzled, as she tried once more to feed the child that useless formula. The boy threw the bottle across the room, and Vegeta chuckled despite his annoyance that she had been gone so long. “Haven't you learned yet, woman? I told you, the boy needs meat.”

 

“Fine!” she said, placing the baby unceremoniously on his lap. “You feed him, then!”

 

Vegeta was about to tell her he was in no mood for this, when the baby turned to Vegeta's plate and grabbed a piece of London broil, shoving it into his mouth.

 

“Vegeta, he'll choke!” she screamed, about to grab the baby from him.

 

“Leave him,” he replied with a smirk. “It's probably the best meal he's had all day.” He studied the baby, watching carefully to make sure the boy didn't indeed swallow the meat too quickly and choke on it, though he would never let any of them see that he was actually concerned. He cut his remaining steak into smaller pieces. “There, brat. Enjoy yourself. Just don't make it a habit of taking my food.”

 

Realizing suddenly that the elder Trunks was watching him in awe, Vegeta thought to make some obnoxious comment to break the young man's ridiculous stare, but decided against it as his own guilt kicked in. This son of his from the future had never had the benefit of his father's interest, let alone attention and guidance. It was something that would haunt Vegeta for the rest of his days. Let the boy watch, and know that he had meant something to his father. Didn't Vegeta owe him at least that?

 

“So, where have you been all day?” he asked his mate, his irritation at her unexplained absence showing through more than he would like.

 

“Oh, just working on something,” she said enigmatically. She turned her attention to her mother. “Momma, would you mind putting Trunks to bed after Vegeta's done feeding him? I really need to take a shower.”

 

“Of course not, dear,” her mother said sweetly.

 

Bulma bent down to kiss the infant on the cheek. “Good night, sweetie. Grandma will put you to bed after Daddy finishes feeding you.”

 

The child barely acknowledged, too engrossed in stuffing his face. Vegeta was about to protest when she brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, “Come upstairs when he's done. I have a surprise for you.”

 

The sultry tone of her voice and the scent of her that filled his nostrils made his annoyance disappear faster than Trunks' food. He nodded to her silently, watching her go and wishing he could follow now. Hurry up, brat! he thought, hoping the child's mental connection to him was developed enough for him to hear and obey. The child's response was the familiar gurgling sound and the putrid odor of the one task Vegeta simply refused to have any part of. He lifted the baby from his lap, handing him to Blondie. “He's all yours,” he murmured, then left to find his secretive mate.

 

 

 

 

 

She was in the shower as she'd said she would be, and he contemplated stealing her towel, then thought it would be much more enjoyable to simply join her. The mere outline of her body through the shower glass made him want her, and he quietly stripped off his clothes, alerting her to his presence only when he slid the shower door open.

 

“Oh! You startled me!” she said turning to face him. Her body glistened with droplets of water and soap bubbles.

 

“So,” he said in a low voice, smiling at her lustily as he reached out to fondle her breasts. “Just what was this surprise you have for me?”

 

“You'll see,” she said as she closed her eyes and reveled in his touch.

 

“I don't like surprises, woman,” he complained as he kissed her on the lips. Her tongue played with his as her fingers ran through his hair.

 

Well, you're just going to have to wait `til we get out of the shower, and then I'll show you.

 

He groaned, as much from impatience as frustration as his arousal begged for entry. He'd waited all day to find out what she was up to. A few more minutes wouldn't make a difference, would it?

 

Her hand moved down to stroke him, and the decision was out of his hands.

 

 

 

 

He'd made love to her with a frustration that had been building all day, then towel dried her body with soft caresses that made her want him again. But he would not indulge her until she divulged her little secret. As much as I want to be inside you again, you've got me curious, he thought to her as he stepped away from her.

 

Fine. She pouted as she reached for her little silk nightgown.

 

“Why are you bothering? You know I'll only be ripping it off you in a few minutes,” he said impatiently.

 

“My romantic prince,” she complained sarcastically as she walked back to the bed to pick up a capsule she had left there.

 

“I never claimed to be,” he replied dryly, though he knew his face betrayed his dismay that he would never truly be what she wanted him to be.

 

Did she sense his thoughts? She must have, because she came over to him and kissed him gently on the lips. “You're my prince,” she said softly. “And that's why I made this for you.”

 

He looked at the capsule she placed in his hand. “What is it?”

 

“Something the Prince of all Saiyans should wear on his wedding day. Go ahead. Open it.”

 

Truly intrigued now, he popped the capsule to find the last thing he'd expected.

 

It was the most exquisite Saiyan armor he had ever seen, a formal dress version of what he usually wore, replete with a flowing red robe like his father had worn. Almost an adult version of what he had worn as a child, the most amazing detail of all was the royal insignia that it bore—the seal of the royal House of Vegeta-sei. He gasped like a fool, unable to speak. How? How had she known…?

 

“I saw it in your dream last night,” she told him before he could even ask. “When I woke up I sketched it from memory.” She hesitated, as if waiting for a reaction, but he was stupidly speechless. “Did I get it right?” she asked, not sure if he was pleased or not.

 

He set her handiwork down to take her into his arms. “It's perfect,” he said simply. His emotion would allow him to say nothing more.

 

She smiled brightly. “Good. And wait until you see your sons. They've each got their own, too.”

 

Vegeta looked into her eyes. You never cease to amaze me, woman.

 

“I just want you to be happy,” she said softly.

 

Did she realize that he had not even known the meaning of the word before she had come into his life? He brought his lips to hers, slipping his hands under the silk robe to pull her naked body against his. He could never tell her what her gesture had meant to him…what she meant to him. But as she kissed him deeply, then took his hand and led him to the bed, something told him that she already knew.

 

 

 

It was the big day.

 

The gods help him. Everyone seemed to be in a frenzy, more agitated and nervous than before the Androids had arrived. In truth, he was feeling it himself, as he adjusted the red cape and put on the new white gloves. It wasn't the same kind of anxiety that preceded a battle. That was an enjoyable rush, an excitement that could not be matched. No, this was different. It was nerve-wracking. It was…

 

…the big day.

 

Fully dressed in his princely regalia, Vegeta looked in the mirror and smirked in satisfaction. At least Bulma had made sure that he would go through this ceremony in a manner befitting the Prince of all Saiyans. Suddenly another princely figure walked into his reflection and he turned to see his son, the royal garb as natural on him as a second skin. Vegeta nodded his approval.

 

Trunks adjusted his cape, imitating his father's style. “Don't these get in the way when you're in battle?” he asked, not quite used to what he had called the Superhero look.

 

“This isn't battle. It's much worse,” he replied dryly, then smirked. “It's about time you started dressing like a Saiyan prince.”

 

“Wait `til you see the baby,” Trunks commented. “At least Mom took that silly cap off his head.”

 

“Where is your mother, anyway?” he asked irritably. She'd risen long before he had, and he hadn't seen her at all this morning. “Isn't it about time we got this thing over with?”

 

“She's in your bedroom, getting dressed,” Trunks told him, then, as he started towards the stairs, said, “No! Dad, you can't see her!”

 

“Why not?” he asked angrily.

 

“It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding,” Trunks explained, as if that actually made sense.

 

“Where do these Earthlings come up with these ridiculous rituals and superstitions?!” he barked.

 

“It's a tradition, Dad. Just humor Mom, okay? You're doing this for her, right?”

 

Vegeta growled his submission as Mrs. Briefs walked into the room, holding Baby Trunks in her arms. His older son had been right. Sporting a miniature version of their armor, the child was…he couldn't quite think of the word.

 

“Isn't he just adorable?” the ditsy woman cooed as she held him out to his father. “The three of you are so cute in your matching armor!” Vegeta winced as he realized that was precisely the word he had had in mind; gods, he was starting to think like these humans! “I think regal would be more appropriate,” he told the woman, though she didn't seem to even hear him. The baby reached out to him, but he said, “I won't chance having him relieve himself on my armor.”

 

“Oh, you're right, Vegeta,” she replied sweetly. “I'd better get his diaper changed before the ceremony. Bulma should be ready any minute. I told Yamcha to tell her it was almost time—“

 

Irritation turned to fury. “What did you say? What the hell is that weakling doing—”

 

“He just went upstairs a minute ago,” she called behind her as she walked off with the baby. “He said he wanted to talk to her…”

 

Without even realizing it, Vegeta burst into Super Saiyan out of pure rage. He'd consented to having Bulma's ex-boyfriend at the ceremony, anxious, in fact, to see the look of pure misery on the bastard's face as Bulma became—by Earth standards at least—his. But the audacity of that son of a bitch to actually—

 

“Dad, wait,” Trunks said quietly, placing a hand on his arm.

 

“Did you know about this?” he accused.

 

“He wouldn't be up there if I had,” Trunks replied darkly. “But you can't rush in there and kill him on your wedding day—“

 

“What, is there some blasted Earth superstition against killing someone the day you get married? How much more of this crap do you think—“

 

“It's not a tradition, Dad. It's just common sense. You don't want Mom to remember this day as the day you killed her friend. Let her handle it. You trust her, don't you?”

 

Vegeta took a deep breath, powering down. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy did have a point. “Fine. I'll kill him tomorrow, then.”

 

Trunks smirked, for a moment looking more like Vegeta than he ever had. “I think you'll have better things to do tomorrow.”

 

Vegeta's cheeks grew crimson as he caught his son's meaning. “Well, then you should have told me about this rule before, and I would have killed him yesterday,” he muttered over his embarrassment.

 

Trunks chuckled, but stopped as Vegeta headed towards the stairs anyway. “I thought you were going to leave it up to Mom!” he said in a hushed whisper.

 

“I will. That doesn't mean I can't listen.”

 

 

 

 

With his acute Saiyan hearing, Vegeta needed only to go halfway up the stairs to hear the conversation going on between Bulma and her ex. The weakling's words made him want to tear him into pieces right now—but Vegeta heeded his son's advice, and tried to remain calm as Bulma held her own quite well.

 

“Bulma, you're making a mistake. I can't let you do this! The guy is a cold-blooded murderer!”

 

“Don't you dare talk about him like that, Yamcha! I invited you here as an old friend, to share in my happiness/ If you can't do that, you might as well just leave!”

 

“I can't! I won't let you destroy your life with him!”

 

“He is my life, Yamcha! He and Trunks are everything to me! I've told you this before—“

 

“I still love you, Bulma!”

 

Only Vegeta's need to hear her response kept his rage in check. He could feel her pity for the weakling, tinged with a guilt for hurting him. But there was nothing more. And he knew with deep satisfaction that she was being totally honest as she replied, “I'm sorry, Yamcha. But I don't feel the same. I love Vegeta with all my heart. And he's the only man I'll ever want to be with. So please, be happy for me. And don't ruin the most important day of my life.”

 

The most important day of her life? Did this idiotic little ceremony really mean that much to her? Did he really mean that much to her? He'd teased her mercilessly, and complained continually, though he had gone along with most of the nonsensical rituals that were part of this wedding thing. But until this moment he had not even realized just how important it was for Bulma to claim him as hers in this Earth tradition. He hadn't realized just what it meant to her that he was willing to do this for her. For surely, Vegeta himself thought it all unnecessary. They were bonded mates. It was a simple fact that needed no public affirmation. But to Bulma, it was…the most important day of her life. He couldn't conceal the flush in his cheeks any more than the warm sensation in his chest as he'd heard her profess her love for him. It felt…good. Very good.

 

The weakling human's voice made his muscles tense in anger once more. “I won't let you do this, Bulma…”

 

The door to the bedroom slammed shut as the dishonorable bastard left the room, his small ki burning with his rage and jealousy. Vegeta took a step towards the direction of his ki, determined to silence the son of a bitch for good—when Trunks' hand on his arm halted him.

 

“You obviously heard him,” Vegeta told the younger man. “Do you think I'm going to let him ruin this for your mother?” He was trying to make his desire to kill the little fuck sound as noble as possible, but his fury was still apparent.

 

“Dad, let me handle this,” Trunks said, the normal gentleness in the boy's eyes tinged with his own indignation. “I have no intention of letting him ruin this for either of you. Please, trust me.”

 

The sincerity in his son's blue eyes matched that in Bulma's, and he was just as incapable of saying no to his son as he was to her. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You give him a warning, or do whatever you want to do. But I still say you should have told me about this `no killing on your wedding day' rule before. I would have blasted him yesterday.”

 

Trunks went off in search of Yamcha, and, trusting him completely, Vegeta did the only natural thing.

 

He followed close behind to listen.

 

 

 

 

“Yamcha, I need to talk to you.” Trunks' voice was serious, almost threatening. Vegeta liked that. Good boy, he thought.

 

“Uh, Trunks. I didn't know you were here.”

 

“I know what you said to Mom, Yamcha—“

“That's between me and her, kiddo. It has nothing to do with you.”

 

“Yes it does. I listened to my Mom cry at night because she missed my father so much. And in this time, they have a chance to be happy together. No one—absolutely no one—is going to ruin that for them.”

 

A light nervous chuckle. “That almost sounded like a threat, Trunks.”

 

There was dead silence, and then Trunks said simply, “Yamcha, I like you. Mom thinks of you as a friend. But he's my father. And I will not allow you to screw this up for them.”

 

A pause. The weakling's heart was pounding, but he was feigning strength as he said, “I'll do what I have to, Trunks.”

 

“And so will I,” Trunks replied, his voice cool but menacing.

 

Vegeta nodded his approval as he heard the weakling run down the stairs just a little too quickly. And in his second revelation in the last ten minutes, Vegeta knew just how important this was to their son. He would certainly keep the human in line. And Vegeta could just sit back and en—endure the whole process.

 

Perhaps it would be somewhat enjoyable after all.

 

 

 

 

The anticipation was killing him. He stood in front of this small group of humans, knowing that he shouldn't be in the least bit nervous. This was a royal wedding, and the only Saiyans present were the family of that third class Kakarot. The humans were beings that five years ago he would have destroyed without a thought.

 

How things had changed. He was, to his utter disdain, becoming one of them. But…why not? There was no more Saiyan race to rule. The monsters of his distant past and the enemies of the Earth were gone. What was there truly left for him in this Universe?

 

Beside him stood the son from the future, the promise of what the tiny child who struggled in Saiyan robes to escape from his grandmother's grasp would someday become. In the Saiyan garb that Bulma had made them, they truly were Saiyan Princes. His sons. His legacy.

 

It was then that his true reason for being stepped into the garden. She was an angelic vision in the flowing white dress, her beautiful face absolutely glowing with a joy that he knew he had brought her this day. As she stepped slowly towards him, he extended one gloved hand to take her tiny hand in his. Even through the fabric her warmth made him flush with his emotion for her. How had he ever thought this an insignificant rock? How had he so stubbornly denied the truth for so long? That in a Universe that had once meant to him nothing more than an Empire to conquer and rule, she had become the focal point of his very existence, his reason for being. He had failed in so many ambitions, and hated himself for his weakness. He'd thought his very feelings for her a weakness, and run from them, from her, from the child she had given him… But in the end, he knew that she was his strength, his contentment. He would not fail her. He would not fail their child. For even when he had threatened to do so with his own arrogance and pride, she had vanquished him with her unwavering love.

 

The man who was officiating was speaking, but as he gazed into her eyes, he was oblivious to everything but her. They asked him a question, and she prompted him mentally, Say `I do'!

 

He said the words quickly, as if shocked back to consciousness. The man asked her the same. Would she stand by him in sickness and in health, for better for worse….Hadn't she already done that?

 

“I do,” she said with a blissful smile. She was so like an angel in that flowing white gown…

 

“If anyone here knows of any reason why this couple should not be joined, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

 

A coughing sound, someone clearing his voice, made Vegeta turn, but no objection came. Vegeta glanced at his son, and saw a small ki ball in his hand as he glared at the weakling human, whose face had turned white as he'd fallen silent.

 

Vegeta smirked at his son in thanks. That had been handled quite well. And neither of them had had to break `the rule'.

 

The confused man officiating pronounced them man and wife, and gave them the cue to kiss. Normally, any show of public affection was out of the question. But this was part of the wedding thing, wasn't it? Deciding it was permissible just this one time, he took her into his arms, kissing her deeply, taking her into his arms and holding her tightly, wanting nothing more than to—

 

He said `kiss'! Not make love! she giggled in his mind. Realizing he had perhaps gotten a bit carried away, he took his hand from her rear end and released her with one last nip at her lips as the spectators clapped.

 

Bulma threw her arms around him in excitement, her eyes filling up with tears. Why? Wasn't she happy?

 

“I'm very happy,” she whispered in his ear as she hugged him tightly.

 

“Good,” he said quiet enough for only her to hear. “So now can we eat and get on to the Honeymoon part?”

 

 

 

There was a table just for the two of them, Bulma had called it a dais, and it was filled with more food than even he could eat. He'd danced with her once, to what she called `their song', though he had never even heard it before. Something about love against all odds. He supposed that was fitting. The dancing part hadn't been bad at all. It wasn't that ridiculous fast kind of dancing that he'd seen her and her friends do at parties, but rather a slow movement where he held her in his arms, not much unlike what he had seen in the royal court as a child. His only difficulty with the dance was self-restraint. She looked so fucking beautiful that he was conscious of a constant erection that was becoming more painful as the night wore on. That `champagne' as she called it was not helping, and he was beginning to lose the ability to think straight. Bulma had noticed after he'd finished his third bottle, and had suggested he slow down. The sumptuous meal had done a lot to bring him back to his senses, but one thing was still undeniably clear. He wanted her. She was his now, by Saiyan and Earth tradition, and it was time to get to that part of the ritual where they had sex for days…

 

Finally, after having mumbled thanks to all the cheery well-wishers who didn't know that he simply needed to get laid now, he bent over to Bulma's ear and whispered, “I think it's time.”

 

She had been fussing over the baby, who had eaten enough to make his Saiyan forefather's proud, and she nodded as she kissed the baby and said her good byes. The blond was no where in sight, and when he did spot her, he could see that she was too drunk to attend to the boy's needs. He pulled the elder son over by the arm.

 

“What is it, Dad? Do you need something?”

 

Vegeta hesitated a moment, looking to make sure they were out of earshot of the others. “First, I want to say thank you. You helped make this whole thing more tolerable. And I appreciate your handling of that little problem.”

 

Trunks grinned. “Any time, Dad.” Funny choice of words for a young man that had come from another time.

 

“We're going to be leaving now. I've had about as much as I can take. So…I want you to take care of yourself.”

 

“I will, Dad—“ Trunks began, but Vegeta cut him off.

 

“No, I mean—take care of yourself.” He made his meaning clear by picking up the baby that had been playing on the floor at his feet and dumping him in his older self's arms. “Your grandmother has had a bit too much to drink, and I'll be damned if I'll ask Kakarot's harpy to watch him.”

 

“Oh. Uh…no problem, Dad. Tell Mom I'll take care of him until you get back.”

 

Vegeta nodded his thanks, taking a moment to look at the baby before he left. It was hard to believe it, but he would actually miss the little brat crawling around his boots. “Don't forget to give him some rare meat—but cut it up so he doesn't choke on it.”

 

Trunks grinned and he felt foolish for letting his concern show. Gods, he was sounding like Bulma. He turned away before he made a total fool of himself, though this was one night that he truly didn't care. Bulma was standing before him, a capsule in her hand. And the anticipation in her eyes only served to stoke the flames of his own desire.

 

“Ready?” she asked, lacing her arms around his neck.

 

He lifted her into his arms and smiled. They flew off into the moonlight before anyone even noticed they were gone.

 

 

 

 

“Well, what do you think?”

 

She pulled him by the hand into what she'd told him was the “Honeymoon Suite”. All they needed was a bed, he'd told her—maybe not even that. A private spot on some isolated part of this planet would do just fine. Anywhere, as long as they were away from the turmoil that had characterized their last week. He gave their surroundings a cursory glance and said, “Fine. Now let's get the honeymoon started.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. Gods, he'd been wanting to do this all day! It had been almost two days since he'd had her, and having to restrain himself in front of the others had taken more discipline than the most strenuous training. The sweet fragrance of her skin was suddenly tinged with the musty scent of her arousal, and his heart began to pound.

 

It was intoxicating.

 

He lifted her into his arms, careful not to break their kiss as he carried her to the bed. He set her down gently, and she pulled him down with her, her hands entwined in his hair as her tongue played with his. Did she have any idea what she did to him? Yes. He could feel that she did. She loved making him lose control, feeling him drop the barriers that he'd so carefully built between himself and the rest of the world. In truth, she was the only one who knew him. Truly knew him. And she reveled in that. Just as he reveled in this bond of theirs, this secret pleasure that allowed him to be the man he was, instead of the monster that others had trained him to be…

 

Don't.. she whispered gently in his mind, sensing the dark path his thoughts might lead him to. Her hands ran down his body, caressing their way to his arousal, and he gladly succumbed to her wishes. This was not the time to dwell on the past, but to delight in the present, and the future that he had never in his lifetime foreseen. She belonged to him, and that was worth more than any riches or power he had craved. And he belonged to her. Completely. His heart and his spirit had declared themselves hers before he even knew what had hit him. Before he ever admitted it, even to himself, much less to her…

 

Don't rip it, Vegeta! Please! Only her voice in his head made him conscious of the fact that he had begun tearing at her clothes, something he often did without even thinking. He looked into her eyes and nodded lightly, a smile threatening at his lips. It was her wedding dress. It meant something to her, just as his participation in today's entire ritual had meant something to her. With a conscious effort to be gentle, he slowly pulled down the top of her dress, a rush of heat coursing through his body as her breasts lay exposed before him. He bent his head to taste them, to play at her nipples, loving the soft cries of delight that escaped her lips as he twirled his tongue around her hardened buds.

 

Just wait… he thought to her as he slowly pulled down the rest of her dress. She kicked it to the floor and he smirked in satisfaction as her stomach quivered at the touch of his lips. He took the liberty of ripping off her underwear, but at that point was certain that she approved. Parting her legs to gain access to her beautiful womanhood, he tasted her arousal, twirling his tongue at the nub of her pleasure, then delving into the core of her passion, tongue and fingers working together to bring her to…

 

“Ohhhhhh!” she whimpered in pleasure as her release nearly triggered his own. And only then, as his erection throbbed close to his own completion, did he realize that through their bond he had felt every caress, every sensation that was hers, with such intensity that he had nearly come. He was throbbing in time with the rhythmic pulsing of her orgasm, and as he brought his head up to meet her eyes in wonder, he knew that this was not something new. Perhaps he had just been too self-centered and stubborn to admit it.

 

Still in wonder over this new revelation, he lay on his back now in total subservience as she tugged at his clothes, then ran her fingers over his naked flesh. He was trembling at her touch, and he could see from the expression on her face that she was enjoying every moment of this as much as if he were caressing her. He reached for her breasts, cupping them, fondling them as she kissed him, so in tune now with her that he could feel the heat rising between her legs. He reached up to position her on top of him, but she pulled away, her kisses moving down his body to their inevitable destination. She tasted the juices on his tip, spreading them with her tongue, then taking him into her mouth as far as she could. He could hear a moan of delight as she sucked him gently, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registered it as his own. He was quickly losing his battle of restraint, and with a last effort of conscious thought, sent her Bul…wait…inside…you…

 

He thought he heard her giggle at his inability to think straight, and suddenly her mouth had withdrawn, replaced instead with the glorious wet warmth of her as she took him into her completely, moving slowly up and crashing down hard, deeper and deeper each time. Only his desire to please her gave him the restraint to hold back his release as he felt her own building, closer and closer… Now….

 

He erupted inside her violently, the glorious pulsing of her own climax drawing his out as they savored each other's pleasure. In exhaustion she collapsed on top of him, and he held her against him, their hearts pounding in time as her tears of pure joy threatened to bring on his own. How many times had they had sex, wonderful sex, and yet it had never come close to this before! Vegeta kissed her deeply, not wanting to break the connection of their bodies. He would make love to her again. And again. He would stay in this damned hotel room for the rest of his life…

 

It's not the hotel room, silly… she giggled in his head.

 

Are you going to say it's because of that wedding ritual? he teased her, regretting it immediately as he remembered how she had called it the most important day of her life. Only then did he realize that that was precisely what it was. Not the ritual, or the preparation, but his own willingness to go through with it. His acceptance of what was important in his life. He had opened himself up to her more so than ever before. And the result was this indescribable bond, this spiritual and, yes, emotional connection that would remain even after their bodies were no longer joined as one.

 

It meant so much to me, Vegeta… she whispered in his mind. Thank you. I love you even more, if that's possible, for doing it for me.

 

Vegeta broke their kiss, cupping her face in his hands and looking into her eyes. Thank you, my Princess. For giving me a new purpose. I didn't come back to Capsule Corp. to train, or to fight, or for any other reason than this: I came back to you. And I will be content to spend the rest of my days at your side. You are everything to me. You always were. I was just too stubborn and foolish to admit it until now.

 

Tears pooled in her eyes, but he didn't even have to ask to know they were tears of pure joy. He brought her lips back to his before she could see his own. But as he made love to her again and again, he knew that there was little in his heart or mind that he would ever be able to obscure from her again. But it was a lot easier than voicing these foolish emotions, wasn't it?

 

“I love you, Vegeta!” she cried out as he brought her to another climax.

 

He didn't have to answer. She knew. He would never have to tell her again. But as he began to move above her once more, he looked into her eyes, and on impulse he said it.

 

“I love you, Bulma…”

 

Why not? Wasn't it worth it to make her happy?

 

Her bright smile was his answer, and he kissed her again.

 

This marriage thing was a hell of a lot better than he had ever imagined.

 

 

 

The end