Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Decoding the Saiyan ❯ Skin ( Chapter 2 )

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

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

AN: The prompt for this chapter was `skin', also from the Intimacy Challenge on the Blue & Black livejournal community.

Skin

Bulma was accustomed to seeing scars. She had, after all, spent a large amount of her life dating a man with two great gashes across his face.

But there was something about the deep groves that lined Vegeta's skin, mixed with fainter marks that glinted silver in the sunlight that bothered her. And so she found herself staring at his broad, bare back, contemplating how such a proud, accomplished fighter had come to be marked with so many different scars.

He turned away from the kitchen fridge suddenly, glaring at her over his shoulder. She busied herself in her blueprints that lay scattered across the table, and didn't dare to look up again until she could hide most of her face behind her cup of coffee.

His black eyes stared back at her, and she almost choked on the warm liquid. There was something deeply unnerving about this man that made her spine crawl and her heart race. But at the same time he was so interesting, like an unexplained mystery, and she, the scientist, needed to discover what lay beneath that hard exterior that was soldier, predator, and monster.

She set the mug down quickly, folding her arms on the table in front of her.

"It's good to see you've recovered, Vegeta," she said, inclining her head towards him. "I'm glad you don't need any bandages anymore."

"Hnn," was all he replied, dismissing her. The fridge door, left open for so long, began to beep in protest, drawing his gaze away from her. She watched him assess the appliance for a moment, half-expecting him to break it in some way, but he surprised her once again by simply closing the door.

He had an odd assortment of food tucked under his arm, including a block of cheese, and a bag full of oranges. He set these all down on the table and lowered himself into the chair opposite her. His movements were inhumanly quick- almost too fast for her to follow- and the only time his arm seemed to still was when he held an item of food to his mouth.

It was then she noticed the pink skin that puckered on his bicep, newly formed over what was a hideous wound. Something in her heart twisted at the sight. It was her machine that had done that to him.

Her eyes met his, and she knew he had been watching her face.

She looked away, feeling guilty. She did not want to admit that she liked the idea that she had marked this alien beast forever.