Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Decoding the Saiyan ❯ Smell ( Chapter 20 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: This chapter was written using the prompt `smell'. That was the final Senses Challenge prompt I had left, so for fun I mentioned all the other Senses Challenge prompts in this chapter as well. It's a short chapter, but to me it feels significant, and marks the beginning of the final section of this story. There is lemon (the same version is up on all three sites), so be warned.

Smell

In the dark of the night, she awoke.

It was not at all frightening, nor was it sudden. At some point she simply became aware that she was no longer dreaming, became aware that those fingers brushing along her stomach were real, as real as the lips that brushed her collarbone, and the tongue that licked her earlobe.

It was as if she were floating. Her limbs felt weightless as she lifted her pale arms, allowing her visitor's strong hands to pull her nightgown over her head. Calloused palms smoothed once more over the skin of her belly, tickling her, before the fingers snagged in the tops of her panties.

She still felt half-asleep. It was peaceful and secret, this meeting, just like so many times before. They spoke no words as he stretched over her, their lips brushing softly at first, becoming more urgent as hands explored in the dark, mapping the lines of each other's bodies.

When she opened her eyes once more, she couldn't make out more than the general shape him rising above her, but she did well enough with her other senses alone. She could smell him- a sweet, musky, spicy scent- and could hear each gasping breath, his chest vibrating with a subterranean purr that told her he was pleased.

She felt his body shudder beneath her fingertips as he slid inside her, and they muffled each other's moans with desperate kisses. Been so long… she thought foggily… so long…

“You're back,” she whispered against his shoulder, and stuck out her tongue to taste his skin. He was the same as she remembered, and she closed her eyes once more, feeling more than light headed, feeling both strong and vulnerable; dying, living, breathing, gasping.

Crying.

She held onto him for dear life, wrapping herself around him as much as she possibly could, breathing him in, imprinting it all to memory.

In the dark of the night she fell back, exhausted, and slept.

. . .

She awoke to the bright light of the morning. Beneath the single sheet, she wiped her fingers experimentally against the inside of one thigh, only half surprised to find the skin there slick with juices.

She rolled onto her side, burying her head into the pillow beside her, and relaxed. She lay there for a long time, listening to the world wake around her, knowing she should get up, but unable to move.

His scent filled her head, lulling her into a haze of half-sleep. In the warmth of the bed, she remembered his lips on the back of her neck, his arms locked tight around her, his body hard against her, around her, within her.

She wanted to rest; to relax in the bed indefinitely without a worry, at peace. But the significance of the date woke her, making both her heart and mind race as she sat up in bed, her eyes focusing on the battered piece of armour that lay discarded on her floor.

It was the morning of May 12th.

And Vegeta was back.