Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Feeding Genius ❯ Space Pods and Bath Tubs ( Chapter 31 )

Feeding Genius

 

Chapter Thirty-One

 

Space Pods and Bath Tubs.

 

Disclaimer: Yes I'm exploiting Akira Toriyama's universe… so sue me… wait… no… don't sue me… shit! >_<

 

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I shift positions in the cramped space pod for what seems like the millionth time. My bum went to sleep hours ago, and since then my arms and legs have progressively tried to catch up. My entire body is one giant pulsating mass of pins and needles and to top it all off, I need to pee.

 

“For fucks sake, Woman! Quit your fidgeting!”

 

Oh yes. I almost forgot about my seat. He has held that haughty air of minimal tolerance ever since we left Mantion. He has bitched, moaned, and sniped at me from the moment the door closed and cocooned me with his royal grumpiness for the entirety of our trip.

 

“You were the one who wanted to take the space pod. If I had my way we'd be merrily on our way to Earth right now, sleeping in a nice big double bed and probably doing something a lot more entertaining than bitching, but no! Someone talked me out of it. This is your plan, so, if you don't mind, I'll fidget as much as I damn well please!”

 

I never thought I would feel so uncomfortable on Vegeta's lap. Those sinuous, silk-coated muscles have always been a treat to indulge in, but not now. His thighs are like rocks - the powerful quadriceps digging into me, punishing my body for being so close just as effectively as they have previously delighted.

 

“Fine! Squirm all you want, just back it up a bit so at least one of us can get some pleasure out of this journey.”

 

I am deathly still. At first I think I have misheard but then I hear chuckling and it all clicks into place. I spin on his lap, glare dangerously, ready and willing to unleash all my pent up frustration on him. He does not glare back. Instead he smirks wickedly - one eyebrow raised.

 

I swallow.

 

His eyes are shining with all the sin, lust, and expertise of an incubus. His lips, parted and full, throw physicality into the promise of pleasure.

 

“We don't need a double bed to keep us from bitching at each other, Bulma.”

 

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and the insults that were once ripe on my lips die away. At once I am disarmed - laid bare in front of him. Stupefied and defenceless, he takes advantage of me, exploring my body by sight, blatantly and hungrily. It is as though he is recording the moment to mind, noting my reactions, and memorizing them to whatever end he might choose. There is no escape. His whole attention is on me - complete and uncompromising.

 

I turn around, trying to be cool in the midst of his fire. The pins and needles still snake up my legs and stab at my thighs, but the moment his arms fall around me, they no longer matter. I look out off the portal and our reflections stare straight back, translucent in the glass and with the light of the stars shinning through. I see Vegeta holding me, his nose against the apex of my jaw, breathing me up as though I am the most exquisite and expensive perfume in existence. I see his eyes half lidded as he nibbles and kisses my neck - his brow relaxed.

 

His words on Mantion have not left me. They still thrill me the way they did when first said. They are shameful, shameful shivers of delight - and they tingle traitorously down my spine. Yes. I am sorry for the circumstance, but I do not regret hearing them. They are a secret cadeau - the dearest of thank you notes torn from pages of uncertainty.

 

“…It makes you happy that I care about you, doesn't it?”

 

For so long I have waited, wanted so desperately for him to understand that my love for him doesn't have a condition, an ulterior motive.

 

“…I care about you….”

 

I could love him forever on one side under the power of those words. The circumstances were horrifying, but the meaning - the meaning shone through like the purest gemstone.

 

No matter how much we fight. No matter how much we hate certain aspects of each other's characters, and however much stubbornness, ill-feeling, and pride comes between us - we share a connection that I don't think will ever be torn away. It is as though our entire relationship is balanced on the edge of a precipice. We scale it on a compromise, fingertips away from disaster. Most of the time our instincts lead us up the right path, but some days our fingers slip, and no matter how much we try to correct our grip we end up falling.

 

On occasion we get straight back up and start climbing once again - on others we lay where we have fallen - tired, bloodied and clinging to the belief that there is some reason to carry on. It is at these times we are stripped of all the triviality our everyday lives entail and it is at these times it feels like a sensu is wordlessly placed in our mouths. It heals all the wounds. Then, refreshed and renewed, we rise again, twice as powerful as before.

 

I think Vegeta is beginning to understand this. I think he is starting to believe it, but he still has choices before him. Choices he has to take to heart before we reach Gleya. I would not deny him the power and the glory he has forever chased. If he wants the Consortium as his own he can have it. I just hope he knows how to handle it properly. I pray he does.

 

“Vegeta?” I say as he kneads the pain from my body via the shoulders.

 

“Hn?”

 

There are so many things I could say to him. I could tell him my doubts. I could say that I just want to go home and find my son. I could say that despite all my objections I am behind him whatever path he chooses. I could say a lot of things, but I get the feeling he already knows them all.

 

“I really need to go pee.”

 

His arms fall away and his forehead drops onto my right shoulder. He tips his head from side to side and starts to chuckle.

 

“You should have gone before we left,” he mocks. “The nearest restroom is light-years away.”

 

“I'm serious!”

 

“I know.” Then he lowers his voice. “I need to pee too.”

 

I sigh, “So we're stuck in the middle of space without even a pot to piss in?”

 

“So it would appear, but it doesn't matter.”

 

“Oh? I think it matters a lot!”

 

“It matters a lot now,” he says, reaching out from behind me and pushing a button on the small arm control. “But it will be insignificant when we are in stasis.”

 

My eyes widen. “Stasis… but… Vegeta… what…?”

 

“Shhhh,” he comforts, pulling me close once again.

 

His strong arms, used for well over two decades of destruction, pet me as gently as I would Dad's kitty. They rub away my doubts and cleanse me of my momentary anxiety. I don't care that stasis of this nature has never been tested on humans. I don't mind that I'm light years away from my home. I don't even mind when the air changes around me - stale and dry, like the cabin pressure of an aeroplane. It scents the pod, somewhat toxic, but with Vegeta behind me, all I concentrate on is the sweet undercurrent.

 

My eyelids are drooping and I am struggling to stay awake. I wonder if Vegeta is affected as I am, or if he is naturally more resilient. He whispers something else to me, but my whole body is shutting down. I don't understand what he is saying. Maybe he is succumbing too and saying nonsense. I don't get the chance to ask.

 

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I can't see anything. All I can do is hear and feel. Shit! I wish I couldn't feel. My head is throbbing, and I can't breathe properly. My sinuses feel blocked and heavy, making my brain beg for the blessing of unconsciousness once more. I'm pretty certain my nose is broken. The impact might even have fractured my skull. It is hard to tell.

 

Of course, he had to choose the head. The one part of my body I cannot heal quickly if damaged. I wonder if he has been studying me? I will assume he has. No need to be tardy just because my head got knocked sideways. I guess I'm going to have to ride this one out.

 

There is an unsettling feeling associated with my lack of vision. I've heard of the human body going into shock after sustaining head trauma - loss of sight, smell, mobility - they're all characteristics of the type of injury I sustained at the hands of Faylorn. Would a Namekian body recover in the same way? I hope so. I'm not sure I would like this to be permanent, no matter how sharp my other senses might be.

 

Then again, at least I am alive. That in itself is more than I bargained for. The question is - to what end?

 

I can hear a voice, muffled and distant. I think it is coming from the next room. Of course with my hearing and the pounding my head has suffered, it could be coming from the next mountain and I wouldn't know any differently. I have no idea where I am, but at least it is warm, even if the air does taste stale and mustier than the most obscure room in Dende's palace. I have not been given the luxury of a bed for my recuperation. There is stone underfoot, but it is softened with what I believe to be straw. I'm not sure if I am grateful for it or not. The floor would be more uncomfortable, but I don't like the thought of being treated like an animal.

 

I move in the straw, trying to sit. My legs are twitching, but I can't seem to coordinate them to pull myself upright. My movement shifts the air. I can smell urine. That would explain why my gi feels wet. I wonder how long I have been down here? My throat is dry and my body feels weak - disturbingly so.

 

I stop my movement. There is more than one voice apparent and they seem to be advancing on me. A little alarmed, I try to sense them. In my current confusion, however, it is impossible to distinguish between their life energy, let alone the slight undertones that denote individuality.

 

I retreat as far as my spasms allow. My back nudges into a wall, slicked and wet with damp, as keys jangle and a lock is turned. “Who's there?” I demand.

 

My question is left unanswered. There is shuffling close by and then two large hands grab me roughly by the shoulders, pulling me upright. My legs don't have the strength in them to support my body weight. As soon as the hands let go I fall straight back down again - face first on the stone. Fortunately, or unfortunately, my cheek takes all the impact, protecting my previous injury, but probably giving me a new one.

 

“Looks like it's been long enough.”

 

The speaker is on my left, and I restrain my natural instinct to turn in that direction.

 

“You doubted Lord Faylorn?”

 

This one is to my right. I guess both these men are responsible for my fresh pain. I will not forget as much.

 

“No. It's just… I don't understand that's all. Why doesn't he get rid of him? This one's got trouble written all over him. He's too strong and too old.”

 

“It's not our place to question our Lord. Our place is to put up and shut up.”

 

I can't quite place the accent. It sounds human, but I confess the exact regional dialect passes me. I can't seem to access that part of me which was once Kami, and it troubles me more than I care to think about.

 

“I suppose you're right, Reg. Lets go.”

 

Again I feel two hands on me. The fingers dig into me, piercing the skin and lifting me by nothing but my shoulders. I am dragged - my shins scraping the stone floor. I don't know where too.

 

“Fuck me!” This is a new voice. I guess we have entered a different room. “That smells worse than a Fatoia fighter's jockstrap!”

 

“Yeah… yeah. Ralph and I get all the glamorous jobs.”

 

“Where are you taking him?”

 

“Level four. We have the papers from Faylorn himself.”

 

There is a commotion for a while as the papers are contested. They are examined in fine detail, and only approved after lengthy discussion. The way I hear it, I think my current smell of `eau de urine' has actually helped to speed up the process.

 

All too soon I am subjected to movement again.

 

This time the journey is not short. They are escorting me without caution, and if I were incapable of fleeing before, they are making damn sure I can't run away now. My shins are battered and torn. I can feel the blood, hot and wet, running down and through my toes. These digits are abused to an equal degree as we descend what I believe to be a circular staircase.

 

At length I hear a latch lift and a door creak open on old, heavy hinges. I relax, but not for long. It is hot and humid in this new room. Water hangs in the air, choking my blocked nose, condensing on the ceiling and dripping down my back. We are made to wait again as the papers are re-checked, and again there seems to be some confusion about their validity.

 

“Excuse me gentlemen!”

 

All debate stops and my body is instantly on alert. Master Suh! Her strong, powerful voice is unmistakable, and at once I think I would prefer to be taken back to my latrine of straw.

 

“I believe this one was sent to me.”

 

I am unceremoniously thrown to the floor. There goes the other cheek.

 

“My lady, there are plenty of workers here to perform such a service. It is unacceptable for a lady of your rank to do such menial work.”

 

“Are you presuming to tell me what to do soldier?”

 

“No, Ma'am, I was merely pointing out that there are others here to do work so clearly beneath….”

 

“So you're trying to tell me I'm stupid and have no idea how the hierarchal system in place here works?”

 

“No Ma'am, not at all I….”

 

“Well then… are you perhaps insinuating that I am incapable of performing the cleansing myself?”

 

“No Ma'am.”

 

“Good. Then dump him over in pool three and be gone to the upper levels where you belong.”

 

“Yes Ma'am.”

 

This time I am not lifted. One large hand grips my wrist and I am dragged along the floor like a rag doll. My arm is released and the very fingertips make a splash as they hit water. Then, with no dignity at all, a boot nudges at my ribs, moving me inch by inch until there is nothing left to support me and my whole body falls into hot water.

 

It isn't chemically clean like a swimming pool might be, but the water is scented and smells fresh, a vast difference to my urine soaked fragrance. I panic for a second under the water, thinking that perhaps I might drown, but I am lifted to safety before I lose what tiny amount of pride I still have left.

 

All too quickly I wish I were back under the water.

 

I am lifted onto a set of stone steps, but the hand that saves me is not large, rough, and male, but soft and feminine. I do not need to hear her voice to know who it is. “Welcome to Kedarnath, Namek,” she says, her lucid tongue unnaturally clipped. “I am Lady Maek Suh, and I will be performing your cleansing today.”

 

I do not honour her with a reply. A short spell of silence ensues. I am waiting for something, for my next torture to begin. Normally if someone makes an address of that nature you expect action, or at least more words. There are neither. I lay in the warm water, beached on the steps and unable to do anything to advance my position.

 

“Mr Harman.” Her voice is clear and authoritative. Who was the abused woman I spoke to on the mountain? “Your presence here is unnecessary. Go!”

 

Was she a figment of my imagination, or did I see the truth in her eye, just before I passed out? I have the unnerving feeling I am about to find out.

 

“With all due respect, Ma'am. It is ordered that two ranking officers be present during such a procedure.”

 

“Mr. Harman. Did you even look at the papers?”

 

“There was no need to, Ma'am. This has been the practice for the last ten years. I should know the ritual by now.”

 

“Your service to The Consortium is to be commended soldier, but if you go back to your papers you will see that this rule has been amended for this one special case. The orders are from Faylorn himself.”

 

“Impossible!”

 

“If you say so, but are you really willing to risk Faylorn's displeasure if I am right and you are wrong? It will only take you a few minutes to read the papers and check.”

 

The silence is palpable. I wish they would hurry this up. Whatever fragrance was added to the water, is now mercilessly penetrating my wounds. My legs feel like they are on fire.

 

Eventually the standoff is won. Heavy footsteps, in a long stride, move briskly away from us. The next moment the water ripples to my left and I feel a slight ankle brush against my forearm. “Mr Piccolo,” she whispers. “We do not have long.”

 

“Good,” I snarl back. “The less time I have to spend with you the better.”

 

“Now, now. Such harsh words when I have put my life on the line to get you here.”

 

“Why should I care about your life when you have so callously sacrificed four?”

 

She does not answer my question. Instead I feel her body brushing against my thigh. She is not wearing her usual robes, of that I am certain. I feel hot, smooth skin against my legs, not fabric. Then there is a noticeable shift in the water and my vulnerable state is taken advantage of. With ease, and in an advance my body is incapable of shaking off; she is on top of me. I can feel her thighs either side of mine as her hands take up position on my painful shoulders.

 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I snarl, desperately trying to find the energy to move her off.

 

“Making this look authentic,” she says, her voice nothing but a whisper.

 

Is it getting hotter in here? I can't concentrate, my head is swimming, and to make matters worse she now decides to lie along me. I can feel her breasts pushing against my chest. Is she wearing anything at all?

 

“I know where Trunks is,” she continues. “I have seen him.”

 

What the…? What is going on here? Trunks? I don't know what I was expecting when I first heard her voice, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't it.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” I demand. “Where is he?” Her words give me hope. She has seen Trunks. “Is he okay?”

 

She shifts on top of me, ignoring my pleas. I can feel her hands working up and down my shoulders. It feels as though she is rubbing a balm into my wounds. It stings, but I will not give her the satisfaction of knowing as much. Her fingers move up, rubbing up to my antenna and then lavishing attention over each one individually.

 

“How does your head feel?” she asks.

 

I should have known it. She is playing mind games. Making a fool out of me when my mind is thicker than syrup. “Bad,” I admit. “How does your conscience feel?”

 

“I do not regret my actions, Mr. Piccolo, do not imagine otherwise. I will have my revenge.”

 

“Revenge?” I snort. “I lusted after revenge for so long, wasted so many years to the feeling. Sometimes the price of revenge is too high.”

 

“Or maybe you're too blind to see what I'm doing here - what I'm risking? But of course you are, you can't see a thing can you?” I frown in distaste. “Do you want to know why you can't see?”

 

I turn my head abruptly away. “I don't want to hear anything you have to say.”

 

She laughs lightly against my neck. “You know there's something refreshing in your peculiarities, Mr. Piccolo. I like the way you enunciate and snap each sentence as though the words are going to kill you if they are left lingering too long. Some might think you're abrupt, standoffish, but I think… well… I guess it does no good to anyone to know what I think.”

 

She is wrong. Right now, with the words baited in the air and tempting me to curiosity, I would very much like to know what she is thinking. Damn her! Everyone else I have a measure on, but this woman is a complete mystery. What are you thinking, Master Suh? What are you scheming? Perhaps I might voice these thoughts, but she is right. I think they might just kill me.

 

She runs a thumb across my brow, dipping over my eyes and caressing the lids. “The reason you can't see, Mr. Piccolo, is for the same reason you can't walk and you can't fight me off - no matter how much you might wish to.” Her voice is right by my ear - her lips tickling it as they move. “You've been poisoned.” Her voice grows huskier and quieter. “You see. I was the one who poisoned you.”

 

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A/N - Yep… I'm leaving it there… aren't I a bitch? ^-^ There are two reasons: 1. We all like a good cliffy to end the chapter on and 2. For some reason writing this chapter was harder than walking through custard. >_< I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.