Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ If Only For a Moment ❯ Chapter 2
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: EternalTwylight 
A little POV from Vegeta, sorry not being detailed don't want to give away the storyline completely.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 08.06.2006 | Updated On: 08.19.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 611 | Status: Work In Progress
A little POV from Vegeta, sorry not being detailed don't want to give away the storyline completely.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 08.06.2006 | Updated On: 08.19.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 611 | Status: Work In Progress
The stress was starting to get to him, which just had to be it. He’d been pushing himself for endless days now, sleepless nights and blurry hours of vigorous combat training. He had thought he’d been making some progress, he could feel the strength of his body increasing. His mind had been razor sharp, keenly set upon his goal and nothing else. That was until just now. He’d quickly dismissed her presence, his arrogant mien falling perfectly into place. She was of course beneath him; he had no use for feckless human women. Those unwieldy urges of flesh were beneath him, the use of his energy was better spent in his advancements.
The gravity machine hummed around him, the weight instantly felt drawing down on him with the increase of gravities pull. He’d had to jack it up another couple of degrees, the last settings where beginning to be dull and unchallenging. Carelessly tossing the damp towel off somewhere, he easily forgot it. His concentration was shattered, his steps faltering as he crouched down, muscles tensed and ready. A sudden bolt of energy charged him forward, vaulting halfway across the floor and easily enough curling into a forward flip to land on his feet before launching off in another direction small blasts trailing from his finger tips and dotting his passage through the empty air. A half twist and he was on his feet again, running full tilt, dodging those lingering balls of ki.
But there had been something different about the woman, something in the way she held her body, moved, the general expression that had flitted across her not unagreeable features. Something very un-Bulma like. A low growl sounded deep in his throat as the image played through his mind. He was distinctly too aware of how thin her garments had been; the pink material very flimsy and clinging to each and every one of her curves in a more than pleasing manner. He’d almost been grateful the terrace was lined in a thin metal railing instead of a low wall, all the better to see the immodest panties that had enhanced the lengthy aspects of those smoothly muscled legs.
It’d taken him a measure of enduring will to walk away, to keep his composure about him. Her aroma had carried down to him, filling his senses with the musk of her body. It’d been weak, but once he’d spotted it he couldn’t prevent it from overpowering everything else. There was her normal scent, slightly flowery with the perfume she wore and then there was that deeper musk, which spoke of complete feminity, of crudely put, a female in the thralls of heat. It would have been all too easy to launch him up into the air and toss her over a shoulder before she could have even whined in protest.
For a moment he let himself indulge in the idea of ripping those meager garments away to reveal the delicate flesh beneath, flushed with that flattering blush he’d seen take over her skin as he had looked up to see her. Would she have whimpered at the brutality of his actions? Yes, he agreed to himself, she would have but she would have favored him with another pleading cry, begging silently for more. Would she be soddenly wet, velvety slick? Yes, another silent agreement, another image flashing of petal pink lips slowly dripping that effeminate nectar. He’d seen the look in her eyes after the initial shock, the sudden luster of a fiery spirit drowning in need. It’d been so raw and so new across her face, that he’d almost have sworn it for a moment it wasn’t her looking down; she’d never even so much as glanced at him in such a impure fashion before.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her in so little before, those tube tops she seemed to idolize and the too skimpy shorts. Those had made her look vulgar; bringing to mind too many nameless whores, bodies bitterly seasoned with use and formed of undesirably harsh contours. He’d always taken his pleasures were he could get them; being so few and far between, whether it was brutalizing some victim on some doomed planet, or a cheap faceless space port harlot. Or even in the deep reaches of space, he had always had Radditz to prey upon. Frieza had made sure to resign him to only the worse company, that he felt distinctively shamed and humility in his courting. And he’d despised each and every body that had been reduced to just another hole, another outlet.
He’d only given over to the need for release when he couldn’t avoid it anymore and he’d never once given any of them the honor of observing his face during the deviation. Bending them over chairs or tables or anything but a bed, forced into degradation as he held each disgusting countenance down like a worthless dog. Each face was malevolently buried away so he wouldn’t have to view their false idolizations or outright abhorrence. Even with Radditz he’d been able to pretend it was a woman from the behind, gripping all that hair in a rigid fist, the coarse texture of it making him grit his teeth in distaste.
But today, today Bulma had seemed softened, covetable and delicate and not at all understated in her appeal. Something he wondered what would feel like pressed to the hard lines of his body, molding and melting beneath his rough hands. That supple backside rolling up to meet his strokes, tender and inexperienced, snugly fitted around the girth and length of his eager erection. The thought alone stirred the fires smoldering deep within him, made it momentarily hard to stand up straight at the discomfort stretching the spandex shorts.
Another low growl escaped his lips, drawn into a thin line in frustration and displeasure. He wasn’t going to give over to such feeble misconceptions. With a grunt he threw his body into a series of rigid punches fluidly carrying into another series of kicks. It quickly sent the proper amounts of pain needed to dissuade his body from its excitement. And though his body ached for more reasons than one it only fueled the ki building in his explosive form, washing through him like scorching molten metal. He was going to get her out of his system, one way or another.
With a gratifying howl he left loose a volley of ki blasts from the palms of his hands as he pushed himself off the wall, his legs propelling him into a high arch despite the resistance pressing down upon him from the settings of the machine. The backwash of his foray swept him back, skidded him across the floor, his feet loosely gripping the ground beneath him, a single hand scraping indentures into the so-called durable material.
His lips quirked into a smugly satisfied smirk, appreciative of the destruction left in his wake. But in the same breath, this meant that he’d have to alert the Briefs to the fact that the damage needed to be repaired yet again. The old man really should have learned by now to make the damn thing more durable. A grunt and Vegeta’s ears caught the sickeningly cheery voice of Bunny over the comm., apparently breakfast was ready. His stomach gave a ravenous grumble, rebelling against his ideals of more training and less food. He was not overly inclined to disagree with it.
He’d welcome the reprieve; at the least food was something he could really focus on. And on top of that, the eldest woman wasn’t an altogether bad cook; he did prefer her meals over her daughters. A faint shudder rippled down his spine at the mere thought of it, his stomach giving another grumble but this one in remembered complaint. The bile was rising at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down blatantly telling himself Bulma would not be preparing the meal this morning. He’d caught glimpses of her moving beyond the curtains in her room rather later than usual when his eye had wandered past the door of this chamber. Had even thought he’d heard a rather colorful string of vulgarities that would have made even the surly Nappa proud, coming from her general direction. The woman was definitely not acting herself today.
But somewhere in the back of his mind as he reached for his shirt he recalled that the woman would be there too. He’d be forced to look at her and maybe not even food was going to take his mind off that. But just maybe she’d wear one of those awful tube tops again and he could go back to despising her. The corner of his mouth curled as he abandoned the shirt, let it fall to the wayside, forgotten. He ran a hand across his scarred chest, beads of sweat clinging to his fingers and leaving a trail over his pecs before reaching for another towel and draped it across his bulging neck. He’d test her; see if she’d be drawn in again by the pull of his herculean flesh. He could tease just as easily as she could, he would take such sinister gratification in watching her squirm with her discreetly coy mannerisms.
As he stepped through the door of the Gravity chamber, his hand faltered in closing it completely. Scattered among the crater he'd left earlier were patches of cloth, multi-colored and in varying states of disarray. Small bits of fabric even dangled from the railing of the onna's nearby rooms, bright splotches of vulgar patterned clothing. He'd failed to notice this event in the heat of all his training, possible this had to have been during the round of obscene words that had floated down. Something cool suddenly drifted from overhead, sliding with soft fingers down over his head and skirting the left side of his face and settling there. His one exposed eye went wide in recognition, this was the woman's favorite tubetop. With a shudder of revulsion he pulled it from his visage tossing it away and incinerating it with a single flick of his wrist. His eyes quickly set to looking about at the other disregarded things. More tubetops.... This did not bode well, not well at all.
The gravity machine hummed around him, the weight instantly felt drawing down on him with the increase of gravities pull. He’d had to jack it up another couple of degrees, the last settings where beginning to be dull and unchallenging. Carelessly tossing the damp towel off somewhere, he easily forgot it. His concentration was shattered, his steps faltering as he crouched down, muscles tensed and ready. A sudden bolt of energy charged him forward, vaulting halfway across the floor and easily enough curling into a forward flip to land on his feet before launching off in another direction small blasts trailing from his finger tips and dotting his passage through the empty air. A half twist and he was on his feet again, running full tilt, dodging those lingering balls of ki.
But there had been something different about the woman, something in the way she held her body, moved, the general expression that had flitted across her not unagreeable features. Something very un-Bulma like. A low growl sounded deep in his throat as the image played through his mind. He was distinctly too aware of how thin her garments had been; the pink material very flimsy and clinging to each and every one of her curves in a more than pleasing manner. He’d almost been grateful the terrace was lined in a thin metal railing instead of a low wall, all the better to see the immodest panties that had enhanced the lengthy aspects of those smoothly muscled legs.
It’d taken him a measure of enduring will to walk away, to keep his composure about him. Her aroma had carried down to him, filling his senses with the musk of her body. It’d been weak, but once he’d spotted it he couldn’t prevent it from overpowering everything else. There was her normal scent, slightly flowery with the perfume she wore and then there was that deeper musk, which spoke of complete feminity, of crudely put, a female in the thralls of heat. It would have been all too easy to launch him up into the air and toss her over a shoulder before she could have even whined in protest.
For a moment he let himself indulge in the idea of ripping those meager garments away to reveal the delicate flesh beneath, flushed with that flattering blush he’d seen take over her skin as he had looked up to see her. Would she have whimpered at the brutality of his actions? Yes, he agreed to himself, she would have but she would have favored him with another pleading cry, begging silently for more. Would she be soddenly wet, velvety slick? Yes, another silent agreement, another image flashing of petal pink lips slowly dripping that effeminate nectar. He’d seen the look in her eyes after the initial shock, the sudden luster of a fiery spirit drowning in need. It’d been so raw and so new across her face, that he’d almost have sworn it for a moment it wasn’t her looking down; she’d never even so much as glanced at him in such a impure fashion before.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her in so little before, those tube tops she seemed to idolize and the too skimpy shorts. Those had made her look vulgar; bringing to mind too many nameless whores, bodies bitterly seasoned with use and formed of undesirably harsh contours. He’d always taken his pleasures were he could get them; being so few and far between, whether it was brutalizing some victim on some doomed planet, or a cheap faceless space port harlot. Or even in the deep reaches of space, he had always had Radditz to prey upon. Frieza had made sure to resign him to only the worse company, that he felt distinctively shamed and humility in his courting. And he’d despised each and every body that had been reduced to just another hole, another outlet.
He’d only given over to the need for release when he couldn’t avoid it anymore and he’d never once given any of them the honor of observing his face during the deviation. Bending them over chairs or tables or anything but a bed, forced into degradation as he held each disgusting countenance down like a worthless dog. Each face was malevolently buried away so he wouldn’t have to view their false idolizations or outright abhorrence. Even with Radditz he’d been able to pretend it was a woman from the behind, gripping all that hair in a rigid fist, the coarse texture of it making him grit his teeth in distaste.
But today, today Bulma had seemed softened, covetable and delicate and not at all understated in her appeal. Something he wondered what would feel like pressed to the hard lines of his body, molding and melting beneath his rough hands. That supple backside rolling up to meet his strokes, tender and inexperienced, snugly fitted around the girth and length of his eager erection. The thought alone stirred the fires smoldering deep within him, made it momentarily hard to stand up straight at the discomfort stretching the spandex shorts.
Another low growl escaped his lips, drawn into a thin line in frustration and displeasure. He wasn’t going to give over to such feeble misconceptions. With a grunt he threw his body into a series of rigid punches fluidly carrying into another series of kicks. It quickly sent the proper amounts of pain needed to dissuade his body from its excitement. And though his body ached for more reasons than one it only fueled the ki building in his explosive form, washing through him like scorching molten metal. He was going to get her out of his system, one way or another.
With a gratifying howl he left loose a volley of ki blasts from the palms of his hands as he pushed himself off the wall, his legs propelling him into a high arch despite the resistance pressing down upon him from the settings of the machine. The backwash of his foray swept him back, skidded him across the floor, his feet loosely gripping the ground beneath him, a single hand scraping indentures into the so-called durable material.
His lips quirked into a smugly satisfied smirk, appreciative of the destruction left in his wake. But in the same breath, this meant that he’d have to alert the Briefs to the fact that the damage needed to be repaired yet again. The old man really should have learned by now to make the damn thing more durable. A grunt and Vegeta’s ears caught the sickeningly cheery voice of Bunny over the comm., apparently breakfast was ready. His stomach gave a ravenous grumble, rebelling against his ideals of more training and less food. He was not overly inclined to disagree with it.
He’d welcome the reprieve; at the least food was something he could really focus on. And on top of that, the eldest woman wasn’t an altogether bad cook; he did prefer her meals over her daughters. A faint shudder rippled down his spine at the mere thought of it, his stomach giving another grumble but this one in remembered complaint. The bile was rising at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down blatantly telling himself Bulma would not be preparing the meal this morning. He’d caught glimpses of her moving beyond the curtains in her room rather later than usual when his eye had wandered past the door of this chamber. Had even thought he’d heard a rather colorful string of vulgarities that would have made even the surly Nappa proud, coming from her general direction. The woman was definitely not acting herself today.
But somewhere in the back of his mind as he reached for his shirt he recalled that the woman would be there too. He’d be forced to look at her and maybe not even food was going to take his mind off that. But just maybe she’d wear one of those awful tube tops again and he could go back to despising her. The corner of his mouth curled as he abandoned the shirt, let it fall to the wayside, forgotten. He ran a hand across his scarred chest, beads of sweat clinging to his fingers and leaving a trail over his pecs before reaching for another towel and draped it across his bulging neck. He’d test her; see if she’d be drawn in again by the pull of his herculean flesh. He could tease just as easily as she could, he would take such sinister gratification in watching her squirm with her discreetly coy mannerisms.
As he stepped through the door of the Gravity chamber, his hand faltered in closing it completely. Scattered among the crater he'd left earlier were patches of cloth, multi-colored and in varying states of disarray. Small bits of fabric even dangled from the railing of the onna's nearby rooms, bright splotches of vulgar patterned clothing. He'd failed to notice this event in the heat of all his training, possible this had to have been during the round of obscene words that had floated down. Something cool suddenly drifted from overhead, sliding with soft fingers down over his head and skirting the left side of his face and settling there. His one exposed eye went wide in recognition, this was the woman's favorite tubetop. With a shudder of revulsion he pulled it from his visage tossing it away and incinerating it with a single flick of his wrist. His eyes quickly set to looking about at the other disregarded things. More tubetops.... This did not bode well, not well at all.