Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Leverage ❯ Saiyan Prince ( Chapter 1 )

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

A/N: Hello all!  Enjoy this little one-shot, written for the Disney/fairytale challenge on the ‘We’re Just Saiyan…’ Google Plus Community!  I admit this was a HUGE challenge to re-tell.  I chose ‘Rapunzel’.  Not being all that familiar with the Disney movie “Tangled”, I had a lot of leeway to work with here.  A great challenge!  I didn’t want to stick too diligently to the original plot of the fairytale, but I hope I’ve infused it with enough elements to make for an interesting comparison.  ^_^
This is rated “M” for a reason…  naughty words and deeds abound!
Return yourself, if you will, to about 10 years before Vegeta and Nappa’s arrival on Earth as they search for the Dragonballs and for Goku.  Vegeta is quite young, at the cusp of what one might call a psychosis: a crisis of personality so fragily held together by his stubborn Saiyan Pride.  Not quite as corrupted and dominated by his mad desire for revenge and immortality…  At least, not yet.  The story line is slightly A/U (obviously).  But there are canon elements as well.

It wasn’t just the singing itself, he thought.  For though it was sweet, pleasant and utterly mesmerizing all by itself, it was the melody alone that had first caught his attention.  He’d been wandering this green, mossy wood now for at least an hour trying to find the source of the singing.  Nappa would probably be wondering about his whereabouts but really, the concern of that bald, overgrown doofus was at the least of his interest at the moment.
Vegeta crept through the forest east of Bridel City, capital and commerce center of Planet Yarbow.  They’d arrived only an hour ago by transport pod, and because of Yarbow’s lack of viable natural resources, their purpose here was to investigate any potential warrior class inhabitants before the inevitable purge process began.  It certainly wasn’t to be prowling around a slightly creepy woodland looking for whoever was singing this haunting tune.  Vegeta huffed to himself; he had time to kill.  Frieza always allotted more time than was necessary for Saiyans to manage their handiwork.  This specific mission had been allotted almost thirty standard hours.  Even now, he still underestimated the Saiyans.
And anyway, who the hell was singing that tune?  The melody was so familiar to him that it consumed his usual, single-minded mentality.  Since their planetfall outside Bridel City, and since his separation from Nappa, he’d been focused securely on his mission – as any twenty-one year old warrior servant of Frieza should be.  Vegeta scoffed aloud at this.  Screw Frieza for half an hour more, he thought.  The bastard could use a bit of annoyance, courtesy of his favorite Saiyan Prince.
Something in that blasted song made him loathe to abandon the source; he’d even abandoned his scouter somewhere on the outskirts of the forest, shortly after being mesmerized by that voice.  Even if Nappa was frantically searching for him, at this rate it would be a long while before he found him.
The wood here was pungent with the scent of growing things.  It was thick, and most of the forest floor was literally crawling with moss and various other bottom-dwelling plants.  Vegeta had worn boots for so many years that he’d nearly forgotten how it felt to run barefoot against naked earth.  His nostrils were flooded suddenly by the scent of flowers, and he noted that not far ahead of him lay a clearing.
As the flora parted under his white-gloved touch, the singing became louder and more pronounced.  He still could not place the exact melody and it infuriated him.  His brow furrowed as he stepped into the clearing and was greeted by a tower, seemingly about sixty meters high – give or take, Vegeta shrugged to himself.  The lovely voice that echoed in the wood was certainly coming from that tower…
It was built of a soft, stone material – hardly the picture of a strong citadel.  It was door-less as far as he could tell, either by comUnit panels or old-world hinges, and a long, thick trail of bluish-teal moss grew unhindered up its curved wall and into a small window near the top.  Vegeta stood, transfixed by the scene before him, and crossed both arms over his armor-plated chest.  In the cool, early afternoon heat of Planet Yarbow, Vegeta knew with sudden clarity that the song being hummed now with a soft ooooo was implicitly Saiyan.  Saiyan!  Who, in the names of all the war gods would know this a tune on such a backwater, mossy mud ball as this?
There were no Saiyan colonies left in all the free worlds of Frieza’s empire, a fact of which Vegeta was already well aware.  And somehow, the idea that anyone on this potential purge bucket knew anything about Saiyan culture and heritage lit a fuse of rage in the pit of his gut.  He snuffed a gulp of air in through flared nostrils and found that his feet were carrying him unwittingly closer to the tower.
Upon closer inspection, Vegeta found his nose wrinkling.  The bluish-teal moss he’d observed from further away was not moss at all, it was--!  What the hell was it?  It was a shining, thick river of something entirely different than moss.  And now, as he neared the tower further, he could see that it came not from the ground up but from the window itself.  As Vegeta gazed intently from the base of the tower and up to the top, where the window sat, his brow furrowed in utter bewilderment.  He didn’t even have to touch the shiny blue river to know… By the gods, it was hair!
Above him, floating from the window, was that damnable voice.  The singing had not stopped, even with his approach, and solidified his assumption that no viable warrior peoples populated Yarbow.  A part of him wanted to fly seamlessly up to the window, ascertain the reason for this singer’s absolute gall, and blast whoever it was into a privileged oblivion that most inhabitants here would not be lucky enough to obtain.  But something about the voice stayed his hand; something about the lilting, female voice was astonishing in its simplistic beauty.
Vegeta blinked and shook his head from side to side, his brow furrowed in annoyance.  Exactly what the fuck was he doing, he wondered furiously?  While invested in this thought, he noted that the singing had stopped.  The sudden silence was so shattering that it rang in his ears.  Even the native insects and birds had stopped their racket, and the only sound was a gentle breeze, whispering as it drew chilly fingers through the bright green foliage above him.  Vegeta sniffed the air for signs of invaders, since he’d so idiotically left his scouter behind…
It was in that moment of total silence, immersed in the pinkish-purple haze of Yarbow’s coming sunset, that he heard the voice again.  But this time his eyes popped wide open; it was speaking, and the soft tenor of the question shook Vegeta’s spine to the core.
“Aif inna po’far--?”  It said, and his eyes narrowed at the strange language of Yarbow.  “Is someone there?”  The voice came again, this time in Galactic Speech Pattern.
Vegeta’s lips parted, unspoken commands of obedience trapped inside his throat.  Maybe, if he waited long enough, the soft voice would start singing again.  But even after a small amount of time had passed he realized that the occupant inside the tower would not serenade him again soon.  ‘She’(was it female?) could already sense his presence, probably due to the silence of her ecological back-up chorus.  Vegeta crossed his arms again and tipped his chin up toward the window.
“Feh…”  He huffed toward the wind.  “I am Vegeta!”  He shouted haughtily, letting his gaze travel the massive length of silky blue hair.  “Your planet is under investigation by Galactic Emperor Frieza!  Show yourself!”
His commanding words were met again with the uncanny silence.  This time, though, a lone ground-dwelling bird peeked up from its position near the edge of the clearing and hooted.  Vegeta snarled at it irritably but it continued to stare at him through large, saucer-like, black eyes.  He huffed again and lifted his chin back toward the window.
“I said,” he growled angrily, “show yourself!  If I have to--?”
The face appeared at the window like the soft fingers of wind he’d felt only moments ago.  The thick mane of hair rustled quietly and glittered like a river of precious gems, even in the dying light.  Vegeta’s lips hung open stupidly as he gazed at her.  Even from the distance between them, he could see that she was very like a Saiyan (but for her coloring) and was, implicitly, quite beautiful.  These infinite tresses of sparkling hair – they belonged to her?  She was young, too.  Perhaps as young as he, if not more so, but he could not be completely sure.  At twenty-one years, he realized with some amount of regret that he had not seen a female Saiyan for more than a decade; not since Vegeta-sei had…
“Frieza?”  The young female intoned the name with a thick accent.  “Who is Frieza?”
Vegeta’s black eyes widened until the wind began to dry them out.  What in seventeen hells did she mean, ‘who is Frieza’?  He had been to every sector, every quadrant of every sector, in Frieza’s empire and no one…  No one had ever asked of him ‘who is Frieza’.  He felt the rumble of laughter in his chest before it skittered up the back of his spine and drew a splitting smile on his handsome face.
“Ha!”  He ran his tongue along the fangs near the front of his mouth, uncrossed his arms and let the laughter dance on his tongue as freely as he had not done for many years.  Vegeta clapped both hands together and cackled up at the darkening sky until he saw the lovely creature in the window cock her head at him in befuddlement.  He sighed as the laughter subsided, and put both hands on each powerful hip.  This lovely native had ignited amusement in him; it was something so sickeningly rare in his world that he found it abruptly arousing.  It had been so long since he’d looked at a female and felt such desire.  It simply wasn’t something he had the luxury to feel, was it?  Vegeta needed to see her face more clearly…
“Your people have gifted you with the grace of humor!”  He called to her, cheerful wickedness dancing through his eyes.  “There is not a soul on any world, in any part of this galaxy who does not know his name.  Come now, and admit your fear.  I won’t tell.”
“I am not afraid,” said the ethereal, blue-wreathed beauty in the window.  The steadiness in her voice told him that she was not.  “I do not know this name you speak:  ‘Frieza’.”
Vegeta felt his mouth tear open in another smile, cruel though it was, but he did not laugh this time.  Instead he felt a strange sort of heat encapsulate his aura.  Who, in the name the War God, was so isolated on such a heavily trafficked planet as this?  He crossed his arms again and closed his mouth until his teeth were clenched into a smirk.
“Very well, Yarbow-jin.  Then, before my comrade and I begin our ‘investigation’, sing your song for me again!”
“I did not think that anyone could hear me--?”
“Well, I did.”  Vegeta’s smirk fell, and impatience danced softly around the boundaries of his amusement.  “And I want to know where you heard a Saiyan ballad!”
The lovely face inside the window shrank back just a bit, but a pair of hands locked onto the frame and clutched at the porous stone there.  Her fingers were long and pale, graceful as her voice had been.  Vegeta remembered the laughter he’d been favored with a moment ago.  Still, she had not answered him, and he noted that the soft song of insects and wildlife had not returned either.
“SPEAK!”  He shouted, finally.  One of the delicate hands on the window sill came to her lips, and she backed away a little more.  “Ah, so now you are frightened are you?”  He suggested.  “I am a fearsome warrior, Yarbow-jin, and I suggest you tell me where you heard that song!”
The blue-haired beauty put both her hands back on the stone and leaned forward.  The mane in front of him on the wall rustled again, and shimmered.  From here, he could see that she was blinking at him but that she did not look away.  Her forwardness sent a rush of that years-absent desire crashing into his loins.
“The song you heard is my own song,” she said matter-of-factly.  “And… I am not afraid.”
Vegeta gazed up at her through half-lidded amazement.  No inferior warrior, let alone a female, had ever spoken to him in such a way.  Creatures just didn’t speak to him like that – they just did not.  He felt his fists clenching underneath his thick, muscled arms.  The desire that had flooded him moments ago mingled negligently with frustration.  Vegeta clenched his teeth again and snarled; now he would need to see the female more closely.
“Impossible.  The song you sing is a Saiyan ballad, about the dangerous likeness between battle lust and…?”  He stopped, clenching his fists more tightly, and sighed.  “Very well,” he said coolly.  “If you are not afraid, then I am going to enter your tower.”
“There is no way in or up.”  The blue one told him.  “You cannot enter.”
Vegeta found her spirit strangely endearing.
“You are resourceful, but not very clever.  How else could you have gotten up there?”
“I have always been here…”  She replied, but her voice faded out on the edges of another breeze.  Vegeta, though he could hear several hundred times better than most species, strained to hear her last words.  “You cannot enter,” she said again, “without me.”
“Keh!”  Vegeta spat with mirth.  “I need no doors or stairs.”
Finally, with some relief, he uncrossed his arms and charged enough ki so that his feet began to lift off of the ground with practiced ease.  He would make her sing again, he thought.  His boots were a mere foot from the moss though, when she reached out of the window with both hands.
“No!”  She hissed, and her voice deteriorated from the sweet singsong he’d heard in the forest to a desperate rasp.  “You must not!  My… father.  He knows when the warriors fly!  He has seen them before, and he will come for you.”
Vegeta hovered for a moment, dumbfounded.  This—female, this Yarbow-jin; who was she that she did not know Frieza?  That she did not know his Saiyan warriors, the most feared and ruthless purge monsters in the galaxy?  What creature must this woman’s ‘father’ be, that he thought he could outmatch the Prince of all Saiyans?  Gods, he would have to be the galaxy’s biggest fool!  But something in the blue one’s voice made him wait, something that felt dangerously like interest.  He chuckled softly.
“Well then, Blue Witch,” he said slowly.  “If I cannot enter the tower without you, and I cannot fly, what must I do?”
She reached one arm outside the window now.  Her skin was very pale now, as light from Yarbow’s three sister moons began to punctuate the dimming sky.  Pale, and creamy and… soft, perhaps?  She touched the waterfall of her hair, and shook it gently at him.
“You must climb, Vegeta – that is your name, yes?”  Her heavy accent danced on the syllables of his name as though she had started singing again, and from his position in the air Vegeta’s legs burned.
“You invite me to do this?”  He asked her, one brow raised in inquiry, and gestured to the shiny mane that lay against the tower wall.  He saw her shrug.
“You are the first one to visit me, since…”  She stopped on the edge of her last word.  When she reached down again to shake her heavy locks, Vegeta could smell exotic flora.  The tresses shimmered again in the emerging moonlight.
His eyes narrowed, and he felt his body descend back to the mossy carpet on the ground.  When his boots had pressed down again, Vegeta wondered briefly why Nappa had not found him yet.  Surely, even without his scouter on, Nappa would be able to sniff him out.  The overgrown brute of a Saiyan had known his prince since birth!  But as Vegeta found his feet carrying him to the very foot of the tower, mere inches from the blue silk that beckoned him, he found that Nappa was the furthest thing from his mind.
He reached out tentatively; his white-gloved fingers nearly glowed in the bright moonlight.  By this time, Yarbow’s yellow dwarf sun had nearly set, and its long wavelengths had set the evening sky a deep violet.  As Vegeta gazed at the thick strands of blue hair in front of him, and he was again accosted by a wave of flowery aroma, he grinned.  He picked the gloves off of his fingers and finally, shoving one glove into the belt under his tail, reached out with to bury his bare digits into the waterfall.  
It had been a long time since he’d reached out to touch anything with bare skin, Vegeta thought.  Certainly, at the very least, not on a purge mission and not to feel anything as lovely as he felt now.  He had expected thick, tough strands too long exposed to the elements of Yarbow and faded by her warm sun.  Instead, Vegeta ran his fingers through the softest and most luxurious thing he had ever felt.  The waterfall of her blue mane seemed to go on forever, bathing his fingers in an enchanting mixture of warmth and comfort.  Indeed, what had he ever known of those things, until this moment?
The Saiyan Prince, hard-pressed to find any reason not to continue, gripped a handful of this puzzling female’s hair.  He gripped another in his still gloved hand, and found purchase on the side of the tower with his right boot.  Though it was child’s play for him, Vegeta took his time about climbing.  It seemed that although he had never thought to do such a thing, since flying was much easier, he may have been missing some small sort of challenge.  A dark sort of grin grew on his lips as he eased his way up the side of the building, and closer to the window.  The blue one’s face was getting larger now, and clearer, as he glanced up at her.
“Hurry, Saiyan warrior!”  She hissed at him, and gripped something near the window sill.
When he reached the window, finally, gloriously, Vegeta put his gloved palm flat on the sill and one boot next to it.  The female inside yipped quietly, and she stepped back several feet.  When he was able to balance himself properly and glance inside, he was astounded by what he saw there.
She had backed away from a small hook, embedded crudely into the stone of the tower.  A strong, thick bit of her hair was wound around it; it had clearly been the thing that had given him the proper leverage to climb up.  His eyes lifted, and inside the tower was a quizzical little scene.
The blue-haired female, standing opposite him about five feet away, was surrounded by what appeared to be her room.  It was nicely appointed, with a four-posted type of bed and a simple vanity.  There were easily five bookshelves lining the rounded walls of the room, and each filled to the brim with primitive, paperbound volumes.  The woman had lit a few lamps with rudimentary fuels – none of what filled this room appeared modern or tech-bound.  Strange, considering the advanced civilization of the Yarbow-jin.  Vegeta cocked an eyebrow and came to gaze again at the female.
He was pleased to discover that she was as beautiful from this distance as she had been from the ground.  She was about his height, if not an inch or so shorter, and her flaring hips curved nicely into a dress that matched the hue of her hair.  She was younger than he perhaps, but not by much, and the elegant fingers that had gripped the window sill so determinedly before now gave pause near the pretty red bow of her mouth.  Her wide, round blue eyes blinked at him.
Vegeta’s lips quirked into a cruel smirk; it had been many months since he’d seen an appropriately attractive female.  Nothing ‘Saiyanoid’ resided in this quadrant except the inhabitants of Yarbow itself.  And this one…  This one might make a fun play of things, if she was willing and cooperative of course.   Vegeta huffed amusedly and threw both legs nimbly in through the window.  He landed near to her, and could see that her magnificent hair was still long enough to touch the ground in piles where she stood before coming to wrap around the hook at the sill.  He lifted his chin, and gazed his black gaze down the regal line of his nose.
“Your stronghold has been breached now, little Blue One.”  He said, and her hand dropped to her side.  She observed him with quiet interest.
“Why did you come to this place?”  She asked, clearly so ignorant of his position that she would even dare to ask such a thing.  Vegeta crossed his arms over his wide chest and narrowed his eyes at her.
“I want to know where you heard that song you were singing,” he told her simply.  “My people have been dead and gone for many years now.  There is no way you could know it.”
“I told you.”  Her voice, now so close to him, was as melodious as her singing.  “The tune is my own.  I did not hear it from anyone.”  She clasped both hands together in front of her, and worried the folds of her blue dress with one thumb.
Vegeta’s mouth hardened into a frown, and he took a few steps forward.  To her credit, the lovely female did not turn and run as most weakling species did when faced with the angry, displaced and maltreated Saiyan Prince.  Most knew the effect that his years as Frieza’s underling had had on him, and most were not willing to test the limits of his patience.  But this one:  her seeming ignorance, even of Frieza himself, gave her the daring to challenge him.  
Absurdly, Vegeta felt his loins turn to molten metal at the thought of it.  Did she have any idea of the effect her forwardness had on him, or was she ignorant about those things as well?  He felt his mouth turn upward again as he watched her.  What a curious creature she was, to transform his mood so quickly with but a few words.  He tilted his chin up at her.
“Let us assume that you did make it up.  Who were you singing it for?”
“No one,” she replied easily and quickly.  Her head shook from one side to the other.  “No one comes to see me here, no one except my father.”
“Who is your father?”  Vegeta asked her.  “He must be some kind of warrior, as you say he can sense my ki.”
“No.”  The blue one replied, that single word a practiced interjection.  “He is no warrior.”
“Then what is he?”
“No one so important as to matter to a man like you.”
Vegeta chuckled aloud, dryly.  Despite her ignorance of the outside world, the female was clearly quite shrewd.  No, he thought as he glanced around again at the shelves and shelves of old books, she was no idiot.  He uncrossed his arms, but let both fists hang at his sides.  A mischievous smile still danced, unbridled, across his mouth.
“What is your name?”  He asked her with an air of authority.  Her shoulders shrank just a bit, he saw with disappointment.
“My…  My name?”  She breathed, as though no one had ever asked her such a question before.
“Your name.”  Vegeta said again.  “You know my name already, it only seems fair.  Or perhaps, Yarbow-jin do not see fit to give names to beautiful females with ridiculously long hair who live in door-less towers all by themselves?”
To his delight, the blue one smiled warily and let a few breathy laughs escape her pale throat.  Her courage was returning.  Vegeta raised an eyebrow and waited.
“I am Bulma…”  She said at last.  Her arms hung at her hips, relaxed.  There was a glint of candlelight in her eyes, and just a hint of dying sunlight, when she said, “you think I—I’m beautiful?”
For just a moment, a fleeting one at best, Vegeta felt the perpetual scowl lift from his face.  He chuckled again and began to close the distance between them.  Something in the room smelled like wild fruits, or perhaps some incense.  The blue one, Bulma, watched him with a hint of trepidation.  Vegeta stopped just shy of a foot from her.  Her striking hair rustled against the floor when she shifted, a hand raised near her chest as though she may need to defend herself.
“No one has told you so before?”  Vegeta inquired, his voice dangerously low and husky.  He realized suddenly that he did not think he had ever spoken to a female in such a way.  Even in moments of feverish lust, of which there were many, he had not said such things to any woman.  Most encounters he had were spent with a busty garrison courtesan who fancied high-up officers as lovers, and usually involved as little talk as possible.  Their mouths were usually busy doing something else entirely…
Vegeta closed the remaining distance between him, and though he could see that she stiffened in anticipation, she did not back away.  He could smell her now; he could sense the raging uncertainty in her lithe body, and feel that she was not sure what attracted her to the strange alien at whom she now gazed.  He reached up, seemingly without realizing it, and put his bare fingers against the shimmering hair near her temple.  The locks there were even softer than the ones he had climbed up on, if that were possible.
“N-no.”  Bulma replied as he touched her.  “I-I told you; no one comes to visit me, except my father.”
Vegeta pushed a ripple of blue hair behind her ear and felt his lip curl up at the corner.
“That is unfortunate.”  He told her, and the doe-eyed look faded very quickly from her lovely face.  Her breath was coming very quickly, and her rounded, full breasts were heaving.  He was so close that they brushed against his armor.
Perhaps he hadn’t really meant to, but Vegeta reached down to press his bare hand against her back.  He pulled her flush against him, and her little squeak of surprise made fire dance like ki on his bare fingertips.  He splayed those digits wide against the soft, slippery material of her dress and leaned into her.
“Be honest with me now, Bulma,” he growled, deep in his throat.  “Your ‘father’; are you sure he is no warrior?  Because if you lie, being sold into slavery to Frieza is not the worst thing that will happen to you.”
To her credit, the soft flares of her body did not cringe away from him, and she merely shook her head with tenacity.  The barest glint in her deep blue eyes was the only thing that betrayed her real fear.  Vegeta smirked down at her when she opened her mouth to reply.  Gods--!  Her steely resolve made his Saiyan blood boil with a strange kind of hunger.
“My father is no ‘warrior’,” Bulma said pointedly.  “He is something much worse, Saiyan soldier.  He is a witch.”
“A witch, you say?”  Vegeta replied, digging his fingers hard against her back.  “Are you a witch too, then?”
“What do you want from me--?”  She insisted, her voice on the edge of a whisper.
Vegeta found himself unusually at an abrupt loss for words.  What exactly did he want?  What had he thought he would find here, in this strange little forest, in her curious tower, as he followed her haunting voice – humming a tune she had no business knowing?  For that matter, what business did she have putting her hands on the chest plate of his armor as she did now?  Her forwardness emboldened him to speech.
“Just what are you, little Blue One?”  He asked her, unsure if he really even wanted an answer.  She stretched out her fingers and looked him right in the eye.  Her hands slid upward until they framed both sides of his tensed-up neck, and the touch of her skin against his was overwhelming in its power.  Perhaps she really was a witch, he reasoned…
“I am just a woman,” she said finally.  “And I told you; I am called Bulma.”
That was enough, Vegeta thought with finality.  If he wanted her before, knowing it had been long enough between his unsanctioned liaisons, the indignant spark in her tone was enough to send shocks of outright arousal up his legs and into his cock.  He pressed into her back once more and leaned in to crush his mouth against her plump, red lips.  A small noise of protest inched up her throat, and her hands tightened against the skin of his neck.  Vegeta urged her lips open with his tongue but was met with a petulant resistance.  He pulled back and glared down at her.  Her mouth was a bit swollen from his onslaught, and her brow creased with confusion and defiance.
“It is not very chivalrous to touch a woman with this type of soldier’s garb still on your person, Saiyan Warrior.”
Vegeta couldn’t help the astounded laugh that crept out his throat.  He pushed her away from him, and toward the wall next to her window.  Without hesitation, he unclasped the sides of his armor and tossed it over his head with accomplished ease.  He eased the other glove off his hand and stepped out of his boots, then slid both arms out of his battle suit and pushed it down to his hips.  His tail uncurled from its place there, and thrashed excitedly in the air behind him.  All the while, the woman with the waterfall of hair watched him with an odd curiosity, as though she had never seen something like this before.  Oh, by the Mighty fucking Oozaru!  Perhaps she was a virgin!  Vegeta was not so sure if that would be a good thing or not – after this display he would rather prefer an experienced female who would let him rut on her with unhindered demand.   He did not want to take care with this one…
Vegeta spread out both arms to his sides and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Better?”  He asked, noting that his blue witch had backed herself all the way against the wall of the room.  Her palms were pressed flat against the stone, and she regarded him with heavy eyes.  Bulma nodded slowly.
“It is much better, Saiyan Warrior.”  She said, her fingers beginning to curl a bit.
Vegeta chuckled with intent and advanced on her, bracing both arms against the wall on either side of her head.
“I am called Vegeta.”  He said, mocking her.  Her jaw locked, and he could see the indignation there again.  “And you had best not forget it.”
The blue silk of her hair that pooled at her feet rustled gently as she lifted one hand off of the wall.  Her fingers spread lazily and she reached out the small distance between them to press against his bare skin.  He hissed at the fiery contact, and the noise drew out a small gasp of surprise from her lips.  She traced the lines of his muscled abdomen with agonizing slowness, and sucked in her breath.
“Very well, Vegeta.”  She put an emphasis on his name that displayed her thick accent, and he shuddered at the sound of that voice: the one that had lured him here in the first place.  “Will you show me how a Saiyan treats his woman?”
“Hah…” He laughed weakly and breathed against her open mouth.  “Brace yourself then, witch!”
Vegeta’s hand shot down from the wall to snatch away her probing fingers and pin them against the wall above her head.  Show her how he treats a woman… Indeed!  What a mouthy little siren this one was!
He captured her mouth again, and this time she was not so resistant.  The sweet mouth that had enticed him here, called out to him with a song, opened wide to welcome his probing tongue and demanding lips.  Gods, it really had been too long he thought as his cock finally jumped to attention against his leg.  He was starving, and he stoked that hunger with every stroke of his tongue against hers.  How could she have made him this fucking desperate, he wondered?  But did it really matter, he thought as he thrust a hand into the neckline of her pretty blue dress and tugged.
The Blue Witch moaned in protest into his mouth as the flimsy material stretched and tore against his impossibly strong grip.  His hand tightened against the one of hers that he had pinned above her head, and the dress slid limply over her shoulder and down her arm.  One creamy, full breast peaked out of the blue fabric, and Vegeta pulled back from her mouth to gaze down at it hungrily.  Holy gods, her skin was perfect--!  Vegeta reached out with his free hand to cup the swelling flesh in his palm and stroke it from the underside to the tip of its peak.  Her sweet voice whimpered against his arm, and when he looked at her his groin was set to fire by the expression he saw there.
He dipped his head and let go of her arm so that her fingers could dig into his hair and yank.  He hooked his finger around her pert nipple and rolled it against his thumb.  She shuddered and gasped when he pulled forward and covered the peak of her breast in his mouth.  So far, he thought, based on her reactions this little witch did not purport herself a virgin – thank the gods.  He drew lazy circles around her nipple with his tongue, and reached up to slide the other half of her dress from her shoulder and let it gather around her flaring hips.  She had plunged both hands into his hair now, and dug at his scalp with intensifying demand.  At her insistence, Vegeta dragged his teeth against her nipple and heard her hiss with delight above him.
He stood straight then, and cupped her cheek in one hand so that she was looking directly at him.  Her sparkling eyes regarded him with slight disappointment that his ministrations had stopped, and he shook his head at her, chuckling.  She reached up to touch his lips.
“You are waiting for more, Blue Witch, like you know what’s coming.”  He told her as he pushed the gathered material over her hips and over the swell of her bottom so that it dropped to the floor, abandoned.
There was nothing on her now, nothing but glowing skin and a gentle sheen of perspiration.  Her thighs rubbed together at the soft ‘v’ between them, and he could smell her arousal as surely as he’d smelled the flowers in her hair.  He took a deep breath in through his nose and shut his eyes.
“You have no idea--!”  His breath caught on the last word; he hadn’t seen her hands darting down from his hair and between them to cup his firm arousal in her soft hands.  His cock strained against the pants of his suit and his hips thrust forward seemingly of their own will, deeper into her grip.
“Don’t I, Vegeta?”  She said his name again with such purpose that it made him groan aloud.  “I can feel this, and I know what it means.”  Her fingers hooked into the suit and slid inside so that her hand was stroking his bare flesh.  She pressed her cheek against his and breathed into his ear.  “I can see how much you want me.”
Vegeta’s hand shot out to cup her rounded ass and lift her bare feet out of the pooled dress on the floor.  He draped one of her long legs over his arm and pushed her, none too gently, further into the wall.  A few chips of stone clinked to the floor as they caved under his fingers, planted firmly again next to her head.  His fingers slid under her thigh and in, against her bare skin and into the wet warmth outside her hot center.  She was shaking now, but was it for want or for fear?  As he pressed his confined erection against her, he wondered if he cared at all.  He had his answer though, when she reached down to grip his wrist in a surprisingly tight clasp.  She drew his fingers closer to her scorching hot entrance.
“Please…”  She said suddenly, and the sound of her voice sent urgent shocks through his body again.  The witch knew what she wanted – she was no virgin.  Which begged the question:  who the hell had come here before him?
The question was lost on him though when she bent her head forward and curled her tongue around the bottom of his ear.  She sighed into him and angled her hips just so his fingers brushed into her.  He was loathe to do anything but slide two fingers into her, and out again slowly as she moaned her approval.  She jerked against him with each thrust and rode his hand like a professional courtesan.  Gods, he wanted to ask her again – what manner of creature was she?  But Vegeta found the point moot now as the slickness of her desire trickled down his fingers.  He leaned his own cheek against hers now, and smiled against the soft flesh there.  
“So wet for me, are you?”  He told her, and pressed his thumb against the sensitive bud that he’d found in her warm flesh.  “Shameless witch.”
He rubbed against the bud slowly, drawing out a longer whimper from the sweet lips near his ear.  It took only a few moments of this until she tightened around his fingers, her whole body shuddering with the force of her climax.  She cried out, and Vegeta could hear the sound echoing out into the surrounding forest, as her sweet singing had before.  He smirked at that and slid his fingers out of her so he could wrest himself free of the battle suit pants.
His cock sprung free at last, and he sighed aloud at the relief.  Vegeta leaned back a bit so he could look again on the face of this mysterious, captivating female he’d found on an obscure planet in the middle of nowhere.  She gazed up at him, blinking slowly as his hot arousal glided slowly up the inside of her thigh and burned the skin there.  His tail flicked in the open air behind him and snaked forward to coil around her other leg.
This Blue Witch, this Bulma, pressed her lips together and then hooked her leg around his waist.  She gripped his muscled torso with both hands and stroked the soft skin there, unmarred so far by any battle wounds or scars.  Her tongue darted out to lap at his lips, the tip of his nose, back to his ear.  She reached further with one hand and wrapped silken fingers around his cock.  The sensation of her cool hands against his searing hot flesh made him growl, the edge of it on a moan.  His hips jutted forward, the tip of him nudging against her slick entrance.
“I am not a witch,” she said into his ear again, “but I am wet for you, Saiyan Prince.”
Her words sent a shock of hot rage through him, and his eyes snapped wide open so that he was looking at her very clearly.  He paused between her thighs and lifted one hand to her head, where he tangled his fingers in the thick mane of her hair.  It whispered against the floor.  He could see that she had not meant to say those words, and he tightened his grip on her hair.  She keened low in the back of her throat, and her fingers continued to clench around his jutting erection.
“’Saiyan Prince’?” He repeated the words to her, watching her expression.  “Now… Who told you that?”  His growl had turned menacing, but to his dismay his arousal had not abated, and the Blue Witch slid her hips down the wall and against him.  The tip of his cock inched into her, and he sucked in his breath.
“You told me yourself, Vegeta…”  She whispered against his lips and kissed them.  His instincts drew him further inside her, and he gasped at the frustration of holding back.
“I told you nothing of the sort!”  He clutched his free hand against her neck and pressed his thumb against the underside of her chin, exposing her throat.
Finally he was inside her to the hilt, and she was tight around him, hugging him with her body.  Vegeta was unexpectedly unsure.  Had he told her--?  Gods, he couldn’t remember.  He’d told her his name that much was certain…  All that seemed to matter at the moment, though, was her warmth and wetness surrounding him.  Fuck all the pretense!
He growled again and pulled out, only to thrust back inside her with vain satisfaction.  His smirk returned when she cried out, sobbing on the end of it like it was a kind of salvation.  Vegeta reached back to lock her legs around him, and he carried her to the four-posted bed in the corner, careful to avoid the trail of hair that lagged behind her.  He tossed her on the bed, then leaned up to loom over her.  Her body was shining with sweat and glowing in the dim light of the room.  The sun had set completely, and the golden glow of her skin haloed her breasts and hips.  Her breath heaved in her chest, and she watched him with trepidation.  Vegeta ran the palms of his hands over her bent knees and up her thighs, and her skin turned to gooseflesh under his touch.  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and on that he again plunged himself so deep inside her that he gasped.
He slammed inside her like a brute, ignorant of the possible danger it presented to her.  So what… He mused irritably as the lust coursed through him like wildfire.  Her body bounced and inched up the bed with each thrust, and he reached down to tease his thumb at her flesh again.  The Blue Witch was coming now, squeezing and clenching at him, drawing out his own release, and she screamed with the pleasure of it.  Again, Vegeta heard the echo out in the woods and wondered if anyone could hear, as he had heard her singing.  Gods, he hoped so.  Maybe even that fucker Frieza would hear it if he listened hard enough!
Finally her singsong cries flooded his body with raging release, and he roared out loud until he felt himself spilling inside her, scorching out the last vestiges of pent up lust in his body.  He fell forward until he was hovering over her with inches to spare.  Her body squirmed under him, and he slid out, collapsing by her side with a monstrous groan.  With a start, he realized that she was gathering him in her arms and urging him to lean against her breasts.  He obliged her; the poor thing could be dead in a day if their purge went ahead as planned.  Something about that irked his sensibility, and he clenched his eyes shut as the last wave of release exited his body.
Vegeta did not know how much time passed, since the sun had set and his scouter was still meters away, outside the wood.  And he was not sure of how many minutes ticked by as he lay there, making a bed of the Blue Witch’s soft nakedness.  He wondered absently where the hell Nappa was, but the thought wrestled away from him as he slipped into a drugged sort of doze.
He awoke with a start, but there was no apparent danger.  Vegeta pushed himself up on both hands until he noted that the woman Bulma was reclined next to him, a delicate sheet between her legs and her eyes on him with interest.  He brushed a hand over his face and sat back on his legs to look at her.  He remembered her words in the throes of passion, and he glared purposefully at her.
“How long have I been asleep?”  He demanded.
She drew in a slow breath and blinked at him.
“Just an hour or so.”  She replied, toying at her bottom lip with her thumb.
Realization was coursing through his mind the longer her spent watching her.  The bright blue of her hair was fanned out to her side, running along the bed and across the floor until it spilled over that window sill, washing out into the Yarbow night.  She looked like an accomplished courtesan, lying there as she was.  She had made a good play of it, though.  Vegeta crawled over the bed to loom over her.
“Tell me the truth, woman.  Who are you really?  What are you doing out here?”
She tilted her chin up took look at him, and reached out to trace a soft pattern against his hairline.  The gesture was appallingly gentle, but it sent a shudder of desire through him.
“I was waiting for you, Saiyan Prince,” she replied quietly.  “I was put here for you.”
Vegeta sighed and dropped his head for a moment before allowing himself a chuckle.
“Indeed you were.”  He admitted, and leaned down closer to her so that their noses touched.  “But who put you here, I wonder?  Was it that fucker Zarbon?  Or maybe Guldo, he always did enjoy a good mind game with me.  You’re here to distract me, aren’t you?”
She nodded slowly, and their touching noses made his face bob up and down with hers.
“I am not from Yarbow, Prince Vegeta.”  She told him.  “My home world was Chikyuu.”
“Hah,” Vegeta huffed against her mouth.  “I should have known; Chikyuu-jin females are well-known in the pleasure wards.”
She smiled and pressed her mouth against his in the briefest of kisses before she spoke again.
“But, Vegeta… It was not Lord Zarbon, or Commander Guldo who sent me here.”
“No?”  He inquired, genuinely surprised.
He pushed away from her warmth and slid off of the bed so he could retrieve his shorts.  They’d come off with the battle suit quite unceremoniously.  When he found them, and slid them on, he felt the Chikyuu-jin Bulma inch up beside him.  The sheet was still draped around her shoulders and waist, and her hair was rustling.  He didn’t know whether to be surprised or annoyed at her sudden embrace.  She pressed both palms of her hands against his chest and her cheek against the plane of his back.
“You are not as cruel as I expected.”  She said, almost too quietly for a non-Saiyan to hear, he thought.  
At first, he did not reply.  Her words sent an inexplicable shiver of… something up the center of his spine.  Was it disgust?  It was usually preferable for anyone to find him cruel, Vegeta thought.  It was necessary, it helped him survive.  Surely, there must be females he’d ravished who had considered him nasty or even frightening.  Some of them had even said so…  He felt his lips quirk, and he smiled, though she could not see.  Her warm cheek was still pressed against his back.
“Am I not?”  He said finally, and turned quickly in her embrace.  He gripped the side of her neck and squeezed just enough so that she knew he could snap it without much effort.  “I can be, if that’s the way you want it, whore.”
“No, I--!”  Her flailing hands found purchase on his waist.  “I only meant; you were—you were different when you thought I was someone—someone else.”
“Hn.”  He saw his breath feather across a tendril of her hair, and his thumb caressed the soft skin under her chin without his meaning it to.  A soft breeze came in through the window of the tower, and the smell of the flowers he had noticed earlier drifted in and enveloped the room.
“Don’t you ever want to be someone else, Prince Vegeta?” She asked him, and the words struck a note of hidden despair inside him.  It curled around his gut like a worm until he felt sick.  “I’ve wanted to be someone else for so long, since Chikyuu was destroyed and I--?  When he asked me to come here for you, to pretend, I thought--?”
“You thought what?”  He snarled at her.
The woman Bulma’s words sent striating fire through him, revealing a weakness even he had forgotten he had.  And that would not do…  Her eyes were welling tears, probably at the look of murderous anger in his black eyes.  Vegeta found that the sight was, even just the slightest bit, unsettling.  He liked her better when she looked happy and innocent and curious…
“You thought what, Chikyuu-jin?”  He asked her again, this time with less venom.
“I thought…”  She stopped, swallowed, and a damnable tear inched its way down her cheek.  “If you believed me, that you’d--?”  She paused, and her hands came up to cradle his against her neck.  “If you only knew how many times I’d hoped it.  How many times I’ve watched you and wished.  You asked me how I knew you, and it is not because he told me.  I’ve always known you, since I first came to the fleet ships.”
“What in all the gods’ names do you mean?”  He said, stepping closer to her so that he could feel her body one last time.  The palms of her hands were warm on his arm, and they moved to press against his bare chest.  In seconds a glowing flame ignited in him again, and he felt his groin stir with lust.
Hah!  Whoever had sent her here was witty; she was a skilled lover and a clever little concubine.  Too bad that poor bastard underestimated Saiyans as well.  The Chikyuu-jin skimmed her palms behind him again and pulled him against her.  His tail curled up and tickled her at the waist.  Best not to take too much time with this round though, Vegeta thought.  Nappa would be furious by now.  The woman touched her mouth to his, though, and gasped in a little sob.
“You should leave.  Now.”
“What?”  His head snapped back to gaze at her, and he smirked.  “You’re concerned, are you?  Endearing…”  He leaned forward and gripped her hips with both hands, but the little thing put both hands on the sides of his face and looked him dead in the eye.
“Prince Vegeta, listen!”
He had, by his count, five or so seconds to gaze at her in befuddlement before the blast tore through the open window and threw him back first into the wall opposite.  The breath knocked out of him so completely that he coughed and sputtered until he roll to the side and push himself to his knees.  His sight, though blurred from the impact and shrouded by the dust in the room, came back to him with a few blinks.
“Fuck…” he muttered, slamming a foot down so he could stand.  The energy in the blast had been so apparent that he cursed himself for allowing his libido to distract him so fully.  A gentle clicking of the tongue echoed across the debris-filled room, and Vegeta did not have to guess who it was.
“My dear Vegeta!”  He mewled with forced amusement.  “I had expected your negligence, but I didn’t know you were such a wanton little monkey!”
Vegeta allowed himself a chuckle and straightened his back.
“Frieza…” He choked out, and coughed a few more times before allowing himself a labored snigger.  “That song she sang…?”
“Yes, yes.”  The shiny, white little bastard replied, bored by the obvious.
Vegeta noted that there was a gentle, but heavy whirring outside the window, and wondered how long Frieza’s hovercraft had been there.  Over that sound though, he could hear the soft whimpering, and thought how that same voice had sounded in song – in desire.  A very unfamiliar sort of horror leapt up through his gut and into his chest as the smoke cleared further, and he saw the Chikyuu-jin woman next to Frieza.  She was balanced precariously on her bottom, still barely clad by her bed clothes, and held up by her hair in the lizard emperor’s fist.  The bulk of it had been torn from the hook at the window sill, and her splendid mane lay at her shoulders, muted by dust.
“Did you like her, Vegeta?”  Frieza cackled on the last word, on his name.  “I made sure she would be irresistible for you!  The hair is magnificent, isn’t it?  I admit I tricked you; you monkeys are so predictable.”  He spat out the words with distaste.
Vegeta felt his knees shake, and he hoped that he’d had enough control to conceal it.  Frieza could probably sense the damage he’d done anyway though, the fucker.  The horror he’d felt at seeing the blue-haired beauty in Frieza’s grip intensified when the little overlord lifted her higher off the ground.  She cried out, this time in obvious agony.
“You see what you’ve been wasting your time on, while you should have been hard at work for the good of my empire--?”  He paused, and used his free hand to squeeze the Chikyuu-jin’s cheeks.  “I know she’s lovely,” he pouted into her face, “but you were tasked with a mission, Vegeta.”
Bulma, he remembered the way she had said her name, gazed at her lord with wide, terror-filled eyes and then turned her focus to Vegeta.  Something in those exotic eyes begged him; she implored him for a reprieve that he was not sure he could give.  A recollection stirred in him, and he gazed right back into her eyes.
“Your ‘father’ really is a witch, woman.”
Through her fear, he watched as the Chikyuu woman’s lips curved upward into a smile.  Vegeta couldn’t help the same sentiment as it washed over his brow and ticked his lips up at the corner.  Frieza was growling now, furious at his favored subordinate’s outright disrespect.  Vegeta crossed both arms over his bare chest and met Frieza’s glare.
“Nothing else to say, Vegeta?”  The little emperor whined and turned his fury back on the woman.  “Did the monkey please you, little whore?”  He snarled, and Bulma struggled against his grip, turning in disgust from his face.
“Let her go, Frieza.”  The words were out before he could stop them, and Vegeta nearly cursed out loud again.  His master cocked his chin over, and his eyes were wide with a mad fury.
“What did you say, Vegeta?”
Frieza didn’t even shout or roar, as Vegeta’s father often did in his vague memory.  The calmness, the stillness that echoed after those words were what sent icicles of panic through his veins.
“Did you say, ‘let her go’?”  Frieza twisted his neck to look at her again, and then back to Vegeta.  “Is that what you want, Monkey Prince?  Do you want her for yourself, then?  A little toy to keep?”
Vegeta faltered.  Oh, merciful Blood Goddess…  This was a familiar game.  His eyes flitted back to the Blue One, to Bulma, and he saw in her hopeful gaze what she had been wishing for.  But she did not know Frieza as well as he did, and she did not know the real depth of his sadistic soul.  He remembered her forward and assertive nature:  the beauty he had seen in it and how it had made his body surge with real and honest desire.  And he realized with gut-wrenching clarity that he did not want the little thing to die, to share the fate of Yarbow.  Especially not at the hand of Frieza, who would make sure her death was not a quick process: if only to make a point to Vegeta.
Vegeta lifted one arm from his chest and spread his fingers.
“Don’t…”  What would be the right answer this time, he wondered?  Gods, what would be the right answer?!  His pale, shining master grinned evilly and chuckled.
“Don’t what, Vegeta?”  He snarled.  “Do you want her or don’t you?”
The Chikyuu-jin squirmed a bit in his grasp, and watched Vegeta.  Her eyes begged with him, they pleaded, because she did not know this game that Frieza played.  Why had he fucked this up so royally this time?!  Above the remaining clouds of dust and smoke, he could smell the flowers again: strong and so sickeningly sweet.
“Yes!”  He said, his hand still reaching out for… What?  “Yes.  I want her.”
At this, Frieza laughed.  He could see the relief in the woman’s eyes, but the sight was bittersweet.  Surely, it could not be over that easily.  When the Emperor had finished his little bout of laughter, he held up a hand and clenched all but two fingers into a fist.  Shit…
“Do you?” He sneered, and a little ball of ki flared evenly across the two fingers he held extended.  Vegeta tensed, and Bulma’s eyes flickered from him to Frieza and back.
“Wait--!  Fuck…  NO!  No, I don’t want her!  Send her back to the courtesan wards; she is useless to me--!”
“Aaawwww, Vegeta.”  As Frieza pouted again, he could see that the woman was coming to a slow realization, and it washed over her face like liquid horror.  “I don’t think she’s fit for that place anymore!  Why, just look at her!  All bruised and beaten by my little surprise blast.  No one would use her.”
“Prince Vegeta, stop--!”  Her voice cut through the tension like a knife, and Vegeta was mauled by it.  His fist clenched at his side, and the silly thing kept talking.  “Don’t… You already saved me.”
Frieza shook her head mercilessly in his fist, and she sobbed softly.
“Don’t you call him that, you dirty little slut!”  He screamed into her face.  “He is no prince…”
“He is more a prince, a lord, than you will ever be.”  The Chikyuu-jin said, and licked a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.
The words bounced off the battered walls of the tower and hit the ground like ice chips.  Frieza was stock still with fury, his two fingers still poised in the air.  Vegeta pointed a finger at him, to distract him with a little more insubordination.  He’d have no problem killing the woman, but Frieza wouldn’t kill him; no he would think of a much better punishment than that.
“Frieza…  Shit, don’t--!  Give her to me, dammit!  She will be punished.”
There was that damnable clicking of his tongue again, and Frieza looked straight into Vegeta’s eyes.  It was the way he always did when he was about to take something away; when he was about to chip away one more stone of sanity from his Monkey Prince.  One more stone of honor and pride…
Frieza pumped up his little ball of energy and pressed both fingers into the Chikyuu-jin’s shoulder.  She looked back to Vegeta.
“Frieza, stop!  NO--!”
The ki spread upward and through her body until those blue gems that had looked at him with such longing filled with dead energy and tore through her like hot knives.  Her body convulsed, and she drifted away like a sheet of paper from Frieza’s grasp as though she had never existed in the first place.  The glare of her eyes stayed in Vegeta’s vision after the ki blast dissipated, and he heard his voice echoing through the woods as hers had, so beautifully.
When there was silence again, Vegeta fell to one knee and glared up at Frieza.  The little bastard grinned gleefully down at him, and the only sound was the crunch of debris under his tri-toed feet as he approached his Saiyan soldier.  Vegeta had little time to brace himself before the slight-bodied emperor hurled him out the destroyed window of the tower and followed, grinding one knee into the Saiyan Prince’s back so that when he hit the ground, he hit hard.
Vegeta coughed into the soft grass, the same grass he had wondered about walking through in his bare feet, and without a second thought he curled his toes in it even as the blood came cascading from his mouth.  Gods, it really did feel good…
As Frieza gripped the short hair on the back of his head and hauled him up toward the hovercraft, Vegeta knew.  This would not be an easy one, and it would not be over quickly.

Later, much later, after the Yarbow purge had been completed without him and Nappa had dragged his body from the regen tank, Vegeta sat in his bunk and peered out of the window into the expanse of space.  Behind them, Yarbow’s sun still gleamed in the distance, a few hundred million miles from where the fleet ship still orbited Yarbow’s moons.  They hadn’t destroyed the entire planet, Nappa had told him, only incinerated the inhabitants and kept some of the Yarbow females for the obvious use.  And Vegeta wondered if Frieza had done it on purpose.
Did he want him to remember this?  If he came to Yarbow’s system for any reason, did Frieza want Vegeta to look down at that empty planet and remember the humiliation he’d rendered for his Saiyan Prince.  Saiyan Prince…
Frieza wouldn’t know, he would never know that the effect was quite the opposite.  If he could look down at that empty planet and see the shining blue eyes and matching waterfall of tangled hair in that tower, and remember her words, then maybe he could survive any beating that lizard could inflict and still remember who he was.  Vegeta clenched his fist and winced at the sore muscles that rebelled inside his healing body.
He is more a prince, a lord, than you will ever be…
Vegeta let the smirk creep back onto his lips, and remembered her smiling hope.
Perhaps someday, Chikyuu-jin.