Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lies, Deception, and a Baby ❯ The Color of Love ( Chapter 13 )

Disclaimer: Is this even necessary anymore? Cuz I really can't think of anything even remotely clever right now …

Warning: Yum, Lemony!

A/N: This whole chapter is basically a dream sequence, so lots of stuff can happen that wouldn't actually happen in real life! ^.^ So don't get confused. Although …

Lies, Deception, and a Baby

Chapter 13: The Color of Love

Bulma smiled, floating amidst a sea of clouds.

After crying herself to sleep over the feeling of emptiness that resided within her, Bulma had resolved that her dreams would be pleasant.

And so far, her wish had been granted in a most satisfactory way!

Bulma let out a sigh as she lay back on the fluffy, white cloud. The cloud drifted lazily across the calm, smooth surface of a pristine lake, and Bulma couldn't help but feel peaceful, trapped between the bright blue sky and the pure, clear water.

Folding her arms behind her head, she let one of her bare legs break through the surface of the water, allowing the smooth, cool water to caress her silken skin.

Like a lover, she thought sadly, quickly extricating her limb from the wet grasp of the lake. This dream was supposed to be happy, free of any and all reminders of her waking life! Why couldn't she escape them?

Bulma turned her back on the water, burrowing herself further into the downy whiteness of the cloud, closing her eyes, as though she could block unpleasantness from her dreams through that one simple action.

And maybe, just maybe, she could.

When she opened her eyes, the clouds, the sky, even the lake, were all gone.

Bulma breathed a small sigh of relief. Even when she sought peace, her memories still followed her. At least now they were gone from her sight for good.

But the new visions that popped up were no more devoid of her waking reminiscences.

She stood in the midst of a beautiful garden. Lush greenery surrounded her, as well as a rainbow burst of flowers, everywhere she looked. Stone benches lay scattered around, beneath arched trellises lined with roses. A multitude of tall bushes blocked her view of a great deal of the garden, and paths leading through the green maze were abundant in supply. The one aspect that truly dominated the garden, however, was the statues. Brilliant works of stone and marble, carved in the images of her friends.

Bulma, clad in a long, blue silk sheath, slowly began following one of the paths through the garden. She didn't know where the path would end, but somehow, she felt as though she had to find out. She couldn't turn back; she had to move forward, following the path she had chosen until the very end.

Along the way, she passed several statues of her friends. Goku, Chi Chi, Krillin, Gohan, Piccolo. She was surprised by the artistry of the statues; they looked so life-like. She had never even been aware that her mind gathered such specific details of her friends that her dreams could create an intricate, exact replica of each one. It was an amazing discovery.

Eventually, Bulma came to the inevitable fork in the path. One road led to the left, the other to the right. Each path curved behind the large maze of bushes, so she had no idea of what lay at the end of each. Her only guide would be her intuition.

But could she trust herself with such an important decision?

Bulma let out a sob. She felt torn from the inside; as though this decision, which path she chose, would determine her fate.

But how can I trust myself to make such an important decision? Her mind railed, when I always seem to screw up when it comes to the important decisions! I can't! I just can't!

Bulma knelt on the ground, gasping for breath. She felt as though two separate parts of her were engaged in a battle for control, but by fighting they were only destroying that which they fought for.

"Stop!" she cried out, and suddenly she felt … normal.

Or at least as normal as one can feel when one is dreaming about making the most important decision in one's life.

Bulma stood again, smoothing her hands over the silk of her tight dress, as she took a step back, examining each of the paths.

The left path consisted of rotting cobblestones, with a great deal of undergrowth blocking the way. The bushes were untrimmed, and sections jutted out into the path, creating quite a mess that would be a hassle to hack through with a machete. The path was also dark, the sky above it filled with black storm clouds that looked as though they might burst at any moment, unleashing a giant thunder storm upon the land below. Chances were, if she chose that path, the lower half of her beautiful dress wouldn't quite make the trip; her hands and body would bear scratches from all the brambles; and she'd probably end up soaking wet, maybe even electrocuted if the storm clouds decided to use her as a lightning rod.

This was a path fraught with perils.

The right path, on the other hand, was bright and cheery. She could hear birds chirping from that direction, and the sun shone happily overhead. The bushes were trimmed very neatly, and the stone path looked as though it were cleaned every day, as though patrons of the garden wandered to this fork and chose this path more often than not. The entire path created a very welcoming, almost comforting, atmosphere.

Safe, comfortable, docile.

Bulma shook her head. Which one to choose?

Common sense told her that the right path was, in fact, the right path. On the other hand, there was something dangerously alluring about the left path; the challenge, could she tame the beast? Dare she risk everything, throwing herself into the clutches of the unknown?

Bulma bit her lip. It was such a tough decision; she could feel her insides begin to ache again, the two sides warring with one another. Each choosing a different path; each wanting something completely different out of life.

"Oh, Kami," Bulma whispered to herself. "What do I do? Which path should I choose?"

Then, of all things, she remembered something from one of the few classes in high school that she hadn't skipped.

"Two roads diverged in the wood," she whispered to herself, "And I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Bulma grinned. Good old Robert Frost! Who would have thought that a simple decision not to skip class one day, and instead sit around reading poetry, would ever pay off in the real world?

Well, not necessarily the real world; she kept forgetting that this was a dream. Just a dream.

Bulma smiled. Well, at least now she could make her choice!

With one last, longing look at the right path, which almost seemed to call out her name in its eagerness for her to choose it, Bulma turned to the left. She was definitely going to take `the one less traveled by.' In fact, from the looks of it, no one before her had ever trod this path.

For some reason, that made a feeling of happiness float up in her chest.

Bulma quickly shook that thought aside and continued to make her way through the unbeaten path.

By the end, several of her predictions had been confirmed; her dress was stained and torn, cuts and bruises marred her perfect skin, and the clouds above had decided to give her a little taste of their power.

With a sigh, Bulma finally managed to make it into a clearing. As she stepped inside, the rain suddenly stopped, and the sky brightened.

Her eyes widened.

It was a dead end. The path in between the bushes widened into a circle, but the entire clearing was surrounded by the tall, green bushes. In the very center of the clearing lay a fountain. At the center of the fountain was the most beautiful statue she had ever seen.

A statue of Vegeta.

Bulma's heart quickened as she slowly closed the distance between herself and the statue. She needed to get a better look; to confirm what she already knew to be true.

He was naked, kneeling atop a pedestal in the center of the clear fountain. His hands rested by his sides, while his chin had settled itself upon his knee. The expression on his face was unlike anything she'd ever seen; as though he were in deep contemplation of a very serious issue.

As Bulma circled the fountain, she made out more details. His tail spot was there, just as it should be. The rippling muscles that lined his entire body were well-defined. Water poured from the tip of the statue's erection into the fountain. And there was something in his gaze, as he stared out into space; something sad.

Vegeta? Bulma asked herself. Sad? It just didn't make sense. What did he have to be sad about?

Shaking her head to rid herself of these foolish thoughts-It's just a dream! she berated herself-Bulma reached one hand up to cup his cheek.

He felt so real. As though he were flesh and blood, not just a stone replica of the real man.

Choking back a sob, Bulma finally admitted to herself how much she missed him. How much she wished he were here. What she wouldn't give to run into his strong arms, to have them hold her against his hard chest, to just stand there, held in his arms.

She would probably never see him again.

She would never be able to tell him how much she loved him.

She would never even be able to see his face when he rejected her love, turning his back on her.

What she wouldn't give to have him back, even if he planned to reject her. She wouldn't mind at all, as long as he were there. As long as she could stand on the balcony outside her bedroom watching him train in the gravity room. As long as she could brush lightly against him as she passed him in the hallway. As long as he were there.

Bulma leaned forward, placing her hands on the rim of the fountain as her tears began to fall. All the tears she had been unable to shed before; all the tears she had shed when she cried herself to sleep. All of them came pouring out of her, into the fountain, mixing with the water that came from him. From his statue.

When the torrent stopped, she sniffled a little and continued to gaze down at the water. With the ripples from her tears fading, she could see her reflection.

"I'm such a mess," she murmured to herself. Her face was pale, her dress torn, her hair wild and disheveled.

"I think you look beautiful."

Bulma gasped, her eyes meeting those of his reflection in the pool. Where had he come from?

Bulma whirled around, prepared to see him-but there was no one behind her. Confused, she looked once more at the statue. It hadn't moved. She looked back into the pool-his reflection had disappeared.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Bulma backed away, then turned around and ran, wildly thrashing through the path she had chosen, back to the fork in the road, where she took the opportunity never given outside of a dream: to travel down the path not chosen.

Bulma ran down the right path, clean and inviting, until it, too, ended in a clearing.

But this was not like the other one.

At the end of the path lay ruins. Crumbled buildings and statues littered the dirt-stained ground. With a gasp, Bulma ran forward, through the ruins. There were all the statues of her friends-decapitated, headless, armless, legless. As though some mad person had come through, wildly swinging a sword and hacking off stone limbs.

"No," she whispered, "No!"

He couldn't be here. She couldn't bear it if she found his statue here, in pieces. It would tear her heart in two.

So she continued running through the dull, gray ruins. Searching for him. Hoping beyond hope that he remained safe, down the other path, not cruelly tortured down this one.

This dream has gone too far! She cried to herself. There was only one way she could be free of this nightmare.

She had to find him.

So she continued running through the ruins, heedless of the dirt and mud that gathered on the soles of her bare feet, of all the stains that marred her beautiful skin. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was finding her love, making sure he was alright.

She finally stopped, leaning against a single stone pillar that stood where there had once been a glorious building, to catch her breath. She gazed around her, taking in her surroundings, and saw from the corner of her eyes a small dirt path, that seemed to lead to a special, secret area of the ruins.

If he were anywhere, he would be there!

Gathering her courage around her like a cloak, Bulma ran down the path, heedless of her aching lungs and burning sides.

She was close, so close. She could almost feel him.

She finally came to a stop, at the entrance of another round clearing.

With a gasp of relief, she sank to the ground.

He wasn't there! He was safe.

This headless statue had been formed in the image of Yamcha.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the blink of an eye, the ruins vanished from around her. Instead, she lay in a dark, quiet room. The faint, heady scent of jasmine filled the air, seducing Bulma's senses and putting her at ease; she would find no danger here.

Pulling herself up from the ground, she slid easily across the marble floor, taking in her surroundings. She glanced about the tall-ceilinged room. It appeared to have several entrances and exits, each marked with a tall, arched doorway. Pillars studded the room in a circle around the main centerpiece. Upon a circular dais in the center of the room lay a massive bed, filled to the brim with soft, silk pillows of every color in the rainbow, and hidden from the view of the rest of the room by pale, shimmering veils, cascading down the sides of the bed like curtains. Looking down at herself, Bulma realized that she, too, had been clad in translucent, colorful veils.

To be perfectly honest, they didn't leave much to the imagination.

Blushing at her state of undress, Bulma crawled into the bed and curled up in the fetal position.

Somehow, she knew that he would come to her here.

She didn't have long to wait.

A shadow appeared before her eyes, through the veils that curtained the large bed. Bulma sat up, reaching one hand forward to gently pull aside the veils and allow entrance to her noble visitor.

He stood there, staring down at her. Unmoving, unblinking, unnerving. Even as his eyes remained locked upon her form, Bulma let her own gaze roam his magnificent body at will. The only article of clothing he wore was a simple pair of baggy silk pants, in his favorite color, navy. His chest and stomach were left bare, the rippling muscles exposed to her hungry stare.

Several long, tense minutes passed; still she held the veils aside for him, and still he did not move. Bulma was beginning to get nervous. Was this how he planned to reject her, to turn her away from him, forever? Through her dreams? Could he really be that cruel?

She looked up into his eyes. They were cold, expressionless. And yet, somewhere, deep inside those obsidian orbs, she could sense a fire, burning for her. A fire he refused to acknowledge; a fire whose flames he wished to bank, yet could not.

"I've missed you," she whispered finally, breaking the silence. "I've been waiting for you."

He didn't reply; he continued to stand there, watching her, unmoving.

Bulma frowned at him, and leaned forward to grasp his arm. She felt his muscles tense beneath her grip. She smirked. At least he reacted to her, even as he struggled to remain in complete control of his body.

Gently, she tugged on his arm, urging him into the gentle sanctuary offered by the large, comfortable bed. His expression finally changed, into a scowl, but he complied, climbing onto the bed as she released the veils, letting them settle once more into their original place, shielding the two lovers from the rest of the world.

"Vegeta," she murmured, cupping his cheek with her hand. She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned his head away from her so that her lips met with his cheek instead. She didn't let this stop her, she kissed his cheek and continued downward, her lips caressing his jawline, his neck, his shoulder, before he finally gave in and pushed her away.

The satin sheets swished sensuously under her weight as she fell back onto the silk pillows of the bed, laughing softly, posing her body seductively so that his view of her remained unhindered.

He sat cross-legged, arms folded across his chest, and he stared at her still.

Bulma sighed when it became apparent that he would not be the one making the first move. She decided to coax him into action.

"Vegeta," she said, sitting up in a position matching his, "I know you have something to say to me. So why not just say it, and get it over with?" She matched him, stare for stare.

His eyes narrowed. "Why did you do it?" he asked simply.

Bulma knew exactly what he meant. Why did you lie to me? Why did you attempt to hide my child's existence from me? How could you ever dream of having that human weakling raise my child?

Tears welled up in her eyes. It seemed so foolish now, all the lies, all the deception. She had only wanted to protect her baby. Instead, she had ended up sentencing him to a life without a father, without a father's love. Everything had backfired; the beautiful future she had predicted for her son had flown out the window, just as his father had done so many times before.

To her eternal surprise, Vegeta made the next move. As she sat there, the tears beginning to fall, he leaned forward and pulled her into his arms, his comforting embrace. Bulma gladly accepted what he offered, as she wept on his shoulder.

She attempted to tell him, as best she could, why she had done the things she had. She bared her soul to him, came clean and offered him a peek at what lay beneath the exterior, the hidden doubts and insecurities that she had never before shown to anyone else. Her trust in him, however, was so deeply ingrained in her soul, that she had no choice but to show him everything.

It was the least he deserved, after bearing the brunt of all her lies. After nearly being cheated out of the child they had conceived together.

Through it all he held her against his warm, hard body, offering her a comfort she never knew existed within him. Offering her a part of himself he had always withheld before.

"Oh, Vegeta," she whispered against his bare skin, burying her head against his neck, "I've been so stupid. How could you ever forgive me?" At the thought of never receiving his forgiveness for her actions, she burst into tears yet again.

"Foolish woman," his voice came to her ears, muffled by her hair. She felt him kiss the top of her head, gently, as though she were made of porcelain, so fragile and delicate that she might break if mishandled.

His hands roamed her body, unwrapping her from the veils that had partially hidden her from his view. When the colorful scraps of fabric had all been removed from her, he gazed down at her naked body, not even bothering to hide the lust in his eyes.

Bulma's heartbeat quickened. He still wanted her! That had to be a good sign. She gently tugged at his pants, and he relented to her ministrations as she slowly eased them past his hips, down his muscular thighs, revealing along the way the hardest of all his muscles. Licking her lips, Bulma's gaze remained upon her single-minded goal as she finished removing his pants. She then slowly crawled in between his legs, gently cupped him in her hands, and took him inside her mouth.

Vegeta groaned as her tongue slid over his quivering staff, his hands caressing her head, pulling her closer. Her blue-haired head bobbed up and down between his legs, creating the most erotic image he had ever seen. Her mouth encircled him, and she took him all the way to the back of her throat before pulling back, only to take him even deeper the next time.

Before she could finish him off, however, he pulled her head up and brought her lips to his, so that he could ravage her mouth with a searing kiss, promising to repay her for what she had just done.

And repay her he did.

He pushed her down on her back until she leaned against the mound of pillows. He took one of the pillows and slid it under her hips. He then lifted her legs over her shoulders, as his mouth descended upon her.

Bulma's eyes widened as she felt his tongue coaxing the hidden bud of her pleasure from beneath its hood. She moaned with pleasure as his teeth scraped against the tiny nubbin; the sensations coursing through her body knew no physical limit. In her dreams, her passions were limitless.

His tongue entered her, and he made her scream. She couldn't hold back the sheer, unbridled force of her reaction, feeling him penetrate her with his magical tongue. He swooped in, plundering her tightness just as he had always plundered her mouth. He chuckled at her incredible response, the vibrations of his husky breath sending her over the edge into oblivion, as her fists clutched at the silken pillows, pulling them over her mouth to hide her wild screams.

Vegeta, pulling himself up until he knelt between her legs, yanked the pillows from her grasp and threw them to the side, staring down at the panting woman.

"No, Woman," he warned her huskily, smirking. "Don't muffle your screams. I want to hear them." The feral look in his eyes should have frightened her; instead it turned her on. "I want to hear you scream for me," he growled, hovering above her. Looking straight into her eyes, unblinking, he thrust into her.

Bulma gasped as he filled her; she felt so … complete, with him inside her. As though this was they way things were meant to be. She closed her eyes against the pleasure, leaning her head back on the soft pillows, unable to bear the sheer amount of passionate need any other way.

She felt Vegeta's face pressed against hers, cheek to cheek, as he hissed in her ear, "Open your eyes, Woman." Bulma struggled to open them, and finally succeeded, seeing his face hovering above her again as he continued his pace inside her.

"You will never turn away from me again, Woman," he told her calmly, accenting his words with his thrusts. "You are mine. You will always be mine. Do you accept this?" From his tone of voice, she knew he meant it as a command, not a question.

Her acquiescence was a mere formality.

"Yes," she replied, gasping with pleasure as his pace increased, and she felt herself spiraling towards climax. "I accept!"

With a savage growl, Vegeta began pounding into her with inhuman speed, causing her to scream at the intense pleasure as her orgasm crashed over her, leaving her shaking and shattered.

"Vegeta!" she cried out when the moment came upon her, "I love you!"

At her words, his eyes widened in shock, and he gave in to his need, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as a feral, primitive cry emerged from deep inside his throat. His seed gushed inside her, and he shuddered for several long moments above her before finally collapsing at her side, breathless and panting.

They lay there, in each others arms, for what seemed like hours.

When they had both recovered, they lay there still, each waiting for the other to make the first move, to say something to ease the tension that still lay between them, even after what they had just done.

Vegeta finally broke the moment. "Woman," he spoke, his voice low, contemplative. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," she replied, without hesitation. "I meant it." With a sweet smile, she reached her hand up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, a gesture of warmth and affection.

He stared down at her for several long moments before nodding, and placing his hand over hers, holding it to his cheek. "Good," he said. That was all.

Bulma's resolve wavered. Even in her dreams he couldn't declare his love for her.

How would she ever be able to win over the real Vegeta, then?

Seeing the doubt in her eyes, he leaned over and kissed her gently, chastely, on the lips. "I will return, Woman," he promised her, as he rose, naked, from the bed, parting the veils and flying away.

Bulma gasped at the loss, and quickly peered through the veils, looking for any trace of him.

None remained.

With a sigh, she let the veils fall back into place, and held his navy pants, the last reminder of him, against her breast.

Blinking back the tears, she thought she heard the lilting notes of a sitar gliding through the room.

Shaking her head, she told herself that it was only her imagination; just another aspect of the dream.

Looking around the bed, at all the colors of the rainbow represented in the veils and pillows, she knew what she had learned from this dream.

The color of love.

A/N: Aw, that's so sad! Poor Bulma, even in her dreams she winds up all alone! Well, things will get better for her. … Or will they?

Next Chapter: It all seems like it's coming to a close, doesn't it? Well, maybe it is. But then again … appearances can be deceiving. You'd better hold onto your Pepsi Twist, baby, because there's a sign post saying: "Dangerous Curves Ahead!"

Love, Tina

PS: To all my flamers: Please stop. It's just getting annoying. Thanx.