Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Of Him and Her ❯ Of Him and Her ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't write this for profit. We owe the joy of having such amazing characters to Akira Toriyama, who through his genius delivered them to us. This work is written in appreciation for giving me a reason to write again when I thought I would never be able to.

 

A/N: This is more than just a lemon, for many, many reasons. It is a statement to the fandom. I believe that Bulma and Goku having had “something” at some point in time, isn't too farfetched, and I speak on behalf of others who also share that belief. I think this is the most challenging project I've undertaken to date but I don't regret having done so. Now before I get flamed, let me tell you this in no way implies anything negative in regards to the BV pairing. This story stands alone as a look at the unique connection between the two characters that started it all, both of which I completely adore. Set sometime between the end of DB and the beginning of DBZ. To those who may wonder, Nyoibou is the name of the red magic pole in the Japanese version.

 

 

 

Of Him and Her

 

 

She looked like a handspun figurine from this distance, knees sunk in the loamy earth, prostrate before a meager pile of twigs. The movements of her hands were strenuous, her body spasming with the frantic urge to light the unseemly pyre. Even much after the sun had cast its first golden rays over the tops of the trees and birds had cawed their greetings to a new day, she kept at it, hissing and sputtering the weight of her misfortunes. Splinters wedged their way under the cold clammy skin of her palms but she didn't seem to notice. She remained overtaken with her private little plight, but as the sprigs she rubbed in earnest withered, the rumbling of her stomach and the misery of her heart did not.

 

And so she stopped, hesitating a long second before rising and kicking the little pile of branches she'd painfully gathered moments before dawn. They flew everywhere into a bitter disarray that mimicked the patterns of her thoughts. Only a short gray skirt cut to jags of silk covered her legs, a gauzy strapless stop that seemed to have been white before she collided with nature, clinging to her narrow torso. The tiny hairs bristling on her damp skin were enough to let him alight on a simple fact. She wasn't only hungry, she was also terribly cold. It was true that early spring sprinkled the forest with a gossamery palette of flowers and the brisk scent of pine trees, the kind he'd woken up to an infinite number of times, but it also carried forth a brittle tail of winter that whiplashed the weakest forms of life.

 

A smile lit up his face when she inadvertently hit a rock in her flurry of half hearted kicks, a screech echoing across the woods. Her curses, all of which he had first heard upon meeting her years ago, scared away the skylark perched next to him on the branch he sat on languorously. An enormous pain, a throbbing toe that sent shooting stabs across her bird-boned figure, but she wouldn't die. Grouchy, uncomfortable and malnourished, but still alive, as she'd been for the past four days since something crackled into the middle of the mountains.

 

The faraway whirring of the engine had crawled its way to him, the slight trail of mechanical fumes beckoning him in its direction. It had grown stronger as he approached, intermingled with the finer laces of that pure, dainty smell of woman and the tell-tale sprinkle of almonds that signaled her.

 

The head of blue hair, among the emerald trees in this clearing and the sing-song of her voice as she spoke to herself had confirmed the suspicions of his nostrils. They had also clearly evidenced her desire for loneliness and her deliberate insertion into the situation. But her clothes and her lack of equipment to survive in the wilderness proved she'd taken off in the spur of the moment, no thought before action, no remorse in the sullen angles of her face. That first day of her invasion she'd pouted her way to the nearby river, splashing the chilly water over her face. She'd then trudged around the trees, gathering raw material to build a skimpy excuse for an awning that had quickly dilapidated under the weight of the northern breeze.

 

On the second day, the protest of her stomach had led her to feed on wild berries, not before making a moue of distaste. The chipping away of her nails around midday, as she attempted to fix her shoddy shelter had darkened her perpetual glower, but it was towards dusk, with the orange hues of the gloaming melting over the woods, that she'd clenched her stomach in pain and reached for the ample bag she'd brought slung over her shoulder.

 

It was missing.

 

That's when the creatures of the forest scuttled to their burrows, her indignant cries ricocheting against the trunks of the trees like the plea of a wounded animal. She sunk low that day, the vivid fire of her life force waning to a mere flicker as he watched from afar. He knew a bear had taken her bag away, and with it the capsules that could deliver her into the merciful arms of civilization. But it was gone, and he hadn't stopped it, not because he enjoyed her misery, but because he knew she'd have it no other way. This was her decision, the trial she'd picked for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend and his self-appointed task was only to sit here, at times idle and at times bemused, casting the eyes of an eagle over her.

 

And now, on this fourth day of survival, as her wet tresses whipped in the breeze, her cheeks had sunken just a bit more, the shadows under the sea-colored eyes just a bit darker, but her determination to survive ever stronger. Her hips had narrowed infinitesimally, her face a tad more pallid, but thankfully still aglow, and even though the soles of her feet were chaffed and her palms gashed and bloodstained, he still heard the beating of her heart thumping stalwartly against her ribcage. He knew the pace of it, its arrhythmic tendencies and the pressure it pumped with. Time had allowed him to memorize it all, along with every other vital feature that composed her life force. He'd often slept there, eaten there, lulled by it as the hours dragged on in his vigil.

 

He'd chuckled many times as well, witnessing her attempts to cross that river. The spiky foamy waves tossing her around like a rag doll. But tomorrow it should be better, that he knew. He could read the language of the stream enough to understand it wouldn't be wild forever and so she'd walk across and keep moving south, as was most logical. And days later she'd run into that first village with a story to tell. Mt. Paoz, enormous and majestic, this land of bitter winters and dazzling springs, as fiercely beautiful as it was dangerous… and she'd survived. She'd be happy.

 

He smiled against the bark of the tree with eyes half-hooded from his recent slumber. He could have stayed there a bit longer, privately entertained by her petty woes, but just as routine demanded he sniffled for breakfast in the morning breeze. He was getting ready to jump away for a quick bite when he heard it. Every muscle in his body tensed, the noises leading him to crawl over the branch with the nimbleness of an ape.

 

Bulma sat on the ground holding her foot in an awkward angle, concentrated on the pain that irradiated from the tip of her toe when she heard it. She jolted and scrambled back in fright when the loud noises erupted before her, booming roars and sudden yelping in a blurry spectacle of epic proportions, a hulking brownish mountain and dashes of red and orange colliding in a fight that echoed the gory displays of a Roman Arena. A massive beast pawed at incredible speed, staved off by a single pole… Nyoibou? Nyoibou… Nyoibou, was she seeing visions?

 

She covered her eyes with her arm when the rabid growling grew nearer, the scuffle sending the contenders rolling over the ground, the contrast as stark as night and day and yet the slim figure tossed the creature off with an unnatural grace. His arm tightened around the thick neck of the grizzly bear, getting lost amidst the fur and rendering it unconscious. She chose to avert her eyes as he dragged the animal into the depths of the forest, as far away as he could.

 

She'd already regained her breath, the pounding of her heart back to normal when he returned to the clearing. He emerged from the dense foliage with his training uniform stained and torn, a deep cut on his bicep bleeding streams down his arm. The slits of his shirt let her see his torso was slashed too, nothing left untainted in his dirty, mauled body. Jet black bangs fell in disarray over the wide eyes that looked at her intently. “Bulma…” He started with a half smile.

 

“Did you kill it?” Was all she whispered, but he only treaded in her direction and sunk on his knees before her. “Why would I do that?” He asked in obvious puzzlement. Bulma parted her lips, shaken not just because he'd happen to descend upon her so unexpectedly, but because of his nonchalance.

 

“Because it tried to kill me? Because it tried to kill you?” Her pitch grew higher along with her sarcasm.

 

“It was only trying to catch a meal. It wasn't its fault you were here, stinking up the forest with that particular smell of…”

 

“Of what'” She sounded indignant.

 

He looked upwards and twisted his lips in boyish pondering. How could he describe the succulence of her particular aroma to the wildlife creatures? “Mm… almonds…” Her body lotion… “Mandarin… Orange Blossom…” The perfume she applied so long ago she could barely even remember its name. What day was it again? He slanted a brow and sniffed deeply around her, immediately grimacing in distaste as he caught the base notes of some weird chemical concoction he couldn't quiet put a name to. The makeup that had already faded away after so many hardships? “Yuck, I don't even know what that is…” He said almost to himself.

 

Bulma pressed her lips into a thin line and clonked him in the head with a hollow piece of dried wood. “What are you doing here?” She chided. “How is it you pounced over that beast at the exact moment it went for me?”

 

Goku cringed, her voice chiming mercilessly in his ears. “I…” Something like fear peered through the mindboggling face of the youth who'd not long ago turned into a man. He scratched his temple and sent her a sheepish smile. “Does that even matter anymore?”

 

He really did possess a particular brightness, a spark proper to a genius savant. It was the kind of thing that couldn't be taught in the bleak halls of school and that he probably wasn't even aware of, but it shone clearly when least expected. “But if you want me to leave, I will. Just keep Nyoibou with you to help along the way.”

 

Bulma, worn out and aching from days of unspeakable torment, battled with the need to scold him for his voyeurism but she found she was overtaken with simpler emotions. Who cared if he'd been there all along, gazing over her like a woodland spirit? Not only had he saved her life, he'd also rescued her from the perturbing loneliness and the deafening silence of the day. She finally got to talk to another human being, which was a grand thing, even if she was still here, stranded, actually stranded, not just pretending to be like in the beginning.

 

But she wondered at his presence. Hadn't he moved into Gyumao's palace and disappeared amid the throng of people preparing the biggest wedding this side of the world had seen? Last she'd heard lace ran like rivers, food was being concocted for thousands and the new chateau erected after the fire was being trimmed in shimmers of gold and jewels that would befit the Ox Princess.

 

He moved back, grabbing the red pole that'd been lying on the ground next to him and offered it to her with a limpid smile. “I'll come back for it later.”

 

She grabbed his shirt just as he was turning around. “When's the wedding?” She blurted before thinking, her need to know gaining on her.

 

He sent her a look of surprise. “Wedding? Oh. I think I know what you're talking about.” He raised knee, ready to make his disappearance. “Not yet…” With that he sprung upwards like a coil, rising over the ground but a dainty hand wrapped around his leg halted him.

 

“You can't leave me alone here. Not anymore.” She looked up into his face, hunger, sleep deprivation and a real need brimming in her eyes, an amalgam of emotions he had most difficulty dealing with. She pulled herself up by clinging on to the remains of his clothes until they stood face to face.

 

He crinkled his nose in that way he did when confronted with a problem too complicated for his liking. “But I thought, from what you said when you were talking to yourself that you wanted to be alone and to prove…”

 

“Oh screw that!” She cried bunching his shirt with her fists. “Do you know what I want right now Goku? What I really want?” Her eyes fastened to his with blowing intensity making him tilt his chin downwards and widen his eyes. “What?” He said in a trancelike stupor.

 

“I want to eat…” She shook her head miserably, her voice hushed but heavily grieved. “I want to bath… I want a soft warm bed and a steak with garlic-chive butter and roasted baby potatoes on the side.” Her weakened hands attempted to shake him but failed miserably. “But mostly, I don't want to be left here alone anymore. If you do, I swear I'll… I'll kick you.”

 

He stared at her overwhelmed, her face twisting in a wry, sour protest. It was at times like this when he realized just how much he appreciated the relative quietude of the woods. There was freedom and placidness in this life and it was that which made it difficult for him to manage the jarring emotions of others. But just as it was challenging, it was equally compelling, and so he stared into her blue eyes with empathy.

 

“That's no problem. I can take you back to Capit…”

“Noo” She shrieked, letting go of his shirt. “I'd rather sit here and wither away.” With that she tottered away in a random direction, the threadbare remains of the thousand zeni suit tight against her thinned out frame.

 

Goku remained there dumbfounded, glancing down at Nyoibou, not for the first time perplexed by the mysteries of the female gender. He leaned down to grab the pole and stared at her back as she stepped away unsteadily. Her feet had been left free and bruised after her pretty patent leather shoes had perished on the rough surface of the forest floor. Stay or leave? But Bulma would bite his head off either way, wouldn't she? So what was it she wanted? Well she'd named quiet a few things and still he couldn't make sense of it.

 

Her sudden yelp jogged him out of his daze. He saw her stumble on a rock, loose her balance and succumb to gravity and just like that he knew exactly what to do.

 

A strong arm lifted her from the waist and held her tight. “Please listen to me okay?” He asked as they levitated over the forest floor. He began gliding in a different direction, skirting the trunks of the trees and the branches along the way. He carried Nyoibou on his back and her on his arms, forcing her to throw her own around his neck to remain steady. “I wouldn't know how to give you the things you just mentioned.”

 

“The what'” Bulma breathed, chest heaving as she looked at his profile.

 

“I said I wouldn't know where to get the things you were talking about, the ones you needed. But I can give you this.” Bulma twisted her neck in time to see the broad trunks of the pine trees part and give way to a glade that seemed to extend towards infinity. She emptied her lungs, lips parting at the sight of the bright profusion of wildflowers in bloom that carpeted the pasture. Purple orchids, yellow coneflowers and blue bells awakened to spring from the fury of winter and shimmered in the sunlight.

 

He dropped her un-elegantly on the ground, her knees finally giving away to weakness. She fell back amid the delicate display of flowers, staring around her for a brief second before glancing back up at him. “Goku, I never said I wanted flowers.” Despite the physiological needs taxing her system, there was a shadow of a smile on her face.

 

He grinned, genuinely amused as she lay there buried to the neck, as frail as the petals around her. “I didn't mean the flowers. I meant what's beyond this place. You did say you needed something else but you'll have to catch me to know what I'm talking about.”

 

Bulma slanted a brow, tickled by his words. She took in the playful eyes as black as the night, the thick, raven threads of hair clotted with dirt. He had grown taller than her, slender and strong like the trees he'd lived among. She'd never thought it possible, somehow believing he'd remain a child forever, but at nineteen there was no point in denying he had morphed into a rare spectacle to any woman's eyes. He was otherworldly, that's the only way she could describe it.

 

“What… what do you mean?” she asked in a haze.

 

“You'll need to catch up with me.” He added with a shrug, rising above the ground in a puff of his own energy and rolling in the air with the grace of a gymnast. He then sped away with the aid of his bukujutsu, startling her to a standing position right away.

 

“Wait for me” She hollered, sprinting across the glade as he flew alongside her. Their shadows fell like marks of ink over the meadow as they dashed towards the horizon. She didn't understand how she managed to run so fast, her legs moving by rote to keep up with him. It squeezed every thought off her mind, every knot off her muscles, to run without thought to consequence. And her heart rose to her throat, her lungs distended, as she became a blur next to him until she though there was no way she could ever stop.

 

Just like that the world ended, as if God himself had sliced the rest of the ground away. She'd been running for so long, so overtaken in the perfect freedom of the motion that she was unable to break her speed when the flowery expanse slanted downwards and turned into a cliff. Bulma lost to inertia and the soles of her feet touched nothing but air, sending her on a freefall not even her cries could stop.

 

She vaguely caught the sparkle of blue that waited, bracing herself for the impact, but it was his grip on her shoulders what she felt first. It was a gentle swooshing of air cushioning her descent before she splashed over crystalline waters. He barreled into them alongside her with his own scream of exhilaration and kicked around below the surface. Both broke the water, Bulma inhaling loudly and gasping for air. Not a thought, just the sight of him emerging as well and shaking his long black locks in the process.

 

She spit and struggled to regain her breath, instinctively reaching for him as she bobbed in the middle of the spring. “Go… Goku. Don't let go. Don't let go.”

 

“It's ok here, just look around and you'll see.” He chortled. Bulma turned to glance at the scenery, a small placid lake nestled between the wildflowers, pooling at the foot of a narrow waterfall. He whistled and pushed the hair away from his eyes. “I didn't think you had it in you to run so fast but you can sure move like your flying. That is amazing.” He said excitedly before burying his head back under the water and gliding in the direction of the cascade.

 

She did the same, indulging in the quiet beauty of this part of the forest, so secluded and virgin she nearly felt unworthy. She curlicued below the surface, like a bird floating with total abandon over the mountains. When she finally surfaced again, feeling oddly purified by the motions, she saw him crawling over an enormous boulder with utmost plasticity. The upper portion of his uniform, or better said, the shreds that remained of it, gone now as were his boots.

 

He stood on the jutted rock, Nyoibou still strapped to his back, as the shower of water fell over him with poetic grace. She couldn't really focus on the angles of his body. They were disguised under the blur of the waterfall and so was the expression of his face. It all somehow reminded her of the fact she didn't have any more clothes, nor did him. This tiny film that now stuck to her body like glue was the only thing that shielded her breasts against the chills of the day. This drenched piece of silk wrapping over her thighs the only other barrier covering her from the creatures of the forest.

 

“Come stand here…” He poked his face from under the sheets of water to issue the invitation, extending an arm in her direction. She grabbed unto his hand and squealed as he hoisted her up to stand next to him.

 

“Noppody knows pppt… nnppody bpput you.” He sputtered under the shower as he attempted to speak. She thought she understood… that nobody knew about this place, no one except her and the notion somehow flattered her, accidental as it was. It was amazing… outstanding, this feeling of crystal waters enveloping her thoroughly. “You are a complete knucklehead you know?” She yelled, clinging to his neck and pulling him down with her again to the pool. They floated under the surface together, eyes narrowing and bubbles spraying around them. His hair was long and wild, his eyes so wide and expressive she thought he really didn't need a mouth at all. It had been years since she'd spent time alone with him, and back then she'd walked around in nanny mode. That little rug rat, that forest critter, that wild boy that believed technology was black magic. He was now this long, lean creature of perfectly positioned muscles, of some sort of alien beauty. Was she wrong to even reflect upon that fact? That her little toy soldier had morphed into a swan with pale rose lips and high cheekbones? That he… oh, a swirl. He swam around her body and kicked her roughly on the ribs, a barrel, a twirl… as he dragged her down with him. A tug to her hair, the legs of a female hooking around his, and then back to kicking water together again.

 

She squawked and shook her tendrils over the surface, smacking his face with them. “Gah” He complained.

 

“You deserve more, you little bastard.” She laughed, a blue flame ignited in her eyes.

 

“I don't know… Bulma. I don't think you can truly do much.” He delivered with biting sincerity in his enormous eyes.

 

“Little prick.” She landed a blow on his bicep.

 

“Bulma.” He said before uttering an “ow” and jerking his body away. “Bulma, Bulma.”

 

She took the bait with delight, chasing him around and clouting him where she could. “Bulma… Bulma.”

 

“Stop saying it.” She whined, amazed that at 23 she sounded exactly the same way she had at 16 when she'd first found him at the other side of this mountain. He'd teased her with her name much in the same way back then, grabbing his belly in a fit of laughter over the dull ring of her unfortunate moniker.

 

He whistled and chuckled, easily avoiding her fists. And so the minutes unfurled, both caught in blithe indifference to the passage of time. The merciless fangs of hunger ravaging their guts reminded them of the pressing need for sustenance and drove them out when the sun shone higher.

 

Bulma merely watched from her sitting position on a bed of crimson flowers as he disappeared down the spring and appeared moments later, carrying an enormous fish over his shoulders. She remained enthralled in his movements while he quickly gathered enough wood to start a fire and roast his catch. It was all a seamless string of motions from someone who'd obviously done this a million times before.

 

They ate together, him gobbling up nearly all of it and she gratified by the pulpy white meat filling up the black hole in her stomach. She threw herself on the soft cushion of petals afterwards, gazing up at the bits of sky that crept between the leafy tops of the trees. He dragged his body to rest on his side next to her, one hand holding the magic pole above his head.

 

After a moment spent in silence, she narrowed her vision and asked in a small voice. “It was supposed to be last week, wasn't it? The wedding.”

 

He only yawned and regarded her with glassy eyes. “I don't know. I can't remember.”

 

At the sound of that Bulma raised her upper body and leaned on one arm to look down at him. “It was. I know it was for sure. Why are you here right now and not back at the palace?” Goku shifted in attention to her, distraught by how different she seemed from that scrawny girl he'd left behind when he was only a child. Her skin was milky still, but her frame was fuller, plump and fleshy in several parts. Two pale round breasts covered in nothing but translucent gauze hovered above, resembling ripe fruits with pink nubs peering at him. They looked hard to the touch, but also fleshy. He didn't remember this part. Bulma used to be a blue-haired squiggle in his brain with an exclamation mark next to it. It would sometimes do strange things in his mind in the middle of the night. But he'd barely remembered anything after dawn. Bulma wasn't this uncomfortable ardor slinking into his bowels.

 

“Why…” Her voice became more insistent.

 

“I get lost in the palace.” He answered simply. “I get lost all the time. I know my way around here but I think she doesn't like the idea of coming over and living here that much.”

 

“She wants you two to live with her father.” It wasn't a question more than it was a statement. It all made sense to her now.

 

“Something like that.” He finished. “I don't quite understand why, but she said it'd taken the villagers too much effort to rebuild it after the fire. That the treasure hidden in the basements was enough to not only do that, but to furnish a comfortable living as… husband and wife.” He mentioned the last words as someone who'd recently learned them off a dictionary.

 

He gave her a slanted smile and lazy eyes. “That's how it goes.”

 

“I am sorry.” She mouthed, not truly paying attention to her words but instead focusing on the locks of hair stuck to his damp cheek. “And I guess I am sorry you had to wrestle a bear for me and it made you bleed all over.” A quick glance to his cuts was enough to realize a few were still half open, although miraculously enough, the dripping had mostly stopped. What was that light toasted, smooth skin made of?

 

“I know you know my story, how Yamcha and I got into a stupid argument that ended in him calling me a spoiled little girl who had no idea what true hardship was. What was it again? Sure… a rich girl who'd die in the blink of an eye if she had to endure a minute of the kind of rough life he'd led. Someone who'd never earned the right to anything, nor ever would.” The memory of the words was still piercing and so she shook her head and decided to loop a leaf between her fingers. “But I don't want to… aah”

 

Her sharp cry startled him to his knees. She wiped some sort of insect away from her foot and grabbed it in pain, crying his name in a despondent manner. “Please…” She kept saying, rocking back and forth.

 

“Stay still” He soothed, positioning himself so he could grab her legs. “No” She wailed, kicking at him and looking up as her head fell back on the mossy surface. “God… why me.”

 

“Please, hush! Stay still. I need to do this.” He grabbed her leg firmly and held her foot in place. “Can you trust me?” He bellowed down over her cries. When she didn't answer, he merely clamped his hot mouth over the arch of her foot, where the insect had bit. His teeth dug into the tender skin, the hard suction both painful and ticklish. And so her laments turned to laughter, the kind a little child utters on a playground. “Stop” She repeated, attempting to release her limb, and kicking his head with her free foot.

 

Yet he remained unmoving, firmly attached to her foot, making sure he got all the venom out. “Stop!” More kicks to his head, but he was still clamped. He then spit to the side and wiped his mouth with his blue wrist cuff. She writhed as his hands pinned her hips to the ground. “Calm down, Bulma.” She squealed nervously and coughed with a throat sore from laughing. “Oh no, the thing also bit me in the waist.”

 

Goku lifted her translucent top to look at her side, a red mark clearly marring the otherwise white skin. So it began again, Bulma wrestling under his powerful grip as he suckled forcefully to extract the dangerous substance. She could feel the wet, blazing fire of his saliva burning her, the slightly calloused warmth of his hands on her waist running her little blouse up. His locks of hair became a toy for her to tug on as she whimpered and chortled in desperation. “No...” She rasped, legs curling around his nude torso.

 

And then he spit to the side again. “Why did you have to do that?” She questioned with a lazy smile, flushed and disheveled after laughing like she hadn't in years.

 

“Those things can be deadly and this is the only way to get all that gummy poison out.” He explained before sinking to the ground next to her again. He looked more than a bit red and agitated himself, she noticed. She had moved to perch her weight on her elbow.

 

“We'll have to get out of here soon before the rain comes.” Came his warning. His nostrils flared to scent the electrified air around him. “I'll have to take you back to where I've been staying lately.”

 

“Please do so. Just no more bites from Son Goku.” She chuckled, tilting her head and placing a fingertip over his plump lower lip. Her eyes wandered south out of their own volition until they rested over his pants. She tried to remain unfazed, but they widened at the sudden realization of what lay there, clear and evident as daylight.

 

She cleared her throat and stared dumbfounded. The wet garment clung to his body and bunched in places, but it bulged prominently in the middle of his thighs. She remained enthralled in the tent-like erection before returning to his face. “Goku, you are… in the…” Her pupils danced back and forth, completely taken aback.

 

“Oh that.” He smirked candidly. “It sometimes happens. Don't worry it isn't painful.”

 

Bulma blinked. He didn't even know what “it” was. He braced his weight on his forearms and clenched his buttocks to make his hips rise and fall repeatedly. “It's really easy for me to get rid of, at least most of the time.”

 

“And other times?” She asked automatically.

 

“Well, other times.” The muscles in his arm bulged as he moved his fingers to glide over the back of his neck. “Other times it just keeps coming back.”

 

After a moment where they both merely stared at the protrusion, Bulma felt her lips dry out. She didn't dare sweep her eyes over the hillocks of his abdomen or the taut muscles on his chest but they were already imprinted in her mind. They shared a place along the memory of the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a fighter. He was all a tight godly package wrapped in sun-kissed skin, soon to be claimed by his rightful owner. Chichi. Him and her, on their wedding night was what crossed her mind as he led her to the new location. But her “little” brother was big enough now, wasn't he.

 

Certainly big.

 

------------

 

She would have protested at the rustic scenario of a cave, but after the hellish ordeal she'd gone through it seemed like a five star hotel. The cavity wasn't too big, which allowed the small fire in the middle to warm it up fast. She couldn't have been more thankful for it now that the skies bled a torrid tempest, lighting and thunder crisscrossing over the mountain.

 

They had sat ensconced in the thick lush pelts of bears for much of the evening, their garments hanging over Nyoibou like they would over a clothesline. He'd produced plentiful of berries from a nearby vine, some of which he sluiced over his and her cuts, others which they ate like candy. They stopped only when their stomach strained and their tongues became saturated with the sweetness. And as the sun set over the horizon, painting angry streaks of red in its descent, the first black clouds had begun to gather, sending them to the deepest part of the cave.

 

They'd leaned against the surface, watching shadows waltz like moving frescoes over the walls and making silly little conversations about nothing. She would sometimes raise her voice in joking reprimands, earning his careless quips. He would also recount short tales of the life he led with his grandfather and in that manner time went by, a lazy haze as he hung his head and sifted his fingers through his thick luxurious hair, undoing the knots with particular patience.

 

She had time to reflect on the truth. The world stood still for him, turning at his pace and not the other way around, free as a bird and splendidly august. And yet she couldn't help but feel comfortable in his presence, stripped from Majorica pearls or Chinese silk. Naked and human, the way only he saw her.

 

When the fire died down to a smoldering pile of ashes and their idle chatter turn to a morose few words, he rose and grabbed Nyoibou. Their now dry pieces of clothing slid off the pole, and they dressed in silence, she careful to not gaze upon his nudity. He chose to only don his red pants, leaving shirt and boots thrown to the side. What a pathetic excuse for clothes, she instantly thought, pulling her flimsy panties up and pushing her torn up skirt over it. Who should bother with them?

 

A flash of light announced the death of the fire and so they were left in the penumbra, listening to the wind and the water melding outside.

 

“I am cold Goku.” She complained with open distaste as he lied down and rolled himself up in the toasty fur. “I can't do this.”

 

“Someone told me I snore, so I might keep you up.” He warned as she dragged her body to lie next to him. He covered them both with the fluffy skin before sending an arm behind his head in the manner of a pillow. Bulma pressed her back to his chest, their hands careful to remain away from each other as they sought sleep, but their feet were touching, her bare legs against the fabric of his pants.

 

The gentle pounding of his heart and the showers outside lulled her into a nebulous state of half-slumber. Time and space appeared molten into a single mixture with no beginning or end.

 

“Did you ever feel alone.” She whispered more asleep than awake, an inordinate number of minutes later. “Alone in the forest, when he died. Do you ever…” She didn't know if she finished the sentence, nor could she tell how long it was before he shifted and answered languidly. “I'm never alone.”

 

The rain. It drizzled evenly… spring was here, but winter, winter not yet gone. But he said it wouldn't be too long. A flash of thoughts, after being woken by his gentle snoring.

 

Minutes, very long, eternal minutes of sleep and another idea surfaced to her hazy mind. It was fun running, fun swimming, fun eating… it was fun living today. Oh God and it was warm like a day in the beach, sweat gathering between her breasts and over her upper lip.

 

Her hand slid down the arm that was now thrown over her, fingers gliding through its smoothness, past his wrist cuff until they splayed over his own. Half-numb and half-wanting, one leg bent over hers and squeezed her lean muscles in the process.

 

And then there it was again. Her eyes opened to slits when the hardness pressed against her tailbone, his breathing still even and wet over her ear. He was also immersed in dreams, or so she thought, burying her face on the fur. She insinuated a movement with her bottom, lightly grinding against his turgid muscle. And he responded. A long jagged breath escaped his lips before he inched his hips forward, finding infinite consolation in that simple movement.

 

She undulated her buttocks again, now pressing harder, meeting his body as he moved against her. Her hand sought his thigh to grab it in a weak attempt to curtail his little grinds. Virgin and pure, he didn't know what he was doing, and nor did she. In fact she didn't have the slightest clue. Again, oh… against her bottom, now as solid as a rock, but his chest still rose and fell in a woozy slumber.

 

Take them off, was the only thought in her mind, but it faded to black when another wave of deep sleep crashed over her.

 

And then it started again, when thunder reverberated in the distance and half-woke her. The grinding, the careless rubbing of his swollen flesh against her meaty behind, now faster… now a bit more eager. Her intakes of air remained shallow and her fingertips tingled.

 

Take them off, baby brother. His breathing was now irregular a strong hand coming to rest on her hip bone. She pressed shamelessly, grinding so strongly, air caught up in his throat.

 

His nose sank in between her tresses to sniff the faint aroma of sunny meadows. Rub, rub, that little head of pleasure… grind. Kami? Was this a dream? Yes, his mind blared. Yes, yesss. Shooting pleasure like he'd never known in real life, the kind that only assaulted him in his sleep.

 

Her limbs tensed with desire and a shaky hand grabbed unto his pants, her bottom going at it with steadfast determination. It took only a few minutes for an unmistaken wetness to finally erupt and creep through his pants unto her skirt and dampen her ass.

 

She whispered his name before shifting around to seek his now gasping mouth with her own. And so she latched unto plump juicy lips like cherries in a moist and sloppy kiss that had no shape or form. Here was his name again, crushed in the middle of it.

 

Faster than she could gather, he dragged his somnolent body over hers, Nyoibou clinking and rolling away as he swept it with a hand inadvertently. She opened her legs wide enough under the fur for him to settle between them and resume his grinding. It was a fit of dry humping, while his hot wet lips slaked her dry ones, his hips pressing against hers, unsure why, unthinking and abandoned. Her sweaty hands reached south to snag his waistband and push his pants down, her toes coming to aid in the process of freeing him up. “Off… baby…off”

 

And so it came to be that the virgin youth between her legs, overtaken by instinct and desire, placed hasty hands over hers and pulled down forcefully, his pants bunching at his knees. They then glided unceremoniously to raise her skirt up and knot it at her waist. A tangle of fingers gathered between their bodies as they sought the edge of her panties and pulled them down as far as they could.

 

Bulma tugged her top down, bouncy breasts springing free from their bindings. She pulled his hair down to bring his face between the sweaty mounds of her breast. And he acquiesced, suckling noisily and with painful desperation. She gaped, opening her mouth in a mute gesture of asphyxiating pleasure.

 

He didn't know where to put that other thing, too concentrated on merely pushing down with his hips to satisfy the strenuous hunger of his dick. “Inside.” She breathed against his hair, raking nails down the damp muscles of his torso until she found the source of his torment. She grabbed the thick distended length and pumped it a couple of times.

 

He merely whimpered, uttering little “huhs” like a lost creature attempting to understand what she wanted. But when she guided him inside, there was no way he could hesitate. It was instinct telling him to push, to go as far in as possible, satisfying the desire of his flesh by milking her juices.

 

He buried his face in the hollow of her neck and pounded away, moisture gathering between their bodies. And she kept pulling at the locks of hair as strong as she could, desperately trying to become one with him, forcing him down over her body with what little strength she could muster.

 

He was going to break her in half, of that she was sure, each thrust merciless and unguarded, going deep into the scorching fire of her womb. Break her in half, over and over again until there was nothing left of her. Tears stung her eyes as she cried, in frustration and in pleasure, in one single massive wave of wanton. His name, she was mouthing his name… oh brother. No, not now. Right here, right now, he belonged to her.

 

She raised her legs and placed them over his shoulders as he banged her, tongues licking and lapping each others saliva in a messy tangle. “No…” he gasped, certain he would kill her and still unable to balk his movements. “I can't stop.” He whispered as he pistoned into the tight wet pouch beneath him. “I can't stop”.

 

“I am going to die.” His voice was breathy and shaky, back arched and muscles tense like a coil. “I'm dying.”

 

Bulma smiled and panted, hugging him to her with all her strength. “We'll die together and come back to life.” Was her shivery reply, palms sliding over his wide sweaty shoulders. He opened his eyes wide that second, arching his back even further, pupils narrowed to pinpoints of savage pleasure. And he rasped a cry, spitting cum inside her clenched up nook in several plentiful spurts. The swollen muscle palpitated inside her vagina, and his thighs quivered like they were made of jelly. God, her hands over his body felt good, her nails grazing his bottom sending little shocks of pleasure right into his pulsating manhood.

 

A second later she convulsed, fingers bunching up his mane and tugging upwards. “No…” He breathed, unable to understand how he'd managed to kill her when he'd spent a good portion of time saving her from harm. “No, no.”

 

“Yes” She groaned in a reedy pitch, crushing her mouth over his with such ardor he couldn't help but drink from her. And so they rolled around, wrapped in the warmth of the fur, limbs tangled. It was a moment before she reached down to slip his pants over his feet in a frantic gesture of lust, the still erect silhouette of his penis jutting hungrily from the juncture of his thighs. And knowing this would be the first and last time, she tasted the salty virgin skin over his muscles, she nibbled and sucked at his hardened nipples, at his jaw, at his earlobe, lungs deflating and soul singing when his arms wrapped around her torso. She was deflowering a god. Her god of war, of peace and of freedom… she exhaled.

 

His arms around her waist, so tightly she felt she couldn't breathe, hips rising in uncontrolled movements and cock straining to find her hole again and ram her. She reached down to put it in place and let him have it, all he wanted to take. She was his as much as he was hers from now unto forever. He pushed it into the tumid flesh and gasped a series of childlike noises, muscles tensing as he pummeled with barely restrained strength.

 

The night transpired in hazy flashes of something unexplainable, saliva, sweat and tears mixing together with every awkward movement. The inexperienced, jerky movements not taking away from the pleasure of skin against penis or teeth against nipples. The rapid movement of his hips never abated, the hushed panting never quieted, not even when his shaft kept slipping out or tongues got bitten by accident.

 

The erratic love went round and round, elevating them until they touched the stars above. When they did they snatched them and ate them greedily, until they felt their gut would burst, the golden glitter exploding out of their every crevice, blinding them to reason. One touch and a million memories relived as they kept dying in each others arms.

 

“You seem different than me somehow… you seem softer and weaker”

 

“Well of course, you are boy and I'm a girl... don't tell me you'd never seen a girl before.”

 

“You're the first human I've seen, besides my grandfather… he said if I ever met a girl, that I should be nice to her…”

 

Was he complying with his wish or was he crushing it. Was he causing the cries or killing them? Was it both?

 

When the first rays of light angled through the cave, they found them curled unto each other, hair knotted and genitals swollen, a dainty hand over a much bigger one.

 

He would wake up before her and she'd find him putting his blue boots on with that same serene expression over his face. She'd sit up, looking for her clothes and donning them in placid silence. Then the morning would unfurl as they amble through the forest, eating pomegranates and exchanging remarks about the weather. He'd laugh out loud at the state of her clothes when noticing the gaping hole on her bum and she'd elbow him in the stomach.

 

That's the way it'd go… until time ran out and she gazed up at him, giving him the cue. He'd grab Nyoibou and her and bukujutsu across the woods until the smoke of the first chimneys of a nearby village streaked the sky.

 

------------

 

That day, in that party after the victory over the pink demon Buu, when he showed up late, Chichi embarrassed her in front of others by suggesting she harbored a secret crush on him. The comment had come completely unexpected but perhaps she'd earned it. She had spoken aloud a thought that the high-strung black haired woman could easily misinterpret, especially while being in such a state of agitation: It just wasn't the same without him.

 

It was a candid statement, innocent in its delivery but Chichi's sarcastic remark had struck a chord deep inside her. Had so much time gone by that so much separated them now? That his wife would push her away with mordant words as if she were nothing but a pesky little bug fluttering in the vicinity? But when he came back to earth after Yardratsei, they still caught each others eyes and smiled knowingly behind peoples back. After he died in the battle with Cell, she could sometimes feel him next to her during stormy nights. No doubt about it, in death his presence was much stronger, mute but steady, like that same watchful spirit from the woods so many years before.

 

And now, all this time later, that novice had turned into more than just a man, he'd become the light of this world. He was no longer her savior, but everybody else's. A husband, a father but still a free-spirit, so free in fact, she couldn't feel him anymore. Odd, how life had taken him away from her completely.

 

Those were her thoughts as she cleared a table, handing plates to a whirring bot that hovered in the proximity. The chitchat from the gang had quieted into a gentle murmur after the excitement of seeing him arrive had waned. It was now only him and Krillin, sitting at a nearby table, speaking with lilting tones about a myriad of things only they had patience for.

 

Bulma pursed her lips and handed the last item of cutlery to the bot before turning to follow it into the kitchen. She nearly rounded a corner, nearly, but she halted before doing so when she heard her name in the hushed whispers of the little man.

 

“…Bulma. Chichi was so pissed off she lashed out at her. Can you believe she said she thought they should exchange partners?” He chuckled boisterously but then resumed the quiet whisper, unaware she could hear what he said. “That'd be the day. You and Bulma together is the most outrageous thought I've ever come across.” Goku merely lifted his eyebrow, giving him a slanted smile and a short chuckle. “Now let's go…” Krillin continued, almost jumping from his seat. “I think that show I was talking to you about is coming on in a few minutes. I swear it's the funniest thing ever.” He nodded towards the door before disappearing through it.

 

She didn't know why she did it, but she stepped back and sought his face unabashedly. He was rising, straightening his pants when he felt her. He did a double take and their eyes met, hers clear like the streams of his mountain, his black like the nights she'd spent in it. A few seconds like that and the rest of the world vanished around them.

 

It was there. There. She could see it. The flicker of a memory shining through in his eyes. They were dancing like weightless creatures beneath the water on the first days of spring. No one else would've caught it, but she did, the minute narrowing of his eyes, the ghost of a smile. She lowered her eyelids in slow motion, lips curving millimetricaly before she disappeared behind the wall and went on her way.

 

Yes, they were there still, strewn over red flowers in a place nobody knew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

END

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A/N: This story had been swirling around in my head for many months, but it was a particular discussion at the DBZ Fanfic Salon that pushed me to write it:

 

http://z8.invisionfree.com/DBZ_Fanfic_Salon/index.php?showt opic=9270

 

I am deeply thankful to the people who encouraged me to finally do so.

 

Caprice