Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter One: Shal'gata ( Chapter 1 )

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

Evenings on Mizukashi were thick and heavy with humidity. The sky was dim with violet light even deep into the night, as the planet’s short but wide orbit made it impossible for any face of the planet to escape its sun entirely during rotation.  But in early hours of the evening one could spot streaks of red and indigo across the northern horizon, as though finally the sun would rest.
Relentlessly though, the Capital City of Geishan now glimmered in the dimmed, sunlit evening. It was the Eve of Shak’ala, the First Day of Summer. Brolli had not forgotten his heritage, though he had been on Mizukashi nearly seven years this month. In fact, since his King had presented him with sovereign governorship of this planet, he had taken all measures possible to integrate the elaborate, sophisticated culture of the Saiya-jin with the exotic, indulgent culture of the Mizuka-jin. Since that fateful day of his ascension, Brolli had longed to set foot upon Vejiita-sei once again; to feel the smooth orange sand of her southern beaches, and gaze upon her blood red sun would soothe every nerve in his body.
After taking a deep breath of the thick, humid atmosphere, Brolli uncrossed his arms from his broad, bare chest and used one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. His fingers brushed the jeweled diadem that graced his forehead:  a reminder and symbol to all Saiya-jin that he was to be revered.  And as far as the Mizuka-jin were concerned, he was second only to the gods they worshipped with wine
Of course, he reminded himself that he was not a god, or Mizuka-jin.  Though it was difficult on Mizukashi; Saiya-jin royalty and nobility were treated as though their very presence was an offering to the gods themselves. Since the Saiya-jin had discovered this planet, rich in natural resources and high in entertainment value, it had been a unanimous vote to stop orders to purge Mizukashi and welcome it into the sovereign worlds of the Empire.  The Saiya-jin would never be known to pass up a generous stroke to their collective ego.
Thus, on this the Eve of Shak’ala, Brolli was fully prepared to welcome his guests to the Governor's palace to take part in his celebration. Without a doubt, the celebration would last well into the night.  There would be food, drink, music and dance. However, the most exciting of all the festivities this year would be the visit from the Royal House of Vejiita-sei.  Every year, Vejiita-Zarshon would choose one sovereign in the empire and make an esteemed appearance at the Shak’ala festivities. Brolli had been no less than ecstatic to extend the invitation, and had prepared to make the King's stay enjoyable in every sense of the word.
In truth Brolli was more excited to meet the King's son, Vejiita-Zarshi. Rumor had it that the young prince, who was just one year his junior, had already surpassed the strength and energy level of his father. He had hoped beyond hope that the Prince may ask him to become his shoano, his mentor, and in so doing honor Brolli’s House for a thousand years. Brolli's ascension to the level of Super Saiya-jin had, however, already made a great impact on his name. At the age of twenty-eight, he outranked and outclassed thousands of warriors that were twice his age. It had never seemed to shake the humility his mother had taught him though, or the rigid discipline with which his father had raised him.  And though they had been killed during a routine purge many years ago, he would not forget this upbringing.  It showed, also, in his sovereign governorship of Mizukashi.
The Mizuka-jin respected him; more than that, they honored him. Word had been raised that he was the most benevolent ruler in a thousand years, perhaps even in the line of Mizuka-jin rulers who had come before the Saiya-jin. True, it was reflected in the utmost of reverence they held for him. However, there had always been an underlying resentment in some of the older Mizuka-jin, he knew. One could spot it with a trained eye. The older ones remembered the days when the Saiya-jin Empire had brought with it the chaos and destruction of a thousand gods. They had purged, scorned and committed genocide throughout the galaxy, leaving only a few planets intact for their exploitation. It had left a black eye on the Empire for many years, and Brolli had had a hard time convincing the older ones that times had changed.
In any event, it seemed as though many things had settled down over the past seven years. When he was twenty-one and less knowledgeable of other cultures, it had been difficult. Now, it seemed he knew them as well as he knew his own people...he could predict them. Being able to manipulate the mob was as important, if not more so than being powerful physically. Strength of the mind was an essential asset, and he intended to become a master at that as well.
A noise from his room caught his attention, and he turned, facing the chamber from the balcony on which he stood. Brolli crossed his arms again as he caught sight of her from the doorway inside. A woman, similar in physiology to him in every way but the glorious tail, shut the door behind her and leaned against its wooden surface.
The shimmering white dress she wore reached her ankles, but formed perfectly to every curve. The halter of its jeweled neckline decorated her swan-like neck as if it were a fine prize. Nevertheless, he had come to realize after knowing her as a servant, and finally his lover that she was most certainly not a prize. The deep blue of her eyes that matched the exotic beauty of her hair were a fine, innocent disguise to the woman she truly was. Once, she had been a Chikyuu-jin refugee; detained during her planet's purge by the officers responsible for its destruction.   She was quickly recruited for science division research due to her brilliant mind.  Brolli had not discovered the true genius of her mind until he'd punished her one day for constructing an elaborate escape device in her servant quarters. After this incident, he'd realized then that such a woman was not fit for slavery...
She had come to him two years ago as a gift from his friend Raditsu, a high-ranking officer in the Assault Battalion of Vejiita-sei’s Royal House. He remembered the man's elaborate description of her then, as a wild and insatiable thing that would not bend to the will of even the Kaioshin. He smirked vaguely, and approached her now. It was true; everything Raditsu had said had been more than true. Growing to learn who she was had always been a true mystery...no less than frustrating. Brolli found that she had become a drug to him; something entirely toxic to his very existence, and yet he craved it. He would escort her tonight to the festivities.  In fact he half hoped that she would make a particularly favorable impression upon Vejiita-Zarshon if she impressed him with her scientific mind.
But make no mistake; her genius had become as deadly as the woman's tongue and heart.  He had found, over the past two years that Bulma possessed little to none of the qualities that graced the heart of a typical Saiya-jin female. In fact, she was quite the opposite. But it was what he enjoyed in her so much - the very focal point of his desire for her. Brolli supposed, every now and again, that the reason for her heard-heartedness had come from watching her home planet destroyed by Saiya-jin warriors. Not only her planet, but also her family--all had been destroyed save herself and a few others. However, he'd always wondered how a woman like Bulma had escaped the grips of a man such as Raditsu, and why he had given her to him so willingly.  He pushed the thought from his mind as her voice finally graced the walls of the chamber.
“You look nauseatingly handsome this evening, Shakan Brolli.”  Her exquisitely seductive voice caressed his ears like the hand she had laid on his waist. Brolli chuckled and let his smile widen.
“Do I?”  He asked, the simple, husky inflection of his voice caused her body to tense.  He could see it clearly on her face. Slowly, he leaned one palm flat against the door and leaned into her neck, breathing deeply of the soft, fruit-like fragrance that graced her skin. He felt more than heard her laugh very quietly.
“Undoubtedly." Her voice sounded like the low toned birds of early morning on this planet, their sultry voices mingling with the breeze of sunrise. He felt a growl rumble deep in his throat, and he brushed his lips against her skin.
“I approve of the dress you’re wearing," he murmured quietly, laying a hand on the curvy surface of her silken hip. After allowing his fingers to trace lazy patters around the top of her thigh, she laughed again, a sort of moaning sound.
“I’m flattered, My Lord, but the reason I came back here was to change."
Brolli lifted his head and eyed her lazily, then smiled. “Why not this one, then?"
Bulma smirked girlishly and stepped away from him, earning her a moan of disapproval. Slowly, she made her way across the red-carpeted room and towards the immense walk-in closet that housed her wardrobe. Closing her fists over the carved doorknobs, she flung the doors open with a great sigh of what seemed to be boredom.
“It just doesn’t flatter me well enough, does it?” She paused, shuffling through the ornate gowns as if they were all just peasant's clothing. Brolli chuckled aloud then and clenched his fists, dematerializing, and then reappearing behind her. After sliding his fingers inside the low open back of her dress, she gasped and spun around to face him.
“Did I not ask you to stop doing that?” She hissed indignantly. Brolli smiled and brushed his mouth to hers, feeling the addiction to her grow with every passing second.
The way in which her skin slid across his fingers, the way her hair glossed and fell down past her shoulders and brushed at his face; he swore he could see the inner workings of her devious little mind through the glare of blue in her eyes.
“Yes you did,” he said finally.  “And the dress flatters you quite nicely.  Unless you’re worried about impressing anyone other than me tonight, why bother changing?”
Bulma laughed; a short, clear and heartless tone indicating that she was truly amused by his statement.
"Are you the only one I should worry about impressing?"
Brolli felt himself become slightly angered by her question. True, he knew her nature by now, and she was not one to be controlled. But he found himself increasingly more and more jealous of any interactions she had with males other than him. He knew it was not healthy, but somehow it didn’t matter much anymore. A new goal for him was to enslave the wild thing's heart.  And if he could find a way to do it, the gods knew he would.
To give life to his feelings, he placed both hands on the middle of her torso and squeezed heavily enough so that she sighed, leaning into his body. With one deft hand, he reached behind her and flicked open the jeweled holster of her dress, leaving the chain of it to pool against his chest.
“I pity whatever man you are trying to impress tonight, even if it is me.” A grin as wide as a cat's swept across his mouth and subsequently released the lines from her face. He watched as she began to smile once more, and she leaned upwards to capture his mouth in the sweetest and deadliest of kisses ever known to him.
Her mouth was like a trap; she lured men in with the fruit of it, and then poisoned them with her viper-like tongue. The thought of all the challenges he met before her was something of a turn-on, and he returned the passionate kiss with every intention of ravaging her right there in the closet.
An insistent knock at his chamber door shocked his searing body into submission, and he growled inside her mouth. When she did not release him, he decided that the knock could be ignored. She only moaned in protest under his kiss and gripped the back of his neck, urging him to continue. He complied by shoving her against the wall in a movement that was as savage as it was instinctual to him.
The knock at his door became excruciatingly loud, and it panged inside his aroused body like a knife to the gut. Enraged, he tore his mouth from hers and leaned his head back, only to have his neck assaulted by her lips.
“What the hell is it--!” He bellowed, feeling the fur on his tail ruffle with irritation. With seemingly unmerciful tactics, Bulma reached behind him to catch the sensitive, shaking appendage in her soft fingers. He gasped and let his eyes roll back into his head, and then the voice behind the chamber door shouted with insistence.
“Shakan!  Shakan-kalan! Aoraná!”
Brolli groaned under the pleasure of having his tail stroked and the frustration of having been interrupted.
“I said what do you WANT?” He screamed again, his last syllable a hiccupping grunt. Bulma giggled evilly into his neck, then dragged her wet tongue down the center of it. He pushed her more forcefully against the closet wall and resumed the hungry devouring of her mouth until she lifted herself up and enclosed his waist within her thighs.
“Shakan-kalan! The Saiya-jin Royal Court sent word that their convoy will arrive in less than ten minutes! They will await your welcoming party, Sir!”
Brolli’s lips stopped what they were doing, and his face went slack with realization. Ten minutes?  It seemed his heart had stopped functioning until he heard Bulma's giggle once again. He stood, transfixed before her for a moment, and then he leaned out of the closet once more.
“That's amazing now would you LEAVE?"
After a few seconds of silence had gone by, he rolled his eyes again and felt the gentle insistence of her fingertips on his bare chest.  She traced the golden collar that adorned his throat and grinned the way children sometimes do when they are formulating a plan.
“My, my... Terrible situation you’re in, Shakan.”  Her voice was as smooth as ice, and as searing as fire in one breath.  “You’ve got ten minutes until your King arrives and a raging hard-on the size of Vejiita-sei herself.  What is your next move?” Her eyes widened, their blue depths beckoning to him the way a cat hypnotizes its prey. Brolli felt his nerves strike an edge, and her words pierced him more deeply than he had expected them to.  More than he had wanted them to…
“Is it always a game to you?” He hissed, leaning into her face and drawing out an answer from her vicious lips.
She seemed to cower only for a second, and reprieve seemed to wait for him on the horizon. But when her stare hardened again, and her lips pursed gently, he knew he had lost once more, and it enraged him. And the worst element in all of it was that she could see it... she could see the anger and the frustration in his eyes and she reveled in it.  She simply bathed in it.
“Always, Shakan."  She whispered, gripping the golden collar and tugging forward to bring his mouth back to hers. The look of determination and total control on her face was enough to send the most compassionate of men into a flying rage.  Instead he forced himself to remain relatively calm; to take some of the aggression and filter it into nothing more than his sex drive.
Yes, everything was a game to her, including him. But he felt the growing urge to beat her at her own game; to finally tame her, as Raditsu had been unable to. Perhaps it would take many years.  But he found himself discovering that he would not mind waiting so much. She had become his drug.  He had become her plaything.  He promised himself that by the end of summer, the roles would be reversed.