Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Scandalous ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. Surely that's obvious. Think of all the hentai I would have added. The good kind. Not the tentacle raping kind. I mean, really, wtf is that crap about?

A/N: I truly had no intention of adding another chapter to this story. I don't even know if I will add more after this. I guess it just depends on whether or not I have another sex dream. BTW do you see a running theme here? What is it about balconies? Maybe I have some sort of unrealized fantasy? And apparently issues about adultery. Hey, what's writing for if not for therapy?

Scandalous

Bulma sat on the wide, stone banister of her balcony, gazing up at the starless pit of sky where the moon used to hang. Her bare feet dangled into the void where darkness swallowed up the lawn three stories down. Night-blooming jasmine climbed the wall reaching for her heels, and she could taste the sweetness of it in her mouth. Her hands were fisted around the tails of Yamcha's white button-down shirt, her knuckles resting on the stone between her bare thighs.

Inside, through the open French doors, Yamcha was sleeping on sex-rumpled sheets. Kiss, blow, flip and stick. The same routine every time. He kissed her, she blew him, and then he flipped her over, and fucked her until she faked it. Kiss, blow, flip and stick. Nowadays it was without the kiss, and she was sure he would just rather be blown than bother with the stick, especially on someone who had been a sure thing for the last ten years. Sex for habit's sake was exhausting. She couldn't remember the last time she came for Yamcha. For her, the best part had been coming with him inside her. To be filled up and full. To feel his love and desire for her. To feel connected. No connection, no bliss.

"Thinking of jumping?"

She startled, nearly flipping backwards off the rail. Vegeta caught her around the waist, the heat of his hand burning through the material of her shirt into her back. Instinctively she clutched his bare shoulders. His skin was warm, and taunt beneath her palms. So smooth, she wanted to slide her hands down his arms, and up his chest, to never stop touching him. He stood on the open air, inches away from her, looking at her as if he had tunnel vision, and not even God could distract him from the prize at the end.

"Why would I?" she asked, hating how breathless she sounded.

Vegeta inhaled deeply, his wide chest expanding. His upper lip curled in a mockery of a smile, revealing a flash of ivory teeth as he shrugged in response. Bulma frowned, knowing he could smell her dissatisfaction slicked on her skin. He leaned into her, his heat enveloping her. Unconsciously, she shifted her thighs a little wider, tucking herself a tiny bit closer as his arm tightened around her waist.

"Where have you been?"

Bulma left the party early that night, a week ago, and stayed until dawn with Vegeta. She had loved every bliss-filled, skin-tingling, mind-numbing second of it.

Then regretted it ever since. Adultery was a sin after all. And she wasn't even religious.

Her fingers curled across his shoulders, leaving white, half-moon marks in his dark caramel skin from her nails. She darted a frightened look towards the darkened room, licking her dry lips.

"You need to go."

Vegeta frowned at her.

"He didn't awaken as I approached. Now he's not only a failure as a man, but as a warrior as well. Is there anything he can do?"

Offended, Bulma inhaled as she schooled her features into a scornful pucker.

"He's a good man."

"How so?"

"What?" Bulma felt disoriented. Somehow this conversation didn't seem above bar. One shouldn't discuss the boyfriend with the lover.

"What does he do that makes him a so called good man?"

"Well, he's—"Bulma wracked her brain for all the qualities in Yamcha she loved. She knew for a fact he was a good person. "—polite."

Vegeta arched a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Polite?"

"Respectful." She quickly supplied. When Vegeta didn't respond she added in a rush. "He's kind to others. Loyal. Brave. Strong. Good-humored."

"Doesn't kick puppies."

"Right, he doesn't kick—"Bulma's headlong babble screeched to a halt, and she lobbed a death-glare at him, before swatting his shoulder. The shoulder she hadn't let go of yet. The shoulders of which she had intimately memorized rising above her as he thrust deep into her.

Vegeta dipped his head inhaling her scent at the hollow of her throat, before nipping his way up the column of her neck to her ear.

"Why do you insist on discussing that failure whenever I'm around?"

"He's not a failure. And it's supposed to be a deterrent. Most people back off if they know you're in a relationship."

"That's not what I've seen."

"What do you mean?"

"From what I've seen, that when someone wants another, nothing stops their pursuit of that new partner, regardless of the relationship status of either party. As I understand it, the most common justification used for this blatant disrespect to others is, 'the heart wants what the heart wants.' Apparently the human heart is a very fickle organ."

"That's not true!"

"Is it not?"

Bulma wanted to defend her race, but Vegeta's words weren't untrue. Divorce was on the rise, and numerous studies had been posted claiming that human beings weren't monogamous creatures by nature. More fodder for the unfaithful.

"Are you saying you've never fallen out of love before?"

"Never."

"How is that possible?"

"First, I would have to have fallen into that crap-pool of shit."

Bulma's mouth gaped.

"Are you seriously telling me you've never been in love?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"But you're like, thirty, right? How is that you've never been in love?"

"When, do you suppose, I would have had the opportunity too?"

"I don't know. Love just happens. Clearly, you are no stranger to women." Bulma blushed at the memory of how skilled he was.

"Love happens. That's your philosophy? No wonder you humans change mates so often."

"You're one to talk, Vegeta. Since it seems to me you've done some bed hopping in your time." She felt of flash of anger course through her when she thought of him with other women. She couldn't believe her stupidity of being jealous. Especially given her situation with Yamcha.

"You don't have to be involved with someone to enjoy their company."

"You're just a man-whore." And the anger just kept coming.

Vegeta withdrew, her hands slipping from his shoulders. His face was coldly removed, making something ache deep down inside her.

"And you're repressed."

"I'm not repressed, I'm in love."

"Yes, that's exactly what I smell."

She threw up her hands in annoyance. "What exactly do you smell, Vegeta?"

He was on her before she could breathe. His hand pressed between her legs, and too late she realized he had undone the buttons to her shirt while they talked. She could feel the press of his palm on her mound, the brush of his fingers over her clit, and the heat of his skin near her bared breasts.

"I smell the scent of frustration and tedium. The tension of a climax that never came. How can he sleep so soundly next to you when every fiber of your being screams silently in need?"

The oxygen was gone, and she couldn't breathe. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but they didn't fall. She wanted what he had to give so badly it hurt, and she couldn't deny it any longer. Her head lolled back, and every male instinct in Vegeta recognized her submission.

"That's my girl," he growled in her ear.

He hitched her up and she was naked against his bare skin. Her legs wound around his waist, her lips pouting against his neck when her calves slid over the slick nylon of his shorts. Her hands wandered from his shoulders, down his well-muscled chest and rippled abs. Her fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of his shorts, and yanked hard. He helped, and they fell into the darkness beneath them.

He was hard and hot in her hands. He thrust up eagerly, and there was no doubt he wanted her. There was no luke-warm desire in the stretched tautness of him. There was only want and need. All of it only for her.

She was pressed into him, her breasts flat against his chest, her hand caught between the curves of their thighs. His fists were tangled in her long blue hair, pulling her head back so he could trace her pulse with his tongue. Above his head she could see the moonless sky, and she sighed with every ounce of repressed desire that was in her.

"Take me away from here, Vegeta, and I'll do whatever you want."

Ten years of training had her stroking his cock with more eagerness than she had thought possible in a long time. He was jumping in her palm, and she knew he enjoyed her touch, when he suddenly pulled away from her.

She couldn't decipher the look he gave her. His dark eyes were endlessly deep, and held so many secrets she was surprised he hadn't cracked under the strain long ago. However, in this moment she would have given half her fortune to know what he was thinking.

"People say you're selfish."

Shock suffused her body, making her toes curl with indignation.

"What? Who says that?"

"The time I've spent here I've only seen you do things for others. It's absurd really. Quit disgusting. How about for once you do something for yourself?"

She was dumbstruck. Her body previously tight with needful tension, and outrage, grew limp as the unreality of his words hit her. He had her off the banister, and against the wall of the balcony before she could gather the breath to breathe. She was full of tension again. The doorway to her room was to their left, and Yamcha was sleeping just inside.

"No! He'll hear us." She was in a panic, and tried to struggle, but he was a solid, full length man pressed against her.

"Then you had better be quiet," he whispered to her lips before sliding down her body. He had one of her hands above her head pinned by his forearm on the underside of her arm, his hand against her mouth. She parted her lips to flick her tongue against the pads of his fingertips, drawing them into her mouth. He stopped to nip the crests of her breasts, creating waves of pleasure that was coalescing in the base of her tummy.

His other hand was exploring her thighs, dipping inside and around, urging her foot off the ground so that he had her balanced in the crook of his arm. She had the hips of a dancer, and she was opened wide to him, allowing him in with no hesitation, as she listened to the deep breathing of her boyfriend in the other room.

Vegeta was on his knees before her, and before that moment if anyone had told her that the Prince knew had to kneel she would have laughed them out of the room. His hand was gone from her mouth, leaving behind a pout, and her arm free, but she just tangled her fingers in her hair at the top of her head. She was splayed flat against the cool, stone wall, her leg now shifted up over Vegeta's shoulder, her heel dangling against his muscled back. Her other hand was clasped around the door frame to keep her balance, and she could feel the slight change of temperature on her fingers from being inside the room.

"Someone should do something for you for a change."

The smile he shot her was full of wickedness, and she knew he was sin. The kind of sin that led good people straight into hell while loving every step. She could feel his breath were she was wet and open. She mewled in the back of her throat, and arched towards him. He shushed her ever so quietly, the rush of air from his lips, ruffling her hair. His tongue was on her, hotter than any heat she had ever felt before, and so slick it was like fine silk. She bucked into his mouth, her hand fluttering down from her hair so she could bite her knuckle.

He sucked, and she bit down so hard she could taste the beginnings of iron in her mouth. She arched off the wall, and almost toppled on top of him. His strong hand braced her hip, slid up her waist, and over her stomach until she was pinned for the sheer pleasure of it. Something trembled beneath her back, and she lolled her head to the side to look down. Her leg was over his shoulder, his hand braced against the wall. His splayed fingers were flexing and she could see them sink into the stone, spreading tiny fissures up and under her.

"Vegeta."

He was standing, and shushing her against her lips. She could smell musk and sex, and everything she had been craving seemingly since the dawn of time. Her leg had slid down so now it was cradled in the crook of his elbow, and she was thanking her mother's sound advice that a woman's best friend was Yoga.

She was wrapping her fingers around his neck trying to draw him in, when he smiled at her. She had never seen such a thing. A real smile from the Prince that sent her heart melting into a puddle at his feet. He captured her wrists, and held them above her head, leaving her flat against the stone, and wide open to his assault. He was only close enough for the mounds of her body to touch his. The hardened tips of her breasts brushed against his chest in slow, prolonged caress that set her on fire as he shifted against her.

"Now for the very best part."

He was thrust up against her, red-tipped and throbbing. His hand was still planted into the wall, and her leg slid down to loop over his wrist splaying her dancer's hips as he bent his knees ever so slightly to slide the very tip of him between her swollen lips. Her eye lids fluttered, and between the shadows of her lashes she could see the intensity of his eyes, and the deep brackets of concentration around his full curving lips. His pelvis slid against hers, teasing only her clit with the heat and friction of his body, as he entered her with night-long slowness. He filled her. Not just the aching emptiness that comes with sex, and only relieved as a man enters, but filled her up all the way to her heart. She opened her eyes wide so she could watch him watching her, and she knew in that moment, that she could very possibly die without him.

He was sunk to the hilt, and she had to bite her red lip to keep from groaning. He swirled his hips, and her eyes rolled back. He withdrew with the same sadistic slowness, and she was swept with emptiness so profound that she was crying out. The breath barely left her before his lips were upon hers, silencing her sob. He teased her with his discipline. Sinking in and out of her until her body was ready to melt around his.

"Everything else is just foreplay. This is what it's all about," he whispered against her lips.

She came on him, as he was buried inside her. Her moans trickling down his throat. The wall shook beneath her, and he devoured her lips as he came with her. The world came to a shivering halt, and Bulma held her breath in the hopes of starving off time. The waves of pleasure diminished, and something hurtful and ugly rose up inside Bulma. She looked at Vegeta with eyes full of tears, and knew the pain of wanting something so keenly, but knowing you could never have it.

"Vegeta, stay—"

She spoke too loud, and there was a rustle of movement in the next room. Empty and alone, Bulma was falling to heap on the stone floor, bawling loud enough to wake the birds in nearby nests. Yamcha found her huddled in his shirt, the opened ends pulled tight around her.

"Babe, what's wrong!"

He was beside her in a flash, full of loving concern. He gathered her up, her head against his heart, as he lifted her from the cold ground.

"I had a dream that you were gone," she whispered between heart-wrenching sobs.

"Oh, baby. I'll never leave you. I'll always be here."

He turned to enter the room. Trapped in his embrace Bulma peered over his shoulder into the darkness, looking for something she could never have.

"I know. You'll never leave."