Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Colours Within ❯ Affairs ( Chapter 7 )

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys. I've been busier with work than I thought I'd be. Summer classes are now over, but I've changed my work schedule to fulltime. Hope that this chapter was worth the wait.

 

The Nikko Kobe IceBucks (from Japan) and the Anyang Halla (South Korea) are two actual teams from Asia League Ice Hockey (http://www.alhockey.com/).

 

I've upped the rating on this story over the past few chapters because of the increasing language/violence/themes. This one pretty much tops the mature themes list without crossing the line of actually peeking into bedrooms. I understand that some people are offended by such mature themes, so I apologize in advance if anyone is insulted in any way, but there is a reason behind it all, not just random horny filler.

 

seven. affairs.

 

There was silence on the line for a few moments, the dead air hanging thick over the line, and Bulma was reminded of when she'd turned up at his apartment unannounced. For a moment she was tempted to just hang up the phone before she remembered she'd already let him know who had called. To compensate she sat down on her bedroom floor beside her bed and pulled her knees up to her chest.

 

“Hi,” Yamcha finally replied, and Bulma was almost scared to ask the next question.

 

“How are you?”

 

“I'm good,” he replied, and he sounded genuinely fine.

 

“What have you been up to?” Bulma asked.

 

“Eh,” came the reply. “Not much. Working a lot. Yourself?”

 

The conversation was dull, meaningless, and awkward. But Bulma responded and continued, desperately trying to salvage the conversation. “I'm good. I started my Christmas shopping today. Can you believe it's December already? It feels like just a few days ago that it was August and Frieza came—“ she stopped abruptly, remembering that it was that same day that Vegeta had taken up residence at the Capsule Corporation, the person whom Yamcha seemed to be blindly, insanely, foolishly jealous of.

 

But to Bulma's surprise Yamcha gave a little chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It's like, I looked up at the calendar one day and was like, `What the fuck? December?'”

 

“And then tomorrow it'll be May and I'll be wading through shitloads of resumes and applications from students looking for summer jobs,” Bulma added, and she could hear Yamcha laugh again with his agreement.

 

“Anyway,” he said, growing serious, “I got free tickets to the IceBucks game on the thirteenth… I have two.” He paused briefly, going shyly over the words. “I was wondering if maybe you would want to come with me, maybe.”

 

On the other end, Bulma's face split into a grin, but her answer was flirtatious and teasing. “Maybe,” she said.”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Maybe. Who are they facing?”

 

“Anyang Halla.”

 

“From Korea?”

 

“Yep,” Yamcha said. “Will you come?”

 

“Maaaaybe. But you're letting me buy dinner afterwards, got it?”

 

“Fine,” he sighed resignedly, though Bulma knew that he'd been expecting the offer.

 

Bulma positively beamed. “Great. Call before you want me to come pick you up,” she said, knowing that Yamcha was still devoid of a vehicle since his brand-new aircar had crashed (she'd offered to fix it up but hadn't gotten around to it with Vegeta's demands of gravity room repairs. She reminded herself to make it her next project, and decided to have it finished before Christmas).

 

“Did you know Vegeta left?” Bulma ventured next, poking at the issue gently.

 

“Yeah,” Yamcha said. “I sensed his Ki traveling further away.”

 

“Oh. Right. Goku said the same thing,” she replied. It was definitely not the first time she'd forgotten about such Ki-sensing capabilities.

 

“He was probably concerned, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Yamcha scoffed. “I wonder what for. Vegeta's such a waste of energy. I was saying to Puar the other day that all the stupid, pointless people in the world should be put on an island, and then someone should drop a bomb on them.”

 

“A bomb wouldn't kill Vegeta.”

 

“A Spirit Bomb.”

 

“That didn't kill him last time,” Bulma pointed out.

 

“Fluke,” he muttered irritably. “He wouldn't get lucky twice.”

 

“You're not still mad, are you? You don't still think that I'm having an affair with Vegeta?”

 

“Maybe,” Yamcha said, but Bulma already knew that the matter was forgotten.

 

///

 

“'A many others `re on board?” the human-like alien asked, his pen poised over a clipboard. He spoke in English and his accent was distinctively Cockney, and Vegeta realized that whatever microchip had been implanted in his brain to do the translating had been programmed with a London accent for any coming from Earth.

 

“None,” the Saiya-jin replied, speaking on the same terms as the docking manager and not bothering to speak in the planet's native tongue, nor in his own. He, however, spoke with a Japanese accent, his microchip having adapted to the Japanese speech he'd so frequently been using as of late.

 

The other alien frowned. “None?” he asked. “Then why's yer ship so big? Yer not smugglin' anythin', `re ya?”

 

Vegeta snorted. “Where I come from there isn't much to smuggle.”

 

“Ya came from Earf, ya said? There're lots of fings ter smuggle from Earf. Loike oil. Some of these bastards drink oil loike it's garn aaht of style. Cigarettes `re all the rage too. Can't get `nuff of `em down `ere.

 

“I don't have any of either,” Vegeta said shortly.

 

“Wot about limestone?”

 

“Limestone?” Vegeta echoed, incredulous. “You seriously think I'd lug a whole shipfull of limestone to some God-forsaken planet to get fuckin' pocket change, if even that much?”

 

The docking manager shrugged. “I'm garn ter have to check yer ship.” He pushed past Vegeta towards the open doorway of the gravity room, but a hand upon his shoulder stopped him before he got much farther.

 

Vegeta snarled at him, slipping into the language of the docking manager. “If I find that anything's missing it'll be your fucking head I'm after. And believe me when I say I won't rest until I've got it in my possession.”

 

The smaller alien paled and nodded violently, answering in the same, clipped language. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I'm just going to do a quick check, just to make sure everything's in order. Not that I don't believe you, sir, but it's protocol, you understand. Just double-checking.” He scurried on board, and returned a mere twenty seconds later.

 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he said, stopping in front of Vegeta and scribbling furiously on his paper. “Very spacious craft you have there, sir. And it came from Earth, you say? Fascinating.” He tore the sheet from his clipboard, handed it to Vegeta, and began scribbling on another.

 

“Keep that first sheet somewhere in your ship, preferably in your cockpit or near the door. On that computer in the centre of that room should be fine,” he said, referring to the gravity controls. “Keep this slip on you at all times while on this planet. This just states that you're not here illegally, sir. We have a bit of a problem with illegal merchants who stowaway on other ships and sneak past security and docking management. They steal things from others and sell them as their own. Oh, make sure that you don't steal anything and retain all your receipts from every transaction because customs is going to check that you purchased anything and everything you bring back to your ship, sir. If you need to bring anything with you from your ship into the city for whatever reason that you think you may be bringing back to your ship at some point, talk to a docking manager for a legal item slip. Have a good day, sir. We hope to see you again.”

 

Vegeta watched, amused, as the alien stumbled over himself in his hurry to get away from the Saiya-jin with his head and body still intact.

 

He turned his attention to the slip in his hand, and realized that this planet was strict in regards to fair play… in other words, Vegeta would have his work cut out for him when it came to getting the items he needed. He smirked to himself, slipped his paper into his boot and adjusted his armour. He'd chosen to wear it, scratched though it was, because of the volatile reputation that preceded most trading planets. He set off at a quick pace towards the city.

 

It was crowded and noisy. Different languages came at Vegeta from all directions, and his brain immediately began to throb as the microchip tried to process and translate everything at once. This was the thing Vegeta had always hated most about merchant planets.

 

Despite the fact that it was a trading planet, it was quite modern in regards to what it traded. Vegeta had seen many merchants in his voyages, and many traded the goods that had yet to be manufactured: Freshly cut wool, newly picked cotton, hunks of melted and unshaped plastic, unpolished stones. Here he could see computer chips and clothing of various sizes. One person was even trading his own variation of the armour Frieza's men wore. Food was kept fresh in battery-powered freezers that sat behind the merchant's booth.

 

A holographic map of the main town was in the middle of the clustered street, interrupted every so often by a person walking through this section or that, and Vegeta realized that it was more of a giant department store than anything else. It was unique to a trading planet for everything to be so organized and carry things that could be used right away, rather than made into something else.

 

It took Vegeta nearly an hour to walk through the crowds to the “Household Items” section, where he'd determined would be the best place to begin looking for blankets and pillows, which were definitely his top priority. He caught sight of a woman trading a lamp for a basket full of seed packets, and allowed himself to move slowly with the crowd instead of rushing through it as he realized he was in the right place.

 

Twenty minutes more and Vegeta had decided on which blankets he wanted: Two similar sets, one a dark blue and one white, with a bedspread, light sheet, comforter, and pillow cases. He shuffled closer to a scaly brown-skinned creature, and picked at a hand-made quilt that he wasn't interested in at all. One eye he kept on the merchant's booth, one on the street and people behind him. When a human-like creature stepped too close, Vegeta made his move.

 

He backed away from the booth, nodding his thanks but dissatisfaction to the disappointed merchant, and hovered on the edge of the densely packed crowed. Then, quick as lightning, his fist connected with the human-like alien's chest, winding him and sending him backwards into the scaly woman.

 

She toppled head-first into the blankets, causing the booth to crash to the ground. Vegeta's microchip exploded with a dozen different languages all at once. The merchant swore loudly in her telepathic manner, and the scaly woman's strange, soothing sing-song of a language didn't at all fit the profanity that she chose to use. And all around were other aliens commenting on the ignorance of the human-like one.

 

Vegeta resumed his place near the booth and, good Samaritan that he was, helped the woman to her feet. She looked around wildly, briefly thanking Vegeta, before demanding who `the bastard' was. Pointing her in the right direction, the Saiya-jin slumped back from her, and watched as she rounded on a very confused looking man.

 

Her singing speech came out like a thrashing heavy metal band, and the man blinked his pink eyes at her in the utmost bewilderment, before yet another fist met with his face.

 

The melee drew the attention of everyone, merchant included, and Vegeta scooped up his blue and white sets, encapsulating them in the capsule he'd found in the near-empty storage room in his gravity room, and rushed away from the scene, smirking widely.

 

A few minutes later, standing at one of the pillow stands, Vegeta allowed a look of utter horror to cross his face, before he cried out loudly, “What the fuck is that!?” at the same moment that he allowed a small Ki blast to leave his finger tips and blaze down the street. Everyone at the booth stopped and stared as other shoppers dove out of the way of the attack, their purchases flying everywhere.

 

“What was that?” the others at the booth began demanding, but Vegeta had already snatched and hid his new pillow away, and just shook his head with uncertainty at the other aliens and their questions. And as he wandered away from the pillow merchant, his face melted back into its usual stoic self.

 

In “Recreation” Vegeta simply walked by a slug trading weights and took them, encapsulating pounds upon pounds of training equipment. The slug watched him do it, take his merchandise and put it into the funny bottle, and then looked up at Vegeta.

 

“Whatcha gon' give me for dat?”

 

Vegeta's frown deepened. “Nothing.”

 

The slug stared at him for a few moments, then turned away to another alien who had just arrived. The slugs were always the laziest.

 

His last stop was the “Grocery” section, and he decided at the last minute to actually trade for the food. He paused at one merchant's booth, a pretty young woman with the most piercing orange eyes that matched perfectly with her vibrant orange hair, and leaned upon the wood.

 

She blinked at him, confused for a moment. She gestured towards her items. “Would you like to trade?”

 

He smirked at her. “I'll trade. You help me stock my ship and I'll give you the best goddamn night of your life.”

 

One of her delicate orange eyebrows raised and the corner of her lips turned upwards into a smile. “The best?” she echoed. “Can you guarantee that?”

 

He leaned closer, his breath tickling her neck. “What do you think?”

 

There was a brief pause. Then, “What shall I tell my husband?” she asked.

 

“Who gives a shit,” Vegeta said arrogantly, pulling back. “What to tell your husband will be the last thing on your mind.”

 

She giggled. “Let me close the booth.”

 

Vegeta waited while the woman loaded her stock into coolers and locked it in a cooled safe behind her booth, angrily waving away other traders who had come to her booth complaining that she was closing up. Finally joining him she said, “I'll give you what I think the night was worth.”

 

At the dock, Vegeta smirked at the docking manager, the same one he'd dealt with before. “Do I need to show you a receipt for her?” he asked. The docking manager just shook his head and walked slowly away.

 

The next morning, Vegeta left with every single cooler of food.

 

///

 

Giichi smiled at her warmly before placing a quick kiss upon her lips. It was the third time they had met since their meeting at the bar, and he was growing increasingly infatuated with her. There was something about her, a sultry allure that reached out and grabbed at him, pulling him under… And then just as he was about to drown she pushed him away, became nonchalant about the entire ordeal, as though she couldn't care less about how he felt, or what he wanted, or the sex or passion. It was almost as if she had something else on her mind.

 

But that was part of the reason why he was so attracted to Narumi. Her casual attitude towards their late night rendezvous, the way she led him on and then made him work for her satisfaction… he had never before been with a woman who had played the hard-to-get game with him. He'd seen it done to others, of course. He knew the rules and understood the point of the chase, but he'd never known before that pursuing a woman's affections in such a way could be so exciting. It was more arousing even than their illicit actions - his girlfriend was currently on a business trip in England and hadn't the faintest idea that he was spending his nights with Narumi. As for Narumi herself, she was nine years younger than him, an age difference that he knew none of his friends of family would approve of.

 

She looked up at him from under half-lidded eyes, her lips parted and her breathing still quick from their love-making. It was a seductive expression, and Giichi knew that she meant it to look as such. She reached up, cupped his face in her hand and brought it back towards her, returning the kiss. Her lips left his mouth then, trailing downwards to his neck, where her kisses became butterfly light and her tongue dragged delicately across his skin. Then suddenly, her tongue was upon his ear, his sensitive spot, and he uttered a groan. In that instant he was ready to go again, and Narumi knew it.

 

Sighing softly, she let her head fall back against the pillow and she closed her eyes. Giichi looked down at her and knew the game was on.

 

There was, of course, a method to Narumi's madness. She didn't dare tell her friends the true reason she was sleeping with Gouhara Giichi, a man nearly a decade her senior and on the verge of engagement with his girlfriend of six years. They'd frowned at her when she had spoke of him after their initial night together, after meeting at the bar.

 

“He's too old, Narumi,” they'd said. “Why do you want to sleep with someone you hardly know?”

 

“There's just something about him,” Narumi had sighed, leaning her chin against her palm. “I can't explain it.”

 

She had to keep a sense of mystery about herself when with Giichi, a mystifying allure that she knew he had trouble escaping. There was an art to making him work for her, and giving in at exactly the right moment - too soon and there was no struggle, too late and there was too much. His girlfriend would return in two weeks, and Narumi knew that within that time she would have Giichi so engrossed with her that his girlfriend's arrival would change nothing.

 

Narumi, actress that she was, gave a slight moan as Giichi turned his attention to her breasts, the whimper sounding as though it had escaped by accident. Giichi, excited, doubled his efforts, and Narumi finally allowed herself to succumb to the pleasure. Despite the fact that this had nothing to do with Giichi, and that he was neither the reason nor motive behind the sex, it was unquestionably good.

 

The following morning, Narumi made her way into Giichi's kitchen, her hair intentionally tousled and her underclothes purposely left behind. When Giichi turned from the breakfast he was cooking to watch her enter, his eyes fell upon a completely naked woman, young, slender, and the biggest tease he'd ever encountered. He felt his heat rise, but decided against it for now. Four times the previous night had probably taken a lot out of her, he reasoned, and he decided to let her relax a bit. He turned back to the stove.

 

“Not working today?” Narumi asked, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

 

Giichi shook his head. “It's Saturday.”

 

“Oh right,” Narumi said, feeling somewhat silly. “Of course.”

 

“Some people do work on Saturday though,” Giichi continued, helping her save face. “They take other days off throughout the week.”

 

“Why would anyone wanna do that?”

 

Giichi shrugged, scooping the bacon out of the pan on onto one of the two plates beside him. Turning, he went to place the plates on the table, sliding one towards Narumi.

 

“I know a couple guys who do it because they don't get along with some of their co-workers, so they limit the amount of time they have to see them. One woman works Saturday and takes Thursday off so that someone is always home with her daughter… something to do with her husband's work schedule,” he said.

 

“Makes sense I guess.”

 

Giichi laughed suddenly. “Too bad no matter what day anyone goes in they have to see Vegeta.”

 

“He can't be that bad,” Narumi said.

 

Giichi shrugged. “Maybe not once you get to know him, I don't know. He's gone now anyway.”

 

“Gone?” She looked up from her breakfast. “Gone where?”

 

“No idea,” Giichi said. “Back home, I guess. I went in yesterday and Dr. Briefs was saying he'd left early that morning.”

 

A frown darkened Narumi's face. “Where does he live?”

 

Giichi shrugged again. “Don't know. Why?”

 

“No reason,” Narumi said, but she fell uncharacteristically quiet.

 

Giichi, of course, chalked her silence up to fatigue, which he in turn blamed on the busy night.