Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ Dangerous Waters ( Chapter 6 )

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

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing. Some adult themes

A/N: Big love to my reviewers--seriously, I'm like Tinkerbelle--your clapping powers me!

Chapter Six: Dangerous Waters

Vegeta stood at the helm of the Saiyan Lady, his hands behind his back, his legs far enough apart to balance on the swaying deck, instinct and long-ago learned skills making him as comfortable on the choppiest of waves as most people were on land. They were halfway between America and Britain, and though he had been through some horrific storms on this route in the past, right now the waves were perfectly tame.

The trip had been uneventful so far--there had been no storms, no squalls, there had been no brushes with pirates (though Vegeta had been hoping for a run in with some pirates, as they always proved amusing and a good workout), and the waves had been mild enough to slow their progress simply because no gusts of wind were moving them along swiftly.

For Vegeta's unexpected (and uninvited) guests on the Saiyan Lady, they should consider themselves lucky that as inexperienced seamen (and women) that the waves were as calm as they were. Kakarrot thrived on the ship, finding joy in even the most manual of labor, working as hard as the saltiest of sea-men Vegeta commanded, while his bald midget friend (Vegeta did not find it worth his time to remember the small man's name, especially as he had come along as Kakarrot's valet, though Vegeta could not understand why Kakarrot would pick an American as his valet...) worked just as hard as Kakarrot did, the two of them idiotically smiling at all times, or foolishly challenging each other at idiotic tasks.

Their good nature was so infectious, even Vegeta's hardest crew men warmed up to the pair, which Vegeta had to admit, he found deeply, deeply disturbing. He liked his crew to be as unemotional as he was, and finding them happily grinning from time to time, was unnerving. But there good-natured smiles would be gone just as soon as Kakarrot and that fool were off the ship, so he bore through it, especially since the men seemed to be working faster than they usually did.

As for the elder Briefs'--there sea legs had come just as quickly as Kakarrot and the midget's. Dr. Briefs was constantly interviewing his men, making notes, constructing things, that just made living on a ship easier. Mrs. Briefs, he had heard, was hard at work on teaching the chef how to properly cook, something him, and his entire crew, thanked her profoundly for. This was all conjecture though, as Vegeta had not seen Mrs. Briefs or Bulma above deck since the journey had begun, mainly because he had strictly forbidden them to come above deck.

He did not not trust his men, but he definitely did not trust his men's hormones around women. Especially around someone like Bulma, who acted as bawdy as a tavern wench, and was as beautiful as the licentious actresses of the stage these men were used to bedding. If she tempted him, making him lose his head around her, he could imagine what she would do to these lesser men. Mrs. Briefs, on the other hand, while still a beauty, had proven herself to be quite susceptible around Ôhandsome' men as she called any male under the age of thirty, and he was more afraid of what she would do to Vegeta's men, if he let her loose around them.

Vegeta shuddered, unintentionally, as he imagined her getting her clutches on his men...no, it was better she remain below deck, where she kept whipping out amazing concoctions that left everyone happy.

That left only the blue-hared heiress who he could not quite seem to banish from his dreams. Thankfully, he had only seen her in his dreams lately, and it was not just due to the fact that he had forbidden her from showing her face above deck. From what he had heard (or made sure to hear, as he had set Nappa to spying on everything the Briefs' said or did) the moment they had hit open seas, Bulma had been bed-stricken, sick-- whining, and cranky from being unable to do anything but moan and groan.

Vegeta was man enough to admit that he found extreme pleasure in finding the heiress felled by Mother Nature. Even a tenacious woman such as Bulma had weaknesses, it seemed, and he could not exactly explain why he found such pleasure in that. But something about imagining her so out of sorts, not completely in control of the situation...he could not help the errant chuckle that escaped as he imagined how pitiful she must look and feel.

Of course, since Vegeta was long used to the sea, mainly thanks to his tenure in the British Navy, he had some tried and tested tricks and tips that would probably help abate the woman's sickness...but he did not offer a one to the witch.

If he was going to be forced to deal with her in London, he was going to take advantage of not having her around him for now. He could not escape her in his dreams, but he could, and would, not let her intrude upon his everyday life for as long as he could. He did not like how he felt around her, and so he did what any sane person would do when confronted with new and strange feelings--he avoided them (and her) completely.

Though, he thought, as he watched his men scramble around deck, he would give anything to be able to see what Bulma looked like when she was not completely composed...

~~&~~

Bulma was in abject and utter misery.

No, sorry.

That was in a bit of an understatement.

Bulma was in the worst pain in her life, no, scratch that, anyone's life.

Stupid, stupid sea travel.

Ever since they had hit the high seas, she had been in her bed, the contents of her stomach constantly rising and swelling with the tides of the ocean. It seemed Bulma was not made for long travel at sea, which utterly disheartened her, since she had always believed she would travel the world one day. Well, not by sea, it seemed.

Her whole body was covered in a clammy sweat, and as her stomach gave a particular lurch, she moaned, and then turned in her bed, thunking her head against the wall, which caused her to moan louder. Stupid, stupid Vegeta. This was all his fault.

Being on this ship, being in this tiny room, being seasick.

It was that impertinent little man's entire fault!

First off, he was the reason they were now traveling to England by fricking sea, and second off, it was all his fault that she was not luxuriating in the largest quarters on the ship that were on deck...which she was convinced would help her rollicking stomach. Being in this tiny room, under the deck, on a ship that seemed to be constantly tilting and rolling was making it impossible for her to do anything but lay in bed all day, alternating between being just well enough to work on some designs of hers, to holding her stomach, wishing she would die. She should have the largest cabin, not him!

He had tricked her!

When they had first gotten to the ship, Vegeta had greeted them by laying down a long list of rules that had culminated with him staring pointedly at Bulma and her mother, "and you two are not allowed on deck, or out of your rooms."

Bulma started, finally paying attention to Vegeta's very long list of rules and stipulations, after having zoned him out for most of the day, "what? Why not?"

Vegeta frowned at her, before he spoke plainly, "because when you have a ship full of men, who happen to be more unmannered and uneducated then even you Americans, that are not used to having women on board, when they find out that they do they will most likely take it upon themselves to do something..." his frown deepened, as he paused, searching for an appropriate enough word to mention in front of women, before he flicked his eyes back to her, "untoward to you. So don't come out, because even your mere presence will tempt them."

Krillin, who her brother had insisted on bringing, despite Bulma's very boisterous opinion for him not to, had put his hand behind his head and smiled, "well that makes sense. Especially if they see someone as pretty as you Bulma!"

He had looked at her, all smiles, and Bulma had rolled her eyes, having been aware of Krillin's long-standing crush on her. If it could really be called that. Krillin seemed to have a crush on any female, as she knew it was his life long dream to find a woman to marry. But she did not have time to deal with the midgets delusions of her being that woman right now, so she had scoffed at him, ignoring his smile, before turning back to Vegeta, "I don't buy it. Can't you or the captain command them not to touch us?"

Vegeta had stared at her coldly, his black eyes glinting as he practically growled at her, "these men will be on a ship with nothing but other men for at least a month, working, sweating, full of testosterone. If they are tempted in the least bit, which they will be if they see any female, they will not be swayed from touching you because of a few simple orders."

Bulma's mouth had flattened in distaste, her voice coming out sardonic, "well I guess I should be thanking you for trying to protect our virtue then?"

Vegeta's eyes flashed as his mouth hardened, as he let out a scoff, "I am less concerned about your...virtue," the way the word had dropped from his lips had implied that he did not believe that Bulma had any, and her lips tightened, "as I am about losing any of my men, who I will have to whip if they disrespect me." His jaw tightened, and Bulma could practically hear his teeth grinding, which she had to admit she found some pleasure in (knowing she could rile him up so), "so let's make this easy for everyone involved. Stay below deck."

Bulma, beyond aggravated, had put her hands on her hips, "well if I am to be a prisoner in my room, I want the biggest room."

Vegeta's lip had turned down at her, frowning, his response instantaneous, "no."

Bulma had frowned right back, "what do you mean no?! You tell me I cannot go above deck, and that I am not to leave my room? Fine. But I want a room worth staying in. I will take the captain's quarters."

Vegeta had started to argue with her, "you do not get to tell me what to--," before he cut himself off, stopping as her words registered. He only smirked at her, "the captains quarters? Hmm...yes. For a woman such as yourself...it seems appropriate."

Bulma had been prepared to argue, but at seeing his easy acquiescence, she had stared at him suspiciously, before she nodded, "yes, a lady such as myself should have the captains quarters. Definitely not less..."

Bulma had walked away from Vegeta, smug, satisfied she had won that argument, until a few minutes after that conversation, when she had been led away from the large room above deck that she knew was the captains quarters, and to a small room below deck. She had been flabbergasted, and it was not until later that she found out from Goku that Vegeta himself took the biggest room not the captain. So Vegeta had not been lying to her when he had said that she would get the captains quarters.

Bulma had been furious enough to go out and confront Vegeta, but they had soon gotten their journey underway, and it had taken Bulma three days to even move a finger after the nausea had completely debilitated her. She had given up completely on confronting Vegeta, especially as she had a sneaking suspicion that if she tried to leave her room, she would find herself more likely to puke on his shoes than to actually argue with him. Not the most effective of ways to get her point across, and if she did not find herself caring (minusculy) about what Vegeta thought about her, she might have puked on his shoes, just to see his face.

But rather than follow through on that daydream, she had been forced to stay in bed, wishing her life would just end. Well, not her life as much as this insufferable journey. On top of the nausea, she was just so friggin' bored.

Her mother and father came to visit her sporadically, her father and her going over plans she was working on, though her father spent more time going around the ship, making improvements, or talking to the sailors. Though her father was known for his mechanical and industrialization genius, he had a secret passion for naturalization. Though Bulma kept trying to talk to him about her ideas of how to make cross-Atlantic travel quicker, he kept showing her drawings he had been doing of birds and fish's he had seen, as well as the animals the sailors described to him from far away lands. Aggravating to say the least.

Her mother, on the other hand, she saw even less. While sick, Bulma could only stomach her mother for so long, and Mrs. Briefs would completely space out if Bulma tried to bounce her ideas off of her, instead chattering about things that she had already told Bulma about once, or twice, or a hundred thousand times, it felt like. Not only that, but her mother was just so damn chipper, and not sick, Bulma had to admit she was jealous that her ditzy mother was not affected by the long sea travel. After a few days, Bulma would feign a great bout of sickness, or sleepiness, whenever her mother would knock on her door, since she could not take hearing the same damn stories for the fiftieth time, and Bunny had eventually just stop coming around.

Krillin, thankfully, was not allowed to visit her, since she was an unmarried lady, and he was an unmarried gentleman. Sometimes societies strict rues would work in her favor, it seemed. She could just imagine having to listen to his nervous chatter whenever he was in the same room with her, and her stomach would heave again. She could only take his idiotic laughter for so long.

Goku was her only daily visitor, and even he only came after the sun went down. He was adapting quite well to life at sea, and found himself taking to the role of sailor like a fish to water. He would tell her about the duties he performed (though it sounded like nothing but back breaking manual labor to Bulma), the competition's he won against Krillin (boys!), and, as he gained the confidence of the crew, would tell her things he had discovered about Vegeta or the family Goku had suddenly become part of.

Seemed as if the reason Vegeta occupied the biggest room on the ship was because he was truly the captain, even if another man had the official title of captain. Apparently, when Vegeta had been younger, he had left home and joined the navy against his father's wishes for a few years. He had quickly risen through the ranks, under an assumed name, and it was not until his father had gotten gravely ill that Vegeta had even returned home, never quite leaving his life at sea behind.

Goku had told her all of this with respect in his voice, but Bulma had not been impressed. Mainly because she had been in so much pain that the information had barely registered, and she currently hated Vegeta more than she thought possible. It was all his stupid, stupid fault.

But now, when the journey was more than halfway over, Bulma found that she had begun to feel a little more like a human being. She would not say she had gotten her sea legs, but she could actually leave her tiny bed, and work at the small desk provided to her. Ever since she could actually move, Bulma had been working on plans to improve sea travel. She did not want to never want to travel by sea again, and she figured one way to make it easier was to find a way to speed the whole process up while making it smoother.

The only problem was to really do this, to really take the old mode of sea travel and improve upon it, would be to go above deck to take a closer look at the ship. She had asked for Goku and her father to describe the ship to her, but their descriptions were not enough, and asking for blueprints had proved futile. She needed to see the ship for herself, the masts, the sails, the wheel--everything. She could not improve on a ship she could not even describe.

So she began to question Goku and she discovered the best time to explore below decks was when the crew was working during the day, and to explore topside, her best chance would be at night, when there was a skeleton crew. Her only hope would be to go above deck on a dark night, disguised as a boy, and hope that no one would even look at her.

It was a foolhardy plan, she knew...but truth be told, now that she was feeling better, she was feeling more than a little restless. Her tiny porthole gave her absolutely no view, rather than endless blue, and far off sky, and the walls of her room were starting to close in on her. Bulma was not made for confined spaces, dammit.

Bulma considered telling Goku of her plan to go above deck, having him (and that no-nosed freak) be her bodyguard of sorts, but when she had hinted at wanting to go above decks, her brother had grown strongly adamant in the futility of that. "No Bulma, those men--they are not gentlemen, and if they see a woman like you I would not trust them to keep their hands to themselves."

"What if you protected me--,"

Goku's features had grown stern, shocking Bulma as his voice had risen, "NO!" He waited a moment before he spoke again, the creases between his eyebrows easing as he explained, his features turning more concerned, "Bulma--I may be strong, but I can not keep off a whole ship of men."

Bulma had rubbed his shoulders, knowing that it was one of the only ways to get her brother to calm down, "okay, okay. Don't worry about it...you know I'm too sick to actually go anywhere." He had looked mistrustful at first, but at that, he had nodded, satisfied that his foolhardy sister would not attempt anything. Sometimes Goku's trusting nature worked too much in her favor.

So Bulma's plans went forward without Goku. Thankfully, she had thought to pack the disguise she wore sometimes when she went into town as a man, and she waited for the new moon to appear in the beginning of her third week on ship, to put her plan into motion. She waited until it was very late in the night, her ears perked to make sure she could not hear people scrambling about. When she knew it was incredibly late, the sky an inky black, and she could hear not rustling or footsteps in the hallway, Bulma figured now would be the best time to go, and she resolved herself to her plan.

She changed her clothes, washing herself with plain water rather then her usual scented waters (wishing she had planned ahead to steal a mans scent), but hit a small snag when found she did not have her usual cap. She frowned, but had to content herself to doing her hair in a tight bun, then covering it with a dark handkerchief. She also found that she did not have her usual under wrap, and so her breasts could not be bound and hidden as they usually were, but she reasoned it would be dark, and no one would notice her all black clad figure as she stole on deck.

As she readied herself, she went over her plan in her mind, keeping herself focused. Her plan was to go above deck, hide somewhere, wait until her eyes adjusted, take a sketch of the ship, then come back down here before anyone discovered her. It was flawless...well maybe not, but still, it was as close to flawless as a plan as stupid as this could be (yes, even Bulma realized what she was doing was stupid, but...she could not take another second in this room).

Bulma carefully opened her door when she was ready, and stuck her head out. There was a lantern that dimly lit the hallway, and she strained her eyes, looking both ways, making sure that not even a shadow moved. The hallway was empty--no one was up down here but her. She waited until she could make sure she could hear no one, and then crept out of her room. She closed her door softly, and for the first time since she had first come to her room, Bulma made her way up the stairs to the deck, keeping to the far side of the stairs, and peeping up carefully as she came to deck level.

As she traveled up the stairs, the fresh sea air hit her, and Bulma took a big whiff, the fresh air doing wonders to her and her nerve, re-nerving her, while calming her rollicking stomach. She took a few moments to breathe deep, and then she peaked her head above decks, trying to see what was up there. On careful inspection, she found that no one was in her direct line of sight and that there was a large box pushed against the rails she could crouch behind as she waited for her eyesight to adjust.

There were a few lanterns, but not much light, and she could not see any person on the deck, though she could not see above and behind her to where the wheel was. She hoped if she stayed low and darted, who ever was steering would miss her completely. She was also aware that there was probably someone in the crow's nest, but they were supposed to be watching far away, not the deck of the ship, and she had to depend upon that. Or depend upon the fact that anyone who saw her would just assume she was one of the sailors, unable to sleep.

So she held her breath, said a prayer, and then scurried across to the rails. As soon as she got to the box, she darted behind it, and closed her eyes, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps coming towards her, or someone calling out to her--but nothing.

Unbeknownst to Bulma, the man currently standing at the wheel had the eyes of a hawk, and had noticed the dark figure the second Bulma's head had popped above deck. He had originally dismissed her as simply one of the sailors--but something about her movements had caught his attention. They were too lithe, not bulky enough to be a sailor, and the way they darted across deck had caught his attention. He decided to slip closer, to see who was sneaking around above deck at this hour....

Back behind the box, Bulma peeked her head back up, willing herself to stand as if she belonged there, and was just idling away time above deck, not hiding, nope, not at all. She did not have to wait long until her eyesight grew used to the dim lighting, and when it did, she looked around. The deck appeared to be completely empty, but she did not waste time looking for other people, instead pulling out the paper and charcoal she had brought with her to sketch.

She quickly began to take notes, sketching, losing herself as she began to take in everything. Bulma's heartbeat raced as she noticed things she could change things, ways to make things better. She did not know how long she spent sketching, but as she finally stopped, getting enough, she realized that she felt better than she had in weeks. Bulma smiled, folding the paper, putting it away, so she could relish the fresh, salty air, the coolness of it making her feel slightly chilled and damp.

Bulma quickly looked around her to make sure no one else had come out on deck, and that she was still hidden from whoever was at the wheel, before turning towards the railing, taking a few deep breaths, her eyes closing in pleasure. As the fresh sea air filled her lungs (rather then the somewhat stale air of her room), her stomach seemed to finally settle, and Bulma let out a contented sigh.

As she opened her eyes, Bulma was suddenly struck with the beauty in the sight in front of her. It was dark, extremely dark, but her eyes were adjusted enough that she could make out where the waves were, and where the horizon was. The moon was still new, so all of the stars in the sky shone brightly down, and as Bulma looked up at them, she found the astrologist in her mesmerized as she began to see constellations she had only heard of before.

She pulled out the charcoal and paper again, turning it over, and began to sketch out the ones she could remember, oblivious as she leaned over the rail, lost in the beauty of the night. If she could somehow find away to stay above deck, Bulma reasoned, then she would not mind sea travel. She felt better then she had in weeks, and her natural curiosity was making everything exciting and new to her. Even the very stars she had spent many a night studying.

Bulma was just sketching out where she had found Ursa Major (noting it was early, considering it was not usually seen until April) when she became caged against the railing, the breath being knocked from her as her stomach was pressed against the hard wood of the banister. Two arms appeared on either side of her, a hot wall of human flesh pressing, as a strong male chest pushed to her back, capturing her against the railing. Bulma's skin froze, her heartbeat quickening, her breath freezing as a husky voice spoke closer to her left ear, "I told you not to come above deck, Woman."

His voice was soft, low, but Bulma instantly recognized it as Vegeta's, the heat of his words causing the sensitive hair on the back of her exposed neck to stand on end, the recognition of the person behind her transforming her terror into something else completely--something dark, dangerous, and alluring. Bulma, forcing herself to hear his words, and ignore her body's odd instincts to push back into his own, kept her face forward, refusing to look at him, as she answered, "there is no one out here, and I needed to see the ship."

A scoff, the skin behind her left ear, where he was pressing closer to, heated up, and Bulma had to keep her hands around the charcoal and paper, rather than pressing against that suddenly uncomfortable spot. When he spoke next, his voice was low, "there is a man in the crows nest above us."

She kept her voice strong, even as she felt her body began to melt, heating up, "like I said, there is no one out here. The man in the crows nest is not watching the deck, not some sailor coming up for a breath of fresh air."

A moment of silence, a sigh of air that brushed past her cheek, heating it, before his voice rolled over her again, "you are tempting fate, Woman. You are not safe up here, and if you were found by any of my men they would not stop themselves from ravishing you, right here, on this spot."

Bulma's cheeks flamed as she imagined Vegeta doing the ravishing, her bones turning to jelly, but she still kept her voice steady, "well I won't be, since you are here--to protect me."

A deep inhale of breath, and she could feel his nose press into the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her, his next words spoken an octave lower, causing a heated chill to race down her spine, "who says I will protect you? I could ravish you..."

Bulma instantly stiffened as his words sunk in, and she pushed against him, turning, keeping her eyes on his as she took him in as he refused to move from caging her in, staring down at her as his arms held her locked against the rail. He was different in the nighttime. He was...more in his element.

His face was barely lit, shadows, planes and angles, as his dark, unfathomable, eyes looked down at her, his lips pulled into a sneer. She noticed he was wearing tight, dark breeches, and a loose white shirt, the only article of clothing she had seen him in that was not black, that was open slightly at the V of the chest. The gap revealed to her a bronzed, muscular chest that contrasted sharply with the white of the shirt, and did strange things to her insides as she imagined what that skin would feel like, taste like. She gulped, taking a deep breath, his familiar musky scent confusing her already heightened senses, causing her to begin to shake slightly.

Right now, Vegeta could be described perfectly in one word--dangerous. He just seemed full of secrets and untold things, and he frightened her in many different ways--not all of them scary. When she spoke next, her voice was unfamiliar, even to herself, dark as the mood between them had become, "you wouldn't--you are a gentleman."

The corner of his mouth turned up, a smirk that caused her heart to begin to race, the blood beginning to pulse through her body, "ah yes, I am. But you, Woman, are no lady."

Bulma gasped, affronted at his words, and she tried to keep her voice icy, even as she felt a melting heat began to spread between her legs, "how dare you. Let me pass, I am going back to my room."

Vegeta's gaze lingered on her, his dark eyes hiding many secrets that Bulma yearned to know, his dark voice melting her insides, even as he softly whispered, "no. It is too late for that."

Bulma's body began to hum, and she suddenly knew what the fox felt like when the hounds bore down upon it, especially as she caught an animalistic gleam in Vegeta's eyes. Her heart was racing, her skin felt too tight, and her breath quickened, but she still forced her chin up, looking him directly in the eye, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice when she answered him, "no? What do you mean no?"

Vegeta's smirk grew, showing her some of his white teeth, standing out, sharp, against the tan of his skin, darkened by the shadows of the night, "I gave you a direct order, Woman, and you disobeyed me. When I am disobeyed on my own ship, there is always punishment."

Bulma felt her mouth go completely dry, and she took a deep gulp as her voice came out as a whisper, "punishment?"

Vegeta nodded, putting his face next to her ear as he told her, "punishment."

As he spoke softly, she felt the warmth of his breath whisper past her ear, the heat of having him so close, bathing her completely as she lost control of all of her senses, of her very body. Vegeta did strange things to her, no matter how desperately she wished he did not. But Bulma showed none of this, and instead forced herself to draw back as much as she could, even as the wood of the ship bit into her back, and turned her head to look at him, "what punishment?"

Vegeta softly drew back, considering her, taking in her large eyes, the way her lips were parted--as he thought about how to torture her. After he had snuck down to take in the dark figure he had seen from the wheel, he had been extremely displeased to recognize the form as soon as it stood up--even in men's clothes, Bulma's curves were obvious. Even more obvious, as he saw the clothes hug the swell of her breasts and hips, her tiny waist a perfect contrast to her more feminine curves. But he had been most distracted, not by her womanly curves, but by her features as she turned away from the ship, and to the night sky, sketching that instead.

He had been mesmerized by her delicate features, highlighted in the shining starlight, her pale skin practically glowing, everything about her delicate, feminine, and oh-so-tempting. He only wished her hair was visible, to see it shimmering in the starlight. He had then shaken his head, wondering when he had turned into a fanciful pup. He had decided then and there to call upon the widow when he was back in London. Even seeing this woman, in men's clothing, was making him unbearably hard. He needed to bed a woman, and he needed to bed a woman now.

Just not this woman.

But still, she had disobeyed him, and he wanted to teach her a lesson. So he had decided to scare her, nothing too frightening--just something to shock her. He had not planed on caging her in, just spooking her, but then he had gotten close to her, and Vegeta's body had taken over his mind. He just wanted to be close to her heat, to smell the fresh scent of her, to touch that soft hair...to touch her. He would not give into those baser instincts, but he could not stop himself from getting as close to her as possible, to lean into her inviting warmth, to smell her without the fragrances she usually wore. Even with no scents, she smelled of lilacs, and sunshine--and was the most tempting aroma he had ever come across.

As soon as she realized who he was, he should have let her go...but some devilish imp in him would not let him move away from her. Would not stop him from getting closer, would not stop him from whispering things in her ear. If she was any other woman, he would already have seduced her, taken her back to his chambers, where they would have a modicum of privacy, and delighted in showing her how a gentleman could make her scream louder than any pup she had been with before. As it was, he could barely control his erection, and it took everything in him not to press it into her soft flesh, so she could feel what she did to him.

Instead Vegeta stared at her blue eyes, taking in the way she softly panted, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated, her cheeks red. She might not know it, but Bulma looked exactly like a woman was begging to be kissed. Vegeta smiled at that thought--who was he to not give the woman what she so clearly wanted?

He wanted to know what it was like to kiss her when she wanted to kiss him, not when she was using him to make some boy jealous. He wanted to hear her moan and groan, he wanted to kiss her so hard, her eyes closed. His voice was gravelly when he spoke next, his self-control almost completely gone, "this punishment, Woman." Vegeta quickly dipped his head, closing the few inches that separated their lips, ready to feel the silky heat of her mouth, to finally taste her, to know how she kissed.

Their lips touched, locking together, the heat of their mouths melting them together instantly, his tongue deep inside the inner cavern of her mouth before he could stop himself. Vegeta let out a loud groan as he lost all control of himself in that moment of having their lips fuse, inhaling her, tasting her, wanting nothing more than to know every twist and curve of her and her mouth. Her lips were soft, so soft, and he wanted to do nothing more than nibble and suck at them as he moved his lips against hers.

His arms went from caging her in to wrapping around her body, pulling her against his own, another groan escaping as he felt the softness of her breasts, her thighs, press against his hard body. He could only imagine what it would feel like when they could do this somewhere more private, and she would open those tempting thighs to allow him to sink into her softness completely. Vegeta knew his body very well, but even he was surprised as he felt his already hard cock, strengthen, swelling, wanting to do nothing but to nestle in the heat between her legs.

"Duke!"

Vegeta instantly froze, his eyes popping open, cursing, as he was pulled from the kiss that had not even had the chance to begin, their lips only pressed together for ten seconds, though it had felt like eternities. Vegeta quickly unwound his arms from Bulma's waist, took a step away from her, and turned, shielding her from the other man on deck. Vegeta composed himself as he turned towards the other man, who was (thankfully) a respectful distance away. Vegeta quickly searched the man's face to see if he had seen anything out of the ordinary, but the man's face was impassive, and Vegeta relaxed the tiniest bit.

Vegeta knew that it was dark enough out that if the man had just come from under deck, his eyes might not be adjusted, and so he could have seen nothing but Vegeta's back, leaned over something. Bulma's arms had remained at her sides, clutching her charcoal and paper, and, if his body was positioned right (which it was), than the man had seen nothing. Still, he made sure his voice was even as he responded, "yes, sailor?"

"Reporting for relief, sir."

Vegeta felt a muscle in his jaw tick, cursing the normal state of things and how the ship ran smoothly like clockwork. The first mate was here to relieve him from duty, just like he was most nights, and instead of being relieved at finding he could go to sleep Vegeta was ready to punch this man in the face for his timing. If he had only had been a few minutes later...but no, now was not the time to think of that, "aye, aye sailor. Take the wheel."

Vegeta waited until the man's back was turned as he walked up the steps, before he quickly tucked Bulma to his side, and hurried her under deck. He did not stop as she stumbled on the steps, and instead supported her, basically carrying her, until he got her to her room. Vegeta opened the door, pushed her inside, but kept himself in the hallway, as she turned to look at him.

She still stared at him with wide, open eyes, having not made even a single sound since he had pressed his lips against hers. Vegeta only frowned at her as she continued to stare at him, trembling, before he growled at her, "do not come above deck again, or I will not be responsible for my actions." She still only stared at him, still in shock, and so he growled louder, "do I make myself clear?"

Bulma only nodded once at him, quickly, her trembling stopping as she turned her chin up, her old verve returning to her as she glared at him, gave him the finger, then slammed the door in his face, the resounding thud sounding extremely loud down the silent hallway. As he stared at the door in shock (would that creature ever not surprise him?), Vegeta's thoughts raged as out of control as his libido had been in those few insane moments he had let that Woman work her spell on him.

Clearly he should be thanking Kami that there had been an interruption before he had given into his baser instincts with the kiss, furthering it, deepening it, taking her back to his room, since the Woman was unsuitable for him in every way--and deranged, it seemed. But rather, Vegeta was struck with the strange desire to punch a hole through something--hard.

~~&~~

Pyotr Illyanevich had worked for the Russian Monarchy since the moment he had been born in the servants quarters thirty-six years ago, and knew the palace like the back of his hand. Still, even in the excellent shape he found himself in, as Pyotr ran the long length of the cold servant's hallways, dressed in full livery (like his monarch always decried), he found himself out of breath. But he did not slow himself, and instead quickened his pace, knowing the legendary temper of the Tsesarevich when he was not answered right away.

Pyotr ran, cursing his timing, knowing he should not have tried to take a food break, though he had not eaten since the early morning hours, and the sun was sinking low in the sky. He had let his stomach convince him he would be fine in leaving his normal post, and now look where that had gotten him--running through the halls of the palace, hoping he would make it to the grand ballroom the Tsesarevich often occupied.

Unlike his brother, Tsarevich, or even the Emperor himself, the heir to the Tsar-ship did not surround himself with opulence in music, food, people, or art during his tenure in the Moscow Palace, and instead kept himself surrounded only by his most trusted of advisors, and strategic charts of the world, with models of armies all over them, different colors demarking different countries.

Pyotr slowed himself as he got to the doors of this austere room, and checked his appearance, knowing that if he showed the smallest sign of not being at decorum, he would earn himself a beating. As he entered, he kept his eyes low, his head bowed, "you called, your Tsesarevich?"

The chillingly soft and high-pitched voice of the next ruler of Russia came over Pyotr, chilling him to the bone, though he did not even flinch (anymore), "yes, I require you to send an immediate post to France, telling Agent Zhelonie that his services are immediately required in England."

Pyotr nodded, and the Tsesarevich added, "please inform him to ready the country for my arrival as that fool they call a King--well his time is up."

Pyotr kept his head low as he waited for more, but as nothing was forthcoming, he gave a nod, indicating he had heard, and he saw from the corner of his eye, the Tsesarevich give a flick of his wrist, indicating he was done with Pyotr. Pyotr, turning as he stood, let out a breath of relief at not being chastised (or worst), when that chilling voice came over him again, "and Pyotr?"

Pyotr froze to the spot, the silence lengthening, until he finally turned back to his monarch, feeling his insides freeze as he took in the familiar countenance of the man he had served since birth, as his eyes bore into Pyotr's. Though he was small in stature, barely coming to Pyotr's chin, it would be foolish of someone to mistake his diminutive stature for weakness. His white skin was deeply offset by his ruby red, almost purple lips, but it was his eyes, little pinpoints of black that stared at him, that seemed to be completely soulless, that made the Tsesarevich so completely frightening. "Yes, Lord Frieza?"

Frieza's lips upturned into a chilling smile, as his inferior cowered before him, "I do not appreciate having to wait exactly two minutes since I rang for you, when I have made it abundantly clear that when I need you, I want you here immediately." Pyotr gave a nod, turning his eyes down as he waited for Frieza to declare what his punishment would be, "no rations for the next three days, Pyotr."

Pyotr gave a nod, and then left the room, running just as quickly as he had entered it, thanking his lucky stars that his punishment was only not to eat. He had had many a bone broken under the orders of Frieza, and going without food almost seemed like a blessing.

Back in the war room, one of Frieza's advisors, a pink blob of a man, chuckled, "you are getting soft in your old age Frieza. Letting the man go with only no food. Tsk, tsk."

Frieza's face remained impassive, as he kept his eyes on the map in front of him, moving a miniature of himself closer to England, the British Empire beckoning him like a jewel to a thief, "perhaps you are correct Dodoria. But I think Pyotr will reconsider ever being late for me again when he goes home tonight to find his oldest son dead."

The only answer was the sound of mirthless, bone-chilling laughter, all from the Tsesarevich himself.
~~&~~
A/N: Is it bad form for an author to say they like a particular chapter of a story they are writing? Because I think I like this chapter, very much, what with the sizzling sexual tension between Bulma and Vegeta, imagining Vegeta as a sexy old-timey sailor, and the introduction of Frieza to the plot--anyhoo...on to England!