Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ The Morning After ( Chapter 15 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: okieday17 
Vegeta seems to have everything under control...or does he?
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.02.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 615 | Status: Work In Progress
Vegeta seems to have everything under control...or does he?
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.02.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 615 | Status: Work In Progress
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
A/N: Goodness, the reviews I get keep getting more and more inspiring. Seriously, you guys motivate me to keep writing! I love you all!
Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for taking time out of playing ME 3 to beta for me--if my writing seems more palpable of late--it is all her!
On to the story! Nothing like the harsh light of day to make decisions made during the magic of night seem...well...
Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After
Vegeta was up at his usual hour the day after the ball. After his years in the royal navy (and more recently, in his spy work) he had gotten used to going night with very little to no sleep, so waking at his usual early hour the day after the ball was not an issue. He was able to enjoy his usual solitary breakfast, with no pesky interruptions from his houseguests, a delight he had been unable to have since he had returned from France. Even the dowager was still in bed when Vegeta finished his breakfast, leaving the house with little to no ceremony as he walked at a brisk stride with a purposeful stride. Vegeta could almost fool himself that everything was back to normal, that he had Saiyan Hall to himself, and this was just any regular morning, just like any other morning he spent in London in countless years past.
Almost--but not quite.
On the outside he was as severe and austere as he always was, strolling down the street with an ominous look on his face that dared anyone foolish enough to speak to him. On the inside though, he wished the next fool who looked at him would dare to speak to him so he would have a very valid excuse to beat the living shit out of someone, anyone. The feeling that everything was going wrong in his life was growing worse, and his thoughts had kept him from closing his eyes for more than a small nap last night--leaving him agitated, irritable and ready to fight. He had considered waking Kakarrot for a morning spar, but Vegeta decided he was in the mood to pound his frustrations out, not get into an almost even match that used his wits as well as his fists.
Last night had not gone as planned--none of it.
Oh sure, he had successfully introduced his cousin to all of society. He was sure that when he read the paper later today, it would be full of references to Kakarrot's introduction, and the success of the ball in general. Yet none of these thoughts helped calm him as he walked to the war offices with a list full of names he wanted the men who worked there to start gathering intelligence on. In all, his two overarching goals of the night had been met.
But only on paper--Kakarrot had been a success, but Bulma had been a bigger one (he was sure he would have to hear the dowagers opinion on THAT), and even though he was now heading to the war offices with a list of names to research, the biggest lead--the pair that Bulma and him had heard speaking through the bushes--had eluded him. It frustrated him to no end to know that he might have had Zhelonie a few simple feet away from him, and because he could not keep his hormones under control he had missed the man completely. If a man he was commanding had missed out on an enemy of the crown simply because they were tupping a wench, Vegeta would have had that man flogged soundly as a warning to others who did not think they could keep it in their pants (so to speak).
Vegeta's walking cane thumped fast and furious, his fury directed at himself for losing the opportunity to find a man who might bring him one step closer to Frieza. He had waited for years for an opportunity to get back at the Tsesarevich, and he might have let the biggest opportunity he had ever had slip away from him.
By the time he had dropped Bulma off, the tracks of the men had gone cold and though Vegeta had given a half-hearted attempt at finding clues about these men's whereabouts--nothing.
Truthfully, though, Vegeta's disappointment in his bad spy work was completely overshadowed by his disappointment in himself.
Just what in the hell had he been thinking--rutting with the American in his garden where literally any person could have walked around the hedge and found them?! What had he been thinking--when he had followed her into the garden he had not expected to do anything but lecture her--but no. He had not expected the rush of joy he had felt when he had heard Bulma state that Kakarrot was nothing but a brother to her and he had grabbed for her blindly. If she had not reacted as strongly as she had--it was those damn soft moans of hers, the way she kissed, and the way she grasped at him that had caused his very sanity to flee.
He had told himself he was not going to get entangled with the American and look at how that had turned out. Not only had he tangled himself with her (so very definitely tangled himself with her...), he had done a slipshod job of it. For a man whose lovemaking was a practiced blend of technique and choreography, it had been a shock to find himself at the mercy of his own passions. Vegeta honestly could not remember a time in the last ten years where he had let his hormones dictate his lovemaking so ruthlessly.
Vegeta usually prided himself on his skills as a lover, taking the time to ensure that the woman he was with came before he did. His past lovers had always walked away satisfied, and he was not being egotistical when he said he usually heard through the gossip grapevine that he was the best lover these women had ever had. He never lost control of himself completely while having sex, and made sure that no one left his bed unsatisfied. Last night though...the way that he had so roughly taken Bulma was tantamount to a youth lying with his first maiden as he left boyhood, hurriedly entering her, thrusting a few times and finding release before the woman could blink.
Good Kami, what had been worse is that Vegeta was ready to take her almost as soon as he had cum, his physical gratification so great he wanted to do nothing more than find her, lift her skirts and sink into her sweet embrace one more time. He had hoped his cravings for her would abate the second he saw that she was just like any other woman--but this had been different. Her kisses had been drugging, the taste of her mouth and flesh the most addicting substance he had ever encountered. Being inside of her--even for such a rough mating--had been unlike anything he had known.
But this line of thinking was dangerous. He could never, ever be with Bulma again, no matter the amount of physical gratification he had found with her. This was it--a onetime only deal, and he knew that when he got back to the house, he and Bulma were going to have a heavy conversation. Maybe now she would see the wisdom in her leaving for her uncle, the Baron's, estate, rather than continue to live with Vegeta. Kami knew that he would have a hard time seeing her without wanting to be inside of her again.
And if that was not dangerous to his very well being, Vegeta did not know what was.
As he took the very familiar route to the underground war offices, he was pleased to see that here, at least, he was treated with respect (immediately) as subordinates jumped all around him to do his bidding. Vegeta did not come to the war offices often, but when he did, he always had people eager to please him. Not only was he a Duke here, but a recognized agent of the crown, and one who had earned his place--not something that could easily be said about the other aristocracy who worked with the crown. Minions not only shot to their feet when he walked by, they saluted him, recognizing his long-ago retired rank of commodore. It made for a nice change of pace, since his home life seemed to be continually spiraling out of his control.
Here, he was able to be the Dark Duke, all commanding and authoritative, and everyone listened to him. As he waited to meet with Basil, Lackeys were fetched to retrieve information about the names he had brought, and Vegeta was able to chat to a few other members of the war offices about what Russia was planning, and other problems in some of their colonies.
When he finally gave his account of the night to Basil, Vegeta was please that Basil agreed with him that he should not attend every event of the season as it would arouse too much suspicion for the Dark Duke to suddenly become a social butterfly. They needed someone to be on the inside though, and Basil was insistent that Vegeta should have a presence at these events so he could know more about what was happening.
"What about the Briefs girl? Do you think we can trust her to keep her eyes open at events?"
Vegeta's strangled reply was tantamount to, "HELL NO!"
Basil's hearing must have been going, though, as he nodded. "Good. At least we know we can have someone who can go to every event and not raise suspicion. I have some translations that I need to be done by the end of this week too--I will send them to your house by carrier this afternoon. Please pass them along, and instruct her to keep her ears open. Tell her I will send messages through you if need be."
Vegeta had to stop the glare he felt coming, and had given a nod, unable to open his mouth without saying something he knew he would later regret.
After Vegeta left the war offices, he decided to veer off of his usual course and to head to Jacksons. Though Jacksons was the premiere place to head for any gentleman who considered himself a pugilist, Vegeta had not gone there to exercise in years. Mainly because no one would box him after that unfortunate event with the Baron Lancewood--was it really his fault that the man was an idiot and had continued to taunt Vegeta until his arm was broken in three (or was it four) places? No--it was not. Plus, he had taught Lancewood, that idiot, an invaluable lesson that day.
Namely, not to taunt the Duke of Vegetasei.
Anyone who wanted to challenge him after that were upstarts looking to make a name for themselves by fighting the best, and Vegeta had always found them not worth his time as they were usually too green to get a real fight out of them. Today though, it would serve wonders for his bruised ego to go in, and kick the tar out of some chump who thought they knew it all.
When Vegeta entered Jacksons, the wizened old man who ran the whole gym looked up, his white beard and hair obscuring his face to the point of looking animalistic. Without his eyes ever opening, the man cracked a smile. "Your Grace. We have not been blessed with your presence in a long while. What can I do for you?"
Vegeta, never one to disrespect someone he actually felt respect for (a very rare thing, that was) gave a nod, tipping his hat in the old man's direction. "Master Korin. I have come in search of a man to spar with."
The old man's brows shot up in surprise at that declaration, but he leaned closer, taking stock of Vegeta, before he leaned back, thumping his ever present brown cane, chuckling, "Of course you have. Be honest though, you have come to pound some poor man's lights out, haven't you? You can't lie to the man who taught you how to properly fight in a ring."
Vegeta smirked--Korin had been one of the masters he had gone through while he had been a young duke who had been taught everything from literature to fencing from various masters. Korin had been his fighting instructor for a short while, when Vegeta's father had felt Vegeta was not picking anything refined up from Nappa's fighting style. He had been right, of course--and Korin had actually been someone Vegeta had felt he had learned a great deal under.
Once the dowager caught wind that one of Vegeta's Ômasters' was nothing more than a common man who owned a pugilism gym (never mind that it was THE pugilism gym), though, Vegeta had found himself with a more Ôproper' master. Who Vegeta had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of--and that had been the end of anyone but Nappa teaching Vegeta about fighting.
"Is Yajirobe around?"
Korin's face split into a wide grin at that, and he let out another chuckle, "Oh Vegeta, you should know by now that Yajirobe hightails it whenever he hears your name, let alone sees you walking through our door."
Korin's ever-present grandnephew, who everyone knew hoped to inherit Jackson's when Korin passed, was everything Vegeta despised. He was lazy, indolent, gluttonous, and expected that he would get everything he ever wanted without lifting one fat finger. Vegeta had managed to get Yajirobe into the ring once, and gotten in a fairly spectacular beating--until Yajirobe had pulled his glove off, revealing a wicked knife that was illegal in the sports ring, effectively winning the fight by cheating. Vegeta had never forgiven him for that slight and would desperately have loved to have settled old scores today of all days. Still, he knew Yajirobe was smart, and would not think that Vegeta would ever forgive him or Ôgo easy' on him.
Vegeta's frown deepened. "Hmmph. Fine. Who else do you have?"
Korin smiled as he leaped from the chair he had been sitting on. Vegeta winced as he heard what sounded like every joint in the older man's body popping and cracking as Korin moved, but Korin only grinned at him. "Don't worry, your Grace. Your pugilism is still renowned around here--there will always be some young blue bloods willing to enter a ring with you, the mere privilege of your glove touching their face worth the pain they will endure. We will find you someone--come."
Vegeta had followed the much smaller man, already cracking his knuckles in delightful anticipation of the fights to come.
~~&~~
Vegeta distastefully watched the antics of the young man currently in the ring with him (an earl, if he was not mistaken), who was quickly throwing jab after jab--artlessly aiming for any piece of flesh Vegeta deigned to show him. Vegeta felt himself growing bored as he ducked another fast (but ungraceful) fist to his general head region and decided to end it all with one well-timed upper-cut that had the other man spinning twice before he fell to the ground, completely knocked out.
Vegeta tapped the other man with the toe of his shoe, and smirked when he got no response. He looked to the earl's valet at the side of the ring, nodding, "You might want to try and revive him," and then left the ring, sighing.
It was his fourth knock out of the day, and Vegeta had to admit it had him feeling better. Whatever doubts he had had about his virility he had gained from his unskillful bedding of Bulma from last night were gone--yet Vegeta could not shake the funk he was in. Mainly because he knew he would have to go home now, and home meant facing Bulma, having a conversation he clearly needed to have with her. He would love to avoid her at all costs from this point on, but the fact that they lived together, and that Basil had basically put Vegeta in charge of her would make this nigh impossible.
Also, it could be assured that the dowager would pounce on him the second he walked through the front door with eons and eons of criticism's about what had happened last night.
Oh joy.
Vegeta grumbled as he stepped out of the ring, holding his hands out for some minion to unwrap the tape that held his gloves in place, before going back to the backroom where he could have a quick rinse and change back into his regular clothes. When this was done, he exited the main gym, and cricked his back, smirking at the satisfyingly loud crack of his back.
"Careful Vegeta, when you get to my age, a crack like that means you won't be walking anymore."
Vegeta smirked at Korin, "I thank you for the men you have sent my way today. They were satisfyingly easy to beat, which was exactly what I needed."
Korin smiled, his eyes still unopening, "Ah yes. Just what you needed, I hope. Not a single one of them a real challenge--but enough of a fight to get your blood flowing." Korin motioned with his hand, "Come though--I have one more fighter I want you to meet. An American, actually. I think you two should spar sometime."
Vegeta groaned inwardly, not another bloody American!
Still, he followed his old master back to a small training room ready and eager for any distraction from his own thoughts, or from the women he knew he would have to face at home. Once inside the darkened room, he saw a tall man standing at the middle, surrounded by men with bamboo sticks, who were attacking (or trying to attack) the tall man. The man in the middle, who was wearing a turban, had tan, tawny skin, and a tall, very lithe, yet still muscular build. As the other's rushed at him, the man easily avoided all of them, his face stern as he ducked and moved out of their way.
Vegeta calculated this with interest as he saw how fast the man moved, comparing him to the earl he had knocked out not an hour before. This man was fast (faster, even), but had the grace of a real fighter, something the other men he had fought today lacked.
Vegeta watched with growing interest as the number of people trying to knock the man down doubled, but the man refused to lose his cool. After a time the tall man began to attack back, and before long he was the only one standing.
After the last man with a bamboo stick was knocked down, Korin clapped loud and clear, drawing the tall man's gaze. The tall man gave a respectful bow to the proprietor of the gym before walking over to him and Vegeta, deftly stepping over the men he had just knocked down. Vegeta saw the man give Vegeta a quick, dismissing glance before he turned towards Korin, "Master Korin--thank you for letting me use your gym. I was surprised you had heard of Kendo, and thank you for letting me try and practice here." The man's voice was deep, reminding Vegeta of gravel, and something else...
Korin only nodded. "Of course. Mister Piccolo, I hope you do not mind an introduction so quickly after a fight."
Piccolo dipped his head deferentially. "Not if it is someone you think I should meet."
"Excellent," Korin smiled as he motioned to Vegeta, "Mister Piccolo, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."
The tall man finally turned towards Vegeta, giving him a bow as well, murmuring, "Your Grace." When he lifted his head to look at Vegeta, Vegeta was arrested by the greenest set of eyes that he had ever seen shining from this man's face and he could only give a nod.
"I have heard much about your fighting skills while I have been here. Master Korin thinks very highly of you."
Vegeta grunted, and then frowned at the man as he spoke. His accent was odd--Vegeta could not easily discern it yet something in it irked him. "Mister Piccolo I was told you were an American and yet your accent is hard to place."
The tall man shifted his head and frowned at Master Korin, before shaking his head, "I am not an American, as I have tried to repeatedly explain to Master Korin. I come from across the Atlantic as well, but I from further north than America. I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec."
Some flag went off with Piccolo's description of where he was from, but Vegeta could not rightly place it. So he filed it away for later, and gave a small nod, "You are a far way from your home."
Piccolo, as if sensing Vegeta was fishing for more information about him only gave a soft, "Yes."
Vegeta stared at the man, assessing, but decided it was not worth his time to pursue more about this man right now. So he waved his hand, changing the subject, "Korin has said we should duel together and after having seen you fight I can see the merit in that. Can you come to my private residence sometime for a fight?"
The man did not immediately jump at the offer, which affronted Vegeta heavily--it was not everyday he went around inviting foreigners to come and fight in his back yard (present American guests excluded)--and he had expected the man to fall all over himself. Any other man in the whole of England would have been dying for a personal invitation from the Duke to come to his private residence. It was rarely seen.
Still, this man was a foreigner. Maybe he did not know how important Vegeta was? Vegeta decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, though he suspected the man was a fool if he did know that a Duke was the highest ranked aristocracy.
"I think a fight between us would be most invigorating your Grace, but I would prefer to do it here, at Jacksons." When Piccolo finally spoke, it was slowly but assuredly, letting Vegeta know that he was not one to make decisions impulsively. Maybe he feared an unfair fight at Saiyan Hall?
Vegeta could find no fault with the odd request though, and so he only nodded, "Of course. You will be here?"
"Every Tuesday and Thursday for as long as I am in London, your Grace."
Vegeta gave another quick nod, then tapped his walking cane, "I will come soon then, to test your skills."
Vegeta watched with surprise as he saw a flash of the man's sharp canines as he gave a smirk, "I will be sure to test your own, then," before he bowed one last time and walked away.
Korin smiled as they watched the retreating back of the tall Indian. "Excellent. I should sell seats to a match like this."
Vegeta only smirked, though he watched Piccolo retreat with curiosity.
Everyone had something to hide, and yet Vegeta could not help but wonder if this man's secret would be one worth exposing...
~~&~~
Vegeta had not made it three steps inside of his London residence before he was assaulted with the overwhelming perfume of flowers. Overwhelming being the keyword here--Vegeta had to hold back a sneeze as his olfactory senses were overloaded with the smells of dozens of different varieties of flowers. Holding a hand to his nose, Vegeta's already foul mood dipped further down as he stared around for the source of the overpowering scents.
"Jeffries!"
The competent butler appeared at the Duke's elbow in a second, reaching for his hat and cane with a polite tone, "Yes, your Grace?"
Vegeta pointed in the general direction of the smell, which happened to be everywhere. "Why does it smell like a French florists in here?"
Jeffries' face was stone even as he said, "Because we have turned into one, your Grace."
Vegeta, who had known Jeffries his whole life (and had never heard him tell a joke before) raised a brow, taken aback, "I beg your pardon?"
Jeffries motioned further down the hall, "Ever since you left, your Grace, the front door bell has been ringing--I fear all of London is trying to pay its respects to your American guest and has decided to do so by emptying every French florist in all of the city."
Vegeta processed the words, groaning as he put his palms to his eyes, trying to apply pressure to the headache he could begin to feel stinging there. No guesses were needed as to who the flowers were all directed to. Damn! That woman was already taking over his thoughts, were his senses no longer to be his own either? Would he have to endure scents like these for the rest of her tenure here?
"Are you trying to tell me that my damn house has become a flower shop?"
Jeffries nodded, before amending, "Well--not all of your house. Just three of your sitting rooms. Though I fear if we get many more deliveries we might have to use a fourth. The front door bell has hardly stopped ring--"
As if summoned by being spoken about the front door bell started to clang, and Jeffries hurried over. When he opened the door, a huge bouquet of blue flowers met Vegeta's gaze--whoever was delivering them completely hidden from view of such a large flower arrangement. "Delivery for Miss Briefs."
Jeffries gave a long-suffering internal sigh (hey, he was a damned good butler who did not show his emotions, ever) before intoning, "Follow me."
Vegeta, curious, followed the walking flower arrangement as Jeffries directed them to one of the sitting rooms Vegeta presumed was full of flowers--and was not disappointed. He had never seen so many flower arrangements together outside of tropical hothouses. Odd, though--they were all blue and red. Mostly blue--but a few dozens of dozens of red roses could be seen as well.
Jeffries tipped the deliveryman, and escorted him out as Vegeta began to walk around the room, in awe of how many different blue flowers there were to be found. Showed what he knew about gardening. He smirked, thinking about how Bulma catching him in a lie about gardening that had led to her becoming an accomplice of his in the spy world. He swiftly frowned at that thought, though, and entered the room further, seeking to distract himself by looking at the cards attached to the flowers, noticing a running theme.
Blue, to match the sparkling of your eyes...
These blue flowers do not quite match the loveliness of your gaze...
Bluebells since your unique coloring sent my heart a ringing (Vegeta could not help but snort at that one)
These red roses are almost as beautiful as you were in that gown last night...
Not a very creative bunch, were these would-be suitors?
Every last one of the cards that Vegeta looked through mentioned Bulma's hair color and eye color, or the color of her dress. Hmmph. They said nothing about her musical laugh, or the way her wit was unparalleled. Nothing about the brains she so prided herself on, only about the superficial beauty.
Fools.
Vegeta was reading a particularly cheesy card from a man he would have to meet face to face in the House of Lords (leaving Vegeta wondering how he could ever face a man who thought that blue rhymed with flute) when he heard a familiar angry tapping. Before he could have time to use a side door to make an escape, the door banged open, and Vegeta was met with the sight of his never-welcome grandmother. Her eyes found him immediately and she curled a claw at him. "Come. We must speak."
Vegeta chafed at being ordered about so, and he forced himself to stand straighter. "I have just arrived home, and am not in the mood for a meeting."
The dowager's eyes were glacial as she responded, "Tough. We have things we need to discuss about last night. Things I think you would be very interested in hearing about."
Something about her words...they caused a tremor of apprehension to run down Vegeta's spine. What did his grandmother know? Could the reason she was looking at him so solemnly be because she knew what he had done last night? How had she discovered what had happened between him and Bulma in the gardens?
Vegeta seriously considered getting out of the conversation he knew was awaiting him with this vile woman, but he knew he was just pushing off the inevitable. The dowager was right--they did need to talk. Vegeta only sighed, gave a nod, then followed his grandmother out of the hot house that used to be his morning room, making sure to order Jeffries to open every damn window in the house to try and drown out the cloying smell of flowers.
Unnoticing, of course, that every window had already been open before he had even gotten home.
~~&~~
A/N: Uh-oh--the dowager finding out is pretty high up their on the list of things no one wants to happen (right below the rapture, but right above pestilence oddly enough)...
Anywhoo--I have to admit I actually really enjoy weaving more and more DBZ characters into the story, but since I do not watched the show as ardently as I did ten years ago (when I used to make lists of all the characters in DBZ I could name when I was bored in class--I think I once hit two hundred people in one period (true story--and also too much tmi...))--so in other words, if I remember a character and see a role they can fit in the story, there will probably be more Ôcameos.'
Also, for all who did not check out *Sami01's awesome fan art (or if the link did not work last time)--check it out at now!!
http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=the+da rk+duke#/d4o6afg
Or through a link on my deviantart homepage (username ~okieday17)
Warnings: Cussing
A/N: Goodness, the reviews I get keep getting more and more inspiring. Seriously, you guys motivate me to keep writing! I love you all!
Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for taking time out of playing ME 3 to beta for me--if my writing seems more palpable of late--it is all her!
On to the story! Nothing like the harsh light of day to make decisions made during the magic of night seem...well...
Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After
Vegeta was up at his usual hour the day after the ball. After his years in the royal navy (and more recently, in his spy work) he had gotten used to going night with very little to no sleep, so waking at his usual early hour the day after the ball was not an issue. He was able to enjoy his usual solitary breakfast, with no pesky interruptions from his houseguests, a delight he had been unable to have since he had returned from France. Even the dowager was still in bed when Vegeta finished his breakfast, leaving the house with little to no ceremony as he walked at a brisk stride with a purposeful stride. Vegeta could almost fool himself that everything was back to normal, that he had Saiyan Hall to himself, and this was just any regular morning, just like any other morning he spent in London in countless years past.
Almost--but not quite.
On the outside he was as severe and austere as he always was, strolling down the street with an ominous look on his face that dared anyone foolish enough to speak to him. On the inside though, he wished the next fool who looked at him would dare to speak to him so he would have a very valid excuse to beat the living shit out of someone, anyone. The feeling that everything was going wrong in his life was growing worse, and his thoughts had kept him from closing his eyes for more than a small nap last night--leaving him agitated, irritable and ready to fight. He had considered waking Kakarrot for a morning spar, but Vegeta decided he was in the mood to pound his frustrations out, not get into an almost even match that used his wits as well as his fists.
Last night had not gone as planned--none of it.
Oh sure, he had successfully introduced his cousin to all of society. He was sure that when he read the paper later today, it would be full of references to Kakarrot's introduction, and the success of the ball in general. Yet none of these thoughts helped calm him as he walked to the war offices with a list full of names he wanted the men who worked there to start gathering intelligence on. In all, his two overarching goals of the night had been met.
But only on paper--Kakarrot had been a success, but Bulma had been a bigger one (he was sure he would have to hear the dowagers opinion on THAT), and even though he was now heading to the war offices with a list of names to research, the biggest lead--the pair that Bulma and him had heard speaking through the bushes--had eluded him. It frustrated him to no end to know that he might have had Zhelonie a few simple feet away from him, and because he could not keep his hormones under control he had missed the man completely. If a man he was commanding had missed out on an enemy of the crown simply because they were tupping a wench, Vegeta would have had that man flogged soundly as a warning to others who did not think they could keep it in their pants (so to speak).
Vegeta's walking cane thumped fast and furious, his fury directed at himself for losing the opportunity to find a man who might bring him one step closer to Frieza. He had waited for years for an opportunity to get back at the Tsesarevich, and he might have let the biggest opportunity he had ever had slip away from him.
By the time he had dropped Bulma off, the tracks of the men had gone cold and though Vegeta had given a half-hearted attempt at finding clues about these men's whereabouts--nothing.
Truthfully, though, Vegeta's disappointment in his bad spy work was completely overshadowed by his disappointment in himself.
Just what in the hell had he been thinking--rutting with the American in his garden where literally any person could have walked around the hedge and found them?! What had he been thinking--when he had followed her into the garden he had not expected to do anything but lecture her--but no. He had not expected the rush of joy he had felt when he had heard Bulma state that Kakarrot was nothing but a brother to her and he had grabbed for her blindly. If she had not reacted as strongly as she had--it was those damn soft moans of hers, the way she kissed, and the way she grasped at him that had caused his very sanity to flee.
He had told himself he was not going to get entangled with the American and look at how that had turned out. Not only had he tangled himself with her (so very definitely tangled himself with her...), he had done a slipshod job of it. For a man whose lovemaking was a practiced blend of technique and choreography, it had been a shock to find himself at the mercy of his own passions. Vegeta honestly could not remember a time in the last ten years where he had let his hormones dictate his lovemaking so ruthlessly.
Vegeta usually prided himself on his skills as a lover, taking the time to ensure that the woman he was with came before he did. His past lovers had always walked away satisfied, and he was not being egotistical when he said he usually heard through the gossip grapevine that he was the best lover these women had ever had. He never lost control of himself completely while having sex, and made sure that no one left his bed unsatisfied. Last night though...the way that he had so roughly taken Bulma was tantamount to a youth lying with his first maiden as he left boyhood, hurriedly entering her, thrusting a few times and finding release before the woman could blink.
Good Kami, what had been worse is that Vegeta was ready to take her almost as soon as he had cum, his physical gratification so great he wanted to do nothing more than find her, lift her skirts and sink into her sweet embrace one more time. He had hoped his cravings for her would abate the second he saw that she was just like any other woman--but this had been different. Her kisses had been drugging, the taste of her mouth and flesh the most addicting substance he had ever encountered. Being inside of her--even for such a rough mating--had been unlike anything he had known.
But this line of thinking was dangerous. He could never, ever be with Bulma again, no matter the amount of physical gratification he had found with her. This was it--a onetime only deal, and he knew that when he got back to the house, he and Bulma were going to have a heavy conversation. Maybe now she would see the wisdom in her leaving for her uncle, the Baron's, estate, rather than continue to live with Vegeta. Kami knew that he would have a hard time seeing her without wanting to be inside of her again.
And if that was not dangerous to his very well being, Vegeta did not know what was.
As he took the very familiar route to the underground war offices, he was pleased to see that here, at least, he was treated with respect (immediately) as subordinates jumped all around him to do his bidding. Vegeta did not come to the war offices often, but when he did, he always had people eager to please him. Not only was he a Duke here, but a recognized agent of the crown, and one who had earned his place--not something that could easily be said about the other aristocracy who worked with the crown. Minions not only shot to their feet when he walked by, they saluted him, recognizing his long-ago retired rank of commodore. It made for a nice change of pace, since his home life seemed to be continually spiraling out of his control.
Here, he was able to be the Dark Duke, all commanding and authoritative, and everyone listened to him. As he waited to meet with Basil, Lackeys were fetched to retrieve information about the names he had brought, and Vegeta was able to chat to a few other members of the war offices about what Russia was planning, and other problems in some of their colonies.
When he finally gave his account of the night to Basil, Vegeta was please that Basil agreed with him that he should not attend every event of the season as it would arouse too much suspicion for the Dark Duke to suddenly become a social butterfly. They needed someone to be on the inside though, and Basil was insistent that Vegeta should have a presence at these events so he could know more about what was happening.
"What about the Briefs girl? Do you think we can trust her to keep her eyes open at events?"
Vegeta's strangled reply was tantamount to, "HELL NO!"
Basil's hearing must have been going, though, as he nodded. "Good. At least we know we can have someone who can go to every event and not raise suspicion. I have some translations that I need to be done by the end of this week too--I will send them to your house by carrier this afternoon. Please pass them along, and instruct her to keep her ears open. Tell her I will send messages through you if need be."
Vegeta had to stop the glare he felt coming, and had given a nod, unable to open his mouth without saying something he knew he would later regret.
After Vegeta left the war offices, he decided to veer off of his usual course and to head to Jacksons. Though Jacksons was the premiere place to head for any gentleman who considered himself a pugilist, Vegeta had not gone there to exercise in years. Mainly because no one would box him after that unfortunate event with the Baron Lancewood--was it really his fault that the man was an idiot and had continued to taunt Vegeta until his arm was broken in three (or was it four) places? No--it was not. Plus, he had taught Lancewood, that idiot, an invaluable lesson that day.
Namely, not to taunt the Duke of Vegetasei.
Anyone who wanted to challenge him after that were upstarts looking to make a name for themselves by fighting the best, and Vegeta had always found them not worth his time as they were usually too green to get a real fight out of them. Today though, it would serve wonders for his bruised ego to go in, and kick the tar out of some chump who thought they knew it all.
When Vegeta entered Jacksons, the wizened old man who ran the whole gym looked up, his white beard and hair obscuring his face to the point of looking animalistic. Without his eyes ever opening, the man cracked a smile. "Your Grace. We have not been blessed with your presence in a long while. What can I do for you?"
Vegeta, never one to disrespect someone he actually felt respect for (a very rare thing, that was) gave a nod, tipping his hat in the old man's direction. "Master Korin. I have come in search of a man to spar with."
The old man's brows shot up in surprise at that declaration, but he leaned closer, taking stock of Vegeta, before he leaned back, thumping his ever present brown cane, chuckling, "Of course you have. Be honest though, you have come to pound some poor man's lights out, haven't you? You can't lie to the man who taught you how to properly fight in a ring."
Vegeta smirked--Korin had been one of the masters he had gone through while he had been a young duke who had been taught everything from literature to fencing from various masters. Korin had been his fighting instructor for a short while, when Vegeta's father had felt Vegeta was not picking anything refined up from Nappa's fighting style. He had been right, of course--and Korin had actually been someone Vegeta had felt he had learned a great deal under.
Once the dowager caught wind that one of Vegeta's Ômasters' was nothing more than a common man who owned a pugilism gym (never mind that it was THE pugilism gym), though, Vegeta had found himself with a more Ôproper' master. Who Vegeta had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of--and that had been the end of anyone but Nappa teaching Vegeta about fighting.
"Is Yajirobe around?"
Korin's face split into a wide grin at that, and he let out another chuckle, "Oh Vegeta, you should know by now that Yajirobe hightails it whenever he hears your name, let alone sees you walking through our door."
Korin's ever-present grandnephew, who everyone knew hoped to inherit Jackson's when Korin passed, was everything Vegeta despised. He was lazy, indolent, gluttonous, and expected that he would get everything he ever wanted without lifting one fat finger. Vegeta had managed to get Yajirobe into the ring once, and gotten in a fairly spectacular beating--until Yajirobe had pulled his glove off, revealing a wicked knife that was illegal in the sports ring, effectively winning the fight by cheating. Vegeta had never forgiven him for that slight and would desperately have loved to have settled old scores today of all days. Still, he knew Yajirobe was smart, and would not think that Vegeta would ever forgive him or Ôgo easy' on him.
Vegeta's frown deepened. "Hmmph. Fine. Who else do you have?"
Korin smiled as he leaped from the chair he had been sitting on. Vegeta winced as he heard what sounded like every joint in the older man's body popping and cracking as Korin moved, but Korin only grinned at him. "Don't worry, your Grace. Your pugilism is still renowned around here--there will always be some young blue bloods willing to enter a ring with you, the mere privilege of your glove touching their face worth the pain they will endure. We will find you someone--come."
Vegeta had followed the much smaller man, already cracking his knuckles in delightful anticipation of the fights to come.
~~&~~
Vegeta distastefully watched the antics of the young man currently in the ring with him (an earl, if he was not mistaken), who was quickly throwing jab after jab--artlessly aiming for any piece of flesh Vegeta deigned to show him. Vegeta felt himself growing bored as he ducked another fast (but ungraceful) fist to his general head region and decided to end it all with one well-timed upper-cut that had the other man spinning twice before he fell to the ground, completely knocked out.
Vegeta tapped the other man with the toe of his shoe, and smirked when he got no response. He looked to the earl's valet at the side of the ring, nodding, "You might want to try and revive him," and then left the ring, sighing.
It was his fourth knock out of the day, and Vegeta had to admit it had him feeling better. Whatever doubts he had had about his virility he had gained from his unskillful bedding of Bulma from last night were gone--yet Vegeta could not shake the funk he was in. Mainly because he knew he would have to go home now, and home meant facing Bulma, having a conversation he clearly needed to have with her. He would love to avoid her at all costs from this point on, but the fact that they lived together, and that Basil had basically put Vegeta in charge of her would make this nigh impossible.
Also, it could be assured that the dowager would pounce on him the second he walked through the front door with eons and eons of criticism's about what had happened last night.
Oh joy.
Vegeta grumbled as he stepped out of the ring, holding his hands out for some minion to unwrap the tape that held his gloves in place, before going back to the backroom where he could have a quick rinse and change back into his regular clothes. When this was done, he exited the main gym, and cricked his back, smirking at the satisfyingly loud crack of his back.
"Careful Vegeta, when you get to my age, a crack like that means you won't be walking anymore."
Vegeta smirked at Korin, "I thank you for the men you have sent my way today. They were satisfyingly easy to beat, which was exactly what I needed."
Korin smiled, his eyes still unopening, "Ah yes. Just what you needed, I hope. Not a single one of them a real challenge--but enough of a fight to get your blood flowing." Korin motioned with his hand, "Come though--I have one more fighter I want you to meet. An American, actually. I think you two should spar sometime."
Vegeta groaned inwardly, not another bloody American!
Still, he followed his old master back to a small training room ready and eager for any distraction from his own thoughts, or from the women he knew he would have to face at home. Once inside the darkened room, he saw a tall man standing at the middle, surrounded by men with bamboo sticks, who were attacking (or trying to attack) the tall man. The man in the middle, who was wearing a turban, had tan, tawny skin, and a tall, very lithe, yet still muscular build. As the other's rushed at him, the man easily avoided all of them, his face stern as he ducked and moved out of their way.
Vegeta calculated this with interest as he saw how fast the man moved, comparing him to the earl he had knocked out not an hour before. This man was fast (faster, even), but had the grace of a real fighter, something the other men he had fought today lacked.
Vegeta watched with growing interest as the number of people trying to knock the man down doubled, but the man refused to lose his cool. After a time the tall man began to attack back, and before long he was the only one standing.
After the last man with a bamboo stick was knocked down, Korin clapped loud and clear, drawing the tall man's gaze. The tall man gave a respectful bow to the proprietor of the gym before walking over to him and Vegeta, deftly stepping over the men he had just knocked down. Vegeta saw the man give Vegeta a quick, dismissing glance before he turned towards Korin, "Master Korin--thank you for letting me use your gym. I was surprised you had heard of Kendo, and thank you for letting me try and practice here." The man's voice was deep, reminding Vegeta of gravel, and something else...
Korin only nodded. "Of course. Mister Piccolo, I hope you do not mind an introduction so quickly after a fight."
Piccolo dipped his head deferentially. "Not if it is someone you think I should meet."
"Excellent," Korin smiled as he motioned to Vegeta, "Mister Piccolo, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."
The tall man finally turned towards Vegeta, giving him a bow as well, murmuring, "Your Grace." When he lifted his head to look at Vegeta, Vegeta was arrested by the greenest set of eyes that he had ever seen shining from this man's face and he could only give a nod.
"I have heard much about your fighting skills while I have been here. Master Korin thinks very highly of you."
Vegeta grunted, and then frowned at the man as he spoke. His accent was odd--Vegeta could not easily discern it yet something in it irked him. "Mister Piccolo I was told you were an American and yet your accent is hard to place."
The tall man shifted his head and frowned at Master Korin, before shaking his head, "I am not an American, as I have tried to repeatedly explain to Master Korin. I come from across the Atlantic as well, but I from further north than America. I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec."
Some flag went off with Piccolo's description of where he was from, but Vegeta could not rightly place it. So he filed it away for later, and gave a small nod, "You are a far way from your home."
Piccolo, as if sensing Vegeta was fishing for more information about him only gave a soft, "Yes."
Vegeta stared at the man, assessing, but decided it was not worth his time to pursue more about this man right now. So he waved his hand, changing the subject, "Korin has said we should duel together and after having seen you fight I can see the merit in that. Can you come to my private residence sometime for a fight?"
The man did not immediately jump at the offer, which affronted Vegeta heavily--it was not everyday he went around inviting foreigners to come and fight in his back yard (present American guests excluded)--and he had expected the man to fall all over himself. Any other man in the whole of England would have been dying for a personal invitation from the Duke to come to his private residence. It was rarely seen.
Still, this man was a foreigner. Maybe he did not know how important Vegeta was? Vegeta decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, though he suspected the man was a fool if he did know that a Duke was the highest ranked aristocracy.
"I think a fight between us would be most invigorating your Grace, but I would prefer to do it here, at Jacksons." When Piccolo finally spoke, it was slowly but assuredly, letting Vegeta know that he was not one to make decisions impulsively. Maybe he feared an unfair fight at Saiyan Hall?
Vegeta could find no fault with the odd request though, and so he only nodded, "Of course. You will be here?"
"Every Tuesday and Thursday for as long as I am in London, your Grace."
Vegeta gave another quick nod, then tapped his walking cane, "I will come soon then, to test your skills."
Vegeta watched with surprise as he saw a flash of the man's sharp canines as he gave a smirk, "I will be sure to test your own, then," before he bowed one last time and walked away.
Korin smiled as they watched the retreating back of the tall Indian. "Excellent. I should sell seats to a match like this."
Vegeta only smirked, though he watched Piccolo retreat with curiosity.
Everyone had something to hide, and yet Vegeta could not help but wonder if this man's secret would be one worth exposing...
~~&~~
Vegeta had not made it three steps inside of his London residence before he was assaulted with the overwhelming perfume of flowers. Overwhelming being the keyword here--Vegeta had to hold back a sneeze as his olfactory senses were overloaded with the smells of dozens of different varieties of flowers. Holding a hand to his nose, Vegeta's already foul mood dipped further down as he stared around for the source of the overpowering scents.
"Jeffries!"
The competent butler appeared at the Duke's elbow in a second, reaching for his hat and cane with a polite tone, "Yes, your Grace?"
Vegeta pointed in the general direction of the smell, which happened to be everywhere. "Why does it smell like a French florists in here?"
Jeffries' face was stone even as he said, "Because we have turned into one, your Grace."
Vegeta, who had known Jeffries his whole life (and had never heard him tell a joke before) raised a brow, taken aback, "I beg your pardon?"
Jeffries motioned further down the hall, "Ever since you left, your Grace, the front door bell has been ringing--I fear all of London is trying to pay its respects to your American guest and has decided to do so by emptying every French florist in all of the city."
Vegeta processed the words, groaning as he put his palms to his eyes, trying to apply pressure to the headache he could begin to feel stinging there. No guesses were needed as to who the flowers were all directed to. Damn! That woman was already taking over his thoughts, were his senses no longer to be his own either? Would he have to endure scents like these for the rest of her tenure here?
"Are you trying to tell me that my damn house has become a flower shop?"
Jeffries nodded, before amending, "Well--not all of your house. Just three of your sitting rooms. Though I fear if we get many more deliveries we might have to use a fourth. The front door bell has hardly stopped ring--"
As if summoned by being spoken about the front door bell started to clang, and Jeffries hurried over. When he opened the door, a huge bouquet of blue flowers met Vegeta's gaze--whoever was delivering them completely hidden from view of such a large flower arrangement. "Delivery for Miss Briefs."
Jeffries gave a long-suffering internal sigh (hey, he was a damned good butler who did not show his emotions, ever) before intoning, "Follow me."
Vegeta, curious, followed the walking flower arrangement as Jeffries directed them to one of the sitting rooms Vegeta presumed was full of flowers--and was not disappointed. He had never seen so many flower arrangements together outside of tropical hothouses. Odd, though--they were all blue and red. Mostly blue--but a few dozens of dozens of red roses could be seen as well.
Jeffries tipped the deliveryman, and escorted him out as Vegeta began to walk around the room, in awe of how many different blue flowers there were to be found. Showed what he knew about gardening. He smirked, thinking about how Bulma catching him in a lie about gardening that had led to her becoming an accomplice of his in the spy world. He swiftly frowned at that thought, though, and entered the room further, seeking to distract himself by looking at the cards attached to the flowers, noticing a running theme.
Blue, to match the sparkling of your eyes...
These blue flowers do not quite match the loveliness of your gaze...
Bluebells since your unique coloring sent my heart a ringing (Vegeta could not help but snort at that one)
These red roses are almost as beautiful as you were in that gown last night...
Not a very creative bunch, were these would-be suitors?
Every last one of the cards that Vegeta looked through mentioned Bulma's hair color and eye color, or the color of her dress. Hmmph. They said nothing about her musical laugh, or the way her wit was unparalleled. Nothing about the brains she so prided herself on, only about the superficial beauty.
Fools.
Vegeta was reading a particularly cheesy card from a man he would have to meet face to face in the House of Lords (leaving Vegeta wondering how he could ever face a man who thought that blue rhymed with flute) when he heard a familiar angry tapping. Before he could have time to use a side door to make an escape, the door banged open, and Vegeta was met with the sight of his never-welcome grandmother. Her eyes found him immediately and she curled a claw at him. "Come. We must speak."
Vegeta chafed at being ordered about so, and he forced himself to stand straighter. "I have just arrived home, and am not in the mood for a meeting."
The dowager's eyes were glacial as she responded, "Tough. We have things we need to discuss about last night. Things I think you would be very interested in hearing about."
Something about her words...they caused a tremor of apprehension to run down Vegeta's spine. What did his grandmother know? Could the reason she was looking at him so solemnly be because she knew what he had done last night? How had she discovered what had happened between him and Bulma in the gardens?
Vegeta seriously considered getting out of the conversation he knew was awaiting him with this vile woman, but he knew he was just pushing off the inevitable. The dowager was right--they did need to talk. Vegeta only sighed, gave a nod, then followed his grandmother out of the hot house that used to be his morning room, making sure to order Jeffries to open every damn window in the house to try and drown out the cloying smell of flowers.
Unnoticing, of course, that every window had already been open before he had even gotten home.
~~&~~
A/N: Uh-oh--the dowager finding out is pretty high up their on the list of things no one wants to happen (right below the rapture, but right above pestilence oddly enough)...
Anywhoo--I have to admit I actually really enjoy weaving more and more DBZ characters into the story, but since I do not watched the show as ardently as I did ten years ago (when I used to make lists of all the characters in DBZ I could name when I was bored in class--I think I once hit two hundred people in one period (true story--and also too much tmi...))--so in other words, if I remember a character and see a role they can fit in the story, there will probably be more Ôcameos.'
Also, for all who did not check out *Sami01's awesome fan art (or if the link did not work last time)--check it out at now!!
http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=the+da rk+duke#/d4o6afg
Or through a link on my deviantart homepage (username ~okieday17)