Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ VeNdEtTa Of ThE hEaRt ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Passion's Lecherous Ways...

Swaying rhythmically with the enchanting music, Bulma felt shivers stroke her spine. Despite the incessant warmth his body granted, he provoked chilling sensations of anticipation to run like rapid rivers of great magnitude throughout her entire body. Further capturing her senses into his provocative lure. The dance she now enacted, was like no other. She was no longer a participant of cultural movements, or set steps to follow. She was the dance, along with the one that held her, to intertwine into each other's embrace through methods beyond the realm she knew. Every sense of body- of her very being was filled with his touch, his taste, his heartbeat, his scent- his very presence.

He filled her like a liquid flame of passion, seeping into her pores, heating her body with the fire that burned within him...bestowing seeds of desire that never could be tamed. And she did the same, her essence caressing his core with the manipulative hands of sensuality, molding him to her own movements. And they were undoubtedly provocative movements.

His hands rested on her hips, smoothly stroking her, as she glided to meet his body at every step taken, uniting their bodies in the constant spiral of movements. The muscles beneath his velvet flesh sent satisfying sensations throughout her body as she felt them flex, straining to further mold into her touch. His gentle breath trickled on the contour of her neck, as his body was pressed against her back, before letting her unravel from his arms, only to return once more. She had returned to be placed front wards into his encompassing embrace. His deep gaze of darkness was laced with passion enflamed by his impenetrable charisma, all the more seducing her body...her entire being to his will. Desire truly is a powerful thing. Though evidently, passion engaged with the caress of your desire, is so much more.

But when the feeling is reciprocated?

Simply enough it produced an eternal need, one never to be fulfilled, only to be sought more of as time progressed. Never to quail from the elements that surrounded them, the beings that interacted with them, nor the emotions that could separate them. It was immortal. And, honestly, Bulma felt just that as she remained in his masculine embrace...even as the music ceased to play. Leaving them in what seemed to be silence. Except for the pair that stood in the center of the dance floor, silence wasn't existent.

Their breath was heavy, coming out in deep, accumulative heaves. Exhaustion. Although the dance performed was not advanced in its steps, the complexity was raised to phenomenal levels by the acquisition of deep emotions. Though it did not hinder the moment that now enraptured the pair, as they gazed absorbedly into the others eyes, unconsciously remembering each other's every aspect.

"Learn something new," Vegeta teased, his voice barely coming out as a whisper.

"Only as much as you," she countered softly, her voice challenging.

"Perhaps," he considered, pausing thoughtfully.

"What did you do to Yamcha," Bulma probed, avoiding hearing his advancing words.

"What ever do you mean?"

"Don't play the innocent party, what did you do," she snapped impatiently.

"You do have a habit of ruining moments, don't you?"

"I do not-" Bulma defended, before stopping abruptly. "Don't you try and change the subject!"

"I would never," he gasped mockingly.

Bulma watched the movements of his thick lips for a moment, dazedly wondering what they tasted like. Quickly correcting herself, she averted her eyes away from him for a moment. No matter what the damn man did, it was always beguiling! She doubted even seeing him drenched in mud would be unappetizing...on second thought she would probably join him.

`Arg!' Bulma screamed inwardly. It was infuriating! And he had been mocking her no less, and yet her thoughts ventured so far.

"Drop the act, and fess up," she demanded in growl, "Because if you don't, I'll make it my business to torture your deserving ass!"

`Oh that was original,' Bulma mentally slapped herself.

"Coming from your foul mouth, I believe that might be a pleasurable experience," Vegeta chuckled, watching Bulma flush with embarrassment.

"I hate you," she snarled, storming away from his insufferable presence.

Bulma spotted her friend Chi Chi off to the corner, quietly speaking with Goku. Sighing with relief, she stalked towards them.

"That man is the most ignorant, supercilious, egotistical, intolerable," Bulma rambled in a fury, as Chi Chi quickly turned to see her seething best friend. "Ahh!" Bulma wailed finally.

"Who B-Chan? I'll kick Yamcha's ass!" Chi Chi declared, her mood swiftly rising with the rage of her friend.

"No, Chi," Bulma chided.

"But why," Chi Chi asked exasperatedly, "I want to help you!"

"Be my guest," Bulma huffed, "but it isn't Yamcha."

"I thought she already was your guest," Goku mumbled bemused.

"Who, then?" Chi Chi pressed, ignoring her husband's idiotic comment.

"Mr. Ouji."

"Vegeta! What'd he do this time," Chi Chi growled, "I swear the ass is always up to something."

"You know him, Chi," Bulma blinked.

"Oh, well I met him today," Chi Chi giggled nervously.

"Oh," Bulma mumbled suspiciously, before dismissing it hastily. She was too mad to think of such petty things.

"Yes, well that man- if you can call him that- is the most," Bulma hissed, "most," she finished lamely in a shout.

"Most handsome thing you've ever set eyes upon," Chi Chi teased.

"Precisely, and to make-" Bulma raged. "Chi Chi Mau," Bulma exclaimed.

"I'm not the one who agreed," Chi Chi chuckled.

Despite her best efforts, Bulma started giggling as well.

"I suppose it is minutely humorous," Bulma mumbled begrudgingly.

"Suppose? Minutely? It was hilarious, B-Chan, and you know it!"

"Fine, Chi, it was a crack up, but that's over now," Bulma dismissed, attempting to end her friends senseless laughter.

"Right," Chi Chi said exaggeratedly, still laughing.

"Fine, you go ahead and laugh to your heart's content, Chi," Bulma huffed, stalking away, though only mildly angered with her friends behavior.

A satin expanse of eternal darkness spread its clutches across the sky, coaxing the stars of great distance to illuminate its blackened depths. Cool night winds ruffling past, it was serene at the chapel's outdoor courtyard, the open veranda beautiful underneath the hazy vastness of night. Sighing belatedly to her own discomfort, she sauntered through the few remaining couples dancing, slowly padding towards her husband. As she approached, his eyes shot up to meet her own. She immediately noted that they still held the melancholy expression of lost hope deep within their depths. He seemed so distant, lost in the fear that over-ridded any conscious thoughts. There was something amidst and Bulma had every intention of discovering what it was, and now.

"Yamcha, I'm fed up with men's crap," Bulma warned haughtily, "so just give it to me straight." With a moment's pause, she affirmed softly, "I want the truth."

"I'll tell you later," he comforted, hopeful that he'd dissuade her from discovering exactly what she asked for. The truth.

"No," she asserted, "I want to hear it, now."

"It's simply not the best time."

"I'll decide that," Bulma confided roughly, "Now start with the beginning."

Opting that tempting his wife's own fury was unwise, he did as asked. "Ve- He's my cousin," Yamcha stammered, oddly unable to repeat the man's name.

"That's a start," she urged, "So, go on."

"Truthfully, I never got along with `em."

`That's understandable,' Bulma wanted to say, but held her sharp tongue, unwilling to stop the confession.

"And well, one day he right ahead and went ballistic," Yamcha declared. "Claimed me a traitor and tried to kill me."

Bulma gasped.

"That is," Yamcha continued, "after he stole all my money, destroyed my reputation in the family, and left me a broken man."

"When did this happen," Bulma asked, completely speechless at the horrors that the man that had unwittingly ensnared her passion, had committed against her love, Yamcha.

"Six years have past," he whimpered softly, taking Bulma's hand assuredly. "My angel, I simply don't know how I survived."

His words echoed in her mind, `My angel'. Vegeta had called her such, except coming from Vegeta's full burgundy lips; it seemed to mean so much more. Everything about the man was intensified to conform to the being he was. His emotions could be measured by no mortal soul. Vegeta, simply put, was nothing ordinary in the word. Reminiscing in moments she had gazed within his onyx depths, Bulma remembered only one emotion present. Lust. Yet, it was deeper, its sensuality outranked any form of lust. It was a desire enflamed by his essence, and he was a man of passion, nothing left in mid-decision. It was either disgust or desire, hate or ...love?

The thought of having a man such as Vegeta hate you made her very being shiver, and if Yamcha obtained his hate, she had remorse for him already. But, as expected, thoughts of the opposite nature made her shiver as well. Except the shiver that quaked within her soul was not of fear, but of longing. To be loved by a man that knew not of boundaries was ultimately as enticing as Vegeta himself.

Bulma had been so enthralled by her thoughts; she failed to notice how long she'd been fantasizing. Once entering suitable thoughts of a married woman, her mind snapped with accusation.

"Yamcha, I thought you said six years ago you obtained the sports company share?" Bulma inquired curtly with a raised brow.

`I told her that!' he asked, kicking himself inwardly.

"Well- I- ah," he stammered, "I had some remaining funds, up in Switzerland."

"Oh," she responded blandly.

"But, as you see," Yamcha said, head bowing in shame, "I'm still inwardly pained by the betrayal of my own kin."

"Inwardly? I thought you said he attempted to murder you?"

"Aye," he assured, "he did indeed, though I always outranked him in strength."

"He tried to kill you with his bare hands," she shrieked.

"Well, after I got the revolver from his grasp," he explained, "Yes."

"Oh, my dear Yamcha-Chan!" Bulma gasped, bringing him into her embrace.

Of course he gladly accepted, laying his head on her bosom. They remained within each other's arms for quite some time, before rudely being interrupted by a cold voice.

"I'm making my leave," the monotone voice informed, "And as tradition foresees it, I must grant the newly weds notice."

Composing herself, she turned to face the man, the very man who had been plaguing her thoughts.

"Hopefully that departure is from our lives, entirely," Bulma spoke, a tight smile stretching her lips.

"I would be more than satisfied to oblige," Vegeta said, his voice bitter. He was genuinely offended by her sharp words, and did little to suppress the malice that dripped into his ebony orbs.

She had been right. The man truly had no misconception on what he felt, and apparently, with her sharp tongue, she had earned his hate. Had her words affected him so?

"Good," Yamcha joined, his voice much stronger than how he'd previously been.

Understandably, both Bulma and Vegeta were shocked by his blunt approval. It wasn't that either of them suspected he thought differently, but for him to voice such an opinion was flabbergasting.

Vegeta's dark coal orbs pierced Yamcha's defenses, ripping past his front with ease. His intimidating glare struck Yamcha to the quick, making him stutter incoherently.

"Non presumere per parlare a me in tale modo," Vegeta growled, the foreign language rolling off his tongue with the suited accent, his words smooth with confidence, "Non si dimentichi mai che lei inferiore, cugino, e malgrado le sue pietose convinzioni...il passato adesso il presente." After a momentary pause, he finished off with a malicious tone, "Lei non puo evadere il futuro."

(Translation: "Don't presume to speak to me in such a manner," Vegeta growled, the foreign language rolling off his tongue with the suited accent, his words smooth with confidence, "Never forget you are inferior, cousin, and despite your pitiful beliefs...the past is now the present." After a momentary pause, he finished off with a malicious tone, "You can't escape the future.")

Yamcha squirmed beneath Vegeta's penetrating glare, rendering him immobile within the presence of his nemesis.

"Perdonarme," Yamcha's voice pleaded desperately, hoping that the past could be forgotten, as buried, as he would be if things turned to havoc.

(Translation: "Forgive me," Yamcha's voice pleaded desperately, hoping that the past could be forgotten, as buried, as he would be if things turned to havoc.)

"It's too late for that," Vegeta said, his voice low, bearing indifference to all that surrounded him.

"Scuse le piu profonde," Vegeta said, turning his attention to Bulma once more, "my Angel." His last words were whispered, as he leaned closer to her, gently taking her hand within his own.

(Translation: "Deepest apologies," Vegeta said, turning his attention to Bulma once more, "my Angel.")

She was sure she had been the only to hear his soft words, as they were spoken with such gentleness, his voice still echoed with the passing winds. His eyes were mesmerizing, never breaking contact with her curious azure pools, as he placed his lips tenderly on the palm of her hand. The kiss would seem chaste to any who witnessed it, though the tantalizing way he brushed his lips on her ivory flesh, made it seem completely illicit.

Vegeta's eyes caressed her face, seemingly stroking her with the deep gaze he held to her. He slowly retreated, gradually taking his masculine hand from her grasp, for she had unconsciously wrapped her fingers about it, not wishing to let go. A sensual smirk curved his lips, as he let his hand graze her own, just to maintain contact for a moment longer. Once released, he vanished into the shadows, not even his retreating form to view.

So concentrated on the man that had just disappeared from her sight- knowingly from her very life, Bulma hadn't noticed the two men that departed with him, exiting at the far corners of the veranda, and simply disappearing. Just as he did.

Although she was resentful to admit it, he had branded her. Eternally imprinted his passion into her mind...into her very soul. A flame still stirred within her, only awakened to the fire of perpetual pinnacle by his touch. He was the most exquisite being she had ever laid eyes upon, and she wouldn't be too discontented to remember that. No, actually quite the opposite. Never would she allow herself to forget this day, her wedding day. Though, oddly enough, for very different reasons that so many others claimed. It was he, she would remember, and everything his presence had granted.

It was not love she felt for Vegeta, infatuation perhaps, but love did not grip her. It was unhindered desire. He would haunt her dreams, and her thoughts, though not her heart. Though her soul had been tainted by his touch, he had not reached her heart, and of this she was thankful. She loved Yamcha, of this she was sure, and after being bound to him upon this fateful day, she didn't believe she could bare the weight of loving another.

"Good-bye," Bulma whispered, her voice as soft as his had been, simply to fall upon the deaf ears of the night, "Vegeta Ouji."

Shortly after, the newly weds had made their leave, wholesomely accepting all the embraces of their kin and friends before finally being able to retreat to their apartment. Luckily the ride home was not excessively long, for they resided only 5 blocks from the chapel, and for this Bulma was thankful. Any longer and she would have fallen to the bleak darkness of sleep.

Once inside, she placed the gifts, presented to her earlier that day, on the counter, with a sigh of relief. Glancing at her husband, she offered a warming smile.

"I love you," she mused tenderly, her eyes slightly moistening with happiness.

"As I do you," he assured, returning her smile.

Before she broke down crying with immeasurable joy, and an odd underlining of sorrow, Bulma decided to lighten the mood.

"Let's open the gifts!" She squealed, bouncing lightly with her words.

"Now?" He asked, astounded.

"Of course, silly! We wouldn't want to disappoint our guests by waiting," Bulma countered loftily with a sly grin.

After having his own words shoved back at him, Yamcha conceded reluctantly.