Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Waiting (revised) ❯ Part 4 ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the characters seen in the show, manga, movies, etc. But in the twisted world of my mind…well, that's a different story.

Part 4

Vegeta dressed slowly, still trying to shake off the after-effects of the regen tank. He had been able to rest and now didn't feel quite as worn down as he previously had. The aides had brought him the traditional clothing worn by royalty, but he had disregarded the heavy over-shirt and stiff slacks and settled for a light open-throated shirt and loose training pants instead. He'd never be comfortable in all that frivolry. His father was welcome to parade around in it, but Vegeta opted for comfortable, serviceable clothing that didn't break you out in a sweat by time you reached the end of the hall. Living under Frieza's command for ten years tended to make you more practical.

He made it halfway to his rooms without disturbance until he spotted Nappa keeping a brisk pace in his direction, hailing him to make sure he wasn't ignored. Vegeta nearly groaned aloud. He hadn't wanted to speak to anyone yet, had only wanted to make it to his rooms and confront Bulma, but these inescapable incidents seemed to want to interfere with that simplistic plan. Nappa approached him, and after one of his long, elaborately drawn out bows, he got on with his purpose.

"Ouji-sama, the prisoner is awaiting your appearance. Shall we proceed there?" As much as Vegeta wanted to yell `no' at the eager, importunate bastard and go to his rooms, he reluctantly realized that the sooner this business with the Kuraji king was finished, the sooner he would be able to forget about it. He nodded brusquely, and followed the bald Elite down a series of hallways until they reached a set of double doors. The sound of flesh hitting solid flesh and the muffled groaning that followed could be heard through the closed doors, and when the guard stationed outside opened the doors for them, the sound intensified. When they reached the room where the prisoner was being held, Vegeta moved in front of Nappa to enter first.

Yamcha, king of the planet Kuraji, sat tied to a chair, his face a bloody mess as the thick, crimson liquid congealed around his nose and flowed freely from the nasty wounds cut into his face onto his shirt. He looked unconscious, yet he managed to raise his head and glare at the prince as he entered the room. Vegeta stalked up to the battered prisoner, standing before him with crossed arms and looking down at him with a malicious glint in his eye.

"King Yamcha, how good of you to come back to Vegeta-sei. I'm afraid we weren't able to welcome you properly the last time you were here." Vegeta gave him a cruel smirk.

"It wasn't by choice, you arrogant monkey." Yamcha immediately flinched, expecting a blow, but Vegeta's smirk merely widened as he waited for the man to return his gaze.

"You know, the last person who called me that is now a pile of ashes. But then, you know of whom I'm speaking, don't you? Isn't Frieza the one you gave your precious Taji crystals to?"

"I don't give a damn about Frieza," Yamcha spat. "But if I could've given him something that would help obliterate you and your disgusting race, then I would have given him anything." Yamcha's voice was smooth and steely, despite his condition, and his piercing, black eyes narrowed defiantly at Vegeta. "You stole her from me, you bastard, and you deserve to rot in Hell."

"For taking Bulma from a life which she despised? For giving her a choice as to whether or not she wanted to be your whore? You think too highly of yourself, desert fool."

"And what have you been doing with her? Would you let her leave this hellhole if she wanted to?"

"You forget, baka, that it was I she turned to for help in the beginning. I was the only one who was there for her when you smothered her with your unworthy attentions."

"You think she wants you now?" Yamcha sneered. "Now that she knows what you are? You're a murderous bastard, just like Frieza, and after you kill me, she will know that for certain. She will never be able to love you because you're a monster in her eyes." This time Vegeta did strike him, and although he didn't use his full strength, it was enough to shut him up. Yamcha spat out the blood that filled his mouth and glared daggers at Vegeta.

"You were a fool to listen to anything Frieza had to say, as I am sure you are realizing now. Whatever you told Bulma doesn't matter. She will have me, of that I am certain, but you, boyo, will never lay eyes upon her again. I have decided against killing you myself. I will let you stand trial for supporting Frieza, and I am sure the other planets that have suffered Frieza's wrath will be fair in judging your treasonous acts." Vegeta regarded him coolly before turning to Nappa. "See that he is given to the intergalactic council, and tell them that Vegeta-sei supports whatever decision they come to, short of releasing him unpunished." Vegeta turned back to Yamcha, his eyes banking barely contained fury. "If they do not execute you, and I find you back on Vegeta-sei for any reason, I will take my time in delivering the punishment you so truly deserve, desert fool." With that said, Vegeta left the room, trying not to let the desert king's previous words affect him.

The man's statement wasn't far from the truth; Bulma did hold him responsible for the destruction of her planet. It was the one thing standing between them and happiness that he couldn't seem to conquer, but hopefully tonight would change all of that. Bit by bit, he had been wearing down her defenses, and now that he had beaten Frieza and taken care of Yamcha, he was ready to tear down the fragile walls of her animosity completely. If only he could make it to his chamber.

Nappa rushed after him, earnestly trying to catch up with him as he quickly made his way down the hallway towards his chamber. The lumbering Elite managed to reach his prince's side and Vegeta threw him an annoyed glance, but continued walking. Nappa was like a buzzing insect he couldn't seem to avoid.

"Ouji-sama," the big man inquired hesitantly. "I was just curious as to why you spared the desert scum's life. I thought you wanted him dead after he threatened to come after the pleasure slave. Wasn't that the order you issued?" Vegeta halted and forced out an angry sigh as he gave Nappa a hard look. Nappa knew that he regarded Bulma as more than just a pleasure slave and he knew even better than to question his authority. The fact that he was chancing his life to ask such a hazardous question made Vegeta wonder exactly what the bald Elite was getting at.

"Yamcha is no longer a real threat to Vegeta-sei. The power crystals that he provided Frieza with were easily countered by the energy absorbers we obtained from the pleasure slave," he emphasized meaningfully, "that he wanted so badly. I originally thought that Frieza had disposed of him along with his planet, but I find that letting him stand trial and face up to all those he betrayed when siding with Frieza will be far less easy for him than a quick death."

"But with all due respect, Ouji-sama, no one will fault us if we dispose of him ourselves. It is possible that they might just imprison him. Don't the people of Vegeta-sei deserve justice against such acts of malice against us? He only helped Frieza to destroy us."

"As I mentioned before, Nappa, he will suffer more bearing his sins on his conscious. Since when did you question your prince with such insolence?"

"Since I ordered him to," came a voice from behind him, and Vegeta whipped around angrily to stare at an older, flesh and blood reflection of himself. "I wanted to see if that woman bewitched you beyond the point of reason." The anger Vegeta had been steadily keeping at bay burst within him.

"Stay out of my affairs, old man," he growled, staring his father directly in the eye. "As I told your lackey here before, they are none of your concern."

"As long as I am king, everything you do is my concern. The Kuraji king deserves to die, and I am surprised that you are not dealing out the punishment yourself. Even though his involvement was prompted solely by your abduction of his whore." Before Vegeta could even begin to express the fury and loathing sparked by his father's comment, the king raised a hand of dismissal. "We will conduct this in my chamber. Nappa, you are no longer needed." And with that, the king headed off in the direction of his chamber, leaving a still-fuming Vegeta behind to follow.

Vegeta was tempted not to follow him. He was through with his father's demands and orders and now that he was free of Frieza, he was no longer forced to live under anyone's control. But he had waited for this moment a long time, and now he had the perfect opportunity to tell his father every hateful thought that had been plaguing his mind ever since his abandonment. His only regret was that he would be keeping Bulma waiting longer than he wished to. She was no doubt pacing the room, planning a battle in her mind to accost him with as soon as he walked through the door. At any other time, the thought might have amused him. But he was ready to set all pretenses aside and deal with the real issue at hand. It was time for Bulma to recognize that what was between them was far stronger than just a mutual attraction. It went much deeper than that, and although he wasn't sure what that meant, he knew that there was little either of them could do to stop it.

Vegeta sighed and started off in the direction of his father's chamber. As eager as he was to finally bare his mind to his father, he was even more anxious to get to Bulma; but like the issue with the desert king, it would be wiser to get this all out of the way now. After a few twists and turns of the long, elaborately decorated hallways, he was standing in front of the open doorway of his father's chamber. Mentally bracing himself for the upcoming battle, Vegeta stepped in and faced the man whom he had learned to hate throughout the past ten years.

His father stood at a large, open window that stretched almost from floor to ceiling, overlooking the palace gardens. The tiny lines edging his eyes and mouth faintly hinted at maturing age, and the well-groomed beard that covered his chin carried scarce traces of gray, but other than that, father and son looked identical. Even the cool, passive expressions on both of their faces were alike, with the exception of their eyes. Where one's gaze carried a cool disdain, the other was churning with blazing emotion.

The king continued to look out of the window as he spoke, his voice as casual as his stance. "So was I right? Are you letting the woman turn you soft?"

"What does it matter to you, old man? You never cared about my well-being before."

"Shouldn't I be concerned about Vegeta-sei's future king?" Again, that nonchalant tone.

"You weren't concerned when you handed me over to Frieza," Vegeta replied venomously. "Were you planning on raising another heir to take my place?"

Now the king turned towards him, but his expression was still inscrutable. "I had always intended for you rule when I died. I knew the time would come when you would one day break free of the chains Frieza placed on you. It was only a matter of time before you tired of Frieza's domination and tyranny."

"So it was a test?" It was more of an accusation than a question. "You let Frieza humiliate me and beat me close to death just to see if I was worthy of the throne?"

"At the time there was no other way. You wanted to face Frieza head on and Vegeta-sei would have perished. I knew Frieza wanted us out of the way, so I thought if we complied with his demands for a while, it would buy us a little more time. And it gave you a chance to focus all that anger you had in you onto a significant goal. If I remember correctly, before you went to Frieza, the quantity of guards and slaves in the palace were considerably low due to your temper. You think I would have put such a hothead on the throne?"

"If this is meant to subdue me, old man, you're doing a pathetic job," Vegeta said sourly.

"It isn't meant to subdue. I'm just telling you the truth. I was well aware of Frieza's intentions, and I knew you thought me weak and gutless to send you to him. But in truth, I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to see what you were made of. I knew that this was all you needed to prove that you had the potential to be a strong and capable king. Frieza was our greatest enemy, and you defeated him. You have proved you are worthy of the throne and I would gladly die knowing that you would succeed me."

If the king had chosen this moment to deal Vegeta a mortal blow, his own death still wouldn't have been enough to knock him out of the stupor his father's words put him in. Had he heard him right? His father was proud of him? Throughout most of his childhood he had waited to hear those words, and even through the beginning of adulthood when his thoughts were poisoned by hatred for his father, he had secretly wished that the king had never really meant to abandon him, that some day his father would miraculously appear and rescue him from the hell he'd put him in.

The king had momentarily turned back to the window, but now he faced Vegeta again, the light of the half-moon glowing behind him. "I am just concerned that you might be throwing it all away with your obsession for the woman. She is no more than a concubine and you are a future king. I don't fault you for being taken with her. She is a beautiful creature, and I myself have had my share of fixations for my pleasure slaves. But your insistence on making her your queen is foolish, boy. She will never be accepted among the people of Vegeta-sei."

"I don't care what the people of Vegeta-sei think. When I am king, my word will be law. They will have to obey."

"And if they revolt? What then? Will you kill everyone who disagrees with you? That would be at least three quarters of the planet."

Vegeta paused briefly, seeing the logic in his father's statement, but dismissed it immediately. He was his own master now; he had fought for his honor and respect and the people of Vegeta-sei would have to understand that. "They may not accept her, but they will have to deal with it. She will stay by my side no matter what."

"Until they send an assassin after her," the king reproved. "Think, boy. As a concubine she would not be perceived as a threat. You could take a queen, but keep the woman as a slave. Then you can have the best of both worlds."

"I don't want any other woman. She is the only one worthy of me and of the throne."

"Maybe, but being king is not about wanting, boy. Even being a man means accepting the fact that you must discard your childish ideas and take on real responsibility. You want to have her and keep her safe. I understand that, I even agree with it. She has been pivotal in this war against Frieza. The knowledge she provided us with made Frieza's defeat much simpler. She has value, and for that reason I would even extend my own protection to her, should she need it. But do not ask the people of Vegeta-sei to throw away centuries of tradition. You will fail if you try to. And the woman will die."

More of that damn logic, Vegeta thought irritably. His father was right of course. Bulma would be free of danger if he could just be content with the fact that Bulma would his concubine and not his queen. But was it really as simple as that? In the back of his mind, a thought continued to nag at him. How would she take being only his concubine? For nearly eight years she had been another man's concubine, and when he took her from Kuraji, he had promised her that she would never again be a slave. He wanted to give her the freedom she deserved, wanted her beside him when he took on the heavy, momentous weight of being king of a planet. But was it worth putting her life in danger?

"I…I will think on it, old man, but this in no way means that I yield to you. There is far too much that has yet to be resolved for me to forget the years stolen from my life." He then turned sharply on his heel, after seeing his father sternly nod his assent, and left the room, feeling strangely unnerved by his meeting with his father. It had not gone as he'd imagined. He had expected explosive anger, shouting, maybe a few ki blasts volleyed at one another, but not this frank, nearly civilized discussion in which his father gave him advice and told him how proud of him he was. Maybe his father had changed during the years he'd been gone. Or maybe…maybe it was he who had changed. Even through his anger, Vegeta realized his father had been right in his assessment of his youth. He had been hot-tempered and easy to goad into battle. And Frieza had certainly changed that. After six continuous weeks of Frieza beating him into submission, Vegeta finally learned the meaning of `living to fight another day.' He hadn't actually submitted, just stopped fighting until Frieza tired of beating him senseless. Then when Frieza waited eagerly to hear Vegeta's heartfelt words of allegiance, Vegeta was steadfast in his silence. Frieza had become enraged, his violent vigor renewed as he beat Vegeta some more, so much so that he didn't regain consciousness for almost three days. Frieza began to start his days off with a good sound beating, that condescending leer of satisfaction frozen in place as he pounded Vegeta into the ground. He had been no good as a soldier during his first year in Frieza's service because most of the time, he could barely stand.

And after his time in close quarters with Frieza, his life as a member of Frieza's purging squad had been little better. True, he didn't have to suffer the violent attentions of the pallid bastard, but his squad member's taunts were almost unbearable. At least with Frieza he had unconsciousness to look forward to. With Frieza's men, every single one of them knew the conditions of his surrender and would not let him forget it. And Frieza had been sure to keep him in a squad where there were no other Saiyans present.

It had been a slow, excruciating battle to finally get them to stop baiting and harassing him. He had realized that even if he killed them all, Frieza would just keep moving him from squad to squad, and probably delight in his delinquency because it meant another beating by his hand. So, in the end, it had been silence that kept them from badgering him. He let them taunt him…and simply didn't respond. And after a while, he found that he didn't respond to much of anything anymore, whether he tried to or not. His face, though a portion of it had come from his Saiyan heritage, had become nearly expressionless. The mask of indifference that his people usually needed years to perfect, he had accomplished in less than a year and a half. Only someone who knew him well enough could sense the almost imperceptible change in his emotions by looking at his face. Bulma had been able to do it.

She had gotten to know him well in the short weeks they had met with each other on Kuraji. It had been a strange happening for Vegeta. He had not been used to sharing his thoughts and feelings aloud, but Bulma seemed to have no qualms about it. She had spoken her opinion so often and so openly in front of him, that he could not help but add his own occasionally. They had seen eye to eye on a lot of subjects, and debated on so many issues that Vegeta soon forgot to feel awkward around her after their coupling. She had brought out a part of him he'd thought Frieza had crushed, and gave his life a little meaning when he had felt lost within the insufferable, pride-bruising hell he'd been in.

And then it all changed when he brought her to Vegeta-sei. They argued, but it was never like it had been on Kuraji. Many times she argued with him just to spite him, but he soon realized that it was just her way of keeping herself focused on the anger she felt. The first night they had really quarreled, a few weeks after he brought her to Vegeta-sei, an odd thing happened. She had been angry, screaming at him, and he had kept his expression carefully neutral as she ranted and raved about some inconsequential topic. And then as she neared him and he felt the heat of her body radiating toward him, he had been completely stunned to find desire swirling in the blue of her eyes. He held her gaze for a long moment, then crushed her body to him when she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. The kiss was so hot, so sweet, that he felt his blood quickening and he hadn't even been aware that he was carrying her into his bedchamber until he had her beneath him on the bed and was tearing at her clothing and his own. The marvelous feel of her body arching under his was enough for him to disregard gentleness as he roughly pushed himself between her thighs and entered her, feeling her nails dig into his bare back as he filled her with himself. It had been too long since he'd felt her, tasted her. They strove against each other like sprinters in a race, pushing each other closer and closer to that pinnacle of pleasure until they could hold back no more and gave each other all they had to give.

When they had both found their release and he finally moved to her side to gather her close, he was genuinely surprised when she rolled away from him with her back to him. It was almost as effective as a slap in the face. He lay beside her, brooding, for the rest of the night, trying unsuccessfully not to let her rejection affect him, until he finally fell asleep in the early hours of morning. He awoke hours later to find a slender hand resting on his chest and a soft, warm body snuggled up beside him, and it was then that he came to a decision. Though she had tried, she hadn't been able to resist the chemistry between them. She had fought him constantly in the past few weeks, but she never once broached the motive behind her anger since the night he'd brought her here. He had refrained from mentioning it as well, somewhat glad that he hadn't had to deal with questions about his past that he wouldn't know how to answer. But maybe it was time to address that issue now, before it escalated into something more. Better to get all of her doubts and misconceptions out of the way now. What better time to do so than when she had just proven to both of them that her feelings for him were not as hateful as she would have him believe?

He waited for her to awaken, watching the play of emotions cross her attractive features as she slowly became conscious of their intimate proximity. As she looked up at him tentatively, he could see her deliberately schooling her features to appear as unaffected as possible, but he artfully stroked the soft skin of her back, sending shudders though her body and dissolving any doubt in his mind that she was impervious to his touch.

"We must talk," he said to her gently. Her response was to immediately roll away from him to the other side of the bed. He followed her, coming up behind her and placing a few light, teasing kisses on the curve of her neck. "You know of what I speak. You can not hate me after the night we've had together."

She suddenly turned to face him. "Can't I? This changes nothing, Vegeta."

"This changes everything," he advocated determinedly. She turned away from him again, causing him to frown. He grasped her shoulder and pulled her gently back to face him.

"Bulma," he hesitated, not quite sure what he wanted to ask of her. What did she want from him? "What…must I do?" It was a hard thing for him to even say this much, as close as he had ever come to telling her that he would do anything for her, if she would but ask it.

"Give me back my family, my world, Vegeta. Undo every sin you've made against the innocent people of the worlds you've destroyed. Besides that, there is nothing you could ever do to make me want you again." He stared at her a long while, first anger passing through him at her impossible demand, then despondency as he realized that she might not ever be able to forgive him for his past deeds.

The woman was being unreasonable. Hadn't he shown her how much he cared for her by honoring his promise and bringing her back with him? Hadn't he put up with two weeks of angry insults and bitter moods? Granted, she deserved to be angry, but why couldn't she understand that he hadn't been given a choice? His father had given him over to Frieza, and he'd been forced to obey or die. True, he had learned to detach himself from the killing, had let his instincts override the guilt of murdering senselessly. But he hadn't wanted to do it. And the only thing that had kept him afloat in that sea of misery for the past five years was the hope that he would one day break free, and after liberating her from her life of slavery, take her back with him to rule by his side. It was all he could do not to yell these things at her. No, but he could not ruin this, not at so delicate a moment. He would have to take a different approach.

"I can not change the past, Bulma, but I will try to prove to you that I am not as I was so many years ago." She gave him a blatantly doubtful look and her distrust in his words spurred him onward. "If there is nothing I can say to prove this to you, then let my actions speak for me." He reluctantly pulled away from her and left the bed, gazing down at her, trying to still his quickly-beating heart at the sight she created, the way her tousled hair and smooth, rose-tinted skin made her look like some revered goddess of passion. The sheet twisted indecently around her body, barely hiding her curves from his hungry gaze. He looked away, forcing himself to calm down and deal with the situation at hand.

"I will make you not hate me, by whatever means necessary."

She sat up, seemingly unaware of the sheet that dropped down and exposed the creamy-white skin of her breasts. "There is nothing you can do, Vegeta, short of erasing my memories. Nothing. I will not yield."

Vegeta noticed the determined set of her jaw, the clenched fists at her sides, but discounted it. She was challenging him to prove her wrong, to do what she deemed impossible, and he was more than willing to oblige her. Yes, if that was the only way he could win her over, then that was what he was going to do. He gave her a curt nod, and after throwing on some pants, he headed for the door. "We shall see, Bulma," he threw over his shoulder and left before she could dispute it further. If it was a battle of wills she wanted, then that was what she would get.

**************************************************************** ********

Bulma's every sense was attuned to the bedroom door quietly opening, the light spilling in from around a darkened silhouette, then shutting in the darkness.

He was here.

Somehow, her imagination had conjured something a bit more extravagant, a little more heart stopping for his entrance; but then, his face was still hidden in shadows and he had yet to speak. And he hadn't moved forward into the moonlight yet. No, he hung back in the nearly black shroud of darkness, watching her. She considered standing up to face him and ending the undisclosed staring contest in the dark, instead of peering over her shoulder at him from the bed; but this was like so many other challenges he'd issued to her in the past. If she yielded first and looked away, then she was the loser and it would attest to his triumph over her. She could not yield. Even the sound of footsteps moving toward her did not keep her from staring at the spot in the darkness where his face should be.

When he crossed the threshold of moonlight, she was not surprised to see his sharp gaze piercing into hers. He continued to move toward her, his eyes focused intently on her as she allowed herself a brief glance at his appearance. His body did not look as though he had just returned from battle. He was dressed casually in a royal blue shirt-did he ever wear any other color? -and loose black training pants. She had seen him this way many times before, and it still amazed her how he could look so regal in such informal clothing. She looked back up at him and realized his eyes were doing the same, assessing her with the same close scrutiny.

Their eyes finally met, though she noticed a slight weariness in his. So, he was not as unaffected by battle as she'd originally thought. He must have made use of the regen tanks, and that thought made her wonder just how badly he had been injured, knowing his usual hesitancy towards regen tanks. But her thoughts were abruptly cut off as he moved forward and stopped in front of her, grasping her chin with ungloved fingers. His face unreadable in the dim light.

"Have you an answer to my challenge, woman?"

"Yes," she said, trying to control her breathing and the shivers that had made their way down her spine at the low, husky pitch of his voice. I will not be affected by him, she admonished herself mentally. His thumb was rubbing gently against her jaw line as he waited for an answer, his eyes not giving her an ounce of respite as he stared down at her. She pulled away before she could embarrass herself further by reacting indecently to his touch. He was asking her a question. And she had waited this long to give him an answer. But how would he react to her answer? She had just figured out herself what she was going to say, actually moments before he'd arrived, but now she wasn't so sure she could do it. Was she ready for this? Could she tell him her answer and keep her wits about her?

"Do you yield?" he asked a few moments later when she didn't respond. When he put it like that, how could she? She had once told him that she would never yield to him, and now he was asking her to recant it. He had always been blunt about what he wanted, had never led her to believe anything else other than that he wanted her to accept him.

Bulma relaxed slightly as she realized that this conversation was very similar to the others they'd had. Why had she thought that he would use different tactics this time, that he would somehow do something that she couldn't combat and would be forced to submit to? He had been persistent yet passive in his campaign for her submission, never once going beyond arguing with her over her resistance. She had always been the one to initiate their intimate encounters while he stood waiting for her to weaken. He had not once initiated contact between them or forced himself on her as he'd done her first night on Vegeta-sei. But what had he meant then, when he'd told her he wouldn't allow her to deny her feelings anymore? That sounded like he had something in mind.

Her answer came out in a sigh. "No." She watched him warily as he set his jaw and turned away from her. She had made up her mind to deny him. There was no going back to what they had before. How could they? He might not have been the one to destroy her planet, but it would be imprudent to believe that he had completely changed from the killer he'd been. Whether he had been forced or not, he still didn't view the act of killing and purging as entirely bad. It had been pure chance that he hadn't been the one to destroy Chikyuu. How could she stay with a man who didn't think killing was wrong? Bulma lowered her eyes as she thought of the disparaging truth of the matter. She loved him, more than ever, but this rift would always exist between them. Vegeta thought that it could be overlooked, but she would never be convinced that it could, and because of that, she and Vegeta could never be. She looked up from the floor she'd been staring at, wondering why Vegeta hadn't responded to her. Her eyes met with Vegeta's turned back. What was he doing?

She had nearly voiced her question when she heard a dull thud in the darkness, like a heavy weight hitting the floor. As she scanned the floor, her eyes fell on a boot, partially illuminated in the moonlight. She stared at it dumbly for a moment, trying to comprehend the significance of the mislaid boot, until its mate dropped to the floor beside it. Bulma looked up at their owner, her eyes widening as she realized Vegeta was slowly unbuttoning his shirt, staring straight at her as he did so, almost challenging her to say something to stop him.

For a moment, Bulma panicked. Her rational mind knew she had nothing to fear; she believed his promise that he would never force himself on her again if she didn't want it. Yet here he was, undressing before her very eyes, slowly shrugging out of his shirt and pants and dropping them onto the floor carelessly, unclothing his perfectly sculpted body for her to peruse at her leisure-Oh no. A thought suddenly sprang into her mind, and she gasped at the incredulousness of it. He was not planning on forcing her at all. No, he wanted her come to him, wanted to taunt her with his body until she gave in to her wanton urges. But why this way? He knew she had always been weak in that respect; he had only to come within a few inches of her to get her to disregard all of her self-control. What was he trying to prove by doing things this way? What was he trying to accomplish?

Bulma closed her eyes, her mind and body warring with each other, as she thought of him naked, standing before her in all his muscled glory, waiting for her to jump him and prove that she wanted him more than she could deny. She did, but he didn't need to know that. No, she could resist this, she thought determinedly. She would not be ruled by her lust. It wasn't so hard. She would not-

He was walking towards her, strong and beautiful and reaching for her. She backed away from him, knowing that his touch could be the end of her. How was she going to resist him when his proximity made her ache with need? He must have known that, because he continued to move towards her until her back was pressed firmly against the wall and his face was mere inches away from her ear. She was breathing as though she had just run a marathon, closing her eyes again and suppressing a moan as his warm, teasing breath kindled a fire in her that spread searing feeling down to the very tips of her toes. He had to know what this was doing to her. This was his secret weapon; this was what he had planned to do to her from the very beginning. He wanted her to beg him. He wanted her to submit to her desire and offer herself to him. No, her mind shouted at her. Remember why you chose to resist him. If you give in now, it's forever. She collected herself as best she could and stood there stiffly as his mouth hovered near her ear. She could do this. He would become frustrated by her cool reaction and then he would give up. He had to, or else she would not last for more than a few minutes with his nearness torturing her this way.

"Bulma," he husked into her ear. "This game between us cannot last much longer. You cannot resist your feelings forever. It is time to give in, woman. It is time to accept what's between us and build on from there." He leaned in closer as his hands pressed against the wall on either side of her, imprisoning her. "So I ask you again," he whispered as he nuzzled his face against her cheek, sending a dizzying sensation through her body. "Do you yield?"

"I…" Her mind seemed vacant as she sought out an answer, any answer that would end this agonizing torment. Remember, a tiny voice persisted at her.

"No." She exhaled a relieved sigh as she commended herself on her firm resolve. She had done it again. She had refused Vegeta, and she had kept her wits-

Her knees buckled as she felt the warm tip of his tongue stroke the sensitive edge of her ear. He caught her just before she slipped to the floor, his arms tightening around her and lifting her off of the ground. He was carrying her somewhere, but she was in too much of a daze to protest. He suddenly stopped and set her down in front of the bed. "Vegeta…" she tried to whisper, but he didn't allow her to finish, instead brushing her lips teasingly with his own, pulling back whenever she tried to deepen the kiss, chuckling as she growled in frustration and caught his lower lip between her teeth. He opened up to her then and gave her what she wanted, tasting her with excruciating slowness, drowning out the rest of her thoughts until all that remained was him, his mouth, his touch, his passion. "Vegeta," she said again against his mouth, but this time it came out in a moan as his hand smoothed up her thigh and stopped at the hem of her robe, and then ventured just beyond. How could he do this to her? She felt like a lump of molten wax, aching to mold herself around him and take all he had to offer.

But she couldn't, she shouldn't. He wanted her to give up everything she had left in her. She had to fight him. His breath was in her ear again, soft and low, his hand dragging her thigh up to rest on his hip. "Tell me, Bulma. What do you want?" Bulma couldn't answer, not when she could feel his arousal so close to her, his body so tightly pressed against her. So this was what he'd had in mind. Drive her crazy with lust, then make her admit that she wanted him, needed him. Her resolve had crumbled. She wanted him so much, it was painful. But she could not say it. She would not say it. Bulma repeated that thought over and over in her mind as she felt him untying the silken knot of her robe, and hoped desperately that it would be enough to keep her from tumbling over the damning precipice of ruination.

**************************************************************** ********

He pulled her small, heaving form onto the bed slowly, letting the silky material of her robe slide off her shoulders as he lifted her to straddle his hips. His face nuzzled her neck, inhaling the delicate perfume of her scent, and she sucked in a quivering breath as his hands slid up the soft flesh of her bare thighs.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered seductively into her ear as he allowed his fingers to linger inside the lace of her panties, stroking the damp patch of blue curls just above the wet, musky heat of her desire. "Tell me you want it, and I'll give it all to you." His hand inched slowly downwards, eliciting from her a moan of anticipation, before promptly pulling back up, awaiting her response.

"No," she breathed out huskily, even as she lifted her chin to invite him to ravish the lovely column of her neck. He obliged hungrily, smoothing a hand up the curve of her back to slip his deft fingers into the soft, loosely hanging curls. She belonged to him, loved him, but refused to believe it. He would have to make her understand. This was the only way. Wrapping the soft, cerulean hair quickly around his fist, he tugged, hard, making her arch her back and thrust out beautifully rounded breasts tipped with stiff, rosy peaks, straining beneath the transparent material of her nightgown. Roughly, he pulled up the flimsy fabric, ripping it in the process, and swiftly took an erect nipple into his mouth, suckling the firm swell of flesh until her hips ground against his own in wild abandon. He felt her arms slip around his neck and tighten as he grazed the puckered skin of her nipple with his teeth, granting him a low whimper of pleasure.

"Say you want it," he murmured against the smooth skin of her breasts between kisses and caresses of his tongue. "Say you want me. Tell me that you've wanted me inside you ever since the day I took you from that bastard." He lifted his head and nipped roughly at her shoulder before looking her in the eyes, probing the deep, blue depths for the answers he knew were true.

"I can't," she sighed softly, casting her eyes downward. "If I do, I'll be betraying every thing I vowed not to do. I can't ever forget what you are, what you've done. I…I don't think I could ever love you, you know," she said as she allowed herself a quick glance into the dark, scrutinizing eyes. "I can't allow myself to love you."

"You already do love me," he growled angrily as he pulled her to him sharply, pushing the flat taughtness of her stomach against his hard, solid abs. There had to be a way to reach her, to show her that what was between them was to far gone to deny. His black eyes burned into hers as he moved his face closer, and his lips suddenly pressed against hers with a bruising force. He would have to show her. She gasped for breath as he tilted his head and thrust his tongue into the enticing warmth of her mouth, at first punishing, and then melting into something more loving and affectionate, rubbing his tongue gently against hers until he felt her relax in his arms. Her slender arms moved druggedly to grip the wide, muscled planes of his back and he felt her pulse quicken at the feel of his fingers playing at the thin band of her panties.

He released her mouth as he pulled back and pushed her down into the softness of the bed, bracing himself with his arms as he stared down into the beautiful face that had haunted his dreams and nightmares for countless nights. "Before this night is over, woman, I will make you cry out in passion, and then you will accept what you have denied to yourself for far too long. You belong to me, just as I do you. Nothing can or will change that. And I'll be damned if I'd let another bastard have you."

Without breaking eye contact he moved down her body, gripping the edges of her panties almost savagely and yanking them down to her knees before ripping the material to shreds. Her chest began rising and falling rapidly, and he almost wanted to freeze the moment in time at the sight of her flushed skin, her parted lips framed by the blue silk of her hair. She was so beautiful in the pale, lunar light cascading over the soft curves of her body; he knew that he'd be condemning his chances for restraint as soon as he tasted her. Parting her legs gently and propping them up on either side of him, he dipped his head slowly to sample her, looking up briefly to watch her writhe under his ministrations before diving back down to punish her some more. He delved deeply into her, drawing from her desperate moans of pleasure as he plunging in and out and stroked her mercilessly, savoring her flavor.

She arched against him, offering him more of the honeyed delight of her arousal, and he gladly indulged himself. He pressed her thighs apart a little more, and after suckling the swollen nub of flesh that made her thrash her head violently on the pillow, he traced two nimble fingers around the slick entrance and slid them in slowly, feeling the strong inner muscles grip him tightly. He almost groaned aloud in eager anticipation at the urgency of her arousal. She felt so tight and wet around his fingers that he almost got ahead of himself and nearly abandoned his sweet torment to ravish her ruthlessly.

He continued his ministrations until he felt her fingers threading through his stiff hair, gripping it tightly as she neared her release. Disengaged himself, much to her dismay, he moved to cover her body with his own, positioning himself at her entrance before looking up at her, his eyes serious and piercing. He trailed his fingers lightly down the length her arm, brushing over the creamy skin and sending the nerves connected to the delicate hairs of its surface into an uncontrollable frenzy. He reached a hand up to briefly cup her face, and then slowly slid it back until it tangled itself in the silken strands of her hair.

"Tell me, woman. I have to hear it."

"Why are you doing this to me, Vegeta?" she said suddenly and spitefully. "Why can't my body just be enough?" Her eyes glistened lucidly in the silver light of the moon. That strong will of hers was breaking under his request, and it was then that he realized that she must have been trying to ignore the intense and definite chemistry that had always existed between them. She didn't want to believe that she actually felt for a brutal killer such as himself. It had been much easier for her to explain their passion on the heated battles and highly emotional states they frequently worked themselves up to in their opposition for each other; that their fiery couplings were due to the intense attraction that the opposite sides of morality posed. He couldn't let her deny it any longer. If he did, it would drive them both crazy. It didn't matter anymore who was justified or not. He just wanted her here, in his arms, giving him what he so desperately needed from her, and filling her own need with what he knew only he could give her.

"I don't want just your body, baka woman. I want you. I want what you've been holding back from me all this time. Dammit! Stop fighting it and just give in. Give in." He said the last words forcefully as he pushed himself roughly inside her, causing her to gasp and arch against him as she shuddered at the frictional contact of their bodies. He hadn't wanted to do it this way, had wanted her to admit to her need of him. But she was already melting in his arms, moaning as he slid in deeper, and he couldn't stop himself now if he wanted to. He held on to her firmly, almost triumphantly as he felt her tighten around him, but immediately regretted his actions as he looked at her, feeling his chest constrict as he watched her shoulders begin to shake with sudden emotion, the tears now flowing freely down the pale hue of her cheeks. It reminded him too much of their first night together in his palace.

"How can I? How can I accept that I'm in love with a murderer? Yamcha wasn't a murderer. He was kind and good and he only did what he did out of love for me. I know that now, and to betray him with you…how could I be so cruel to him? How could I explain that what I feel for you is something more powerful than I ever felt with him? And now I'll never be able to tell him that I'm sorry, that I could never have loved him the way I love you, that he sold his soul for nothing…" She broke down then, the sobs wracking her slight frame as she lifted her arms instinctively to encircle his neck, burying her tear-stained face into the comforting hollow that seemed almost made to soothe and console.

Vegeta held her tightly to him, letting her cry out everything that had kept her from giving herself completely to him. As her sobs dwindled into soft whimpers, he pulled back gently, wiping the tears from her face with the pads of his thumbs. Leaning down, kissing her slowly and thoroughly, tasting, savoring each and every inch of her delectable mouth, he tried to banish the sorrow with his tenderness, finally showing her what he had been practically begging her to see since he had first recognized it: that he loved her with his whole being; that without her, his life would have been empty and void of destination; that without her, he would have killed himself ages ago and submitted to the silent misery of a bleak and unwelcoming afterlife.

Now, she was kissing him back, with more passion than she had ever shown, and he felt his heart ache at the truth of her surrender to him. She was accepting him. He pulled back once more, cupping the beautiful face and smiling down into it, his fingers reaching out and brushing the loose strands of brilliant blue hair from her face, seemingly of their own volition. Her eyes looked up at him with such pain and confusion and…love. I love you, her eyes said to him. Even though I don't want to, I do.

"This is what I want, Bulma. I want you, all of you, everything that you are. I want you here with me for as long as we both have in this life. I can't erase what I've done to you, gods, there's so much that I want you to forgive me for; but I know only one thing: this thing between us it too powerful for us to ignore. And I know that you feel it too. You feel it," he said as he began to move against her slowly, causing her arms to tighten around his neck. "You feel it… every time we're together. You feel it…whenever we fight…when we make love…when we…oh gods, Bulma…"

His movements had become frantic by then, the thrusts between his words making it more and more difficult to maintain his thin leash of control, so he silenced himself in the smooth junction between her neck and her shoulder, continuing his thrusting like a man possessed as he slid in and out of her velvety warmth.

Bulma was the one holding him now, her arms wrapped around the hard body above her in a soothing embrace, as he lost himself within her. She soon began to adopt his frenzied movements, taking up his maddening pace as she moaned out her acquiescence, and soon they were moving together, breathing as one and clinging to each other as they had never done before, even in their most intimate of moments. During this act of passion, they had both acknowledged and accepted the love between them, and even though it had not been audibly spoken, as the first mind-numbing wave of pleasure washed over them in a simultaneous whirlwind of bliss, she lifted her head and kissed him deeply, giving him a final sign of her submission to her once clandestine feelings.

He was left breathing heavily against her sweat-sheened shoulder, after collapsing, just moments ago, from the final release of their union; and as he raised his head to look into those expressive blue eyes, he knew that there was nothing else in his lifetime that could possibly compare to these short, hushed moments when he held her trembling form beneath him after they had made love in such a way. It didn't matter what happened to him in the future; he would die a happy man as long as he retained memory of the peaceful stillness present in this moment. No matter what happened, they would be together.

He heard her give a contented sigh as he repositioned himself to pull her snugly into his arms, still inside her and still feeling the burning desire that overwhelmed him whenever she was near. He suspected that he would always feel that way; that she would always bring out the feral and passionate nature that he had such trouble controlling at times. But she also soothed that passion, even as she inflamed it with her caresses, and kept it in check, rerouting it into forms other than killing and destruction. She was what he needed, just as she needed him, and that fact was enough to satisfy him for the rest of his time on this mortal plane.

Questions and/or Comments can be sent to let88b@mizzou.edu.