Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ We All Die Young ❯ We All Die Young ( One-Shot )

Title: We All Die Young

Rating: NC-17 for sexual content

Warnings: This story contains Lemon

Author: Shi-Saiyan

E-Mail: videl3402@hotmail.com

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Bulma sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed, bowing her head and resting it in her hands with a soft moan. With narrowed eyes, she glanced toward the window and confirmed her suspicions. It was that ungodly hour right before dawn, when the sky was a smoky, blue-gray color and you could still see the moon and a few stars. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she wracked her mind, trying to figure out why she was awake. She remembered a very strange dream. Vegeta had been training in the gravity chamber. Something in the wiring had shorted out and the resulting explosion had sent the huge console over on its face and right on top of the surprised Saiyan. She remembered his exotic black eyes widening with shock and one hand coming up instinctively as the console, roughly a thousand pounds in normal Earth gravity fell toward him and trapped him underneath it, in the gravity chamber set to Namek gravity. That multiplied the weight of the console by five. Five thousand pounds. A human would die instantly. A Saiyan might survive, but he would need immediate medical attention. Bulma shook her head, wondering why she had had such a weird dream and then returning her thoughts to the mystery of why she was awake. A niggling little thought teased her brain. Dulled by her groggy state, her usually sharp mind fought with the thought until it took an understandable form. Are you sure it was just a dream?

Bulma's eyebrows knitted together. No way she had dreamed something that was going to happen. Then her eyes flew wide. Unless it had already happened and Vegeta's powerful Ki had reached out to her in purely instinctive self defense, like a failsafe in his brain, in case he was incapable or too stubborn to call for help. Suddenly full of dread, she slid her feet to the floor and made for the door of her room.

Vegeta's breathing was labored and shallow and the gravity room was pitch black. After the explosion, the power had gone out, releasing the gravity back to the normal Earth weight. That was the only reason he still lived. At its normal weight, the console wasn't heavy enough to crush him, but at its Namekian weight, it had injured him to the point that he couldn't lift it off himself. As the pain coursed through his body, he tried to use it as he had so many times in the past, channeling it into his anger, using it for strength, to keep himself alive. He gritted his teeth and found he lacked the strength even to curse. A bitter laugh welled up in his throat. All the training, the years of fighting and preparing for battles and small-scale wars and this was how he was going to die. Trapped beneath a big computer and smashed like a bug. Not exactly a fitting end for the Prince of the Saiyans. A sound made him focus his hearing and he sighed, closing his eyes. Great, now he was hearing things. That sounded like Bulma. She was calling his name, her voice full of something he could have sworn was fear. Fear for him? The thought was almost funny enough to make him laugh. Bulma was sexy and smart and crossed him at every turn with sharp wit and a sharper tongue. They exchanged insults when other people would exchange greetings and the tension in the air when they were in the same room was thick enough to taste. His hallucination got louder and he felt something soft touch his hand. His fingers flexed, automatically and he heard his hallucination gasp and say his name again. "You're alive! Hold on, Vegeta, I'll get my dad! We'll get you out of here!" he heard. "Don't you let go, Vegeta! Don't you die on me, do you hear me? I forbid you to die!" Vegeta managed a smirk. His hallucination was laying it on pretty thick. As the darkness behind his eyelids got even darker and he felt himself start to drift, he felt a pang of something. Not fear. A Saiyan did not fear death, it was only the next adventure. No, this was something else. Something like regret. Yes, regret. He didn't want to leave just yet. He wanted to see Bulma again before he died. A sound suspiciously like a whimper escaped the great Saiyan warrior as his world went black.

Bulma raised her head very slowly. Her eyes felt heavy from crying and her throat was sore from talking to the unresponsive form in the bed. Vegeta was lying against the pillows in exactly the same position he had been laid in the day before. She had spent the night beside him, in the chair, talking to him, telling him it would be okay, alternately begging him to hold on and demanding that he open his eyes right this instant! Finally, exhaustion won out and she collapsed, her head and arms resting on the mattress beside him. She didn't know why she was on this emotional roller coaster or why it was so important to her that Vegeta be okay. They weren't close, had barely ever been civil to each other. He was hardheaded and arrogant and stubborn and a smart ass to boot! When that sexy little smirk spread across his face, her hand itched to slap it off. Every time they spoke, it was to trade insults. There was absolutely nothing to like about the man! Well, okay, she admitted to herself, there was the fact that he was, as far as she had seen, the sexiest man to ever walk the Earth, but that was beside the point! A great, okay, incredible body was no reason to turn into some weeping damsel at his bedside! As much as she argued against it though, here she was, holding his warm, motionless hand in both of hers and searching his face for the smallest sign that he heard her pleas for him to be okay.

Risk my soul, test my life

For my bread

Spend my time lost in space

Am I dead?

Let the river flow

Through my callused hands

And take me from my own

The eyes of the damned

It makes my stomach turn

And it tears my flesh from the bone

How we turn a dream to stone

And we all die young

Yeah we all die young

Tell me I know

I lived so afraid

And still we cry alone

With words left unsaid

Yeah it makes my stomach turn

And it tears my flesh from bone to bone

How we turn a dream to stone

And we all die young

-Steel Dragon "We All Die Young"

She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Black hair hung to her waist in shiny curls and her black eyes sparkled with laughter. Her skin was tan and flawless, her lips blood red, like the sky above them. The Queen of Planet Vegeta was graceful, elegant, the embodiment of a lady. Her son had inherited her dark coloring, set to the handsome features of his father. His eyes were so deep that looking into them too long made one feel as if they were falling into their black depths. His eyes held the ancient wisdom that all babies seemed to be born with, only to lose it somewhere on the path to adulthood. His cheeks were not the chubby little mounds so often found on the face of an infant. They were lean and angular, like his father's, his little body already hard and strong. He was, after all, a Saiyan. Moreover, he was the Saiyan Prince, the only child of the King and Queen of Planet Vegeta. The boy was named after his father and his world. He was called Vegeta.

Through wide eyes, he took in his world, his senses far sharper than that of a human boy. With a brilliant mind, an iron will and a usually smart mouth, young Prince Vegeta grew into a little boy with the strength of ten grown men and the strategic mind of a warrior born and bred. He was five when his world went into a tailspin that was impossible to pull out of. His mother, beautiful and gentle, always smiling, was the first to die. He watched her murder from a closet, his mouth open in a horrified silent scream as someone, he couldn't see who, took a sword to her small body, stabbing and slicing, until she lay still in a pool of blood on the floor of her bedchamber. Young Vegeta held his breath until his mother's assassin was gone and then crept out of the closet, crawling toward the prone figure on the floor. He reached her and looked down at her face, her mouth open in a final, agonized cry of pain. Her eyes were wide, accusing, as if she knew he had hidden and watched her murder without trying to help her. Horror and guilt wouldn't let him look away. His father found him there, hours later, tears streaming down his face. The sound of King Vegeta's cry of anguish was something that the young Saiyan Prince would never forget. Kneeling beside the body of his wife, the King pulled his son into his arms and Vegeta told him, sobbing, of all he had seen. King Vegeta vowed then to find his wife's murderer and destroy him and Vegeta, silently, added his own vow to his father's, to take revenge against the man who had stolen his mother from him.

His father's search for the Queen's killer didn't take long. Only a few weeks after the murder, one of his father's Lords, Lord Frieza, came forward and boldly announced that he had wielded the sword that took the life of the Queen. As King Vegeta roared in rage and advanced on the lizard Lord, the minions of Frieza swarmed into the room, killing every Saiyan in sight, save two. Fighting with every ounce of strength in his five-year-old body, young Vegeta was finally subdued and held at the point of a sword. Seeing his son in mortal danger, the King ceased to fight and Frieza's guards immediately took him into custody. Lord Frieza led the way back to his ship, the two royal Saiyans in his control and threw young Vegeta into a small room, the door sliding shut and sealing him in. The King, the Prince was told, was to be taken to a room on the opposite side of the ship. Both father and son were told that without their cooperation, the other would suffer and die. Desperate to protect the only family they had, both of them obeyed, until the day that Frieza ordered King Vegeta to launch the rocket that would destroy the Planet Vegeta. Refusing to commit genocide on his own race, the King refused. Unknown to Frieza, Vegeta was in the ventilation ducts, in the middle of another escape attempt. The guards in charge of him were searching frantically for their small, elusive charge, none of them wanting to be the one to tell Frieza that he had lost his valuable little hostage. Breathing shallowly, the young Prince was watching when Frieza held up one hand and summoned a small ball of bright light. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the energy ball flying into the chest of King Vegeta, killing him instantly. Feeling helpless and sick, Vegeta crawled through the air ducts, back to his little room, giving up on escape for the moment. His skin cold and clammy with fear and his blood hot with rage, Vegeta waited and, sure enough, Frieza soon opened his door and strode into the room to announce that his father had killed himself. "He left you alone to die, boy. What kind of father is that? I would not leave you to die. You will be mine now, my finest warrior," the lizard decided. Vegeta said nothing, for once wisely holding his tongue.

His sadness and fear were slowly overcome by his anger and he fed the flames of that fire, pulled his rage around him like a shield. He did become Frieza's finest warrior. He was the ultimate killer, brutal, ruthless, unstoppable. He even found he could take joy in the killing, the taking of another life. It made him feel powerful, in control. The boy who had watched his mother die, who had been held and sheltered in his father's arms was dead. He had died at the tender age of five and a cold, heartless weapon of destruction had taken his place. His world, his race, his family, it was all gone. The dreams of the young prince had turned to stone, as had his heart.

The memories receded in that way that only dreams and memories can, slowly drifting back, like a fog clearing in his head. Vaguely, he realized that someone was with him, touching him, holding onto his hand. He heard a soft, sad voice pleading with someone. Him, he realized. The voice was pleading with him to wake up. The soft murmur was doing something to him, touching some hidden piece of him, deep inside, drawing him toward it, toward the hazy light that lay on the other side of his consciousness. With great effort, Vegeta spoke.

"Stop your incessant begging, woman." Bulma's head came up, her eyes wide. As she watched, Vegeta's eyes slowly opened and his black gaze was confused. "Where are we? Why are you sitting there holding onto me and crying?" he demanded, in a weak imitation of his usual gruff growl. "Oh, Vegeta, you're awake! Oh, thank Kami!" she said, tightening her grip on his hand. A flash of something unidentifiable, something like surprise, flashed in his dark eyes. "Why is that so important? Of course I'm awake. It's something I have done every day since I was born," he said, crossly, attempting to sit up. Her eyes widened in alarm. "No! You have to stay still! You're in the hospital. Don't you remember the explosion in the gravity chamber? The console falling?" she asked, suddenly worried he might have amnesia. Understanding spread over his expression and she sighed in relief. It was a good thing he still had his memory, because no one knew his past other than him. No one would have been able to help him recapture those lost memories, of his parents, his planet. Then again, he wouldn't have any memories of the unspeakable tortures that Frieza had inflicted on the young boy he had once been. In any case, his mind appeared to be intact because a scowl immediately came to his face. "That damned machine is a hazard," he said, crossly. "It almost killed you," Bulma said, softly, tentatively reaching toward his face with one small hand. He was too stunned to react when her fingers brushed down the side of his jaw, very softly. Her gentle touch brought to mind another pair of small soft hands and he remembered his dream. His mother would have liked Bulma. The thought came to him, unbidden and unwanted and he quickly flung it away. His mother was a memory he wasn't prepared to deal with. "I am a Saiyan Prince, remember? It will take much more than a stupid computer to take my life," he said, trying again to sit up. He succeeded this time and she didn't bother trying to stop him. Frankly, she was amazed he hadn't demanded to leave the hospital yet. His mind was probably still fuzzy and the thought hadn't occurred to him yet, she reasoned.

Vegeta winced, inwardly, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Bulma stepped back and he realized she was still holding his hand. So did she and she immediately released it, a blush rising to her face as the sheet stepped away and she realized she was standing beside a mostly naked Saiyan Prince. In her distress, she had forgotten that he wore only a pair of boxers, a concession to the rule of hospital gowns that she had demanded. She knew that if Vegeta woke to find himself in what amounted to a nightgown, it probably wouldn't go over well, especially since he already hated hospitals. There was also the reason that the nurses kept trying to sneak a peak at him under the covers, but she chose not to think about that. She had no idea why she felt so proprietary over him and it wasn't an emotion she wanted to examine right then. Getting Vegeta well was more important. "How long have I been asleep?" he demanded, glancing around the room, completely oblivious to his state of undress. "Um, you've been here in the hospital for three days," she said, suddenly finding her mouth dry. She averted her eyes as he found his clothing neatly folded on a chair and began to dress, paying little heed to the bandages that wrapped his body. She said nothing, reasoning that Saiyan's healed much faster than humans and he was probably more aware of his capabilities at this point than anyone else. Dressed again, Vegeta turned to her. "Get me out of this place," he demanded. A small grin flirted across her face. Vegeta's mind was clear again.

Bulma exacted a promise from him that he wouldn't try to train for at least another week before she would consent to take him away from the hospital. Clutching the handle of his door in the car, however, he wondered if he should have stayed there. Anything had to be better than getting into a moving vehicle with Bulma behind the wheel. When they reached the house, he unclenched his hands and found he had left permanent finger marks in the metal. Anxious to be free of the vehicle, he nearly ripped the door off its hinges getting out and walked into the house. Bulma followed behind him, wondering how one kept a Saiyan Prince from overdoing himself when that was all the man ever did. He was sure to get bored and irritated and that was never good, considering his usual bad mood anyway. So, she had to keep him occupied. After a few moments, she snapped her fingers. She had it. If he couldn't exercise his muscles, he would have to exercise his brain. As Vegeta sat down on the couch, she saw him wince, slightly, the only concession he had made to his injuries thus far. She said nothing, pretended she hadn't seen it and went to the hall closet and began rummaging around. After a few sneezes and a lot of curses, she emerged, slightly dusty, with a box, the look on her face triumphant. Vegeta narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. What kind of torture was this woman planning now? She had already taken away his training. He had given his word and a Saiyan Prince would not go back on his word, even if it was only to a bossy, loud, too smart for her own good woman! "What," he asked, "is that?" "It's a game!" she said, brightly. "My dad taught me how to play it when I was a kid and I thought I could teach you." He stared at her, skeptical. She was being, well, nice. She was never nice to him. "What is the point of this, game?" He said the word disdainfully. "To make strategic moves while killing your opponent's army and gaining access to the queen," she said, wording it in a way that would appeal to his Saiyan sensibilities. A look came over his face that she couldn't describe. Certainly not what she had expected. If she wasn't mistaken, he paled a little at the mention of a queen. After a moment of silence, he asked, "The object is to protect one's queen?" She nodded and opened the box, holding up a little plastic figure. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "I will learn this game and I will win it." With a grin, Bulma set the box down on the table and began to pull out a board and lots of little figures, in black and white. "We'll see about that, mister. I used to be really good at this and it's not exactly easy," she said, setting up the chessboard.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Vegeta listened as Bulma explained the rules of the game and showed him which pieces could make which moves. His brain heard her, was processing and filing away the information, but his mind was stuck on the idea of protecting his queen. At her words, the visions of his mother had returned full force and he remembered what he had dreamed while he was unconscious. Of course, his mother's killer was dead already, killed by himself and the group of people that were called, by many, the Z Fighters. But some small voice inside him was telling him to play her game and protect his queen, to succeed where he had once failed. Bulma's voice asking, "Are you ready?" brought him out of his thoughts. He looked at her big blue eyes. "I am ready to win."

Two hours later Vegeta smugly moved his knight into position and won the game. Bulma stared at him, properly impressed by his strategic playing. Her friend Piccolo had been right. He was a strategic genius. "We will play again," he announced. She shook her head. "I need to make something to eat," she said, standing. He eyed her for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, make something to eat and then we will play again." She rolled her eyes at his highhanded words and walked out of the room muttering something about his royal manners. Vegeta's lips twitched as his Saiyan hearing caught every mumbled word about him.

After they ate, Bulma gave in to his demand that they play again. Not because she wanted to make him happy, but because she found she enjoyed watching him while he was absorbed in the game. His mouth, which before had always seemed so arrogant, suddenly looked different. The upper lip was sharply defined and the lower was full, sensual. A mouth made to keep a girl awake at night. And keep her awake it did.

Bulma sat up in bed and cursed, softly. She couldn't sleep. That stupid man's mouth was keeping her brain going at a hundred miles per hour! She kept picturing it, imagining what it would feel like against her- She shook her head. She must be going crazy. Just the thought of allowing Vegeta that close, of exposing so much of herself to his critical eye, of trusting him with something so precious was enough to make her, well, um, okay, melt. She wanted him. All right, she'd admitted it to herself. Now what?

With a frustrated growl, she got out of bed and paced the room. What was she supposed to do about this!? Her body was screaming at her that if she didn't do something, it was going to mutiny. Her mind was firing cautions at her and at the same time showing her glimpses of what could happen between them. It was maddening! Emotions were maddening! Was this why Vegeta always remained so cold and unfeeling? Because emotions were too much? "Okay," she mumbled to herself. "We just need to stay cool. Like Vegeta. So, what would Vegeta do in this situation?"

Vegeta growled in frustration and fought the urge to put his fist through something. The woman was driving him crazy! She was brilliant and beautiful and proud and brave. Okay, so she was afraid of him, but that wasn't cowardice, it was intelligence. In any case, she had all the qualities of a Saiyan woman and the attraction of them was finally getting to him. He wanted her, now. However, given her stubborn nature, he knew that if he demanded anything from her, no matter how she felt, she would refuse him, point blank. So, what to do about it?

Two more days of chess games and verbal sparring, with no sleep, finally got to her. Her parents left for the Science Convention that afternoon, planning to be gone for three days and Bulma set her plan in motion. It was a tentative plan, very shaky, almost non-existent. She was simply going to do what she thought Vegeta would do. She was going to go after what she wanted and see what happened. In other words, she was going to bare her soul to a seasoned killer and see if he rejected her. She shivered. After an early dinner, she retired to her room, slipping into her private bathroom to take a long, hot bubble bath. Scenting and smoothing her skin with her favorite bath oils and lotion, then drying her hair and brushing it until it shone, Bulma carefully chose her sheerest, shortest, most lacy nightgown and slipped the transparent scrap of satin and silk over her head. Then, she settled in to wait.

She heard him come up the stairs about an hour later. His footsteps on the hall floor passed her door, headed toward his room. She heard the click of his door and stood up, taking a deep breath. "Okay, Bulma, you can do this. How hard can it be? Just go into his room. Any red-blooded male who was interested would know exactly what to do from there." Nodding to herself, she opened her door and stepped into the hall. On silent feet, she walked to his bedroom door and raised her hand to the knob, only to have it swing open before she could touch it. Her eyes widened as Vegeta stared at her. She'd forgotten his Saiyan hearing. He had heard her coming. His black eyes roamed lazily over her, from her softly curling azure hair to the tips of her toes. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. Her presence and attire had pretty much summed it all up. She took a tentative step toward him and gasped as his hand slid around her neck and gripped the base of her skull, pulling her roughly against him and holding her tightly with one arm. She knew that he could have snapped her neck with the simple flick of his wrist, but she somehow wasn't afraid. She slowly slid her hands over his chest and twined her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his jet-black hair. He tightened his grip on her neck and pulled her face so close to his she could feel the heat coming off his skin. He whispered one word. "Why?" She met his dark gaze with wide blue eyes and allowed one finger to stroke down the back of his ear. She was rewarded with a shiver. "Because I want you," she whispered back. That was all it took. The next thing she knew, his mouth had claimed hers, hot and demanding. She accepted him readily, giving as he took, happy to allow him to take control of the situation.

Vegeta buried his hands in her soft hair, crushing her against him, as her mouth opened and invited him in. Her kiss was like a drug, the most potent drug he had ever come across and the force of it almost made him lose the last shred of control he possessed. Slowly, he cautioned himself. You'll frighten her. He forced his arms to loosen their hold, just a little and her arms tightened around his neck, pressing her breasts against his bare chest. Through the thin piece of silk, he could feel the heat of her flesh and it was nearly his undoing. Running his hands down her back, he gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her. Bulma wrapped her legs around his waist and continued to kiss him as he carried her to his bed and lay her down on the pillows. Only then did she loosen her grip and allow him to rise away from her. Bulma stilled as the Saiyan's intense eyes traveled over her body and he lifted a hand. With one finger, he traced her collarbone, to her strap and slowly slid the satin over her shoulder and down her arm. He repeated the process with the other strap, baring her breasts to the cool air. She shivered and he drew the fabric further down, to her waist, his eyes lingering on every inch of skin he bared. When he reached her hips, she lifted them for him and the material slid down her legs and was gone.

Vegeta gazed at her perfection as he peeled away her nightgown. Her skin was pale and flawless, her legs long and shapely. Her hips were slender and her waist was small. Generous breasts and graceful shoulders. A swan-like neck, a full, thoroughly kissable mouth, small, upturned nose and wide blue eyes, all framed in that long, silky azure hair. She was beautiful, so small, so fragile, so vulnerable. She knew he could hurt her with no effort at all and yet she lay before him, completely exposed and unafraid. Nothing in his life had ever meant more to him than her trust did at that moment. He lowered his head to kiss her.

Vegeta's lips traveled over her throat and shoulders, branding her, claiming her as his. She didn't mind. He pressed her to the bed with his weight, her bare breasts hot against his smooth, tanned chest. The sensation of her flesh against his made her gasp, but the sound was cut off when his mouth closed over one nipple. His hand was kneading the other breast, teasing and caressing and weighing it in his palm. He nuzzled the generous softness and moved his ministrations to the other breast. Her hands were tangled in his hair, holding him to her, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were glazed over, her breath heavy and hard. Bulma jumped when his fingers slid into her folds and touched that tiny place that controlled the rush of sensations coursing through her. A cry escaped her as he rolled his fingers over it and she felt her stomach muscles contract, reflexively. "Vegeta," she said, looking at him again, the glaze gone from her eyes as he brought her quickly back to him. He stroked her wet heat with his fingers. "Do you trust me, Bulma?" She nodded and he moved his head lower, between her thighs. She released a tiny whimper. He lowered his mouth to her and she cried out, in pleasure and surprise. He entered her with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of her, before he stroked his way to the front of her and began to gently suckle and nip at the small bit of flesh that governed her desire. He heard her breath come faster and faster, felt her body tense in anticipation and then, with a wordless cry from somewhere in her throat, he felt her release and a small amount of liquid rushed from her. As she drifted back to earth, he leisurely kissed his way back up her body.

"Vegeta," she whispered, when his mouth reached her earlobe. "Shh. We have only just begun," he breathed into her ear. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when he pressed himself against the length of her. Her body responded eagerly, quickly becoming ready again and Bulma moaned, softly. Her hands slid down his chest, to where he was pressed so intimately against her. Her fingers traced the length of him and her palm closed around him. He groaned and she smiled a feline smile, stroking him with her fingertips. He was like satin covered steel, hard and hot in her hand. "Enough," he growled, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away. She laughed, then gasped as he shifted and she felt the tip of him pressing against the center of her. His hands slid to her hips and down her thighs, lifting them on either side of his body. "Put your legs around me," he instructed. She did and he felt her thighs quivering. Once her body was positioned to his liking, he returned his hands to her face. One slipped behind her head and the other underneath her, to press against her back. "Hold on," he whispered. As her arms slid around his neck, she wondered for a moment why he was acting as though this were her first time, and then he pressed forward, sliding slowly into her and she knew. Her arms tightened and she gasped at the feeling of him, larger than any man she had ever seen, much less been with. He swallowed the sound with a kiss and she clung to him as he filled her completely and then was still, allowing her body to adjust to his invasion. "Are you all right?" he whispered. She nodded and then he moved within her.

Bulma's breath caught in her throat at the new wave of sensation that coursed through her. He rocked slowly against her, watching her face for the slightest wince of pain. She cradled him in her thighs, her body instinctively countering his every move. Bulma could feel the pressure building, much like before, only more intense. Vegeta felt her body tense around him and began to move a little faster. Bulma's arms started to shake and her nails dug into his shoulders. All at once, just when Vegeta knew he could hold himself back no longer, she arched against him and screamed his name, her nails leaving bloody ribbons across his back. He tightened his arms around her and a sound that was more animal than human was torn from his throat as he released his seed into her body. As he felt his arms cease to hold him, he rolled them both over, to avoid crushing her. She clung to him, shaking, her breath coming fast and hard. She didn't speak. She looked at him and blinked. His face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat and his black eyes were on her face. The look in those eyes was unmistakable. He wanted her again. She was only too happy to comply.

Bulma woke very slowly, a hazy, floating happiness running through her. A heavy arm was draped around her waist and a leg was twined with hers. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw Vegeta watching her. She smiled, shyly and he smirked, not his usual arrogant look, but the expression of a triumphant male. It was a purely primal look, a man satisfied and it made her forget her shyness and grin. The hand at her waist traveled higher and began to toy with her breast and her eyes widened. "What-" His low growl was anything but his usual annoyed tone. "You have forbidden me from training, woman. I will get my exercise another way." She giggled and then his mouth came down on hers, effectively silencing her. He filed away that little tidbit of information for later use.

When Bulma's parents returned home, they didn't seem surprised by the fact that their daughter was now sharing a bed with the Saiyan Prince. As a matter of fact, Bulma's mother gave her a knowing grin and her father mumbled something that sounded like, "Its about time." Vegeta gave no reaction. He was his usual impassive self during the day, gruff and contrary. He returned to his training as soon as his promised week was up and devoted himself to his fighting from dawn till dusk, as usual. Now, however, his nights belonged to Bulma. He came in at dark and showered, eating a fast meal and then sending her a smoldering look that had her saying goodnight to her parents and heading for their room. Once there, he would proceed to kiss her senseless and then make love to her until the sky started to lighten. He never once said he loved her, not with words. He didn't even say he cared for her. His body said that for him. His body said he worshiped her and he paid homage to her with his hands, his mouth and his eyes. She grew to know his body better than she knew her own. She found every scar and kissed it, explored the hard planes of his chest and stomach, the smooth steel of his muscles and the adorable dimple in his left cheek that she was willing to bet no one else alive knew about. Her fingers played over his face, his jaw, his lips. She traced the sweeping line of his eyebrows and gently ran her fingertip over his eyelids when he closed his eyes. His ears were sensitive, she learned, along with the side of his throat and he was ticklish in the ribs. His hands were sure and strong on her body, guiding her where he wanted her to be, shaping her movements to his. He always stilled when he slid into her. Buried in her soft heat, he froze and stared into her eyes, as if imprinting the moment into his memory. Then he would move and Bulma lost all conscious thought. She sensed his rigid control over himself, knowing that if he lost that control, over his energy, even a little, he could easily crush her. She felt no fear, however. She knew he would not harm her. She didn't, however, know how he would react when, three months into their relationship, she found she was pregnant.

Vegeta came inside after dark and immediately headed for the bathroom that adjoined to the room he and Bulma now shared. He quickly stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower. He had just picked up the soap when he heard the soft click of the door opening and closing. "Bulma?" he said. A moment later, the shower door opened and she stepped inside. Surprised, but pleased at this variation of their routine, he welcomed her, pulling her against him, his body instantly reacting to her bare skin against his. He leaned his head down to kiss her and, though she returned the kiss, he sensed tenseness, a nervousness that had never been present during their lovemaking. He pulled his head back and looked down at her. "What is it?" She took his hands and placed them at her waist, her blue eyes meeting his, full of a strange apprehensiveness. His brow furrowed and he felt the curve of her waist, the smooth expanse of her stomach. Having memorized her body the first night he touched her, he detected the slight swelling and cocked his head to one side. "Is this what is bothering you? That you've gained a pound or two?" he asked, one brow raised. She shook her head. "Not the pounds. The cause of the pounds. And I wouldn't say it's bothering me. I just thought it might bother you. It'll be okay if it does. I can handle it," she said, quickly. Vegeta was very confused by now. "Your body is beautiful. Your weight means nothing to me," he said. "The cause might," she argued. Getting a little annoyed at this skirting around, he frowned. "What is this cause that worries you so much?" he demanded, determined to fix the problem so they could get back to the way they had been. "Your baby." He stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment, he didn't have a baby, and then understanding slowly dawned on his face. He said nothing. His hands moved back to her waist, feeling the slight swelling once more, then up to her breasts, weighing them in his hands. Yes, they were slightly larger as well. She was watching him, her fear clear on her face. Fear that he would reject her, reject their child, be angry. She held her breath, waiting. His baby. The thought rolled over in his mind and Vegeta was suddenly hit with a wave of emotion so strong it nearly staggered him. He was going to be a father. There was that elemental male pride, twice as strong, being a Saiyan, a sense of wonder and the greatest pure joy he had ever experienced. He was suddenly struck with a million questions. Would he be a good father? Would his child be a boy or a girl? Would his child look like him, or Bulma? Would it have Saiyan strength? Bulma's intelligence? He suddenly realized she was still waiting and he looked down at her. He didn't know what showed on his face, but it obviously frightened her. She took a half-step backward and her eyes widened. "It's okay, Vegeta, I know you weren't expecting this, that you didn't want this and you don't need to feel obligated or anything, I swear I didn't do this to trap you or anything, I-" His hands gripped her shoulders and she took a breath. "Woman," he began, but she continued showering him with nervous words. "-can do this by myself if I need to, I just-" With a growl, he yanked her to him and fell back to the most effective way he knew to shut her up. A long while later, he pulled away, slowly and looked down at her breathless form. Her eyes were cloudy and unfocused and her mouth was swollen from his kiss. He raised one hand to her face and lightly grazed his thumb over her lips. "You will not raise my child alone. I will be there beside you. I will be there to take care of you, to protect you, both of you," he swore, slowly. She stared at him. "Do you understand?" he asked. She nodded, once and he leaned down to kiss her again, lightly this time, just a soft brushing of his lips against hers. "Now, we are going to retire to the bedroom, because the water is turning cold."

Their lovemaking that night was slow and gentle and, for once, when Bulma woke in the morning, he was still beside her, even though the sun was slanting through the windows. He was running his hands over her belly, laying his head against the soft skin and murmuring gentle words to their unborn child. She smiled and he looked up at her. He said nothing, just leaned his ear against her belly, as if listening to a reply. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Vegeta nodded, as if agreeing with whatever he heard. "Our son is hungry. Feed him," Vegeta announced. "Our son?" She gave what she knew was a goofy grin, but she didn't care. Vegeta nodded, gravely. "Our son," he confirmed. "And how do you know that?" He looked surprised, even offended by her question. "I sense his Ki, of course," he said, simply, as if that was something everyone knew. She blinked and then laughed. "I should have known you Saiyans would even have a superior way of doing this!" His brow furrowed. He saw nothing funny about this! Any Saiyan man would sense the Ki of his unborn child, no matter how early in the pregnancy, if he were searching for it. Not to do so would be the sign of a powerless man, or of one who did not care. Vegeta suddenly blinked. He cared. It was the first time he had ever admitted that, even to himself. Looking away from Bulma's too-perceptive gaze, he closed his eyes and took a breath. Caring meant pain. When you cared for something, someone, and lost it, it was like having your beating heart ripped from your chest by your enemy and watching it stop beating as you died. What if he lost Bulma or his child? Or both of them? A million things could go wrong with a pregnancy, things that could not be prevented. What if Bulma's human body was too fragile to carry and birth the Saiyan child. No, that was not acceptable. He would not allow any harm to befall Bulma, or his son. He would protect them, at all costs.

Bulma wasn't sure what had changed, but she didn't like it. Vegeta still came to their bed each night, was even a bit more attentive than before, asking her how she felt, occasionally, and using those skills he had honed to make him a better killer, that intricate knowledge of anatomy, to massage the kinks out of her muscles when her back and neck ached. However, when they lay down at night, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest- and that was it. Should she instigate love making, he would gently take her, his touch feather light, his kisses soft and sweet and it was driving her crazy! Gone was her voracious Saiyan warrior who crushed her against him and hungrily took her mouth with his own. In his place was a man who acted as though he was afraid to touch her. As her belly swelled with their son, they made love less and less and Vegeta seemed more detached, distant, leaving their bed earlier and coming in later in the evenings. She assumed he no longer desired her because of her large stomach, swollen, leaky breasts and constant mood swings. Knowing the man had no experience with family, or pregnant women, she shouldn't have been surprised, but it still hurt. She had long since realized that she loved him, loved him with all her heart and the fact that he had never told her he loved her just didn't matter.

As the birth of their son drew nearer, Vegeta began coming inside the house for every meal, glancing at Bulma for any sign of impending labor. Though he had never witnessed the process, he knew the intricacies of labor and birth better than most doctors. He had studied the anatomy of all major life forms on file with Frieza's army. Knowing the enemy's physiology made them more efficient killers. Therefore, he felt he would recognize the signs of labor before she did. He had no way of telling her how worried he was, how he was afraid to make love to her, afraid he would harm her or their son. One too powerful thrust and his child would be dead. It wasn't a chance he was willing to take, no matter how much his body screamed about being denied. He released the pent up sexual tension by training extra hours each day, figuring that the better he was, the better he'd be able to protect his family. He said nothing of Bulma about these things. He didn't know how.

Vegeta woke in the pitch-blackness after midnight. He focused his senses on the room around him, trying to sense what had disturbed his sleep. Finding nothing with his physical senses, he focused his Ki and sent it out, searchingly. Distantly, he felt the weak, slumbering energy of Bulma's parents. Their Ki was like a soft rain, soothing, cool, steady. Even more distantly, he felt the Ki of the only other living Saiyan, Kakarot, or Goku, as Bulma and the others called him. The Saiyan blood of the other man, his rival, called to his Ki, a fact he loathed. Always, he sensed Kakarot, unless they happened to be in different dimensions. Kakarot's Ki was like a tornado, powerful, yet chaotic. Much closer, Bulma's Ki, softly murmuring now, like a stream, would be a raging river when she woke. Then, among the gently flowing brook was the sound that shook him. His son's Ki, so much more powerful than any other's, except maybe Kakarot and his son's, was like a rainstorm when he slept, a blizzard when he woke and now, was a hailstorm. Vegeta sat up and touched Bulma's face, lightly. She frowned in her sleep and shifted. "Bulma, wake up," he whispered. She moaned and turned her face away from him. He put his palm on her cheek and turned her to face him. "Bulma. You must wake up. Our son is coming," he ordered. Her eyes opened. "But, I don't feel anything," she mumbled, confused. Then she gasped and they both felt the wetness spreading underneath them. Her eyes widened and she looked at him. "I'll wake your parents," he said.

Vegeta had never felt so helpless in his life. He gripped Bulma's hand as another contraction hit her and she screamed, cursing him in every language she knew. His face remained impassive through her tirade and then while she demanded that he leave, then ordered him to stay. Never once did he move. Every muscle in his body was tense and his Ki was so intensely focused that he now knew what a baby felt like as it was being born. His son was angry, confused and afraid, his small body trapped in a tight space and muscles squeezing him, apparently causing him pain. Nothing drew his attention from that little scrap of life, until the nurse looked up and said, "There's a problem." Bulma whimpered and looked at him, terror in her eyes. Vegeta released her hand and stepped toward the nurse and the doctor beside her. Both of them stepped back as his intimidating figure came at them. "What's wrong with my son?" "He, um, the cord, it's wrapped around his throat. He's going to die if we don't get him out soon," the doctor stammered. A cry came from Bulma and tears slid from her eyes. Vegeta felt his energy level rise with his anger and both the doctor and the nurse cried out in fear as the power rose off his body like heat, so thick it was visible. His black eyes suddenly glinted turquoise and his hair went blond. "Get him out!" His voice was thick with emotion and power and the doctor scrambled back to his place. Vegeta stepped back and took hold of Bulma's hand again, forcing her attention back to him. "Don't let him die, Vegeta," she said, pleadingly. "Our son will live, Bulma. Pay attention. I'm going to do what I can to help him come faster. I need you to try and relax and do not resist me," he ordered. She nodded and Vegeta's powerful hands began pressing and massaging her roiling belly, sometimes painfully, but she didn't care. The doctor confirmed that whatever he was doing was indeed making the baby come faster. The look on his face was intense, more focused than it ever was during his training or anything else, as he used his Ki to calm his son and speed the birth.

When the squalling cries of the infant filled the room, everyone in it relaxed. The doctor and nurse were not only relieved to have a living infant on their hands, but were also glad that they were going to be allowed to leave the room alive. Bulma was lost in that floating high that only new mothers felt the first time they laid eyes on their child. Vegeta was doing that father thing, his breathing unsteady, as he held his small son in his powerful arms. The boy had stopped crying the moment he had touched him and was blinking wide blue eyes at his father. "Um, do you have a name for him?" asked the scared nurse, holding up a hospital bracelet, apparently intended for the infant. "Trunks," said Bulma, immediately. Vegeta didn't argue, though he might have, if he hadn't been so fascinated by the tiny being in his arms. The name registered, but barely. He touched one soft, chubby cheek with his fingertip and Trunks reached up and gripped the finger with a hand far stronger than a human infant's. Vegeta's lips twitched upward into a small smile. A Saiyan child. As he looked down into the face of his son, Vegeta made a silent vow. Trunks would always be safe and happy. He would be trained and able to defend himself against any enemy. His son's life would not be as his was and his soul would not die young.