Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yumenimo ❯ Ode To A Banana Split ( Chapter 6 )

Standard Disclaimers:

I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its related merchandising rights.

However, this story is my intellectual property. It's been too long since I've added to this saga christened Yumenimo, but that shows just how many other projects I've been toying with. Also, in case you can't tell, this is my first published DBZ fic -- but mostly my first V/B. ^_~

Warnings:

Note on the last chapter: Yes, I now remember that Puar is a girl. (Sorry to all you hardcore DBZ fans!) But I thought it was funny. *shrugs* I give this as a peace offering . . . new eps of DBZ on CartoonNetwork March 17th!! Yay, finally!! (so I've heard, I may be wrong -_-)

For fans of Episode2, I may still add a special something . . . extra special in later chapters. *lol* As for this chapter . . . there's drama, angst, romance, bad language and lots of it, my stupid attempts at humor, feminine "issues," and a special for this chapter . . . a lemon(graphic sexual content). So beware! This story is rated-R. *evil li'l smirk* I realized that this chapter took me forever to finish, but . . . I think it was worth it. Don't forget to let me know what you think. ;)

I was a young, ignorant fool . . . no! I won't give in and take the full blame for this. It was both our faults. She finally noticed that her fingers were starting to tingle from clenching her hand so tight. She wanted to scream from pain-- she just wanted to scream. "Yeah, that's it, Yamcha!" She picked up the nearest object and chucked it blindly with all her pained might. "Go ahead and leave you asshole!" It didn't matter that he was already gone; she needed to release some of the anger she felt at herself . . . and him. Good riddance. What a dickhead! I can't believe I put up with his shit this long . . .

"Onna."

"What!?" Based on her reaction you would've thought he had screamed it.

But even Vegeta knew what fights he should not pick with Bulma. And this was definitely one of them. What would be the point? She used up her best material on him. Vegeta fought the urge to chuckle. There would be no ripe ammunition. Perhaps she won't crumble at all. Vegeta smirked and pointed to the sticky mess on his head. "Is this yours?" The object that she had so haphazardly hurled was her banana split.

Bulma couldn't help it. It . . . actually landed on his head? Who would've thought that my aim had actually improved over the years. She giggled. Oh no, he heard!

His smirk disappeared as he squinted his eyes and crossed his arms. "What's so funny?"

If only he knew that-- that the ice- is about to run into his ear!

He soon found out. "Ughh! What is this crap anyway? Get it off!"

That did it. Bulma's lungs burst as her body shook with laughter.

Vegeta glared at her. She's laughing at me? The Prince of all Saiyans has been reduced to an-- uh . . . court jester!? "Dammit, Onna, it's not funny!" He strode past the breakfast table and marble topped island to the sink behind her.

Yes it is! Her mind argued. But that look on his face-- he looks so . . . damn, I didn't mean to do it.

Yeah, you did!

To the house . . . or Yamcha-- not him.

Why not?

B- because he might . . . She couldn't help but recollect the images that she had imagined when the Z- had told her of Vegeta's evil-- not to mention the implications Krillen made after that strange boy from the future left.

". . . who knows what Vegeta would do? Talk about scary--!?" Krillen had more or less joked.

Or did he? He might . . . Her face fell.

What the Hell is that baka Onna's problem? Why is she just standing there? She's done this on purpose to humiliate me! Actually, he knew it was an accident, but for some reason he was ignoring that obvious fact. "What the Hell are you laughing at anyway?"

Bulma gulped, turned toward him, and leaned on the island between them. "I'm sorry, Vegeta, I didn't mean to hit you with the ice---"

"Well, if your timing had been better then we could have both been laughing at the weakling instead!"

He was right. Maybe it would have been better if I threw it at Yamcha? That would have been funny, but . . . I still think it's funnier on him! However . . . Bulma sighed as she watched him wipe off the major blobs of ice- and fudge off his head and into the sink. When chocolate ran down the back of his neck and into his shirt, she could have sworn that he jumped.

Vegeta turned on the faucet as hot as it would go-- which in Saiyan terms is still cold-- and watched as the chunks of ice- melted down the drain. A flash of color caught his eye. He noticed the forgotten flowers sitting in the sink. He brought her flowers. According to television, she should have loved "the thought." Perchance she's not as predictable as one would think. His thoughts had turned respectful, but he forgot what he was thinking when he felt something ooze down his neck and back. "Eww!" His hand reached up to wipe off the offensive substance. "What the Hell is this crap, Onna!" His white glove was now stained with chocolate. "Fuck!"

It was unbearable to watch the Saiyan struggle so. God, I feel so sorry for him.

Oh, wouldn't he just love getting a helping of pity from you.

Cram it!

Vegeta walked toward the island that separated them. He looked down. "Why do you need two bowls? Are you fattening up for Winter? Or were you just expecting the weakling? I thought I told you no guests allowed--"

"Grrrrrr. Not that you care, but I was making one for you, remember?"

For me? She did ask if I wanted anything . . . She was trying to be . . . nice? "Onna . . . "

"Yes, Vegeta?"

His eyes locked with hers.

I wish he'd say, "Thank you, Onna," or something-- Hell anything but this silence. His eyes . . . if I could read them, then they're telling me-- "God dammit, Vegeta!" It was all a diversionary tactic.

While holding her gaze with his, he had reached down for the jumbo salad bowl filled with bananas and ice- . . . and dumped it on her head.

"Why you-- you ungrateful moocher!"

"Hn." He smirked. "Now we're even."

Bulma snarled in anger and picked up the nearest weapon. Reaching for it blindly, she stabbed him.

"Mmmf!"

And then she stomped away.

Vegeta pulled out the pale yellow object, which she had stuffed in his mouth, and looked at it. Could it be poisoned? If it is, then it's typically attenuated-- otherwise I'd be dead now. He sniffed it. Definitely not rotten. He observed the ingredients spread out over the counter- It must be the other ingredient. The smell danced up to his nostrils-- enticing him. Maybe it wouldn't taste that bad.

So, he took a bite.

Of all the lousy, god damn, piece of shit eating, low down and dirty tricks in all the known universe-- Bulma had stalked up the stairs to her bathroom and pulled off her clothing as if it were coated in vicious venom rather than sticky sweetness.

He is a military strategist, you know.

So what? That jerk dumped gallons of ice-cream on me! She cursed as she turned on her bathroom faucet to handwash her clothes before the stains set.

You started it.

No, I wanted to dump it on that asshole Yamcha--

He's right, that would have been funny.

Yeah, it would've. She gazed sadly at the chocolate state of her clothing soaking in the soapy water. It was lucky she kept some gentle detergent in the cabinet under her sink. Why couldn't Dad have invented the strongest stain remover that never damages fabrics?/p>

Or stain repellant clothing.

Come to think of it, I don't ever remember seeing any of the Saiyan armor stained. Hn, I'll have to ask Vegeta what removed the blood from his armor . . . maybe I'll learn something about chocolate.

His gloves were covered in it.

Damn, I really didn't mean it. Maybe Yamcha's right. He's just a spoiled brat who doesn't know any other way to act.

Kind of like you.

Am I really selfish? Did I invite the Namekians and Vegeta to stay here . . . to suit my own selfish needs?

What does Yamwhore know anyway? He wasn't there then.

But I made sure that I wished him back. Was that a mistake? Should I have just let him-- no. What I did was right. Everyone deserves a second chance at life. Even--

Vegeta.

I don't doubt that he killed. I know he did. But if he was truly as heartless as the others say . . . then why didn't he just kill off my family and steal the GR? Well, he did borrow it.

And returned it.

Didn't I have a dream just before he showed up? I wish I could remember it. I just remember . . . a feeling. What was it? But mostly . . . I remember hearing his voice speak to me. I don't remember the words-- just the tone. It made me feel so . . .

Warm.

And lonely.She paused, looked at her shower, and realized that her hair was probably the equivalent of a sticky mop. I truly am selfish. So she turned on the spray and stepped in when it was hot-- not scalding.

There's Vegeta . . . prideful, strong, alone in a world of strangers. And then there's you-- proud, strong willed, and alone in a world of friends.

I wish I could call my friends and just talk for a change.

You could.

When her hair was soaked, she reached for her shampoo. But I won't. I'd call Chi Chi, but . . . she's always so busy-- feeding two Saiyans, running the household, and tutoring their son. Bulma sighed. And what have I got? I'm a grown woman who lives with my parents and works for my dad. I'm one of those stereotypical nerds. The action of massaging her scalp started to finally relax her. Hn. At least I'm not a virgin too . . .

When most girls are young, they dream of falling in love, marrying the perfect guy, and making their first child on their wedding night.

Even I dreamed of that too. But I just can't ever see myself . . . I don't want to give up my work.

Work? Have you done any of that lately?

As she rinsed her hair, it fell forward to cover her eyes. I really am a loser.

And there's Vegeta . . . a prince without a throne-- Hell, he's even without a planet-- a wife, or an heir. Hell, the closest thing he has to blood family is Goku and Gohan. Heh, he'd just love to hear that-&45

The closest thing he has to a friend is me. It hit her. She was the only one who ever treated him like a regular person-- even Goku had his doubts. She let him stay at her home. Was she insane? Probably. But back then, the only thought that crossed my mind was my virtue.

And that's gone.

I joked about it at the time, but a part of me was scared to have him near. And then there was the real image that passed through my head. She didn't know what it was then. She still didn't know. But seeing him on Earth had changed her. Maybe it was the knew armor. I always was a sucker for guys dressed in black-- She knew that was a lie. When she had turned to escort the Namekians to her home, she felt a chill on her neck. She turned to him and sealed their fate with her words. She saw a glint in his eyes that she couldn't place then. But the look he gave her-- a look that made her vision flash. A flash of flesh.

She leaned her forehead onto the tile. I wish my parents never subscribed to satellite TV.

She had thought he was behind her-- going to grab her in his arms. But she turned and saw him still leaning up against the tree. My imagination was too wild for my own good. There were many times like that. Whenever he was behind her-- whether entering a room or just there, unmoving-- she could feel it. To this day, she could still not explain it.

Maybe you're psychic, she often joked.

Yeah right. Whatever it was, it never failed.

And the day he returned from space . . . what were you thinking?

He stunk to high heaven and needed a shower.

You just wanted to see him naked.

Maybe a part of me did.

But you chickened out, her inner voice sang.

I know. I just kept my back to him then.

Big mistake. You wanted to join him, didn't you? You wanted to "welcome him home."

But I didn't. I just got him some clothes and put up with his attitude problem.

Ah, the pink "BADMAN" shirt and green pant combo.

Mentally, she slapped her forehead as she squeezed some fruity scented bodywash on her shower puff. I had only bought them as a joke.

The "BADMAN" logo was cute.

Ugh, I had no taste then.

Ah, the 'fro and long sleeved horizontally striped dress days.

I stopped wearing it the day he was hurt.

You didn't want him waking up to that-- it would've scared him back into the coma.

Heh. That poor guy.

He just needs some caring. But who'd care for him?

She felt that distinct chill on the back of her neck . . . and chose to ignore it. I

Bulma ended her thought when a pair of masculine hands softly gripped her hips. She slipped and knocked them down onto their rears. Bulma landed against a hard powerful chest. Instantly she knew it was him, the man she was just thinking of-- not her ex. Vegeta? What is he doing here? And why is he . . . naked!?

Hel-, up periscope!

Beneath her, Bulma could feel his erection. Oh God, he's here for-- Again, she felt a gentle tickle on the back of her neck. But this time, it wasn't imagined.

His hot breath caressed the back of her neck-- free of the hair that spilled forward onto her chest as a protective barrier to his gaze.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe it was the cool air outside of the warm spray, maybe it was his breath-- his heat-- that made her shiver.

As a silent reply his arms snaked around her body-- bringing her closer to his body.

Warmth.

So warm. At last, she felt warm. But . . . She closed her eyes to the spray above. . . . this can't be real. It isn't--

He began nuzzling the side of her face in a silent plea to turn around.

I can't. I can't look. If she didn't look at him, then she wouldn't awake and berate herself for the lapse in control.

Reaching down, he plucked the soapy louffa from her hand and rubbed it against her stomach.

Now that . . . she hadn't expected. Conceivably it was selfish. But at this moment and in this place, she no longer cared. He was there for his own reasons as well and whether or not it was lust didn't matter. The point was . . . he was there.

Her left hand covered his; he froze. She knew what he wanted-- she could tell from his touch-- and, oddly enough, she wasn't afraid. She squeezed his hand and leaned her head at an angle.

If it was lust and selfishness . . .

From her actions, he could tell she finally wasn't turning him away. Utilizing his free hand, he gathered her exotic hair off of her neck to rest on a single shoulder-- it hadn't occurred to her that he now had full view of her. Experimentally, he kissed her neck as he started caressing her midriff once more.

. . . then at least it was mutual.

She didn't want to say anything; she didn't want to speak. One word could end this dream.

There was something unique about the attention he was giving her neck. His kisses began slow, unsure. A light touch here. A wet caress there.

Has he ever . . . her thought was lost as his lips touched her throbbing pulse. He smirked against her skin-- she could feel it.

She pushed the wet and flushed skin against his lips.

More.

His mouth opened at the invitation and seized her palpitation with its warm and craving confines.

At this contact, her free hand reached for his hair and entwined her fingers within the ebony mane.

Closer.

His hand holding the soapy louffa-- still draped with her own-- crisscrossed from her midriff to the cleft between her breasts and swirled around each.

Infinity.

She gasped.

If her nipples weren't firm before, they became pert as stone beneath his touch.

And he began his agonizing torture both at chest and neck.

His tongue darted out to run the length of her pulse.

Faster.

He paused.

Bulma was nearly confused as his neglected hand reached up for hers-- disentangling it from his locks-- and, taking a cue from her, clasped her soft hand with his own.

He stilled.

Slowly, Bulma peeked through hooded eyes and found herself gazing in wonder as his hand squeezed her own. With her hand raised before them, he traced the lines of her pruned fingertips and slender hand with his contrasting strong one.

Bulma held her breath. Placing his palm to hers, he grasped her hand gently and brought it to his mouth. Still, she would not look at him. He grazed her digits with his lips.

A fleeting touch.

Closing her eyes once more, she pulled his hand before her and kissed it. Behind her, he stiffened more. With her mouth, she examined his hand. So strong . . .

Kisses and caresses.

His index finger traced her lips which she suddenly took into her mouth. A sound resembling a growl or moan caressed her ear, and he took her earlobe in his mouth.

As each continued their warm and wet kisses, the soap filled puff led their hands on a full tour of her now aching body.

Sides, front, arms, legs.

Pulling their still woven fingers from her face, he smoothed his palm over her moistened and lathered skin.

Back, forth, up, down.

He paused, suddenly, when all hands amassed on her lower abdomen. She felt his breath cease and her own heart tremble. He was waiting for something.

Does he . . . ?

She moved their hands in circles at first-- a test.

His answer? He started moving them lower.

Her counteroffer? She delicately bucked her hips.

Inhaling deeply, his hands left their wondrous caress to pull her up onto his lap and lean their combined weight against the cold tile wall behind him. Once again, his hands joined hers. Leaning toward her, he inhaled her scent. He softly squeezed her hands and massaged them with his thumbs. Again, he waited.

She broke their grip-- he protested with a low noise in his throat-- moved her legs to brace against the wall, and overlaid her hands directly atop his. Lingeringly she pushed their right hands lower. Meeting her curls, his fingertips toyed with them; her torso shook with a deep chuckle. Tentatively, he moved lower still. The sudden heat he felt flowing from her made his gesture stutter, but she gave a guiding nudge.

Keeping their hands joined as one, he extended his ring finger forward into her warmth. She inhaled a sharp breath as he did so. Utilizing her same finger, she guided him deeper inside and felt his pulse quicken within his chest. When she was sure he was still breathing, she caused them to retreat. His hand protested by stilling at her entrance. She snuck them forward again. Sliding nearly out once more, she added a slight pressure to the sensitive nub within. His rough fingertips grazed it perfectly-- she sighed.

Bulma dragged their neglected hands up to breasts and, needing no more encouragement, he massaged them as he kissed her neck and entered her of his own will. She gasped at the quick study working magic both inside and out of her.

Reaching behind, she caressed the taught muscles of his neck. Reveling in the massage, he kissed his way down her arm and nearly growled when her hair-- which was now darker and nearing the shade of cobalt-- blocked the other side of her neck. Grudgingly, his land left her breasts to hold her hair forward as he suckled the responsive crook of her neck and pumped in and out of her aching womanhood faster.

She could feel it#45- the tension, heat, warmth-- building. It would be soon. Too soon . . . This time, she pushed another of his fingers in along with their others-- it was easier that way for him, anyway.

Not long now.

Now with her hand free-- the hand she had used along with his own to pleasure herself-- she reached behind her and grabbed his arousal. He started moaning with the new warmth as she began her torment. The soap, water, and her natural lubrication created a wonderful simulation around him. He paused to match her rhythmic strokes.

Not long at all.

Its . . . Her inner muscles contracted around his fingers and warmth flowed out of her. "Vegeta!"

Almost instantaneously he hardened once more before groaning, "Bulma . . . " and releasing his seed on her back.

They continued the intimate caresses for moments more as their bodies shook-- the aftermath.

Bulma was lying on top of him in a drenched heap-- their breathing set in a matched pace. A darkness settled around her, then.

. . . a dream.

But most importantly, she remembered the warmth as she drifted off to sleep.

When Vegeta could feel her breathing deepen, he knew she was asleep. He gathered her in his arms, stood slowly not to wake her, grabbed a huge fluffy towel nearby, and carried her to her bed. When she was dry, he pulled back the sheets, and placed her softly within the blankets. He gazed at her sleeping form-- hair spilling gracefully over the pillow, a tiny smile on her lips, and a tinge of color on her cheeks-- and smiled. Pulling the sheet over her, he went to wash his body of dessert.

To be continued.

*blushes and runs off-- leaving a note behind*

Thank you, everyone. I couldn't have done it without your support. ^_^
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