How
to Make Love to a Saiyan
By
Caprice
Prologue
Step 1: Acknowledgement
Remember the tempestuous feeling you get when you first experience a serious
crush in high school? You walk around in a daze, not thinking straight, going
through the usual motions of each day half-heartedly. The colors seem brighter
and the sun glows more fervently, shedding its rays in smooth caresses over the
world before you. Your body becomes more attuned to its surroundings,
incredibly sensitized to the atmosphere while it seems to hold an incessant
craving for the least, most spontaneous touch of the person that secretly
occupies your mind, your hopes, your wildest dreams.
This feeling… it’s relentless, unappeasable…an inexplicable bundle of sensations
that consume you entirely, that wash over you in tidal waves, sequestering you
in your sleep, grabbing you while awake.
Do you recall how the wind swirled around against your skin, whispering the
name you also whispered in secret? How birds chirped it through the branches
and leaves of the maple and oak trees? Didn’t bees seem to hum to the tune of
his voice, didn’t songs seem to be about him and him alone… and you wondered…
how you fell prey, how you got lost so deeply. It’s only when the rumble of the
creek begins sounding like the murmur of his breath, when melodies finally
become alive, that you realize there just isn’t any room for reason or logic
anymore, there’s only room for him.
I understand how it goes. He’s in your first and last thoughts of the day,
exploding into your senses as soon as you open your eyes, accompanying you
until you finally close them. And he holds you hostage… so tight, so cruelly,
until you feel you would surely die if you weren’t to assuage at least a shred
of this… this want, this need, whatever you want to call it. Yes it’s
suffocating, painful even, but don’t you revel in it gladly? Don’t you hate the
idea of falling out of it?
That same feeling, that sheer frenzy, half-insanity, half-epiphany, wedges
itself firmly into your brain, making each day a rollercoaster of convoluted
emotions. It makes you “happy” when you see him and miserable when you don’t,
earnest and clinging to the notion of seeing him today, of validating time by
being rewarded with his presence. Isn’t it almost as if his body were laced
with threads of your poignant apprehension? And isn’t he perfect for you… even
though you know it isn’t quite true, even though life isn’t a fairy tale. You
still believe he is indisputably… different.
The madness of whatever brings male and female together slices through any
inch of coherence, like a knife through flesh, and you spiral down, becoming
subject to your own wanton. Every day becomes a struggle, an elaborate
pantomime of looks and gestures that play out in silence in the preamble of
that moment, the pinnacle when your gazes finally lock. Did he see me? What
did he mean when he spoke to me? And you read between the lines, praying
unconsciously to find hidden proof that he reciprocates some of whatever it is
you’re carrying around.
The obsession grows… doesn’t it? Becoming sweeter, like heavy drops of
honey, a little bitter, a bit like bile. It eventually plunges you into
confusion, utter, mad confusion. Do you go for it? Do you actually move?
Come and go, everyday… come and go in total exhaustion, until you admit it,
finally, you declare it to the wind, and how liberating, how frightening in its
deliverance. Yes you never felt more alive, yes… and it’s all because of him.
This whole thing, this crush, if you will, is what the puerile fevers of
adolescence comprise, as we’re first exposed to its slow incandescing heat.
It’s the fate of nearly all of us as we bloom and awaken to things we can’t
truly yet understand, things we can only feel but fail to put in words.
…And it’s only a fraction of what I’m going through.
I do not wrestle in the stormy grip of my teenage years, but I feel ten
times higher than I did back when I first scoured the earth in search of my
first true love. Back when life seemed to be simpler, get the Dragon balls,
summon Shenlon… make my dreams come true. If only I’d known… if I had
understood life is as complex as an unsolvable theorem. And yet, even if it
wasn’t the great dragon making my innocent wishes come true, I still managed to
find it… I managed to find love. At least it’s what it felt like. I admit I’ve
lent myself to doubt after this many years. Was it love or was it juvenile
emotion? Does it even matter anymore? My mind seems unable to reach that far
back; it wants to stay anchored in today, in ‘right now’; this second, this
very moment of epiphany is my whole life.
Vegeta.
I’ve slowly burnt inside in a gut wrenching symphony of strident emotion
since the very first time I saw him in Namek-sei, back when he pinned both
Krillin and me against the rough boulders with his penetrating look of utter
lust for power. What I felt was fear, stinging and sharp as the blade of a
dagger. The sight of his short, compact body clearly outlined against the
clarity of the day sent me shuddering in bouts of panic, making me want to flee
for my very life. His eyes, God… they sparkled with manic tongues of fire,
verging on psychotic. It was impossible to see behind the iron curtain they
held, a man that seemed to be void within whom I’d come to fear for his
soullessness. He did little more than chill me to the core. Back then I
shrieked unashamedly, I cried in terror, my heart thumping like elephant
footsteps inside my chest, fully expecting him to choke the life out of me in
the blink of an eye. My thoughts, my blood, they swam in terror.
I genuinely did not know what to think once we got back to earth and waited
for the mother of all battles to end in the crumbling ruins of Namek-sei. He
sat on the ground, his back against a tree, an arm perched on his bent knee as
he stared into nothing. My eyes would wander to him when no one noticed and
remain transfixed in the strange aura that engulfed him. I was truly dazed,
mystified at the unspoken riddle he was. I can’t quite explain it, but every
single thing about him reached out to me like tight thick chords threatening to
grab me hostage. I guess It can best be described as puzzlement, the way I
began toiling with the budding sparks of curiosity that only besiege me
whenever I manage to find some odd and fascinating scientific theory to test
out. Yes…I remember that initial flicker, so quiet, yet so there,
looming over me like a sentence I couldn’t escape from.
There laid the enigma of a man. An alien male supposed to be nothing but a
ruthless bastard, a killer… mass murderer. I trembled so many times at that
thought, at the overwhelming damnation swirling around him, within him.
And then again my shivers weren’t fearful or worried in nature, the panic of
Namek-sei miraculously forgotten. On the contrary, the tingle rippled through
me with an incomprehensible thrill making me curse myself. I could tell it
wasn’t the same kind of transient excitement I felt over Zarbon when I first
saw him. No. It was a burning needle that struck a nerve deep inside of me. It
was the sort of thing that doesn’t fade come tomorrow. It was… I truly can’t
say what it was.
Why did he have to speak, why help us out in our hour of need, when we
thought we had lost Son-kun forever? He did it unwillingly, and yet he did it.
He could have stayed the muted stranger, the semblance of inanimate evil,
inhuman thus forgettable. But his voice, it was undeniably that of a breathing,
flesh and blood male, and it kicked in like a powerful drug, it felt… good. I
thought the flicker would suffocate given enough time and space and yet it only
escalated. It somehow bloomed into a damn fire through the confusion that
followed after Frieza’s whole episode, through his absence when he decided to
leave 4 months later. I really did believe the internal sparkle would wane but
there I was, hit by recalcitrant thoughts of him. Where did he go? When is
he coming back? …. And I liked them, those impious little questions about
the enemy. They cradled me in their pleasurable heat.
And now… more than a year after my intrepid half took me over and blurted
out an invitation to whom I later found out was no other than the Saiyan no
Ouji, life has changed. Now he’s back… he stepped out of Capsule 3 and the
world seemed to bow down to his presence. The entire world, except me. What
could anyone expect from me? Servitude? Not even in the wake of this desire. I
could offer little more than utter defiance in the face of his pride, a stiff
back and a nose held high. That and a soothing warm shower the minute my dark
prince arrived, the moment he came back to me.
I am the one that sits in the shadows quietly, that seeks his eyes in a
furtive effort to catch a glimpse of his core essence. I’ve lain still and
inert, like a brewing storm for months now… I’ve lain still. Sometimes all I do
is sulk on the couch while he trains; waiting for the moment he emerges to fill
the room with his gruff, husky tone. Mamma often tries to cheer me up when she
sees me all wrapped up in myself. She tries nonsensical chitchat about the new
bakery she found or the most recent gossip she picked up at the hairdresser’s,
but I couldn’t care less. There are other things in my mind… like the way his
eyes appear dark and stormy as thunder and lighting and how it felt the last
time he glanced at me. I indulge in seeing him walk, carrying himself with the
dignity of a warrior and the grace of a king. These are the things my
attention’s swayed by. This and reliving whatever fight we had last. Maybe I
lend myself to arguing just to hold his concentration, maybe to make him stay a
little longer. I wish I knew.
I secretly pound the pillow when I am alone, utterly torn over what to do. I
admit to being consumed with thick insatiate wanton, to lending myself to a
horde of blissful fantasies. I lay playing little skits in my head, of him
taking true notice of me, of gracing me with more than a trivial comment about
food, shelter, or some other basic need. My prince… the one I dragged home like
a stray kitten found under the rain in the streets… I do go out of my way to
see he gets all he needs, even if he fails to express his gratitude, even
though his silence and disdain slaps me in the face. I am happy to know his
gravity room is in peak condition, all so that he can train to his liking. I am
glad to stock the refrigerator to meet his unusual appetite, I am eager to see
he has enough clothes and toiletries to take care of himself, all done
stealthily, under his complete lack of realization. Should I feel guilty now,
ashamed that this is the sort of thing I currently concern myself with? I think
of him, more than I ever thought possible but I’m not the type to fall prey to
guilt trips. It just isn’t in me.
Forgive me if I sometimes peek at him from the window on the Gravity Room
when on my way out, for getting drawn to his sleek figure and the refinement of
his royal kata. When I do it’s not just his body that holds me locked in
amazement, I am also aghast at his bravery, the courage and steely
determination that drives his every move. The way he pushes himself to the
extreme invokes genuine feelings of admiration in me. I can’t believe I found
someone so incredibly ambitious, so unbreakably brave. How did such a strong,
spirited soul come to exist? In what confines of space did his character brew?
Has anyone been able to walk past the steel of his nature and peek within? I am
assaulted by hordes of questions about his past, about the riddle that he is.
Kami… I can only imagine the host of places he sailed through before I
inadvertently brought him into my life. But most of all, I fumble with the
number one question that’s screwing with my mind, how does it feel to touch him
in every single way possible? How would he feel?
And just like that, days go by, and I walk about bearing a dreamy little
smile on my lips, feeling a bit stupid…a bit elated. I don’t really concern
myself with tomorrow; the ability seems lost to the blaring endorphin emissions
in my brain. In a manner of days, even the Android threat has slowly become a
distant, fuzzy afterthought, second to the overwhelming realization of his
heady Saiyan presence, and yes… it’s much too difficult to ignore.
I know I sound delusional, but I like pretending he’s mine. If he knew that
he’d probably blast me for my insolence. I enjoy falling into wishful thinking,
striving to believe he conceals his interest in me the same way I do. It feels
so damn good when he looks at me, no matter how quick or ephemeral his glances.
And then…then there’s nothing, no piece of him left for me to analyze, nothing
given away to support my daydreams.
Maybe If I had him…maybe it would all go away, making this mass of female
hormones shatter altogether. Perhaps if I got closer and actually satiated this
maddened need, my crystal fantasy would break and leave way for much needed
reason and logic. It would probably bring me back to my old self. God, I hate
that idea, of reverting to a land where this buzz doesn’t exist. How
lackluster… how deeply saddening.
Still, whatever happens, I have to act on it, for you see, passivity is my
number one enemy and recklessness, my most adored flaw. So to salvage my
“reason and logic”, I must make a few sacrifices, I must step into uncharted
territory to put my mind at ease and my questions to rest for once and for all.
No point in hiding it, in denying myself a bit of his taste.
Yes… I want to do it, I really do… So help me Kami and all the deities
alive…
I want to make love to him.
--
Chapter 1:
Step 2: Know Your Enemy
He is as complex as the patterns of light dancing within a diamond.
It took me long hours submerged in brick-heavy books that I keep locked in
the most private drawers of my lab to realize that. I flipped through their
tiny print, read until my eyes were sore and stinging, burning the midnight oil
just to get to know as much as I could about the object of my fascination.
‘Anatomy of Behavioral Dysfunctions’, ‘Clinical Overviews on Dissocial
Personality Disorder’, ‘War and the Mind’, I read them all, countless papers
that exposed the intricacies of his psyche, agonizing second to agonizing
second. Little by little his present self vanished into a cloud of smoke to
reveal the eyes of a small child. He peeked at me thought a maze, as he hid in
solitude, lost to the care of all creation. His image haunted me, surfacing in
my dreams during endless nights. They were actually more like nightmares, heart
wrenching tragedies where I desperately tried to catch up with him, but God… I
couldn’t. He ran and scurried, moving faster than I thought possible. He was so
elusive and flighty it made it impossible to grab a hold of him and stare into
his little face. I woke up whimpering several times a night during those
periods of intense research, my cheek stuck to the flimsy pages, my mind
muddled with a sudden fear of having lost him forever.
I stoically delved into the darker pits of child abuse, all types of it,
physical, emotional and verbal to name a few. It plunged me into a dangerous
freefall that nearly broke me in half. I do admit I almost quit altogether,
several times, but I found myself running back inside my office and unearthing
every clinical case I could. I turned into a slave to the incredible task of
peeling the layers of a mystery, as alluring as it was unsettling. And during
that period, I avoided him, I just had to. To meet his black eyes and remain
impassive wouldn’t have been challenging, it would have been impossible. Thus I
made a point of not running into him for several days, slightly worried that he
might look into my face and know what I was up to. In time, after the worse was
over, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. The crush came back with a
blinding vengeance.
For all his wits and character, I don’t think he’s able to understand the
magnitude of what he is. Maybe it’s best that way, and quite frankly, I would
probably do anything to prevent him from truly realizing the depths and shadows
of his persona. I don’t like the idea of him tumbling the walls around himself.
Why should he? If he did, he would cease to exist as I know him, he would
become…. less, and that would be the greatest loss in the world, my
world. No, I’d rather jump over the wall and huddle next to him. I know I may
sound like a deranged lunatic, a fool playing with fire, but I can’t help
myself. It’s in my nature. Am I a sinner or a saint? Is it bad that I don’t
care either way…?
Contrary to popular belief in the scientific and business community, I was
never actually a good girl, but people still tend to confuse me with one more
than half the time. I suppose possessing unlimited power and resources has a
way of rendering anyone more than a little spoiled. All my life I had no
patience to sit and wait for things to come my way, in fact I rather preferred
to step outside the box. It didn’t matter if I broke the rules, or took a
shortcut to achieve my purpose. Whatever I wanted I went and grabbed. I was
willing to stare into the enormous maw of a monster dragon just to get a decent
boyfriend, one who would measure to my standards, that’s the kind of length I
would go to in order to get my way.
I could never quite understand why I’m so difficult to please. Back in
school, there was no one to inspire anything in me beyond a dash of temporary
excitement. Finding anyone suitable turned out to be a damn task, something I
grew tired of as years went by. And so I packed my capsules in a shiny plastic
case and set out alone at sixteen to search for something that seemed to exist
only in my imagination. Now I tend to believe it just didn’t exist on earth, or
in this solar system for that matter. Leave it to Briefs to complicate things,
as my 7th grade teacher used to say. Can never be content with what she has.
It’s true I remained with one single boyfriend for God knows how long. Isn’t
that puzzling. Yes, I have some difficulty believing it myself. I suppose I was
in some sort of stupor or half-induced emotional comma. All in all, matters of
the heart are never easy to comprehend. It just seemed there was no one better
for me and ditching what I had would only prove there was something wrong with
me after all for who in their right mind would turn such an outstanding
boyfriend down. Handsome, strong… all mine, completely, dependably mine. I fell
into a mental slump, figuring I should be grateful and shut my whiny internal
voice up. I liked him. Yamcha was hot as a scorching summer and sweet as a
morning kiss. See, if that didn’t do, what would? No, I couldn’t risk losing
his love just to gallivant around earth looking for Kami knows what. What… who
could I have found? No one has the guts to approach a mordant vixen with enough
money to buy a small country. That’s a lesson I learned early on. It can get
rather… lonely when you’re high up on some sort of pedestal you can’t
truly climb down from. It’s exactly what comes to mind when I see Vegeta…
carrying his private little world around on his back.
Well, that world just won’t remain private for long, nothing does when it
comes under my unforgivable radar. I can crack a quark as well as I can crack
the heavy fortress of the Saiyan no Ouji. It’s exactly why I’m standing in his
room, the one I personally led him to when he first arrived on the CC compound.
Like the incurable scientist that I am, I first gather my data in order to
understand my subject and prove my initial hypothesis. Only then is it viable
to experiment fully. Who cares if he sputters at me, spewing and hissing black
venom? I am past the stage of backing down, letting that sort of thing get to
me.
His defense mechanism will just have to be sent away with a one way ticket
to hell. He came to earth with nothing but his pride and rugged good looks,
subconsciously carrying his vulnerability like a cloak. It’s safe to say that
alone was enough to melt my hardened core to the ground. Something about him
reminds me of a wounded lion, too dangerous for anyone to approach and too
proud to take anyone’s help anyway.
He’d rather sit in a dark corner and lick his wounds alone, seemingly
preferring the horrible fate of death to appearing weak in the least. I know
how much he dislikes the idea of needing me, of admitting he depends on me to
live decently on earth. It’s why he sometimes refers to me as nothing but a
bothersome human slave¹ and why I prefer sneaking into his room to leave him
food when he’s not around. I always try my best to be careful and slip back out
of his domain unnoticed. I’d rather he felt at home and stick around as long as
possible. I’d rather court his ego than see him part leaving nothing but my
heated unresolved questions behind.
But today’s different. Today I stand here prying around, looking for little
clues that can help me plot the perfect way to make him mine. The air still
holds pools of his unmistaken scent, so masculine yet so subtle. I study his
room for the very first time, both surprised and a little disappointed at the
neatness in his quarters. A wreck would have given me more ammunition, and yet
perhaps this military orderliness speaks louder than a heap of objects in total
disarray. He’s obviously not the kind of person to acquire many possessions,
even though it would take a mere flaunt of the shiny black credit card I gave
him to make any clerk cream his pants. I can’t help but chuckle softly at the
image of Vegeta in a shopping spree. I know he’s uncomfortable going through
the prosaic human motions we normally go about.
I suppose I’m glad he despises filth and favors cleanliness instead. I am
sure it stems from living the life of an elite soldier in rather strict
conditions. Someone like that will take a little coaxing to come out of his
shell. Someone so tightly bound will have to be relaxed a whole lot before
being able to surrender to the prose of love-making. The prospect only entices
me more, for I thrive on challenges, on the possibility of failure and on the
idea of his thick hard muscles enveloping me like a blanket.
I walk towards a little mahogany dresser I bought for his room, the one
piece of furniture that graces the austere surroundings except for a bed and a
simple chair. Strange little prince neh… not a speck of dust around even though
he won’t allow the servo-bots in to clean. My stomach flutters like delicate
butterfly wings at the endearing thought of him dusting off his meager
belongings in his free time, and Kami knows he’s got plenty of that when he’s
not training. I’ve certainly wondered what it is he does other than train, eat
and sleep, in that order. It’s no secret he takes off and pulls a great
disappearing act every once in a while. I can only ponder how much silence a
sentient being is able to survive. Still, he’d rather stay in here than go
outside whenever my friends come over. He probably sits on the edge of his bed
replaying past battles, old failures and victories from a life lived in the
servitude of a monster. I bet he wrestles with his demons while our carefree
chatter seeps through the window.
My eyes twinkle when I open the first drawer, there lying in the middle… a
single most perplexing object. It’s a small medallion, a thick golden circle
and two colorful stars that overlap each other, and at the center something
like a golden hued diamond. It has to be some sort of royal jewel, the remnant
of the house of Vegitasei. I can’t push down the rush of pointless excitement
that fills up my chest, nor am I able to wipe off the sudden smile that pulls
at my lips. He probably carried it along inside his armor everywhere he went,
not letting go of the last thread that bonded him to what he thought he should
have been hadn’t he fallen victim to the reign of that tyrant. Did that maniac
ever let anyone get close to him; did he actually ever manage to be with a woman
in spite of Frieza, and worse of all, in spite of himself?
I wish I was the first. I’d know I’d be carved into his skin forever. He’d
carry me with him. After all, everybody remembers their first time. And then…
maybe, just maybe I’d get to keep him, tightly and inexorably bound to me
forever. I told that to Pappa when I first brought him over, that I meant for
him to stay as long as he wanted to. I spoke with the same unswerving
determination that I used 15 years earlier when a stray pup followed me home.
I’m glad my parents have a thing for taking in unprotected, lost pets. God
knows I’d gone against them a thousand times one.
His bed… I can tell he doesn’t sleep on it. I notice his sheets aren’t
crumpled and they look like they have never been used. There’s a chair next to
the window with a couple silk cushions Momma brought from the Far East that
seem to be used as padding. He recreates the feeling of a space pod every time
he comes here after training, that’s what he does, complete with a starless window
view. The vacuum of space must have been as equally boring as the current view.
It’s nothing but the green spades of the lawn that surrounds CC. I can picture
him sat there, within that hollow metal ball, traveling for months on end with
nothing but hope and frustration to keep him alive. To be somebody’s
possession… destitute and lost. Can I be a more graceful owner? Can I wake up
the man the lizard tried to burn forever?
I shake my head gently, not quite yet, but soon enough. For this he’d
have to feel at home, to break from his shell if only for one night, experience
what it’s like to lie down in bed completely abandoned to everything but raw
feeling and cozy desire. Is it silk he enjoys? I can give him hordes of it to
wrap around his steel muscles while he lays asleep. I can give him all his
heart’s desires, if he would just climb down from that lonely summit and lay
with me, sunken in my arms.
That’s the goal, for him to allow for the least bit of indulgence, of sheer
enjoyment for the heck of it. He is gonna like it I can tell, if I
manage to ease out the tension of epic proportions that he carries around, that
is. It’s a challenge worthy of a Briefs: to get him to relax, lay him down
softly unto a whisper of silk and caress his body like no one has before. To
experience ecstasy in something other than bloodshed and villainy. I shudder
with a sudden urge. Why not? Why not Vegeta? One single night, just you and
me. Nobody has to know how you let go, beneath my touch, under my skin. I won’t
tell how much you liked it, how much you enjoyed every little second of it…
I decide to stand my ground, more than eager and resolute. Today I won’t try
to seduce him. I’m clad in a modest mini dress and boots, my favorite style, a
perfect blend of femininity and comfort. All I really want is to see into the
umbra of his eyes and look for a speck of desire, however tiny it may be. Does
the Prince find smooth alabaster skin alluring… is he fond of lengthy legs and
plump lips the way humans are? I’ve got Saiyan to read today, to try and find
out if there’s any hope of quenching this thirst. Should he want it even a
little, he’d better brace himself.
The gate opens and something does a full somersault inside my chest. Just
like that he emerges, dragging his badly bruised body inside, covered in a few
bandages from the last time he suffered an accident inside the GR. Not even
that is able to stifle this man, to corner him into surrendering. He looks worn
out and exhausted, his muscles glistening with his sweat. His entire body
screams pain, his eyes strained and avoiding me.
He grits his teeth and walks past me, as if I weren’t here while I stand
gaping at him like a ten year old before a candy store. I suppose there’s just
no sense in denying as of late he’s the man of my dreams, my darkest, wettest
dreams and he’s more than completely unaware. Talk about self-absorbed. I watch
as he sits on the edge of the bed, slightly hunched and cradling his arm. His
breath is ragged and his muscles tense as a coil about to spring. I am confronted
with the need to tend to him, as you do with a wounded beast who doesn’t know
better, but he’ll try to push me away, he’ll…
“What are you doing here?”
Not a single look, only his acrid tone to greet me and yet how oddly
captivating. It rakes me in with a power short of mesmerizing.
“Food, I brought your food”
I speak lamely before kneeling down before him, perusing his wounded arm as
I go. I instinctively raise my hand to touch him, led by the same urge that
made me cradle him in my arms when the GR exploded. Iron muscle feels oddly
supple to the touch.
And he swats my hand away, avoiding my eyes with utter disdain. He keeps
breathing with effort, wincing at what must be broken bone or torn flesh. Dried
out blood sticks to his body and he rumbles deep in his chest. For some foolish
reason, and I should really beat myself for this, all I wonder is how an alien
body works during intimate relationships, how it would writhe underneath a
human. Would it quiver the same way my body does when hitting the edge, would
his breathing intensify with every touch until his seed explodes inside of me.
Is his skin equally sensitive to that of a human? How long can he go before
losing control… can I make him lose control?
“You’re hurt Vegeta… let me take a look at you” My soft susurrus hangs with
unspoken yearning. God, he’s a bleeding living creature, and so much pain can
only mean an equal ability for pleasure. There is a whole other side to life
than just never-ending hurt and aching.
He moves to recline against the wall, still holding his arm to his chest and
looking at me with unease. I know that look; he isn’t comfortable being so
close to me. I can’t get closer, not just yet. It will take a little
surreptitious cajoling, a little more to break into him.
“You’re acting like you have never seen a woman before. Have you never been
this close to one?” I snap sounding every bit the sarcastic wench I’ve come to
embody ever since he arrived. It’s not deliberate. It just so happens that this
man brings out the lowliest faces of my personality. Little does he know it’s
not a rhetorical question but a genuine one, and I hold my breath waiting for
him to bite the bait… Give me a taste of what you are made of.
He’s startled, opening his mouth to say something and closing it without a
word. Then he glances away visibly irritated, deepening his perpetual frown.
Something indistinct dances in his eyes, it’s almost unreadable, looks like
embarrassment, discomfort, anger, shock… too many emotions to set apart.
This is what I have to work with? Kami, he gives the word rigid a
whole new definition. For a second I begin seriously reconsidering the
outrageous task of turning his adamantine self into something resembling human.
“Don’t be stupid you bitch.”
And I’m seconds away from punching him straight in that strong chiseled jaw.
This is the kind of personality that can only be forged in the funkiest holes
of the universe.
“So I take it that means you have been this close to one before…why
not let me see that wound then… You know I can make it feel better.” I try to
touch my fingertips to his strong, muscled forearm, intent on seeing just how
close I can get before he…
Flinches.
“It’s got nothing to do with you being a female. I know what that feels like.
I just don’t need you interfering so do me a favor human and fuck off.” His
eyes flare at me with genuine animosity. He suddenly reminds me of a rabid dog
barking at a stranger who walks into his territory.
“…And how does it feel like then?” I raise an eyebrow pretending casual
nonchalance and he tilts his head slightly in obvious puzzlement.
“What the hell do you mean?” Try again Vegeta. I think your stinging,
biting remarks are only making my skin thicker. I think you have no idea what
you got yourself into the minute you said yes to living here.
“You said you do know what that feels like…females, remember?” I look away
and smirk as if to avoid losing my edge and wasting this fantastic opportunity.
Then I grab a perfect red apple from the food tray and study it in my manicured
hand. I really don’t want him to feel threatened, a particularly difficult task
with someone as tightly wound as Vegeta.
I catch his eyes bulging comically from the corner of my vision and I stifle
the urge to chuckle. He is more than charming when he’s caught off guard. Then
his lips part a little and his cheeks begin to color. I think Ouji-sama here is
about to blast me to the next dimension.
The stun in his face gives way to defiance and is quickly replaced by
smugness. “I’d rather eat.”
Oh shit, he’s far smarter than I initially gave him credit for. He managed
to turn my question around and make it seem as if I was issuing a tacit
invitation. He looks at the apple as if the irritating fruit held more promise
than my little self. Smug, intolerable jerk he is really. How can he stand
himself? I try to ignore the traitorous puddle of stark desire gathering in my
womb.
I throw the red orb at him with as much violence as I can muster, knowing
fully well I resemble a toddler in comparison to his physical prowess. And he
bites into it, the sweet juice coating his lips as he pierces me with his black
daggers.
“So that bad eh?” Take that.
“Eating is better” He shrugs me off with a jeering tone and repositions
himself in the bed to lay more comfortably against the wall.
Oh sweet Kami-sama, can I even pull this off? What kind of experience has he
had before that makes lying with a female something so lackluster.
“Wow, I suppose alien females must be rather ugly bitches”
He darts venomous eyes in my direction as if to counter my argument.
“Don’t be so foolish human. Not all creatures out there are displeasing to
the eye. You haven’t seen a speck of the variety of species that thrive in the
galaxy. Talk to me once you fly into the streets of Ixia or the baths of
Cynara.”
What… oh god, what a blinding feeling of, No! No. I can’t say it. Jealousy?
Not in a million Saiyan years. I’m just a bit annoyed. Well I actually feel
like jumping him right this minute just to make him forget whatever it is he
did back there.
“So why is eating better?” I spit the words with much bitterness, much more
than I originally intended. My cold blue eyes remain locked in his somber ones.
He issues a dry snort. “Lasts longer, tastes better, now stop distracting
me”. He snarls at me, eyes sparkling with the promise of death.
“Longer? Better?” He said it not me. I know it sounds like a blatant
innuendo but I just couldn’t ignore it. It was too good to pass on.
“Woman, I’d rather spend those ten minutes eating than hiding in the
shadows. I don’t concern myself with…” He promptly realizes he’s trailing off,
saying way much more than he intended to and he skids to a stop. A worthy
opponent but I win the little piece of information I needed.
He gnashes his teeth and springs off the bed with a low growl. I stand to
face him as he turns towards the bathroom. He stops cold before gracing me with
a quarter profile. It’s more than evident I’ve overstayed my welcome which was
never there in the first place. He waits to see if I have any intention of
leaving, or is it to see how I’m dealing with those last words he uttered? I
remain unmoving, betraying nothing to his narrowing eye.
A second later he slowly turns around and perches his good arm up on the frame
of the door, looking at me behind a menacing glare. His entire body, head to
toe, spews a threat, as if stating his place in the food chain. He knows his
sheer presence alone is enough to send anyone running for their life and I
don’t blame him. It’s all he knows, what he’s masterful at. Infusing terror is
about the only thing he’s comfortable with. Defiant indigo meets the smoldering
coal of his eyes, speaking more than a million words ever could. I then rake
them over the smooth dark tan of his well defined muscles, unashamedly. Bulma
of Chikyuu doesn’t retreat, doesn’t back down. I suppose it’s about time to
make him fully understand that. If it takes jerking him out of his little
cocoon of self inflicted torture, so be it.
He can linger there, burning his eyes into me all he wants and I won’t
budge. I’d rather beat him at his own little game of power, waiting patiently
for him to give me the next little clue I so desperately want. His eyes will
tire, and his intention will backfire… like about now.
See how your eyes begin to quiver in bewilderment, when you realize my
face remains unchanged and my placid expression intact. And there for a
fraction of a second, your gaze roams to my breasts and then lower to my legs,
before quickly rising up to my face again. The hot blood of a Saiyan must be
difficult to keep in check. Yes, right there… just what I needed.
The ghost of a smirk tugs at my lip and I look away, beginning a dainty walk
towards the exit. You wanna make sure I didn’t notice your eyes slip the way
they just did, but I noticed Vegeta. I did.
Nothing left to say I make it into the hall, going through a mental list
I’ve been keeping in my head all along. Relax, lie down, make him understand
being with a woman is much, much more than a quickie on the dark aisles of a
wicked planet, or a casual romp with a whore. The notion of love making is as
foreign to him as the idea of common courtesy. Letting go for him is beyond the
question.
Yet I walk above the clouds for an eternal blissful moment… the glow of the
traplights at the base of the hall falling on my footsteps. That smile, that
unconscious little indecipherable smile comes back to take over my features and
I sigh in deep half-sane contentment.
He won’t have to say or do anything. He can leave it all to me, the fine art
of sneaky infiltration… the things he can’t even begin to fathom. For all the
filth he may be privy to, he’s totally ignorant to anything truly sublime. So
much to taste and to discover, so much to let lose… I dismiss all the tiny
warnings in my head with a mental slap. I will just have to survive whatever
comes forth, take the fall with the resilience and grace a feline, but that’s a
thought for later. Oh God, I can’t help it… how could anyone? It’s right there,
staring me in the face, all this mouthwatering possibility.
Can he kiss with the fever of scorching fire? Can his hands hold smooth
flesh as easily as they lay lands barren?
I shall find out tomorrow.
¹Japanese uncut version episode 124.
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