Maroned but not Stranded
With delicacy Vegeta barely knew was possible his fingers dug into the creamy skin of her thighs. He looked down at her naked body as it enticingly arched towards him. Her breasts pushed against his broad chest; her legs wrapped around the narrowest part of his waist. He released an inadvertent noise of satisfaction at the movements of his beautiful host. He pulled his attention to her face. Her eyes implored him to please her; they demanded fulfillment. As he plunged into her, he watched her eyes melt into bliss before they rolled back and shut.
She enveloped him like warm rapids envelope a jutting rock. She bent his will with the same unbelievable strength that water has to shape the unyielding. His emotions rocketed into chaos, and he tried to reign in the feeling to a veneer of control. He cradled his face in between her neck and shoulder breathing deep breathes of her addictive smell. The sweet and yet sharp smell of ripened fruit and mechanical grease. She raked her fingers up his back and then rested them in his thick hair.
He began to move more slowly and more gently than he had ever before. He focused on every hitch in her breath, ever shudder of her body. Vegeta read her body and responded to its specific lexis. He was not trying to prove his worth; the consequences of failures did not haunt his actions. He merely felt in tune with her as they rocked together.
"Vegeta," she said softly in his ear as the headboard rapped lightly on the wall. He groaned in response and felt tingling growing and spreading from the base of his spine. He delved his hand into her waves of blue hair and reveled in the silk which tickled his fingers.
Gently, he continued his belabored and slow pace. He had never taken the time to cherish. Never allowed himself this indulgence. Within her, he felt absolute comfort. He felt unconditional love. He had found the home he had lost so long ago. A home where his failures were inconsequential; a home where his broken pieces were melded.
"Vegeta," she said again with concern. He looked to her blushing face and brought his lips down upon hers. They moved in unison. Each flicker of his tongue was matched by her. Each pivot of his hips brought hers to rock against him rhythmically. He allowed himself another grunt of satisfaction. He ran his hand along the curve of her hips, to the narrow of her waist and then up her back to rest along the base of her skull. He felt goosebumps form on her velvety skin.
He chuckled deeply in her ear and delved even deeper within her. He paused with eyes clenched and remained motionless as she entirely engulfed him. Overwhelmed, he embraced her tightly as she began to rhythmically contract around him.
"Vegeta," she said again but this time with annoyance. He looked at her as her face morphed from satisfaction to irritation. His subconscious came to life as he tortuously began to relive his past failures: defeated by a third class and then robbed of his revenge. The Prince of Saiyans apparently satisfied with his existence on the peaceful planet. Her smug face as she told him she hadn't been pleased by him. His tears before death.
Vegeta woke glossed in sweat, breathing in deep husky breathes and twisted around his sheets. He turned over to face his ceiling and grimaced at his excitement. He looked around his dark room in irritated uncertainty. He was alone; there was no woman. He brought a hand to his head and roughly raked his fingers through his course hair. This merely brought a poor imitation of the flood of pleasure that shot through his body when she had done the same in his dream. He cursed his imagination and then moved on to curse its architect. For weeks, the woman had been prancing around the home in provocative attire. She would bend to his will with uncharacteristic zeal. He couldn't help but imagine more.
His head snapped to the door as he heard her exasperated voice, "Listen, I'm just gonna come in." He raised his lip in irritation, pulled his body to a sitting position and drew the sheet to cover his still bulging shorts. As soon as she opened the door, the tantalizing smell hit him: freshly cooked meat, assorted fruits and sugary sweat desserts. She wheeled the cart next to his bed and looked at him with concern. He scowled at her as she ran her eyes down his bare chest and back to his face. "Are you okay?" her voice was riddled with worry.
"Of course," he said angrily as he reached for a plate of food.
She raised an eyebrow and retorted, "Well, you don't look okay." Her low shorts stretched across her curvy hips exposing each creamy white hipbone. His eyes paused there a moment and then returned to his plate.
He baited her in a monotone. "Sure I don't." The woman had become increasingly easy to fluster since he had blown up the gravity room. The cause wasn't clear but the result was entertaining.
Her cheeks blushed prettily but she pushed through the embarrassment. "You're covered in sweat." She paused and raised a hand to touch his forehead. "Do you have a fever?" Before she could feel if he was overheated, he growled at her and batted away her hand. She pursed her lips and said, "You know, even tough guys can get sick."
"Not this one." He began neatly but ferociously shoveling food into his mouth. She remained by him practically dripping with concern. He glared at her and between mouthfuls said, "Leave." In the past this tactic would result in quick abandonment or an entertaining fight, but the woman remained near him deep in thought. She stared at him blankly as he ate.
Bulma licked her lips and then slowly began, "You know." She looked away to the corner of his bed, "you really should give your body time to recover." She then dragged her eyes across his chest again. "You look thinner than usual."
He narrowed his eyes at her. He didn't relish her attention and least of all for that attention to result in anxiety about his health. He was training at the same level he had before he had been transported to the peaceful planet. He had no intention of allowing himself to be softened by its comforts. "Woman," he started in a deep voice. She blinked expectantly and locked her eyes with his. "Get out!"
She swallowed and sagged in defeat. Then releasing a sigh, she turned and exited his room.
Trying to shake his attractive host had proven to be barely possible. If she wasn't haunting him physically, then his mind would compensate for her disappearance. It was proof to the Saiyan that he had allowed himself too many liberties with the woman. Whatever result she was trying to gain with her attempts, he wouldn't let them come to fruition.
As she leaned into the door, Bulma quietly shut it behind her. Falling in love with Vegeta seemed to be such an impossible thing. She was beginning to excuse her feelings as Stockholm syndrome. The Saiyan did practically keep her imprisoned with his equipment needs.
A rush of excitement ran up her body as the thought of being Vegeta's captive entered her thoughts. Bulma bit her lip and looked down at the carpet in defeat. She had been trying to gain his attention since her realization. But it was almost as if now that she had the intent to attract him, she had lost her novelty to him. She had become either a nuisance or a slave to the Saiyan.
Bulma wondered if she was being too obvious. She eagerly submitted to his wishes, dressed prettily everyday and tried to be around him during the seldom moments that he emerged from the gravity room. She shook her head at her actions. That path was only causing him to ridicule her and take advantage of her immediate acquiesce to his every wish.
For example, she had just brought him breakfast in bed! She looked down at her watch. Around noon her house guest had sauntered into the kitchen. He maintained this strut of strength by his will alone. With sunken eyes and a bruised, shaky frame, he had told her to have food prepared in three hours. Vegeta had given up keeping normal hours after the gravity room catastrophe. Only a few days prior, Bulma had actually set an alarm for the middle of the night to bring him his food.
She removed herself from the door and walked towards the kitchen. Upon entering, her mother cheerful face accosted her.
"Well?" she asked with childlike anticipation.
Bulma sighed at her mother's hopeful face. "It's not working Mom." She sat down at the table and watched as her mom poured a glass of lemonade. "I think I should just let nature take its course." Bulma looked down at the table and began to trace the wood grain with a neatly manicured finger.
"Don't be silly. Bulma, you've always gotten what you wanted." She winked at her daughter as she sat down a glass in front of her. "Just be patient, my dear."
As soon as Bulma had admitted to herself that she had fallen for their vertically challenged houseguest, her mother caught on immediately. Apparently, years of watching soap operas had trained a keen eye on such subjects. Secretly, Bulma thought her mother was living vicariously through her actions. But it was nice to have her mother in her proverbial corner when dealing with such an impossible task. She smiled thankfully to her mother and said, "Sure."
Bulma was beginning to feel less and less like herself and more like a downtrodden lover or beaten housewife. She needed exposure to actual society. She hadn't seen Yamcha since Vegeta had nearly died, and she couldn't even remember the last time she had seen Goku. She needed an event that would bring them all together for a fun time. Like a Barbeque.
As soon as the idea entered her mind, she knew it was perfect. With a brightened face, she addressed her mom. "Let's have a party, Mom!"
"That's a great idea, sweety."
Under the unrelenting pressure of increased gravity, Vegeta finally felt more at ease. He struggled to breathe evenly. Each movement took all of his attention. His mind wondering would cause devastating results.
He savored this total immersion. Privately, he would admit that he owed the woman for the tranquility the room gave him. He reproachfully laughed to himself. The woman had supplied two of the three methods where he had ever found this level of engagement. He curled his lip as his earlier dream came back to him.
It had all been so consuming: her surreal velvety skin, her soft noises of pleasure, his unrelenting attention to her. A dream, he told himself. He would never concede that amount of himself to any one, let alone that woman.
He suddenly found himself bent on one knee as a blast reflected off a bot onto his shin. Cursing his inattention, he struggled to a standing position and continued his routine. Lifting into the air, he released a whirlwind of ki balls and prepared himself for their inevitable return.
In a flourish of movement, he expertly dodged each blast. He bent his body elastically, he absorbed with bold vigor, he overcame the unremitting pain.
The woman would never give him this level of satisfaction. She could never claim this level of fervent consideration, although she would try.
He internally groaned at the display that met him upon entering the kitchen. The woman had perched herself atop the family's table with her legs dangling with childlike anticipation. Her legs seemed to never end but when they eventually did, it was into the mysterious darkness under her skirt. Vegeta could clearly see the inside of her thighs begin to taper in until they were obscured by darkness.
His sleep deprived eyes continued their journey to her exposed stomach. Her silhouette narrowed to a slim waist which his fingers itched to encircle. Her rib cage expanded dramatically and he heard the cause in her deep, shaky breaths.
His attention flicked to her small top. It resembled the human's version of bathing attire but the material was different. Thin and on the verge of transparency, he detected the slight protrusions of her erect nipples.
Then he heard her giggle a hello. His eyes snapped to hers and he let out a warning growl. It was clear she was seeking attention, and he was anxious at being her target. Yes, she had attracted his eyes before, but never with such blatant effort.
"How did you sleep?" Her head was innocently cocked to the side. Her hair had been relaxed from its bird's nest and fell swooping to one side. His finger tingled in anticipation of touching her blue locks. Were they really as soft as they looked?
He grimaced and stalked to his chair beside her. Food had already been laid out in preparation for his feast. He forced his eyes to remain steadily on the plate before him and not on the swiveling body beside him. Even with his supreme control, he couldn't ignore the creamy thigh next to his plate. The way her skirt sat neatly splayed out while her skin lay directly on the cold wood table. The way tiny goose bumps materialized and begged to be soothed by his hot hands.
Her hand came down next to her thigh as her body bent down to address him more directly. "Not good, huh?" she said with concern. Her bent frame gave him another vantage point which he took advantage of unwillingly. "I could help you with that," she added slyly.
His eyes flickered from the delicate slope of her breasts as they descended into a pronounced cleavage and to her playful face. He scowled at her with palpable anger at the interruption. He wasn't exactly sure whether he was angry at her interrupting his meal or his perusal of her body, but he was sure she would never know.
She rolled her eyes at his aggressive response. "You just need to relax," she began waving her hand in the air in a circular fashion. "Warm milk, a soak in the tub," she leaned in further and raised an eyebrow. "Extracurricular activities." Then she leaned away from him and threw her head back to laugh at her own quick wit.
"Leave my presence," his deep voice cut through her playful giggling. "You should be upgrading those pathetic training bots." He then brought his attention back to his food and began satiating his hunger.
He felt her eyes on him and trained his forward. But he begrudgingly noticed one creamy leg slide on top of the other. She then confidently said, "I am the one that had to replace this table because of your anger management issues." There was a pause during which he pushed aside an empty plate and claimed a full one. "I have more rights to this table than you do."
"I'll annihilate this table." He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of destroying another one of the family's belongings. Her reaction would surely be entertaining.
"Well," she answered confidently. "Not until you finish eating." There was an extended pause and then she slid from the table, walked behind him and leaned against the counter to his left. "You know," she began mockingly; "your threats are getting less intimidating." She pretended to be focused on her nails as she lifted up one foot to rest on the cabinet door behind her. She then coyly added, "Is the Prince softening?"
He abruptly stood from the cleared table and faced her. His fists automatically gripped at his sides as he testified against his own personal fear. "Never."
"That's good." She winked at him teasingly. "I like my Saiyan just the way he is."
Vegeta ignored her possessive wording. He closed the distance to her and questioned, "And how's that, woman."
She bit her lip and blushed slightly. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen her blush so visibly. Vegeta admitted that her automatic reaction to embarrassment was not unappealing. He looked to her insistingly, and her eyes fell to the floor at his direct stare.
His body suddenly felt like it was being propelled out of control. His shoulder was forced out of its socket as he slammed into a hard object. The center console gave way readily to his hard body and caused a high pitched whirling noise to blare into the room. The increased gravity came to an abrupt halt causing his body to soar into the ceiling and then plummet to the ground.
The bots danced around him sending beams of energy in his direction. He quickly threw his shoulder into the floor and forced it back into place with a sickening pop. With the searing pain from the bots raining upon his back, he raised himself on his hands and knees and pulled his body into a vertical position.
The woman was delaying his ascension. She shouldn't have this type of control over him. She had burrowed herself in his thoughts and clung to her position with unbelievable strength. There had to be a way to liberate himself from her constant presence. Rage overwhelmed him as he contemplated her intrusion in his life.
The air around him crackled in his fury. As he released his frustration vocally, a shock wave emitted from his body. The bots slammed against the walls of the gravity room. They tried to hold together desperately until they succumbed to his strength and returned to their individual parts.
He took deep, calming breaths and examined the damage of his tantrum. He refused to take the blame; the woman was at fault, and she would fix it.
Bulma shot up in bed in absolute fright at the jarring noise of her door slamming against the wall. She looked around her room frantically until her eyes came to rest on an angry and exhausted Sayian approaching her bed.
Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach began to flip. She felt the tingling sensation of a thick blush spreading up her neck to her face. She brought her thighs tight together as she began to feel her blood pulsing between them. She swallowed and concentrated on reality rather than what her mind was trying to interpret his actions as.
She cleared her throat and said, "What do you want?" She had wanted the statement to be firm and commanding, but it had eked out as both abashed and hopeful. She cleared her throat again and raised her chin in forced pride.
He stopped his approach and folded his arms across his chest. She couldn't help her eyes being drawn to her favorite arm muscle just below his shoulder as it protruded deliciously. He smirked at her attention and commandingly said, "My gravity room requires attention."
She had known the reason for his intrusion without needing an explanation, even though her imagination had attempted to dissuade her. She deflated and turned to look at her bedside clock. It read 3:36 am. An exhausted breath escaped her lungs, and she drearily rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Bulma turned away from him and pulling the cover over her chilled frame, she said, "I'll look at it in the morning." She then settled cozily into her warm bed and shut her eyes.
The sheets were ripped from her grasp and thrown to the floor. "No," he barked. "You will look at it now." He ended his statement in a roar.
Almost every fiber of her being wanted to obey him. Fear pushed her to comply and hope pressed her to please him. She fidgeted her feet and pulled her night gown down her thighs. Then setting her jaw, she drew back her shoulders and in small shakes, she shook her head. He merely glared back. Then raising her chin once again, she said, "Absolutely not."
He scoffed at her refusal as if it were futile. Before she could prepare herself, she was being hoisted out of bed by her arm and thrown over his shoulder. She screamed for him to put her down, but was ignored.
His firm grasp held the back of her thigh and tingling sprawled from that location up her body and down to her toes. She flushed as they careened down the hallway and her dress blew up to reveal her backside. She began beating on his back in anger and indignation. They quickly arrived in his gravity room and stopped in front of the main console.
He dragged one hand over her exposed butt and to her waist then wrapped his other warm hand on the other side of her waist. Bulma was sure that Vegeta knew exactly what effect this had on her body, but she refused to let the feeling take over her rage. He effortlessly swung her to stand in front of the sparking console and released her.
Bulma immediately repositioned her night gown to cover herself again. She turned quickly and reeled her arm back to slap him. As her hand approached his face, he grabbed her arm and twisted her around.
One hand held her arm behind her back and the other gripped the top of her hip. His fingers pressed firmly on the front of her hip bone. She attempted to twist and turn out of his grasp, but only succeeded in curling her body in awkward pain and being pulled flush against his solid frame. He held her facing the console, like a vise.
She felt his heated breath on her neck and froze. He huskily said, "Fix it." He chuckled as she shuttered in his grasp.
Shame overtook her at her body's betrayal. Above all else, she just wanted him to stop embarrassing her. "Fine," she spat out the word like poison. He released her and turned to leave the room. As he stepped away, her body chilled immediately. She crossed her hands over her chest, ran her hands along her arms and begrudgingly questioned, "What did you do to it?"
He stopped in the door frame and looking over his shoulder said, "You figure it out." Then he exited the room. She looked around at the scattered bit of metal and screws littering the floor. Bulma sighed and began pressing button on the console.
Two hours of exploration informed her of two things: a large object had crashed into the console and half the parts had to be replaced.
She trudged back to her room just as the sun began to brighten the sky. Her shuffling feet must have alerted him to her presence because he stood in the hallway blocking her path. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
She sighed in exhaustion. "I had to order some parts." Anger began to grow on his face. Ignoring his reaction, she continued, "It will be down for a few days." Before his temper took control, her's escalated. "You should've been more careful!" She didn't care if she woke the whole household.
He attempted to intimidate her by taking a few steps in her direction and shouting, "I want it fixed by tomorrow!" Although he barely surpassed her height, he still glowered down at her.
Bulma wrinkled her face in anger. "Too bad," she said in determination. Then she demonstratively ran her eyes down his frame, but on their journey back up, her eyes softened slightly. "You need the break anyway."
"I most definitely do not need a break!"
Her anger defused, and she crookedly smiled. "We're having a cook out tomorrow," a yawn broke up her sentence. She brought her hand to her mouth and shut her eyes as she gave into her exhaustion. She then dragged her hand down her neck to her back where she rubbed roughly. She blinked tiredly and invitingly said, "You should come."
Vegeta curled his lip but begrudgingly accepted the incapacitation of his training tool. He allowed her to skirt around him and shuffle back into her room.
The sleep interruption created an exhausted and easily frustrated Bulma to the next morning. She willed herself to be welcoming and reign in her temper for the party. So far, she had accomplished her task.
She had spent the first half of the party lounging by the pool and listening to Chi-Chi complain about her angelic husband. She watched as Goku, Krillin and Gohan undertook some serious horseplay in the pool. She tried to laugh cheerfully as Yamcha defended an oblivious Maron from Roshi's band of perverts. She also tried to squish the disappointment while watching Vegeta train alone next to his broken gravity room.
But the smell of food had begun to drift through the air. And seeing a salivating Goku hovering over her father, Bulma felt it necessary to retrieve the other Saiyan before all the food was gone. He had left his previous spot and knowing that there were only three locations where the man could possibly be, she set out in search of him.
Entering an empty kitchen, Bulma relinquished her hostess behavior. She couldn't believe the audacity of Yamcha. Bringing Maron to her party was like a slap in the face to poor Krillin. It wasn't that she was jealous of the younger and arguably prettier bluehead, she was merely concerned about her bald friend. Or at least that's what she told herself.
She stomped up the stairs each footfall louder and harder than the last. And then the little ditz had the nerve to call the heiress an 'old lady.' The younger woman wore small triangles which barely contained her breasts and the thinnest piece of string to cover her lower regions.
Bulma had enough class to not wear something so revealing, but that didn't mean she was old. You are thirty, Bulma thought in the back of her mind. Then she couldn't help but remember the little numbers she had been strutting around the house in lately. That's different, she argued with herself. Her teeth ground together as she took her frustration out on each sequential stair.
But, Bulma had to admit that she hadn't put too much effort in her appearance today. That morning, she decided that she would give herself a reprieve from 'Operation: Catch a Saiyan' and just enjoy the day with her friends. Much to her mother's dismay, she had opted for the boyish T-shirt and shorts look rather than her typical tight and tiny look. So compared to her normal appearance, she looked almost ordinary. But not old, she told herself.
Bulma noticed something was out of place when she entered the upstairs hallway: Vegeta's door was open. The man always kept his door shut. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She approached the door wearily, hoping that the man hadn't finally succumbed to the relentless bodily exertion he imposed on himself. She held her breath and prepared herself to see his collapsed body. Then she heard the abrupt sound of water shutting off. She quickened her pace slightly while recovering from her temporary fear.
Smiling awkwardly at her imagination, she approached the doorway. Bulma opened her mouth to speak, but then quickly shut it as she heard the seductive voice of Maron, "Hey there, Big Guy."
An indescribable amount of anger rushed through Bulma's veins. She could feel it tingling up her face, at the tip of her fingers, and deep in her stomach. She rounded the corner of his door frame with every intention to murder.
Sprawled across his bed was the barely clad form of Yamcha's new girlfriend. Bulma whipped her head towards the adjoining bathroom where Vegeta stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. His face was void of emotion as he assessed the room with his eyes. She watched as his eyes left hers in distain and then looked to the woman draped across his bed.
Bulma hadn't expected the overwhelming sadness to engulf her. She had expected her anger to stay intact. She cursed herself as she felt her eyes begin to water. She clenched her jaw and tried to pull on a mask of indifference.
"Do you mind, Old Lady?"
Maron's voice triggered something inside Bulma. She suddenly felt completely out of control. Like she wanted to cry and scream at the same time. Bulma took a long breath through her nostrils. As her lungs expanded, her eyes narrowed to tiny slits of hatred. She saw nothing but the bimbo trying to entice Vegeta. She felt like a child unable to grapple her emotions properly.
Maron stood up and sauntered towards the towel clad Saiyan. Still addressing Bulma she said, "I don't know how you get all these men," Maron placed a hand on his sculpted arm. She received a minuscule flinch in return and Vegeta's dark emotionless gaze returned to Bulma. "But I should hangout around you more often," Maron ended as she batted her long eyelashes at the man.
Bulma's eyes were fixated on their skin to skin contact. She dragged her eyes away from the girl's hand and directed her scowl to Maron's seemingly innocent eyes. Maron pulled a leg up to caress his shin and looked at Bulma out of the corner of her eye with a devilish smirk.
Bulma resentfully replied, "He doesn't like sluts!" After saying the words that she thought would be cathartic or at least hurtful, Bulma felt extremely foolish. She looked down at the floor and thought of how she had been unable to capture the prince's attention.
He reminded her of such as he angrily and shouted, "You don't know what I want, Woman"
Maron giggled and teasingly said, "Burned."
Bulma forced her shoulders up in a sign of nonchalance and petulantly said, "Fine, take her."
"I don't need your permission, woman." Vegeta's voice had gone husky.
Maron heard the change and smiling indulgently, she drew a hand to Vegeta's chiseled abs. He stood motionless with his fists clenched to his side. Vegeta stared at Bulma defiantly until she turned and left from the room.
Slamming her door, she crashed down on her bed in a suffocating bout of tears. She had never been so shamed in her life. She had been replaced by a younger model. She had indeed lost her attractiveness to the irritable Saiyan.
Bulma gripped her sheets tightly and clenched her teeth as her sadness began to transform into resolved anger. I'll show him what he's missing! she thought to herself evilly. And then she began to convince herself that the one and only Bulma Briefs would completely overshadow her rival.
AN: Thank you for reading. I would love to hear from you.
