I felt like writing a short piece, and there you have it. It could easily turn into a longer story, let me know if you want to know how it continues and what the back plot is. There are mistakes in it, no doubt, it is the fruit of an insomniac night, and I am not a native speaker of English. Contains somewhat mature themes. Be warned.
HIS
She turned her back to the crowd, gyrating her hips in an almost painfully slow move, her arms reaching back to release the straps of her bra. She could feel the heat of his eyes, piercing holes through her exposed body and making her throb with an unwanted desire.
Closing her eyes, she threw her hair back, flung the bra in the air, and slyly turned around to throw a glance over her shoulder at the howling crowd, desperately trying to avoid looking at him. As always, it was a losing battle – her eyes unwillingly were drawn to his jet black ones. He was sitting down at a table, alone and unflinching, eerily silent in the mass of maddened, sex crazed warriors of the galaxy of Anthrea. His presence alone seemed to be enough to create an invisible shield around his table. No matter how crowded the place got – and it really got crazy during her performance – there will always be a large circle around him that no one dared to enter.
Their eyes met: his cold and hard, hers brown and seductive. The intensity was so strong, that Buffy was surprised she couldn't spot electricity in the air, drawing them closer and closer. Her arousal spiked so hard that it made her knees buckle, but it was quickly overpowered by another primal feeling, of terror. The urge to flight made her skin crawl and her mouth go dry – she was feeling naked and vulnerable in front of the magnificent predator, and it had nothing to do with her bikini only clad body.
Finally, the lights went off, and she rushed off stage, rushing to put on her robe and get to the dressing room. She threw herself in the chair, and, tucking her feet under her, hid her face in her palms. She didn't want to look up, and face the reflection in the mirror. For many nights she had seen her face painted in vulgar colours, the eye lids heavily clumped with a lot of make-up, her blonde hair puffed up in a ridiculously high mane.
She knew she should be happy he was there. The other girls certainly envied her, and were not afraid of showing it. As a show girl, men were very interested, but it was usually middle aged mated aliens, with a spare weekend, looking for some quick and easy fun. The young, handsome ones, while fun to be with, tended to be broke and pretty violent towards the women of the bar. He, on the other hand, he was … different. Not puppies and rainbows different though. On a planet renown for its violence and criminality, he was in a category of his own. She could feel it, and so could everyone else. And it was pretty clear that he wanted her.
It all started about a month ago. He walked into the bar, just as her act was finishing, and she was getting ready to tease the public by almost showing them her breasts. For an almost imperceptible moment, the whole bar went silent, fear permeating the damp air, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her hair standing up, even before she turned to give her customary finance glance or wink.
Ever since then, he would drop in every now and then, always sitting at the same table, always looking at her with those obsidian eyes, so cold and impenetrable, yet so hungry.
Buffy was really relieved that, unlike other guys, he made no attempts at contacting her. She was used to getting all sort of presents in her room, and, to a degree, she had already learned how to deal with the sporadic attacks. Sometimes guys just wouldn't take no for an answer, so they would try to burst into the changing room. The bouncers were pretty ready to deal with them, but every now and then a stronger one would manage to push through and get to the dancers. Luckily, that had only happened once ever since she had been working there. Unfortunately, she was already bend naked over her desk, when they managed to subdue him, as he was fumbling with his pants. Could have been much worse, though, and she knew it. Every month or so, a girl would show up dead, her body mutilated beyond recognition, and discarded in a ditch.
So, Buffy had watched and learned, and decided to keep to herself. No partying with the customers and, no matter how much the manager had asked, no interacting with the crowd at any point other than the actual performance. Her tips were more than generous, as it was, and she really didn't need the other girls becoming even more envious.
With a sigh, she stood up, removed her wig and her contacts, shoving them into the respective boxes and then into her backpack, and walked to the shower cabins. A hot shower, a lot of scrubbing, a simple pair of boots, jeans and a hoodie, and there was not much left of the sultry seductress that only an hour earlier has raised the pulse of a room full of warriors.
Buffy walked fast in the dark alley. It was cold that night, just like it always was on that damn forsaken planet. She was sure that she will never manage to shake it out of her bones, never succeed in getting rid of her memories of the time she spent here. The dust, the cold in the night and the hot humidity of the day, the desolation and the violence, all blend into a gruesome atmosphere that seemed to soak into the pores of anyone living there.
And then, as she turned a corner … he was there. Standing in the middle of the alley, arms crossed, face unreadable. Buffy wanted to cry. She had been so close to her place that she could see the dark contours of her door in the dim light, behind him.
Her first impulse was to run. Her second was to cry. She had been so very careful, paying attention to her surroundings, using an old exit to get out of the bar, changing her clothes and her appearances as she juggled between worlds. She managed to avoid trouble, to dodge all troubled, and now … now she was face to face to the planet's utmost killed.
She could have run. She could have made an effort to get away, but she knew it was useless. She could try and use the weapon she had on her for protection, but she knew he would overpower her anyway. She could feel herself trembling, and it had nothing to do with the cold in the air.
He started walking towards her, and with an almost supra-human effort, she managed to take a step back. Then another one, and another one, until her back hit a foul smelling wall, and there was nowhere else she could go, and he was still there, still coming, closer and closer until he was inches away, watching her unblinkingly with those predatory eyes.
And then he was touching her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around with blinking speed, and her legs finally gave out, but he was there to support her, to push her upward, and tear her pants. Her cheeks were flushed and so hot against the icy wall, and she could feel her heart beating, pounding in her temples, and then he was pushing in, with barely contained violence, and a mixture of tenderness that made something inside of her twist and scream. Her fingernails scraped the wall hard, until she could feel the tips of her fingers bleeding, and her head lolled back at the mixture of pain and something else that she couldn't explain that was overflowing her senses.
His thrust became urgent and unbearably painful, and her moans turned into screaming, as she was trying to push away from him, to break free, and stop the pain between her legs. The disparity in strength was so great, that her feeble attempts didn't even register. Finally, he pushed himself hard inside of her, and she could feel his contractions, as he ejaculated with a low moan deep in her vagina.
Buffy slumped to the floor, shaking. She wanted to kill him. She wanted him to fuck her again. She wanted to be away, far far away, where he could never find him again. Her knees were scraped, and she thought distantly that she would need a tetanus shot after lying on the dirty, garbage scattered pavement.
"How" - her voice was so shaky and throaty she barely recognized it herself -, "how did you know it was me?"
He said nothing, and she hysterically thought she just had sex with a man she had never spoken to. And then, he was crouched over her, her breath hot in her ear, his presence overpowering as ever.
"You have the same smell", he whispered back in a low, deep voice.
Buffy gulped and nodded, afraid of asking the question that was terrifying her. With a start, she realized she had been crying, but she knew she had to put an end to the uncertainty.
"Are you going to kill me?", she whispered.
And then he was gripping her upper arm again, dragging her down the alley as she scrambled to get to her feet and relieve the pressure of his grip and the pain of her body being dragged on the pavement. He was heading towards her flat, she realized with a start, and he pushed the locked door open with no effort at all. Half dragged, half walking, she was pushed in the bedroom, and onto the bed.
She grunted in pain as she landed on the hard, worn out bed, and turned around to face him. He stood still for a good minute, in the middle of the room, watching her like he did when she was stripping, seemingly pondering an unspoken thought. He then started removing his clothes slowly revealing his wonderfully sculptured body, and with a tremor of paralyzing fear, Buffy realized he was going to screw her again. But, even as her brain shrieked in horror, her nether regions started burning hot and wet.
The next morning he was gone. She was bruised and hurt, and every part of her body ached. She didn't care though. Between her legs, the dried sperm of Vegeta, prince of the Saiyans, gave her the weapon she needed to destroy him: his precious DNA. Human kind would be saved, after all.
Bulma carefully set the samples in a secure box, and popped a ball, revealing a small, but extremely efficient space ship. Strapping in, she bade farewell to the depressing parent, setting course to Earth. She had no idea that the same substance that she would use to kill the prince had already planted a baby inside of her.