I do not own Dragonball Z, nor any of the characters contained within. I make no financial profit from the publishing of this story.
Continuum
He had gone with her; after all he had nowhere else to go. Her house was big enough, and it even had a useful training facility. One could say it was the perfect match.
He liked training. It made sense. It was something he was good at – something that would make him better in the long run, stronger. That's what he wanted: power. And when he'd get strong enough he would defeat Kakarot. That would be that. Then what?
He didn't let himself think that often. What would his existence be once he defeated Kakarot? Once he became strongest what would be there to do? Nothing. Nothing except training more and getting stronger, of course.
A satisfactory answer for the Prince of Saiyans, usually; not so of late.
Shaking his head he attacked the mannequin again. Lightning flashed from his fists and his body was pushed to its limits once again as he continued his assault. Minutes melded into hours and his body finally gave in. A satisfactory training session.
He left the training room and headed towards his bedroom, noticing her in passing. She lived in the house, he really shouldn't have been surprised to see her. Then again, she was always surprising him. She smiled and headed the opposite direction, not before handing him a drink. He smirked.
Wench wasn't bad on the eyes.
She saw him training – day in, day out, early morning to late night. He was pushing himself; straining to reach some standard in his mind. She sighed. Was there nothing more than that for him? Could there not be?
She used to peak as he came out from his training chamber: all raw male, sweaty and full of whatever male hormone Saiyan men possessed. There was always that smirk on his face, that 'I-am-gonna-take-Kakarot-down-and-make-him-marvel-at-my-power' look that was very much the same look her cat gave her every time it was about to go mouse hunting.
It sent shivers through her. His look, not the cat's. She furrowed her brow and went back to tinkering with the gravity-altering device. This, she thought, will really make him smirk.
It only seemed normal that she should be helping him reach his goal. It gave her something to focus on apart from him. She did not want to think about him. At all. Period. She'd had enough of men to last her a lifetime and a half. No. Bulma was quite satisfied being an inventress...and sneaking the odd peek.
Somewhere along the line the peek turned into a gaze, the gaze into a smile, and this eventually morphed into her waiting for him every night with a towel and a re-energising drink. And him smirking. Always smirking.
Sometimes, at night, long after everyone had gone to sleep that smirk would turn into a smile. But only in her dreams.
She was there. Every time he looked. It felt like she was always there. He could feel her gaze long after the chamber doors had closed. It burned him. It irked him. He could not understand it. The gentle brush of her fingers against his as she handed him the glass each night. It marked him, pierced through his subconscious to the point where he began dreaming about it. He hadn't dreamed in over two decades. Not since his father's death. It bothered him more than he could admit.
Worse, no amount of training would get his mind off her. He'd tried – nearly gotten himself into a coma, to no avail.
Gritting his teeth he released another attack.
He had had enough.
He walked out of the training chamber; she was waiting with that same smile and the glass of water in her hand. He had no patience for that. Tonight his thirst was of a different nature.
Always went past her room on the way to his, and always she would offer him a smile. Tonight he wanted more, demanded more.
She spoke his name in an inquiring manner, and relished the sound of it from her sweet lips. He spared no moment in taking them. His hands, filled with energy and raw emotion swept across her body pulling her into the torrent. The rest of the night was lost to them.
The night that followed once again he walked in. This time without even allowing her a sound he pulled her to him. Her touch almost scorched him, but he would not let himself be stopped. She accepted him willingly and responded just as energetically. This was nothing but raw physicality and he reveled in it.
He never spoke a word to her, and she never asked it. Each night he would go to her room and they would come together. It was about release and nothing more. He didn't need more and if she did, she certainly didn't mention it. It was an arrangement of the best kind.
He wanted her – it was long into their nights of passion before he realised how much. Suddenly her passiveness made sense. She already understood he wanted her. She only gave him as much fight as he desired, when he desired. His throat went dry. She had done that for him. No-one had given a damn about what he wanted until now. He looked at her, twisting in the throes of passion, her eyes alight with something he did not understand, but remembered from somewhere. As he reached his pinnacle her arms tightened around him and she whispered in his ear. The words haunted him for years to come.
After that he didn't go to her anymore. Training became his number one priority once again and life had never seemed more useless. Her eyes were always before him, he could feel her touch in every movement he made. His own skin did not seem to belong to him anymore. Millions of attacks would not quench the burbling something that seemed to spout from the soul he had thought lost decades before.
Countless hours later he walked past her room again. Something made him stop dead in his tracks. His heart actually stirred as he went in and clasped her face gently. He kissed her and was shocked to feel her start to cry. This lively, strong, indomitably-spirited woman-thing was doing the one thing almost as bad as killing oneself...and not only did he not feel disgust, he felt distraught by it. He felt the will to comfort her. So he did. He kissed her face gently and wiped away her tears. He caressed her hair then swept over her body with reverence and tenderness he had never thought would come from him. He kissed her again and again, and felt that odd bubbling return. It didn't hurt him anymore though. That night he made love to her for the first time, felt her sigh his name for the first time, and understood for the first time just how much she was worth to him.
In the dark, they twined and breathed hard, exhausted. The scent that had drawn him to the room had grown stronger. Resting in her arms, head on her chest, he listened to her heart beat and felt at peace.
The warrior, the power-games were all left at the door. He was not a Saiyan Prince, heir to a dead kingdom, nor was he the strongest creature in the universe. In her arms he was her lover, a mortal, the man with whom she came together, in her arms he was invincible.
Author's note: It's been a while. I thought some smluff was in order. XD Hope you like it~~