Undisclosed Desires

Chapter 10

{Vegeta's POV}

I held her close, and immediately I can feel everything about her that makes her feel so alive and glorious; her silky soft skin, her full flesh, the curve and valley of her feminine figure, and the smell of her skin flooded my senses as she drunkenly paws at me, murmuring how she missed me, how she loved me... it felt surreal, but my senses were on overload, and I willingly let myself be taken away by sleep, no longer just dreaming of her.

I dreamt of her often; I find myself thinking of her when I have moments to myself, when I allow myself relief from training. I'll never admit it, because it makes me feel weak. I am not weak, and I will prove that to that lower class buffoon and the rest of them how powerful I can be.

I couldn't begin to explain how conflicted I felt the morning I woke up next to her, my arms firmly around her, her back flush against my chest, my nose buried in her gorgeous locks; the first keen emotion seemed to be shame at how hard the Prince of all Saiyans had fallen for a mere human. I could feel my brain reeling, my pride struggling to cope and deal with this. She's still asleep, and I take this opportunity to extract myself without her noticing; I get away easily, and I immediately run towards the balcony doors, ready to flee before the sun breaks into the horizon.

I find myself hesitating; I look back, and see that she looks so peaceful, so vulnerable, knowing how her hair and skin smells again after being depraved of it for what felt like the longest of time. That piece of me that came to life with emotion will serve me no good in battle; painfully, I crushed it and walled it back up, reminding myself that there is a task at hand. She cannot distract me, and no matter how much I yearn for her, I can't let myself succumb to it.

As I flew off into the predawn towards my quarters, I felt as though there were a stone in my stomach.

{Bulma's POV}

I know I didn't dream that he had return; his scent lingered on the pillow next to me, and I can hear the maids hustling and bustling about as I make my way down towards the kitchen, the smell of what felt like a grand meal in the making. Mum and the nanny were fussing with Trunks, and when they looked my way, I pretended not to see them; I can't deal with him yet, though I can hear him whining for me to feed him his breakfast.

I make my way to the kitchen for a bite before I head off to work in that messy hovel I call my office; the mandatory stiff cup of coffee and a fruit salad was what I had in mind, maybe a sandwich if I can be bothered. All of a sudden, I see him, sitting with his back towards me. I could always run back to my room and hide in slumber again, but I am too damn hungry to ignore the smell of grilled pastrami and cheese sandwich; my body is at that bloated stage where I seem to eat everything because of the monthly uterine renovation, as I call it.

I really wished I had worn something more than this flimsy half length dress gown and bunny slippers; my skin prickled and I felt goose pimples everywhere. I ignored him and made myself a sandwich, casually grabbed a cup of coffee from the fancy espresso dispenser that I cannot live without, and sat at the other end of the dining bar, hoping to at least steal a glance of him looking at me.

He was so distant, and I was desperate just for a glance from him, but all that happened was us eating in absolute stone cold silence, separate, though so close. That was the extent of our encounter; even if we were in the same room, he wouldn't acknowledge me, regardless of how awkward it felt, how flustered I end up feeling, it was as though I were never there; his face steeled into a mask, his addressing everyone else but me was short and curt, and for most of the day, he would be away, training.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life; I can't bring myself to look at my child, so I throw myself into work, but nothing quite gets at this sore spot in the corner of my heart. His attention to me was like nothing I had ever felt before; absolute, fierce, and brutally honest. My breath catches every time a piece of that memory slips into my consciousness, just like it would if he were skimming the skin of my back or kissing my neck. But this lonely hollow feeling that follows me around has driven me to drinking and medication again; the nausea, the appetite loss, the fatigue... the price I pay for turning to pharmacopoeia for solace.

Before I knew it, the calendar had crossed out, and it was now the 11th of May, the eve of battle. Not a word had been said between us, and I had grown so tired of the routine of waking to a frightful reality, only to fall back into fitful slumber where I dream of having him in my bed. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to play some bluesy tunes and drink to nurse this foul mood of mine. Some might call me self absorbed and selfish for essentially abandoning my child in the hands of hired help, but I don't want him to sense my being upset. So alone I drink, as words crooned out of my speakers...

I went down to the St. James Infirmary
I saw my baby there,
She's laid out on a cold white table,
So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair.

Let her go, let her go, God bless her
Wherever she may be
She can search this whole wide world over
She won't ever find another man like me

It was between seasons, and I decided to dye my roots a different colour from the original aqua colour that I was born with; I had always preferred purples, like my father's hair, but in honour of the occasion, I decided to go blood red because why not. It's only fitting; blood shall be spilled, people will die, and chances are, I will know these people.

A sense of surreal dread beneath the deceptive calmness came upon me, and I tried not to think about it every time I take another sip of my Long Island ice tea. I drink to dull away the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness... music played from within my bedroom, the sun was in deep lull over the horizon, and here I sat, drunk and alone on what could possibly be the last days of peaceful existence. At first, I felt numb to it all, but the second I heard his voice call my name...

It was as though I were jolted with a strong current. Here he is now, perched on the marble balustrade, dressed in all black, all cotton, all heat and desirability.

I loathe how he comes and goes as he pleases, and yet I am incapable of turning him away. It's him who I dream of every night slipping through my fingers as I scream and plead to whoever's listening of this unspeakable sadness I feel to go away... hoping that he'd come back, only to wake up alone again. I still wake up alone, even if he is back; he never comes to see me, nor has he any showed any interest in his child.

The realization that tomorrow is when the scales may tip against us, that we might be as good as dead in less than 24 hours, for all you know... I looked at him and he looked at me, and the wind whistled against the silent night; the unbearable tension of seeing him again, caught unawares, dishevelled, drinking, crying...

"What do you want?" I asked in monotone; I was stressed out, exhausted and just about ready to fall into a chemical haze and off to sleep.

"The child; is it part Saiyan?" Straight for the jugular; that's how I remembered him, and that's how he is now.

"If you're asking if the child is yours, then yes, Vegeta; he is your son."

Silence falls, and it's awkward and heavy; dense enough to choke me. I chug back what's left of my beverage and went to the bar to make another. I'm unsteady on my feet for a moment, and before I could move, he was there, in front of me. Dark pools of obsidian stared into my soul, and I felt like a moth drawn to the light, unable to resist.

That first kiss in months was hard and brutal, knocking the wind out of me; I wanted to pull him into my embrace and meld into his fire, to show him how I feel. It was as though he could read my mind; before I knew it I felt the soft cushioning of my bed, silk sheets that cool the fire on my skin momentarily before clinging onto sweaty skin hours later.

At first, I swore I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, a sort of apprehension which fleets as his brows furrow, and he grabs or thrusts a little harder and I end up touching my face with both hands, my upper arms pressing my breasts together; I forget about everything else when that blissful explosion rocks me, and he holds me tight against his chest... all I can sense is his musky scent and how it surrounds me before everything fades to black.

END CHAPTER 10

Sorry for the lack of updates, I am swamped with school work. And it's mounting to let's say an epic showdown; I am on the fritz. My hair looks terrible on account of all the split ends. REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPY.