Disclaimer: Not mine.

Captive 13

This Kiss

When his cellular phone rang, Trunks wasn't surprised. In fact, he answered with a growl. "What took you so long?"

"Hangover," Dirk responded. "Big-time. You and the girlfriend have fun?"

"What do you hear from Piccolo?"

"Guess not," Dirk responded nonchalantly to Trunks' curt tone. "Back to business, right, man?"

"Right," Trunks responded. He stopped walking, and leaned against the wall of the nearest building. It was still damp from the rain. Water ran in swift streams down the streets. Muddy puddles had formed in potholes, almost steaming in the fierce midday heat. There was some traffic in the narrow street, mostly wheezing old trucks with barely room enough to pass each other. The drivers didn't show much regard for the few pedestrians using the same road.

He used the hint of danger as an excuse to hook an arm around her waist and draw Marron closely to his side. She didn't protest, fitted perfectly there, hip to hip, and waited in silence while he continued his conversation.

"Piccolo?" He asked.

"He called the boat. Said he understood that a storm had interfered with the pickup."

"So that was Radditz's story to his boss." Marron stiffened against him at the sound of the name. "I'll stick with it if he will."

"Piccolo said he understood how these things can happen."

"And? Does he still want to deal?"

"Face-to-face, man. Be impressed."

"Why?"

"Because you've got an invite in his private hideaway, from the man himself. You going?" Dirk sounded eager. "It could be a trap, maybe he wants to kill you in person. Want me to come along?"

"You've heard too much about the parties at his place," Trunks answered. He glanced sideways at Marron. She had her head tilted toward him, almost touching his shoulder. She was obviously trying to listen in on the telephone conversation. He was elated at the prospect of finally making face-to-face contact with the one man who was a certain lead to the naval weapons thief. Trunks was thankful that no matter what went down at Piccolo's place, Marron would be well out of it then. She would be in no danger, and unable to offer any threat, no matter how inadvertent.

He concentrated on his assignment, and on his cover. "When's Piccolo expecting me?"

"Not us?"

"No," he told Dirk. "I want someone I can trust guarding the shipment. In case Piccolo – or Radditz – decide they'd rather grab the goods without paying the bill."

"Good point," Dirk reluctantly agreed. "Hate missing any fun."

Piccolo wouldn't try anything, Trunks knew. In fact, the man was famous for having an excess of what passed for integrity among his kind. He took pride in being gentlemanly, in betraying his business associates only if and when he had to. Piccolo himself was more of a middleman who brokered deals with product to move, such as Trunks purported to be. Piccolo was capable of putting the arms dealer together with people who needed guns, such as drug dealers, revolutionaries and terrorist groups. Trunks' assignment was to get close to Piccolo, close enough to find out the name of the weapons thief. He's spent a lot of time establishing discover strongly enough so that Piccolo would be willing to trust him with picking up a consignment directly from the naval arms thieves. Then he could take it from there.

He thought he'd feel a sense of triumph when this moment came. What he felt was the solid weight and warmth of Marron by his side. He felt her curiosity, and her scorn as she came to her conclusion about what she overheard.

"Let's just get it over with," he said – to Dirk, himself, to Marron. Then he deliberately put his emotion away, pulled himself together and focused. He forced himself to forget about the woman, and all the warmth she brought into his life. Their interlude – for whatever it had been worth – was truly over. His voice was dead cold when he spoke. "I better get back to the Blade and get cleaned up. When does Piccolo want to see me?"

Dirk named a time, and Trunks nodded. "Fine. I'll be there." He cut the connection and put the phone back in his pocket. He gestured to Marron and they set off down the street again, walking single file with him behind her. He sensed that she wanted to talk, and that his stony exterior kept her quiet. They had one more plaza to cross to reach the shelter, then she'd be out of danger and out of his life forever.

"Just point me toward the right one," she told him as she looked around the buildings that faced the plaza on all four sides. "And I'm out of your hair."

He pointed toward the least-damaged-looking building in the area. The ache in his chest at losing her – Kami, he'd never had her! – made too painful for him to speak. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her goodbye, to have at least the memory of one more kiss. What he wanted was insane and impossible.

When she turned to face him, a brittle smile on her face, he kissed her anyway.

The plaza went up in flames around her as their lips met. The intensity as like nothing she'd ever known before. All the tension that had spun and coiled between them was suddenly unleashed. It left her trembling, needy. They'd kissed before, and each encounter had been intense, but this was nothing like the passion they'd leashed and fought with since the moment of meeting. This came from the soul, from spirit as much as flesh. This time they meant it. This was serious passion. She found herself wanting to cry out "Don't leave me!"

She wanted to push him to the ground and take him then and there, to do serious damage to his psyche to make sure he never forgot her. To come away from this insane encounter carrying a part of him inside her. She was wild and angry and desperate. This was for the last time, their last chance. Impossible as this was, as he was, she couldn't bear to part without him without –

This was no way to make love. Never mind that it wasn't the right time or place, but anger, desperation, loneliness – what kind of emotions were those to bring to lovemaking? Honest ones, she thought, as much as she could think. Her hands roved over his back and shoulders. He mouth pressed hungrily against his. She felt his heat and growing hardness against her belly and ground her hips against him.

Trunks guided Marron into a deserted alley, behind the shelter of an abandoned cart blown there by one of the recent storms. He couldn't take his hands off her, but she was the one driving him crazy. Every touch sent waves of fire through him. He meant to steal one last kiss, now she was stealing his soul. No, he was willing to give it to her, what little there was left of it.

"This is crazy," he panted when he could find some breath to speak.

"You have a problem with crazy?" She panted back.

"Yes. No." His mouth found the peak of one breast straining beneath the fabric of her T-shirt. She gasped and arched her back as he teased and suckled through the thin barrier of cloth. Her moan of pleasure drove him on. He cupped her other breast in his hand, then his fingers slid down inside the waistband of her shorts. She was there before him, sliding down the zipper for him.

He definitely had no problems behaving in this insane fashion. It wasn't as if she didn't want it as much as he did. Neither of them was thinking. So what?

"Damn it!" He snarled furiously, and spun away. The speed and momentum of his action brought him up hard against the wall on the other side of the alley. The bruising force helped clear his mind. He stayed there, face pressed into the rough boards, fist pounding against the wall in utter, agonized frustration. Fury boiled away desire, but not as fast enough to snuff out pain that was as emotional as it was physical. He needed, damn it! He wanted. Why the devil did he always have to deny himself? He was a man, she was a woman! A woman who set him on fire and drove him crazy. So crazy that he was half out of his mind, with her half out of her clothes in a stinking back alley!

This was no way to behave. No way to make love to a woman. He had no right to allow either of their emotions to get out of control. She was not responsible for her responses in this situation – she'd been traumatized, terrified, become dependent on him. The last time he'd kissed her she'd slapped him, but here he was assaulting her again. Her response this time was to take the lead. He couldn't blame her for trying to control the situation for once. He could blame himself for letting the situation happen. Again.

"What was I thinking?" He snarled. "What kind of a –" He whirled back around, anxious to find out if Marron was all right.

"Woman am I?" Marron asked, lifting her head proudly at his furious glare.

"Did I say that?" He snapped.

"You look like you're thinking it."

He crossed the alley in two steps. He reached for her shoulders, then dropped his hands to his sides before touching her. They balled into fists, the muscles in his arms corded with tension. "Woman, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing. Nada." Desire still thrummed through her. Looking at him made her hungry, sent aching need deep into the center of her body. "Everything's the matter," she continued. "But it wasn't my fault!"

"Did I blame you?"

"Don't men always?"

She didn't know what he had to be angry at her about, but she wasn't going to apologize for what they'd been doing, not going to take blame or express any guilt. Not this time. She wasn't going to let him make her feel responsible for both their action. She had quite enough of being manipulated like that. Enough to last a lifetime. She didn't regret anything but having rejected her, no matter how unwise what they'd been doing had been. She wished she was better at being reckless. Or at least more successful.

Trunks forced himself to calm down, drop any argument with Marron. She was upset, justifiably so. Venting the emotions roaring through them as a verbal argument might do them both good. He knew that if he let the argument continue it was likely their verbal sparring would change into lovemaking. He couldn't trust himself to even talk to her at this point.

"Come on," he said, gesturing back toward the plaza.

She nodded, made a show of rearranging her clothing, then walked proudly ahead of him out of the alley.

Several cars had pulled into the plaza while they'd been gone. Some of the men who'd gotten out of the cars had spread out to cover the area. A group of three men waited by the largest of cars, a blue Jeep Cherokee automobile. One of the men held a cellular phone to his ear. All the men were holding guns.

Marron noticed all this in the moment before Trunks grabbed he and shoved her behind him. He started to back them into the alley, but a shout went up before they got more than a step. Guns came up and men closed in on them.

For someone making out with such a hottie as Trunks, Marron sure does think a lot.

I have no apologies for not updating in for three weeks. But the thought of one loyal reviewer made me think up of what to do next. Thank you, i won't tell.

What have I been doing all this time? I was ordered to buy a laptop to help me in my battle against insane uni professors that firmly believe students should have no social life what so ever. But, fortunately for me, its plan backfired. I am now enjoying a very interesting situation with someone who thinks he is Cloud. I don't want to be Aeris, though. And all that is thanks to FF7.

So, read you later. Mata ne!