Simply Irresistible
Chap. 3
NCDavis
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonBall Z or its characters. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and homage to the great characters created by Akira Toriyama. Please do not sue or blast my home world to smithereens.
Key: Double colons ( :: ): Thoughts Asterisks (*): Underline/bold Slashes (/): Italics
AN: Thanks for your patience minna-san! Chap. 4 is coming along nicely as well.
AN UPDATE (4/21/02): Okay, whip me with a wet noodle. As time is wont to do, it has sped by on me. I'm still working on Chap. 4. In fact, I'm writing as we speak on my extra day off from work. Hey, if Rowling can *still* be working on Harry Potter #5, then I can take a few more weeks on my humble li'l tale, right? ^_^ Stay tuned. Re-read the previous installments (which is what we poor Potter-maniacs are having to do to console ourselves).
*******************
Bulma watched Vegeta train through the window in the door. The new bots, equipped with legs as well as arms, seemed to be working well.
But that's not why she was there.
Bulma could barely keep up, his spins, kicks, and punches a blur. Yet she couldn't tear herself away. She marveled how moves could be intricately artistic and powerfully primal at the same time. His intensity frightened and entranced her. She was hooked.
She was in love. And God help her, with that stubborn Saiyan prince.
How she got herself into the mess she couldn't say. But from what her over- thought brain could figure, it was the ensnaring result of one part attraction, one part admiration, two parts concern, and one heaping dose of teeth-knashing frustration. Why couldn't she have stayed in love with Yamcha? Sure, he had a roving eye, but loving him was fairly simple. He was uncomplicated, reasonably well adjusted. Vegeta was definitely not. Yet Yamcha felt like her childhood coat; Something that fit well when she was young, but that she'd outgrown. Loving Vegeta felt like breathing. Inherent. Essential.
The question? What was she going to do about it. Or rather, how was she going to fulfill it. She didn't want to not love him. She didn't want to not want him. But the wanting with no apparent chance to satisfy it would drive her crazy. There was only one thing, if she'd understood their last conversation, that would at least ease the symptoms.
/Umuraqh/. The Saiyan coupling that had no human translation. So daunting. Bulma shook her head. Why was she scaring herself? She could handle lovemaking, even with Vegeta. She was more than rutting material. She was ready for this. But was he?
She continued to watch him in his singular focus. Yeah sure. He just reeked of a guy with sex on the brain. She didn't stand a chance.
= = =
/Umuraqh/.
Vegeta punched, smashing a bot to pieces, while blocking the kick of another. His focus on a battle normally unshakeable, it annoyed him that he couldn't get the thought out his head. Or her.
He should never have contaminated his training ground by rutting her in the room. The scent of her lingered, distracting him. Teasing him. ::This is a mere taste of what true mating could be with her.::
He yelled as a double-hammer blow knocked a bot to the floor. No, he would not mate with her. He was a Saiyan prince. *The* Saiyan prince. She was a nobody, a weakling from a pathetic mud ball planet. She was loud, annoying, disrespectful. . . . She was brilliant, ambitious, cocky. A woman who didn't cower from him even when it did annoy him. A woman who never bored him. A woman whose passions matched his own.
::Gods she'd be incredible.::
"Stop it!" The self-admonishment meant nothing. His body had moved beyond casual relieving of frustrations. She'd triggered his heat, his need to mate. Nothing would cure him of it except her. With her scent so close, he could almost taste her. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise him if he started imaging her before him.
::This is useless!:: "Computer, end program." He landed as the bots powered down, somewhat impressed that the experimental voice controls worked. He double-checked the control panel, glancing absentmindedly towards the door. And stopped cold. It was her.
"AAAAAGH!" Pain seared through his leg. In reflex he twisted his body back and blasted one last bot. Still active?
He landed on his hip, his leg throbbing. Fool! How could he let himself be so distracted to let a mindless machine slip under his defenses? How!
His answer came running in.
= = =
Bulma squeezed through the doorway as soon as a space was wide enough and ran over to help him. "Omigod, what happened?" Are you okay? Here, let me-- "
"It must have malfunctioned." He pushed her away. "I'm fine. I don't need your coddling me. I am not a child!"
Why was she surprised. Yet she was. Even for him, he was gruff.
"Then stop acting like one and let me help you up."
He ignored her and tried to stand. He bit off a word -- probably Saiyan, probably a curse -- as his leg buckled.
"It may be fractured."
"No duh Sherlock," her words were softened by her concern. "So why not let me help this time, 'kay?"
He scooted back before she could even bend down. "Do not touch me!" Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. He was acting like, like he hated her. He'd been mad at her enough. But this? She swallowed a hiccup that felt suspiciously like the beginnings of a good cry. She'd die before she'd let him see her tears.
He looked away from her. "I--I simply don't need any assistance. I am a Saiyan after all."
"You don't need to remind me."
Slowly he pulled himself up, gingerly resting on the injured leg with most of his weight on his other. His breathing was labored, and yet dignity radiated from every inch of him. In spite of herself, she felt pride in him.
::This is what it means to be a warrior?:: She still wondered if much of it was just stubbornness, and yet if it meant that much to him, maybe she could let him have his way. This once.
"Okay, Vegeta. If you think you can make it to my dad's med lab, so be it. I'll call him on the 'com to let him know you're on your way."
As usual he said nothing. Each of his steps shot little stabs through her heart. She never knew not helping him would take so much control. When he finally left the room, she realized she'd been holding her breath.
Once she made her 'com call, she wasn't sure for a moment what to do. Well, she could at least get him a change of clothes.
In love with a Saiyan. God, she didn't think she'd survive.
= = =
"Vegeta," Bulma called out as she entered the med lab, "I brought you some fresh clothes."
"He's not here dear." Her dad came over to greet her.
"Oh no. Did he go to the wrong lab? What if he passed out somewhere? I knew I should've come with him." Bulma let the clothes fall to the floor, turning to race out again. Her father's words stopped her.
"No, no, he was here. He's just not here now. Minor fracture. Said he didn't want a hard cast; it would slow him down. So I wrapped his leg up in a soft one. Probably back in the training . . . . Bulma, are you all right? You're quite flushed."
Her temper rose with every word. She'd been worried the whole time, and he pulls this?? She stomped to the vidcom panel and flicked on the virtual vidscreen in the training room. Sure enough, there that idiot was warming up like nothing had happened, the slight warping of air around him telling her the increased gravity was on.
"I'm--gonna--kill--him."
She was about to give him an earful, but a flash of pragmatism gave her pause. Yelling at him got her nowhere. And frankly, nothing was going to make him flat out stop. However, she could slow him down. A plan took shape. She hit the talk button.
"Vegeta, I need to take a look at the room. Obviously something prevented the bot from shutting down. I need to run a diagnostic on systems before you continue."
That wasn't entirely untrue. She would take a look at the systems. Afterwards.
He ignored her.
"That means, until further notice, the training room is off-limits. Get out, or I'll activate the bots and have them kick you out."
He paused. Good. But then picked up where he left off.
"Vegeta," her words falsely sweet, "let me put it this way. I am your mechanic. I am god and master of your little training world. Don't piss me off."
That got his attention. He glared at her, but she could see in his eyes she'd won. The next thing she saw was a glowing energy ball headed for her. The vidscreen blanked before snow and static took over. But that was okay. She knew he'd be gone; he just hated giving in to her.
Now she could act. ::Bulma baby, you really are a genius.::
= = =
The nerve of her kicking him out his training room! Granted, the bots did need to be examined to verify they worked properly, but surely she didn't need to ban him altogether. He'd take a peek; see if there was a chance he could slip in some training.
He grimaced. Perfect. The prince of all Saiyans reduced to a common sneak.
He eased up to the door, looking through the window. The lights were on, a few bots were lined up along the far wall and the access ladder was down, but he saw no one. He manually triggered the mechanism to slide it open and stepped inside. Excellent.
He was about to check if the control panel in the wall was active when a small sound drew his attention upward. The mainframe and gravity generator had taken up too much room in the ship. When Briefs built the permanent room, he'd placed them in an attic-like space in the domed ceiling. Damn, she must still be up there working. Well, she'd have to deal with it. She'd wasted enough of his time.
After a few moments she made her way down the ladder. Her back was to him. She was in denim shorts, displaying her well-shaped legs. He felt the familiar call in his blood. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, taking slow, calming breaths. He did not have time for *that*.
She jumped when she saw him. "Wh--what are you doing here. I told you, this place is off-limits."
He'd tell her what she could do with her limits. Wait a minute . . . .
"What is that in your hand."
"What that?"
He pointed. "That."
"Oh, just some part I need to look at more closely." She didn't meet his gaze.
"Woman," he warned.
A look of determination settled on her face. "Fine."
She held up the part, an oval disk about two inches thick and a foot across. A red band of metal encircled it.
"It's the gravity generator."
He narrowed his eyes. "I don't recall it malfunctioning."
"It's not, but it might as well be, 'cause a certain Saiyan isn't going to need it until his leg heals."
Red swam before his eyes. How could she. How DARE she.
His lips barely parted to allow his words through. "You will put it back and it will function."
She retreated a step, but didn't back down. "No, Vegeta. You can train if you want, but it'll be light training until that bone sets."
He raised an arm, pointing directly at her. Energy tingled on his fingertip. "You will put it back."
Her eyes widened. "Y--You won't shoot me."
He formed a small energy ball. "Presume nothing."
She stared at that energy ball, dancing in the air just off his nail. She lowered the generator. But she did not move. She met his eyes, and the look there made him pause.
"Blast me then. It's the only way you get this back. Won't do you any good though." She pointed at the red band. "This is a locking device and I'm the only one with the code. Don't think my dad can help. He's great at inventing, but deciphering is my specialty. Try to force it, and you'll damage the generator. Lucky for you the generator itself hasn't been damaged in your past accidents. It takes a good month to rebuild one."
What? Deep in her eyes, she was completely serious. Gods, she had more courage than half the so-called warriors he'd met. And even he had to admit her strategy was brilliant. But he couldn't back down. Would not. She had to learn respect. The energy ball wasn't big enough to cause much of an explosion. He could discharge it just to the side of her head . . . .
Floating behind her was a training bot, firing a beam of its own.
She was directly in its path.
Time slowed to the trudge of a glacier. The energy at his fingertip dissipated, replaced by a blast from his palm. The bot exploded, and he watched debris and shockwave slam her into the floor feet from where she'd stood.
In a whoosh of scent and sound time regained its normal motion. The bitterness of singed wire stung the air; embers flickered in death as they fell.
He knelt beside her. Her life force, weakened, remained, but in all else her body lay still.
He'd destroyed civilizations with relish. He'd bedded women in the day and watched them die by his hands in the eve without a twinge of conscience. Yet seeing her, so vulnerable, so fragile, stirred a dreading fear in him he never knew he possessed.
His hand trembled as he reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face.
"Bulma."
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonBall Z or its characters. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and homage to the great characters created by Akira Toriyama. Please do not sue or blast my home world to smithereens.
Key: Double colons ( :: ): Thoughts Asterisks (*): Underline/bold Slashes (/): Italics
AN: Thanks for your patience minna-san! Chap. 4 is coming along nicely as well.
AN UPDATE (4/21/02): Okay, whip me with a wet noodle. As time is wont to do, it has sped by on me. I'm still working on Chap. 4. In fact, I'm writing as we speak on my extra day off from work. Hey, if Rowling can *still* be working on Harry Potter #5, then I can take a few more weeks on my humble li'l tale, right? ^_^ Stay tuned. Re-read the previous installments (which is what we poor Potter-maniacs are having to do to console ourselves).
*******************
Bulma watched Vegeta train through the window in the door. The new bots, equipped with legs as well as arms, seemed to be working well.
But that's not why she was there.
Bulma could barely keep up, his spins, kicks, and punches a blur. Yet she couldn't tear herself away. She marveled how moves could be intricately artistic and powerfully primal at the same time. His intensity frightened and entranced her. She was hooked.
She was in love. And God help her, with that stubborn Saiyan prince.
How she got herself into the mess she couldn't say. But from what her over- thought brain could figure, it was the ensnaring result of one part attraction, one part admiration, two parts concern, and one heaping dose of teeth-knashing frustration. Why couldn't she have stayed in love with Yamcha? Sure, he had a roving eye, but loving him was fairly simple. He was uncomplicated, reasonably well adjusted. Vegeta was definitely not. Yet Yamcha felt like her childhood coat; Something that fit well when she was young, but that she'd outgrown. Loving Vegeta felt like breathing. Inherent. Essential.
The question? What was she going to do about it. Or rather, how was she going to fulfill it. She didn't want to not love him. She didn't want to not want him. But the wanting with no apparent chance to satisfy it would drive her crazy. There was only one thing, if she'd understood their last conversation, that would at least ease the symptoms.
/Umuraqh/. The Saiyan coupling that had no human translation. So daunting. Bulma shook her head. Why was she scaring herself? She could handle lovemaking, even with Vegeta. She was more than rutting material. She was ready for this. But was he?
She continued to watch him in his singular focus. Yeah sure. He just reeked of a guy with sex on the brain. She didn't stand a chance.
= = =
/Umuraqh/.
Vegeta punched, smashing a bot to pieces, while blocking the kick of another. His focus on a battle normally unshakeable, it annoyed him that he couldn't get the thought out his head. Or her.
He should never have contaminated his training ground by rutting her in the room. The scent of her lingered, distracting him. Teasing him. ::This is a mere taste of what true mating could be with her.::
He yelled as a double-hammer blow knocked a bot to the floor. No, he would not mate with her. He was a Saiyan prince. *The* Saiyan prince. She was a nobody, a weakling from a pathetic mud ball planet. She was loud, annoying, disrespectful. . . . She was brilliant, ambitious, cocky. A woman who didn't cower from him even when it did annoy him. A woman who never bored him. A woman whose passions matched his own.
::Gods she'd be incredible.::
"Stop it!" The self-admonishment meant nothing. His body had moved beyond casual relieving of frustrations. She'd triggered his heat, his need to mate. Nothing would cure him of it except her. With her scent so close, he could almost taste her. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise him if he started imaging her before him.
::This is useless!:: "Computer, end program." He landed as the bots powered down, somewhat impressed that the experimental voice controls worked. He double-checked the control panel, glancing absentmindedly towards the door. And stopped cold. It was her.
"AAAAAGH!" Pain seared through his leg. In reflex he twisted his body back and blasted one last bot. Still active?
He landed on his hip, his leg throbbing. Fool! How could he let himself be so distracted to let a mindless machine slip under his defenses? How!
His answer came running in.
= = =
Bulma squeezed through the doorway as soon as a space was wide enough and ran over to help him. "Omigod, what happened?" Are you okay? Here, let me-- "
"It must have malfunctioned." He pushed her away. "I'm fine. I don't need your coddling me. I am not a child!"
Why was she surprised. Yet she was. Even for him, he was gruff.
"Then stop acting like one and let me help you up."
He ignored her and tried to stand. He bit off a word -- probably Saiyan, probably a curse -- as his leg buckled.
"It may be fractured."
"No duh Sherlock," her words were softened by her concern. "So why not let me help this time, 'kay?"
He scooted back before she could even bend down. "Do not touch me!" Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. He was acting like, like he hated her. He'd been mad at her enough. But this? She swallowed a hiccup that felt suspiciously like the beginnings of a good cry. She'd die before she'd let him see her tears.
He looked away from her. "I--I simply don't need any assistance. I am a Saiyan after all."
"You don't need to remind me."
Slowly he pulled himself up, gingerly resting on the injured leg with most of his weight on his other. His breathing was labored, and yet dignity radiated from every inch of him. In spite of herself, she felt pride in him.
::This is what it means to be a warrior?:: She still wondered if much of it was just stubbornness, and yet if it meant that much to him, maybe she could let him have his way. This once.
"Okay, Vegeta. If you think you can make it to my dad's med lab, so be it. I'll call him on the 'com to let him know you're on your way."
As usual he said nothing. Each of his steps shot little stabs through her heart. She never knew not helping him would take so much control. When he finally left the room, she realized she'd been holding her breath.
Once she made her 'com call, she wasn't sure for a moment what to do. Well, she could at least get him a change of clothes.
In love with a Saiyan. God, she didn't think she'd survive.
= = =
"Vegeta," Bulma called out as she entered the med lab, "I brought you some fresh clothes."
"He's not here dear." Her dad came over to greet her.
"Oh no. Did he go to the wrong lab? What if he passed out somewhere? I knew I should've come with him." Bulma let the clothes fall to the floor, turning to race out again. Her father's words stopped her.
"No, no, he was here. He's just not here now. Minor fracture. Said he didn't want a hard cast; it would slow him down. So I wrapped his leg up in a soft one. Probably back in the training . . . . Bulma, are you all right? You're quite flushed."
Her temper rose with every word. She'd been worried the whole time, and he pulls this?? She stomped to the vidcom panel and flicked on the virtual vidscreen in the training room. Sure enough, there that idiot was warming up like nothing had happened, the slight warping of air around him telling her the increased gravity was on.
"I'm--gonna--kill--him."
She was about to give him an earful, but a flash of pragmatism gave her pause. Yelling at him got her nowhere. And frankly, nothing was going to make him flat out stop. However, she could slow him down. A plan took shape. She hit the talk button.
"Vegeta, I need to take a look at the room. Obviously something prevented the bot from shutting down. I need to run a diagnostic on systems before you continue."
That wasn't entirely untrue. She would take a look at the systems. Afterwards.
He ignored her.
"That means, until further notice, the training room is off-limits. Get out, or I'll activate the bots and have them kick you out."
He paused. Good. But then picked up where he left off.
"Vegeta," her words falsely sweet, "let me put it this way. I am your mechanic. I am god and master of your little training world. Don't piss me off."
That got his attention. He glared at her, but she could see in his eyes she'd won. The next thing she saw was a glowing energy ball headed for her. The vidscreen blanked before snow and static took over. But that was okay. She knew he'd be gone; he just hated giving in to her.
Now she could act. ::Bulma baby, you really are a genius.::
= = =
The nerve of her kicking him out his training room! Granted, the bots did need to be examined to verify they worked properly, but surely she didn't need to ban him altogether. He'd take a peek; see if there was a chance he could slip in some training.
He grimaced. Perfect. The prince of all Saiyans reduced to a common sneak.
He eased up to the door, looking through the window. The lights were on, a few bots were lined up along the far wall and the access ladder was down, but he saw no one. He manually triggered the mechanism to slide it open and stepped inside. Excellent.
He was about to check if the control panel in the wall was active when a small sound drew his attention upward. The mainframe and gravity generator had taken up too much room in the ship. When Briefs built the permanent room, he'd placed them in an attic-like space in the domed ceiling. Damn, she must still be up there working. Well, she'd have to deal with it. She'd wasted enough of his time.
After a few moments she made her way down the ladder. Her back was to him. She was in denim shorts, displaying her well-shaped legs. He felt the familiar call in his blood. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, taking slow, calming breaths. He did not have time for *that*.
She jumped when she saw him. "Wh--what are you doing here. I told you, this place is off-limits."
He'd tell her what she could do with her limits. Wait a minute . . . .
"What is that in your hand."
"What that?"
He pointed. "That."
"Oh, just some part I need to look at more closely." She didn't meet his gaze.
"Woman," he warned.
A look of determination settled on her face. "Fine."
She held up the part, an oval disk about two inches thick and a foot across. A red band of metal encircled it.
"It's the gravity generator."
He narrowed his eyes. "I don't recall it malfunctioning."
"It's not, but it might as well be, 'cause a certain Saiyan isn't going to need it until his leg heals."
Red swam before his eyes. How could she. How DARE she.
His lips barely parted to allow his words through. "You will put it back and it will function."
She retreated a step, but didn't back down. "No, Vegeta. You can train if you want, but it'll be light training until that bone sets."
He raised an arm, pointing directly at her. Energy tingled on his fingertip. "You will put it back."
Her eyes widened. "Y--You won't shoot me."
He formed a small energy ball. "Presume nothing."
She stared at that energy ball, dancing in the air just off his nail. She lowered the generator. But she did not move. She met his eyes, and the look there made him pause.
"Blast me then. It's the only way you get this back. Won't do you any good though." She pointed at the red band. "This is a locking device and I'm the only one with the code. Don't think my dad can help. He's great at inventing, but deciphering is my specialty. Try to force it, and you'll damage the generator. Lucky for you the generator itself hasn't been damaged in your past accidents. It takes a good month to rebuild one."
What? Deep in her eyes, she was completely serious. Gods, she had more courage than half the so-called warriors he'd met. And even he had to admit her strategy was brilliant. But he couldn't back down. Would not. She had to learn respect. The energy ball wasn't big enough to cause much of an explosion. He could discharge it just to the side of her head . . . .
Floating behind her was a training bot, firing a beam of its own.
She was directly in its path.
Time slowed to the trudge of a glacier. The energy at his fingertip dissipated, replaced by a blast from his palm. The bot exploded, and he watched debris and shockwave slam her into the floor feet from where she'd stood.
In a whoosh of scent and sound time regained its normal motion. The bitterness of singed wire stung the air; embers flickered in death as they fell.
He knelt beside her. Her life force, weakened, remained, but in all else her body lay still.
He'd destroyed civilizations with relish. He'd bedded women in the day and watched them die by his hands in the eve without a twinge of conscience. Yet seeing her, so vulnerable, so fragile, stirred a dreading fear in him he never knew he possessed.
His hand trembled as he reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face.
"Bulma."