Last time:
"You never told me you knew French," Bulma said, a wide smile on her lips.
"I haven't told you a lot of things."
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"Yes, yes," Bulma laughed as she stood in front of a set of full-length mirrors, her body adorned with a slinky red dress that allowed her to just barely breath. Vegeta, who sat across from her, facing the mirrors, leaned forward and wrinkled his nose. He didn't like the dress. Bulma only nodded in agreement then went back into the dressing room to try on something else he had picked out. "I'm sure I'm fine," she sighed, the dress slipping easily off her sleek, athletic form, though she rarely worked out on purpose. "Chi-Chi! He did not kidnap me!"
"She hates me!" Vegeta called from his place in the changing area, just as several workers of the dress shop came bustling in, their arms overflowing with various colors and styles. "Put them on that rack," he ordered. "I'll give them to her."
"What do you mean I'm being irresponsible?" Bulma hissed into the cellular phone, compliments of Vegeta. She tugged at the zipper of her dress, cursed under her breath, then gave up. "I can do whatever I damn well please. Just because I don't tell you every little thing…Excuse me!? Take that back!" Suddenly the other end of the line went dead and Bulma threw the phone at the mirror. No damage was done, thankfully, and she emerged from the dressing room, half-dressed and fully annoyed.
"What's wrong in the Devil's City?" Vegeta asked, wide smirk on his face. "You need to zip that you know. I know Paris clothes aren't exactly…normal, but you have to wear them right."
"Shut up and zip me."
"What'd your psycho friend say about me?" he asked as he pulled the zipper up, his hands lingering on her back a little too long.
"Nothing that wasn't true," Bulma countered, then made her way over to the mirrors, smoothing down the dress in a subconscious, nervous gesture. "I sort of like this one for some reason." She turned around and around in front of the mirrors, checking the dress from all angles. "It's not what I'm used to though…For dressy occasions that is."
The dress was a deep violet color, with a trim of lavender at the bottom. The hem reached all the way to the floor, and then some, tapering off behind her in a glorious pool of silky fabric. The top of the dress hung low off her shoulders, just barely showing some cleavage, which was plenty enough for Bulma. Its sleeves were long and loose, and belled out at the bottom, with a small loop of fabric at the very end for her middle fingers to hook into. The length of the bells were some six inches, and came to a point at the ends, where tiny teardrop shaped purple stones hung from invisible fasteners. The mid section of the dress—and Bulma's favorite part—was a gorgeous ivory sash, that wrapped around her waist several times, though sewn to the dress, and was only for show. She felt like a true Japanese Princess, which made her laugh, for she was trying it on in a Parisian dress shop.
"I need a necklace," she informed Vegeta, who hadn't stopped staring at her since she exited the dressing room. "To match the little stones. Can we get one?"
"That way," he said, tearing his eyes away, as he pointed to the left. "You'll need a long winter coat too."
"Damn French," she muttered as she went back in to change. "Everything has to be just perfect. Can't just mix and match, no, I have to do it all by the book. Damn stuck up foreigners."
"Hurry up. The reservations are in an hour."
"Reservations!?" Bulma all but yelped as she tugged her tattered jeans on and came rushing out of the dressing room, her tennis shoes in hand. "When the hell did you have time to call the restaurant?"
"I have my ways. Now come on, the store closes in ten minutes."
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Goku pulled Chi-Chi easily to him, his arm snaked around her thin waist, eyes never breaking contact with hers. Her father was out of town for the night, and so, being madly in love, and a reckless teenager, Chi-Chi invited Goku over to stay until early morning, ie: before sunrise.
"You're the most amazing girl I've ever met," Goku whispered into the crook of her neck, as he breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume. Kami, how did girls make themselves so irresistible?
"Stop," Chi-Chi sighed, picking up his head and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "You have me, no more cheesy lines."
"It's not cheesy," he insisted, "and it's true. Chi…I think I'm falling in love with you."
"I…er—" But before Chi-Chi could muster a response, the phone beside the couch rang, and she practically jumped to answer it. "Hello?…Bulma! Kami! How are you!?"
"It's Bulma?" Goku whispered, sitting back on his heals, his hair even more muzzed than usual. "Where are they?"
"Where are you guys?…Paris!? Kami! I'm so jealous! I wish someone would sweep me off my feet and take me someplace like that."
Goku's cheeks reddened.
"Wow, this is amazing, I mean, I'm horribly pissed at you for leaving…Yeah…Just me and Goku…Stop it!" she laughed, easing herself onto the arm of the couch. "So, are you and Vegeta having a good time? Or is he driving you mad?…And you're sure this is what you want? You're sure you're ok?"
"Tell her about Sen!" Goku whispered, though was batted away. He hmphed and got up for a glass of milk.
"I just don't trust the guy at all. It's like he kidnapped you…Well, still, it's awfully irresponsible of you to run off like that and not really say a word. We were worried sick!…Don't yell at me just because you're too stubborn to admit you're wrong, and you're so completely in love with Vegeta that no one else matters!"
"Everything ok?" Goku asked, reentering the living room.
Chi-Chi collapsed on the couch and buried her face in its pillows. They wouldn't be breaking any rules tonight.
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18 walked leisurely through her and 17's modest-looking home, having just gone out with Krillin, her mind swimming with various topics. Two of which occupied her thoughts the most: Krillin, and how easily she found herself liking him more and more; and Sen. She didn't understand how her case could hold up in a court of law, but, on the other hand, she knew that by taking her daughter's blood, secretly—and sneakily—she was breaking the law. But, she figured that the most that could happen was a fine. Green Dragon's fans couldn't possibly shun them for something like this. Vegeta wasn't a deadbeat dad. He wasn't even a dad. He had a drunken night with a woman, a mistake that countless people made all the time. And the entire thing had been consensual. Though, as she approached the kitchen, where she knew 17 was hiding out, she couldn't help but feel that maybe the fans wouldn't understand, and that unknowingly they had played their last show.
"What's up sis?" 17 asked as she entered the room. He stood at the stove, stirring a pot filled with water and noodles. She laughed at his challenge, for they were always debating over who was a better cook, then took a seat at the bar, facing her brother.
"Just went out with Krillin."
"How are things with you two?"
"They're great," she sighed.
"Convincing."
"No, it's not that…I'm thinking about all the trouble Vegeta's gotten us into. This could really be the end, 17. The band could crumble because of that stupid Non-Japanese, Non-American bitch…Oh, I loathe her."
"Which is exactly what she wants," 17 said, setting down his big wooden spoon and coming to lean on the bar across from his sister. "She wants attention, and money, obviously, and that's exactly what she's getting with her little game. She never wanted Vegeta or a father for her daughter. None of that mattered to her. She just wants luxury, and this is the easiest way for her to get it. Forget her stupid attempts at writing—which, by the way, aren't that good, hardly publish-worthy—she wants everything handed to her, without question. And that's just what we've been giving her, without question, for too long. I for one am glad you did what you did. So what if we lose the band. If our fans were really loyal and really cared about our music, then they wouldn't ditch us because of Vegeta's stupidity. And I don't think they will."
"And if they do?"
"Like I said, it doesn't matter. We do this for them just as much as we do it for ourselves, and if half our support is gone then it's not worth it."
"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "And, well, Vegeta's always in the news surrounded by controversy."
"Exactly."
"Did I tell you about the fight me and him got into a while back? I don't think I did…Just thought about it for the first time actually."
"I heard about it," 17 laughed uneasily. "Through the grapevine."
"You mean Goku?"
"Yeah."
"What'd he tell you?"
"Vegeta's side of the story, which is probably not completely true."
"I'll tell you what happened," 18 sighed, then motioned to the pot on the stove. "It's going to boil over."
"Kuso," he swore, running to the stove to turn down the heat. "Ok, now what happened?"
"Well, not too much, actually. I was just hanging out at his house, making macaroni and cheese—" 17 grimaced playfully. "—and then I mentioned that I saw a hickey on Bulma's neck and that she was trying to hide it. Naturally I thought it was from Vegeta, because he's the only guy she's been seeing that isn't taken, and that little thing she had with Yamcha was months ago. Well, he got pissed and threw his food across the room and we got into a huge fight and he blamed you—of all people—and so I ripped him a new one then left."
"Hmm," 17 pondered, turning his back. He prayed 18 didn't see him trembling. No, there was no need to say that it was him. It's over and done with and everything is back to normal. "That's exactly what I heard," he said, instead of spilling the beans, which was on the tip of his tongue.
He took a deep breath, then pointed out the window at the mail truck that just drove by, and left the room.
When he came back, however, he was panting and waving a newspaper around wildly. The mail, in his other hand, fell to the floor, and he thrust the paper in 18's face. Immediately, her eyes lit up in anger and she cursed under her breath. There, on the front page, was a clear picture of her and Krillin walking out of a movie theater in downtown Satan City.
"Damn it," she hissed, throwing the paper back to 17. "I wasn't even thinking about the stupid press. Uh! Now we won't have any privacy! That's just what I need right now. More bullshit…Sometimes I hate how famous we are."
"Tell me about it," 17 agreed. "They say I'm the only 'lonely' member of Green Dragon. Which means they know about Chi-Chi and Goku too."
"You didn't see that issue?"
He shook his head.
"They weren't nearly as harsh. Said Chi-Chi was pretty and semi-worthy to be a Green Dragon Girl…Did you see what they said about Krillin and me?"
17 skimmed the article then gasped.
"Assholes," he muttered, setting down the paper. "What do they know?"
"Obviously nothing. Krillin is NOT a midget! I'm just abnormally tall, and he's slightly short—Whatever! Stupid media."
"Tell you what," 17 said, pulling her from her seat. "Let's finish this macaroni and cheese together, then burn the paper and watch a movie? Ok?"
"Yeah," she sighed, trying to hide her smile. "But I still want to bash their heads in."
"I know," he laughed. "I know…Me too."
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Bulma walked slowly through the high-ceilinged halls, gliding almost gracefully on the marble floors, her head positively swimming with the wonders she was seeing. It seemed the entire place was perfect, magnificent, cut skillfully from one piece of material and stuck in the middle of Paris for all to admire. Of course, it was just a regular building, as grand and beautiful as it was—the contents were far more mystifying.
Each hall, and there was many—and some stretching on seemingly endlessly in both directions—was lined with masterpiece upon masterpiece, all expertly arranged to draw the eye and calm the mind. This was pure heaven for Bulma, a place she only ever imagined and never thought she'd have time or company to visit.
"Having fun I take it," Vegeta whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she stared at a painting on the wall.
"It's amazing," she said, barely audible.
"I thought you'd like it."
"Vegeta," she scolded, turning around, their faces inches apart. "It's the Louvre! Who wouldn't love it!?"
"I guess," he sighed, pulling her even closer.
"You're going to kiss me, aren't you?"
"Who wouldn't want to?"
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Vegeta gave a great yawn and stretched his arms, then settled back into his more-than-comfortable First Class seat. Bulma, who sat beside him, and next to the window, stared out sadly as Paris disappeared from view. The Eiffel Tower, where they'd been the morning before, was the last site she saw before turning to Vegeta, her eyes slightly misty.
"I'm going to miss Paris," she sighed. "I wish we could have stayed longer."
"Trust me," Vegeta said. "You're going to love the place I'm renting. I went there once by myself…Well, I found someone to room with me there…and I didn't want to go home."
"Wow. That's impressive. I know I haven't known you all that long, but I had you pegged as a guy who hated anything and everything, mostly because he could."
"That's pretty much it," he admitted, taking two glasses of champagne from the stewardess. "There are a few things I like…music, food, sex—" He grinned suggestively. "—beer, cigarettes, and the place we're going."
"You haven't told me where we're going yet, you know. Every time there's a sign you cover my eyes. Just tell me. I'll find out as soon as we land anyway."
"No," he said stubbornly. "I want to see if you can figure it out just by being there."
"That's ridiculous. How am I supposed to do that?"
"If I blindfolded you and dropped you in the middle of Japan, would you know where you are?"
"Duh," Bulma grunted. "I live there AND everyone would be speaking Japanese."
"Well you'll know, trust me."
"I better like this place better than France, because you're building it up an awfully lot."
"You will. Kami. Just trust me for once."
"Vegeta, if I trusted you, you'd have me pinned to the nearest bed with no possible chance for escape."
"True," he laughed, and took a sip of champagne.
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Bulma tackled Vegeta onto the nearest couch, and there were many, and covered his face with hundreds of kisses, each more powerful and passionate than the first. When she was finally calmed down, she sat up, ran through the rooms of the place he'd rented, then back to him, giving him another series of kisses.
"I absolutely LOVE it!" she announced, jumping into his arms. He easily swept her up, arm under her knees, and carried her into the nearest bedroom, one of five.
"Told you," he laughed, dropping her on the bed. But, instead of staying sit and waiting for him to make another move, she scrambled to her feet and examined the bedposts; gorgeous wood-craved spiral posts with engravings of various animals and people, who Bulma knew to be gods and goddesses, though precisely which ones she didn't know. The canopy of the bed was several layers of sheer blue and lavender fabric, tied off with silk ribbons and bows, and attached not only on the bed, but on the ceiling as well, in a lovely circular fixture. The heavy velvet blanket on the bed was a deep violet color, and the pillows—and there were many, many pillows—ranged from royal blue and deep violet to sky blue and lavender and were the softest silk Bulma had ever felt.
Around the room, and in all the rooms, were statues of gods and goddesses, tapestries, elegant vases filled with fresh flowers, a fountain in the middle, and the most gorgeous of marble walls, floors, and fixtures. It was pure paradise, and, for the first time, Bulma wanted nothing more than to be in Vegeta's arms and enjoy his company without holding herself back.
"I can't believe I've lived this long and have never been here. It's insane! And it cannot believe you actually rented this house, all the way up here in the mountains. It must have cost you a fortune."
"Not really," he bragged, leaning on a bedpost. "I can afford it. I bought that book, didn't I?"
"Why do you spoil me so much? I don't understand."
"You know exactly why," he said slyly, making his way towards her. And, surprisingly, knowing what he meant, she didn't move back, and welcomed his passionate kiss. As they tumbled onto the bed, tearing at each other's clothes furiously, Bulma let out a small cry of pure laughter. "What?" Vegeta hissed, ripping at the buttons of the expensive French shirt he'd bought for her. Oh well, he'd get her another one later. Or maybe some lingerie.
"I can't remember the last time I was this happy," she said in all seriousness. "And it pisses me off a little that you're the one making me so happy."
"Is that really such a horrific thing?" he grunted, pulling her shirt off and tossing it across the room.
"No," she laughed, helping him with her bra, which she threw. "I suppose it isn't."
"And you're sure you want this? You're not going to push me away again?"
"Yes," she breathed, the passion beginning to fill her completely. "I hate that I do, but I do, and I'm not going to stop myself again."
"Good," he whispered with a smirk, as he yanked off her pants.
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---Chapter 22!!! Holy crap! What a jerk I am! :P Heehee. Well, at least I know everyone will want to come back for more :) My evil plan, lol. Why do you think I like cliffhangers so much? Heehee—Merde! My secret is out! Oh, by the way, to the person who asked me: Merde means shit in French.
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters) …and more reviews makes Marci not go crazy and chase everyone down :)
Next time: What do you think!? ;)
Note: You know, I realized that in all my fics I always make 17 OOC. He's supposed to be the meaner of the twins, and I always make him this mushy, lovesick guy…But, I suppose there's only room for one jackass, and since Vegeta already took the job, 17's reduced to lover boy :P Which I don't think is all bad, I just thought it was really interesting. I really don't know for sure why I did it, I guess I just liked him better that way…
…What do all of you think? Do you like 17 the way I make him????
P.S. Sorry about the shortness of the chapter (even though its waaaaay longer than most fics on here), but I really wanted to get it out. I promise the next on will be longer ;)
ONE MORE THING! :P Can you guess where Bulma and Vegeta are this time? (Hint: I haven't mentioned it yet).
"You never told me you knew French," Bulma said, a wide smile on her lips.
"I haven't told you a lot of things."
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"Yes, yes," Bulma laughed as she stood in front of a set of full-length mirrors, her body adorned with a slinky red dress that allowed her to just barely breath. Vegeta, who sat across from her, facing the mirrors, leaned forward and wrinkled his nose. He didn't like the dress. Bulma only nodded in agreement then went back into the dressing room to try on something else he had picked out. "I'm sure I'm fine," she sighed, the dress slipping easily off her sleek, athletic form, though she rarely worked out on purpose. "Chi-Chi! He did not kidnap me!"
"She hates me!" Vegeta called from his place in the changing area, just as several workers of the dress shop came bustling in, their arms overflowing with various colors and styles. "Put them on that rack," he ordered. "I'll give them to her."
"What do you mean I'm being irresponsible?" Bulma hissed into the cellular phone, compliments of Vegeta. She tugged at the zipper of her dress, cursed under her breath, then gave up. "I can do whatever I damn well please. Just because I don't tell you every little thing…Excuse me!? Take that back!" Suddenly the other end of the line went dead and Bulma threw the phone at the mirror. No damage was done, thankfully, and she emerged from the dressing room, half-dressed and fully annoyed.
"What's wrong in the Devil's City?" Vegeta asked, wide smirk on his face. "You need to zip that you know. I know Paris clothes aren't exactly…normal, but you have to wear them right."
"Shut up and zip me."
"What'd your psycho friend say about me?" he asked as he pulled the zipper up, his hands lingering on her back a little too long.
"Nothing that wasn't true," Bulma countered, then made her way over to the mirrors, smoothing down the dress in a subconscious, nervous gesture. "I sort of like this one for some reason." She turned around and around in front of the mirrors, checking the dress from all angles. "It's not what I'm used to though…For dressy occasions that is."
The dress was a deep violet color, with a trim of lavender at the bottom. The hem reached all the way to the floor, and then some, tapering off behind her in a glorious pool of silky fabric. The top of the dress hung low off her shoulders, just barely showing some cleavage, which was plenty enough for Bulma. Its sleeves were long and loose, and belled out at the bottom, with a small loop of fabric at the very end for her middle fingers to hook into. The length of the bells were some six inches, and came to a point at the ends, where tiny teardrop shaped purple stones hung from invisible fasteners. The mid section of the dress—and Bulma's favorite part—was a gorgeous ivory sash, that wrapped around her waist several times, though sewn to the dress, and was only for show. She felt like a true Japanese Princess, which made her laugh, for she was trying it on in a Parisian dress shop.
"I need a necklace," she informed Vegeta, who hadn't stopped staring at her since she exited the dressing room. "To match the little stones. Can we get one?"
"That way," he said, tearing his eyes away, as he pointed to the left. "You'll need a long winter coat too."
"Damn French," she muttered as she went back in to change. "Everything has to be just perfect. Can't just mix and match, no, I have to do it all by the book. Damn stuck up foreigners."
"Hurry up. The reservations are in an hour."
"Reservations!?" Bulma all but yelped as she tugged her tattered jeans on and came rushing out of the dressing room, her tennis shoes in hand. "When the hell did you have time to call the restaurant?"
"I have my ways. Now come on, the store closes in ten minutes."
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Goku pulled Chi-Chi easily to him, his arm snaked around her thin waist, eyes never breaking contact with hers. Her father was out of town for the night, and so, being madly in love, and a reckless teenager, Chi-Chi invited Goku over to stay until early morning, ie: before sunrise.
"You're the most amazing girl I've ever met," Goku whispered into the crook of her neck, as he breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume. Kami, how did girls make themselves so irresistible?
"Stop," Chi-Chi sighed, picking up his head and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "You have me, no more cheesy lines."
"It's not cheesy," he insisted, "and it's true. Chi…I think I'm falling in love with you."
"I…er—" But before Chi-Chi could muster a response, the phone beside the couch rang, and she practically jumped to answer it. "Hello?…Bulma! Kami! How are you!?"
"It's Bulma?" Goku whispered, sitting back on his heals, his hair even more muzzed than usual. "Where are they?"
"Where are you guys?…Paris!? Kami! I'm so jealous! I wish someone would sweep me off my feet and take me someplace like that."
Goku's cheeks reddened.
"Wow, this is amazing, I mean, I'm horribly pissed at you for leaving…Yeah…Just me and Goku…Stop it!" she laughed, easing herself onto the arm of the couch. "So, are you and Vegeta having a good time? Or is he driving you mad?…And you're sure this is what you want? You're sure you're ok?"
"Tell her about Sen!" Goku whispered, though was batted away. He hmphed and got up for a glass of milk.
"I just don't trust the guy at all. It's like he kidnapped you…Well, still, it's awfully irresponsible of you to run off like that and not really say a word. We were worried sick!…Don't yell at me just because you're too stubborn to admit you're wrong, and you're so completely in love with Vegeta that no one else matters!"
"Everything ok?" Goku asked, reentering the living room.
Chi-Chi collapsed on the couch and buried her face in its pillows. They wouldn't be breaking any rules tonight.
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18 walked leisurely through her and 17's modest-looking home, having just gone out with Krillin, her mind swimming with various topics. Two of which occupied her thoughts the most: Krillin, and how easily she found herself liking him more and more; and Sen. She didn't understand how her case could hold up in a court of law, but, on the other hand, she knew that by taking her daughter's blood, secretly—and sneakily—she was breaking the law. But, she figured that the most that could happen was a fine. Green Dragon's fans couldn't possibly shun them for something like this. Vegeta wasn't a deadbeat dad. He wasn't even a dad. He had a drunken night with a woman, a mistake that countless people made all the time. And the entire thing had been consensual. Though, as she approached the kitchen, where she knew 17 was hiding out, she couldn't help but feel that maybe the fans wouldn't understand, and that unknowingly they had played their last show.
"What's up sis?" 17 asked as she entered the room. He stood at the stove, stirring a pot filled with water and noodles. She laughed at his challenge, for they were always debating over who was a better cook, then took a seat at the bar, facing her brother.
"Just went out with Krillin."
"How are things with you two?"
"They're great," she sighed.
"Convincing."
"No, it's not that…I'm thinking about all the trouble Vegeta's gotten us into. This could really be the end, 17. The band could crumble because of that stupid Non-Japanese, Non-American bitch…Oh, I loathe her."
"Which is exactly what she wants," 17 said, setting down his big wooden spoon and coming to lean on the bar across from his sister. "She wants attention, and money, obviously, and that's exactly what she's getting with her little game. She never wanted Vegeta or a father for her daughter. None of that mattered to her. She just wants luxury, and this is the easiest way for her to get it. Forget her stupid attempts at writing—which, by the way, aren't that good, hardly publish-worthy—she wants everything handed to her, without question. And that's just what we've been giving her, without question, for too long. I for one am glad you did what you did. So what if we lose the band. If our fans were really loyal and really cared about our music, then they wouldn't ditch us because of Vegeta's stupidity. And I don't think they will."
"And if they do?"
"Like I said, it doesn't matter. We do this for them just as much as we do it for ourselves, and if half our support is gone then it's not worth it."
"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "And, well, Vegeta's always in the news surrounded by controversy."
"Exactly."
"Did I tell you about the fight me and him got into a while back? I don't think I did…Just thought about it for the first time actually."
"I heard about it," 17 laughed uneasily. "Through the grapevine."
"You mean Goku?"
"Yeah."
"What'd he tell you?"
"Vegeta's side of the story, which is probably not completely true."
"I'll tell you what happened," 18 sighed, then motioned to the pot on the stove. "It's going to boil over."
"Kuso," he swore, running to the stove to turn down the heat. "Ok, now what happened?"
"Well, not too much, actually. I was just hanging out at his house, making macaroni and cheese—" 17 grimaced playfully. "—and then I mentioned that I saw a hickey on Bulma's neck and that she was trying to hide it. Naturally I thought it was from Vegeta, because he's the only guy she's been seeing that isn't taken, and that little thing she had with Yamcha was months ago. Well, he got pissed and threw his food across the room and we got into a huge fight and he blamed you—of all people—and so I ripped him a new one then left."
"Hmm," 17 pondered, turning his back. He prayed 18 didn't see him trembling. No, there was no need to say that it was him. It's over and done with and everything is back to normal. "That's exactly what I heard," he said, instead of spilling the beans, which was on the tip of his tongue.
He took a deep breath, then pointed out the window at the mail truck that just drove by, and left the room.
When he came back, however, he was panting and waving a newspaper around wildly. The mail, in his other hand, fell to the floor, and he thrust the paper in 18's face. Immediately, her eyes lit up in anger and she cursed under her breath. There, on the front page, was a clear picture of her and Krillin walking out of a movie theater in downtown Satan City.
"Damn it," she hissed, throwing the paper back to 17. "I wasn't even thinking about the stupid press. Uh! Now we won't have any privacy! That's just what I need right now. More bullshit…Sometimes I hate how famous we are."
"Tell me about it," 17 agreed. "They say I'm the only 'lonely' member of Green Dragon. Which means they know about Chi-Chi and Goku too."
"You didn't see that issue?"
He shook his head.
"They weren't nearly as harsh. Said Chi-Chi was pretty and semi-worthy to be a Green Dragon Girl…Did you see what they said about Krillin and me?"
17 skimmed the article then gasped.
"Assholes," he muttered, setting down the paper. "What do they know?"
"Obviously nothing. Krillin is NOT a midget! I'm just abnormally tall, and he's slightly short—Whatever! Stupid media."
"Tell you what," 17 said, pulling her from her seat. "Let's finish this macaroni and cheese together, then burn the paper and watch a movie? Ok?"
"Yeah," she sighed, trying to hide her smile. "But I still want to bash their heads in."
"I know," he laughed. "I know…Me too."
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Bulma walked slowly through the high-ceilinged halls, gliding almost gracefully on the marble floors, her head positively swimming with the wonders she was seeing. It seemed the entire place was perfect, magnificent, cut skillfully from one piece of material and stuck in the middle of Paris for all to admire. Of course, it was just a regular building, as grand and beautiful as it was—the contents were far more mystifying.
Each hall, and there was many—and some stretching on seemingly endlessly in both directions—was lined with masterpiece upon masterpiece, all expertly arranged to draw the eye and calm the mind. This was pure heaven for Bulma, a place she only ever imagined and never thought she'd have time or company to visit.
"Having fun I take it," Vegeta whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she stared at a painting on the wall.
"It's amazing," she said, barely audible.
"I thought you'd like it."
"Vegeta," she scolded, turning around, their faces inches apart. "It's the Louvre! Who wouldn't love it!?"
"I guess," he sighed, pulling her even closer.
"You're going to kiss me, aren't you?"
"Who wouldn't want to?"
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Vegeta gave a great yawn and stretched his arms, then settled back into his more-than-comfortable First Class seat. Bulma, who sat beside him, and next to the window, stared out sadly as Paris disappeared from view. The Eiffel Tower, where they'd been the morning before, was the last site she saw before turning to Vegeta, her eyes slightly misty.
"I'm going to miss Paris," she sighed. "I wish we could have stayed longer."
"Trust me," Vegeta said. "You're going to love the place I'm renting. I went there once by myself…Well, I found someone to room with me there…and I didn't want to go home."
"Wow. That's impressive. I know I haven't known you all that long, but I had you pegged as a guy who hated anything and everything, mostly because he could."
"That's pretty much it," he admitted, taking two glasses of champagne from the stewardess. "There are a few things I like…music, food, sex—" He grinned suggestively. "—beer, cigarettes, and the place we're going."
"You haven't told me where we're going yet, you know. Every time there's a sign you cover my eyes. Just tell me. I'll find out as soon as we land anyway."
"No," he said stubbornly. "I want to see if you can figure it out just by being there."
"That's ridiculous. How am I supposed to do that?"
"If I blindfolded you and dropped you in the middle of Japan, would you know where you are?"
"Duh," Bulma grunted. "I live there AND everyone would be speaking Japanese."
"Well you'll know, trust me."
"I better like this place better than France, because you're building it up an awfully lot."
"You will. Kami. Just trust me for once."
"Vegeta, if I trusted you, you'd have me pinned to the nearest bed with no possible chance for escape."
"True," he laughed, and took a sip of champagne.
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Bulma tackled Vegeta onto the nearest couch, and there were many, and covered his face with hundreds of kisses, each more powerful and passionate than the first. When she was finally calmed down, she sat up, ran through the rooms of the place he'd rented, then back to him, giving him another series of kisses.
"I absolutely LOVE it!" she announced, jumping into his arms. He easily swept her up, arm under her knees, and carried her into the nearest bedroom, one of five.
"Told you," he laughed, dropping her on the bed. But, instead of staying sit and waiting for him to make another move, she scrambled to her feet and examined the bedposts; gorgeous wood-craved spiral posts with engravings of various animals and people, who Bulma knew to be gods and goddesses, though precisely which ones she didn't know. The canopy of the bed was several layers of sheer blue and lavender fabric, tied off with silk ribbons and bows, and attached not only on the bed, but on the ceiling as well, in a lovely circular fixture. The heavy velvet blanket on the bed was a deep violet color, and the pillows—and there were many, many pillows—ranged from royal blue and deep violet to sky blue and lavender and were the softest silk Bulma had ever felt.
Around the room, and in all the rooms, were statues of gods and goddesses, tapestries, elegant vases filled with fresh flowers, a fountain in the middle, and the most gorgeous of marble walls, floors, and fixtures. It was pure paradise, and, for the first time, Bulma wanted nothing more than to be in Vegeta's arms and enjoy his company without holding herself back.
"I can't believe I've lived this long and have never been here. It's insane! And it cannot believe you actually rented this house, all the way up here in the mountains. It must have cost you a fortune."
"Not really," he bragged, leaning on a bedpost. "I can afford it. I bought that book, didn't I?"
"Why do you spoil me so much? I don't understand."
"You know exactly why," he said slyly, making his way towards her. And, surprisingly, knowing what he meant, she didn't move back, and welcomed his passionate kiss. As they tumbled onto the bed, tearing at each other's clothes furiously, Bulma let out a small cry of pure laughter. "What?" Vegeta hissed, ripping at the buttons of the expensive French shirt he'd bought for her. Oh well, he'd get her another one later. Or maybe some lingerie.
"I can't remember the last time I was this happy," she said in all seriousness. "And it pisses me off a little that you're the one making me so happy."
"Is that really such a horrific thing?" he grunted, pulling her shirt off and tossing it across the room.
"No," she laughed, helping him with her bra, which she threw. "I suppose it isn't."
"And you're sure you want this? You're not going to push me away again?"
"Yes," she breathed, the passion beginning to fill her completely. "I hate that I do, but I do, and I'm not going to stop myself again."
"Good," he whispered with a smirk, as he yanked off her pants.
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---Chapter 22!!! Holy crap! What a jerk I am! :P Heehee. Well, at least I know everyone will want to come back for more :) My evil plan, lol. Why do you think I like cliffhangers so much? Heehee—Merde! My secret is out! Oh, by the way, to the person who asked me: Merde means shit in French.
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters) …and more reviews makes Marci not go crazy and chase everyone down :)
Next time: What do you think!? ;)
Note: You know, I realized that in all my fics I always make 17 OOC. He's supposed to be the meaner of the twins, and I always make him this mushy, lovesick guy…But, I suppose there's only room for one jackass, and since Vegeta already took the job, 17's reduced to lover boy :P Which I don't think is all bad, I just thought it was really interesting. I really don't know for sure why I did it, I guess I just liked him better that way…
…What do all of you think? Do you like 17 the way I make him????
P.S. Sorry about the shortness of the chapter (even though its waaaaay longer than most fics on here), but I really wanted to get it out. I promise the next on will be longer ;)
ONE MORE THING! :P Can you guess where Bulma and Vegeta are this time? (Hint: I haven't mentioned it yet).