The Craving
Disclaimer
DBZ, its characters, and concepts are the copyrights and/or trademarks of FUNimation (and/or Akira Toriyama) and are used here for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The only characters we created are Brik and Sharly, who we humbly offer as a sacrifice to whoever wants to play with them. Feel free to bend, spindle, mutilate, and/or even kill them. All we ask is that you send us a copy of whatever story you use them in. (Especially the spindle, we want to know what that is.)
Chapter 3: AftershocksVegeta awoke the next day feeling more relaxed then he had been in a long while. It was as if a great pressure had been released from his tense soul. He stretched his arms out towards the sides of the bed, then froze as something snuggled closer to him. Moving as little as possible he looked down in horror at the blue head of hair that was now nestled against his right shoulder. It was that annoying earth woman Bulma--completely naked, and in bed with him! And yet, he didn't feel the heat that had recently accompanied physical contact with her, only her completely natural body warmth. Slowly he moved himself out from under her, more out fear for what she might do once awakened than out of concern for her comfort. Once free of both the bed and the Bane that still slept upon it, he headed for the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help him reassemble the shattered memories of last night, and, he hoped, prove that he had not mated with her.
It didn't. Although many of the remembered positions seemed physically impossible and were surely mere delusion, one fact remained clear. He had indeed mated with the Earth woman, not once, but several times. Part of him wondered if he had been good for her. The rest of him pounded that part into submission for even thinking that! He was the prince of all Saiyans; of course he was good for her! A better question would be, was she good for him? And would fate deal him another blow by allowing a child to be spawned from this disgusting union?
Vegeta slammed his fist into the shower wall, cracking the tile.
This was outrageous! What the hell had he been thinking last night? Could it have been the fa'kir? No, he had been controlling himself too well for such a hormonal imbalance to affect him that much. Maybe that substance he had been eating right before he heard Bulma's scream . . . chocolate, wasn't it? He had heard that chocolate was considered an aphrodisiac by some humans . . . But no. Saiyans were resistant to such weak poisons and drugs, weren't they? But if he had been somehow weakened by the fa'kir . . .
Before Vegeta could get any further with his thoughts, an odd sensation worked its way up his spine, as a pair of slender, feminine arms slid themselves around his middle in a hug from behind. "Morning, Vegeta," Bulma murmured dreamily, "You were wonderful last night," she said, as she nibbled his ear.
"Of course I was," Vegeta said, settling on a response, "Now where are my clothes?"
"Oh, one boot's over there, the other over there, part of your leotard-thing is on the ceiling fan, and I think your armor got kicked under the bed," Bulma mumbled happily, gesturing vaguely with her hands while keeping her arms wrapped around her prince's middle, "or maybe it got thrown out the window, I'm not sure."
Vegeta let out a quiet snarl. Clearly the Saiyan prince had been too much for the human female. Oddly enough, he found that he took a little pride in that.
But enough was enough. Vegeta took one of Bulma's hands and pulled her around him so that she was in the direct line of fire from the shower. The sudden blast of water, as he had hoped, was enough to propel the woman back to her senses, causing her to gasp in shock.
"What was that for?" she yelled indignantly.
"It seemed the quickest way to bring you back to your senses," Vegeta explained levelly.
"Well, it worked," then, she realized that she was naked—and so was he . . .
Bulma let out a small shriek and tried to cover herself with her hands. "W-why are we both naked?" she asked nervously.
"Don't you remember last night?" Vegeta countered, once again in that level tone, letting no indicator of emotion escape through his voice or face. Unlike her, he seemed completely comfortable in his nudity and made no attempt to cover it.
At about that point, Vegeta honestly expected her to lash out with that violent temper of hers, screaming something like "you took advantage of me, you bastard," or something to the effect. That, as he saw it, would have been a half-truth. Their bodies had taken advantage of one another in circumstances that neither of them could control. Damn hormones.
She paused as if a revelation had just hit home, "So . . . w-what do we do now?"
Vegeta was inwardly surprised and relieved that the expected tantrum didn't happen. "I suggest we dry off, get dressed, and never speak of this again," he said, as he moved toward one of the towel racks.
"How can you say that?" Bulma exclaimed, "This was the first time I--"
"Do you really want your friends to think that you 'did it' with the Evil Vegeta?" the Saiyan snarled.
"Well, I . . . guess not . . ."
"Then it never happened," Vegeta insisted firmly, throwing her a towel, "Now, do you have any shorts or anything that might fit me? I doubt my bodysuit is in any condition to be worn right now."
"I think so," she said, wrapping the towel around herself, "Just let me look."
Returning with an old pair of shorts that had always been too big for her anyway, Bulma suddenly noticed the spots of red on the white towel Vegeta had used to dry himself off with, which brought her attention to the cuts and bruises adorning his lightly tanned skin. "Vegeta, you're hurt!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side, "How did that happen?"
"The official story is that they're from training," he said after a little consideration, "The unofficial one is that, in some respects, you are quite a formidable partner."
Bulma smiled crookedly as she noticed the red bite mark turning slightly purple on the top of Vegeta's left shoulder, "I see what you mean," she blushed, "Here, put these on and I'll bandage those for you."
Outside, Dr. Brief landed the aircar, bringing it in for a three-point landing outside the gate. "Oh my, I guess Vegeta's back already," his wife exclaimed in delight, seeing the large black and white spaceship squatting on the lawn.
"Well well, he must have finished with his training up there," Bulma's father surmised, turning off the car and unloading himself from it. Watching the spaceship for signs of wear and tear, instead of looking where he was going, Dr. Brief bumped into his wife who was standing motionless on the walk in front of him.
"What is it, dear?" he wondered aloud, turning his mustached face to where she was looking. "Oh dear," he muttered, as he took in the scattered groceries and the thoroughly melted chocolate soup covering the concrete walkway.
"Oh no, what does this mean?" Bulma's mother was almost in hysterics from looking at the scattered goods, "Bulma wouldn't just leave this stuff here! Especially not anything chocolate!"
"Calm down, dear, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this—"
"Calm down? Our baby is missing, probably hurt, and you want me to calm down?" Mrs. Brief turned around and yelled at her husband.
"Well, you were the one who insisted that she would be fine without us last night . . . Besides," Dr. Brief smiled nervously, "I'm sure its nothing like that, now lets just take the groceries inside and assess the situation in there—"
Without another word, Mrs. Brief scooped up all the groceries except the melted ice cream and stalked inside. Her husband quickly followed.
Mrs. Brief continued her way into the kitchen and dropped the groceries on the counter, bursting the already torn bag, then turned around to face her husband who was hot on her heels. "There, I brought the food in. Now are you going to call missing persons?"
It was at that point that a tremendous roar of pain swept its way throughout the complex, echoing off the walls and making the floor vibrate with its intensity.
"That sounded like Vegeta!"
"And it came from the medlab," Dr. Briefs replied as they both headed toward the source of the scream, "It must be something terrible."
They reached the medical wing just in time to hear Bulma scolding Vegeta. "Stop complaining! This is just a little disinfectant. I've seen you take a lot worse without a flinch."
"I'm always ready for battle. I wasn't ready for you coating my scratches with battery acid!"
"You're OK!" Bulma's mother cried startling Vegeta into a battle stance. Upon seeing Bulma's parents in the doorway he relaxed and just glared at them accusingly as if to say, how dare you catch me off guard. Bulma's mother paid no heed to this glare as she rushed over and hugged her daughter, babbling almost incoherently.
"Oh my sweet baby girl, I was so worried! When I saw those spilled groceries I was certain something terrible had happened!"
"It's OK mom," Bulma said as she gently released herself from the hug and held her mother at arm's length, "Brik showed up and tried to cause trouble, but then Vegeta arrived and kicked that bully's butt across the street."
Upon hearing this, Mrs. Brief immediately turned to Vegeta and threw her arms around him. "You're such a hero!" she exclaimed, squeezing him tight while tears ran down her cheeks. Vegeta winced in pain as she caught him both off guard and across his newly bandaged wounds along with some as yet unbandaged ones. He had before evoked fear, hate, and in some small amount adoration, but this was far beyond his experience. He gave Bulma a look containing confusion and exasperation coupled with astounding restraint, as if to say, "Ok, what do I do with it now?"
Bulma hid a suppressed chuckle behind her hand before coming to her "hero's" rescue. "Calm down mom. Vegeta overdid it while training, as usual, and some of his injuries are still sore."
"Oh, yes, of course," Mrs. Briefs said as she released Vegeta. "Can't have you hurting too bad when Goku, Krillen, and all your other little friends show up to welcome you back," she added as she gave him a couple affectionate pats on the cheek. The blonde was blissfully unaware that the only thing keeping her little girl's "knight in shining armor" from breaking her arm off was the fact that it would just be too easy to be satisfying.
"Come on dear," said Dr. Briefs as he gently lead his wife away. "Let's leave these two alone so Bulma can finish bandaging Vegeta's wounds.
Although he would never say it aloud, Dr. Briefs' intervention caused Vegeta's opinion of him to go up a couple points.
"Thanks Dad, We'll be finished in a couple minutes." Bulma resumed her work on the Saiyan's wounds, much to his barely disguised displeasure. He let out a grunt of pain as the medlab doors closed behind the elder pair of Briefs.
"Do you think they suspect anything?" Vegeta inquired with mild disinterest.
"Nah," Bulma replied as she applied another bandage to his chest. "My mom's too relieved that I'm ok and my dad, though a brilliant man, is generally oblivious to anything that doesn't involve science." Bulma continued dressing Vegeta's wounds for a moment, then said, "I thought you said we shouldn't talk about that . . ."
"Forget I mentioned anything. Nothing happened, remember that," denied Vegeta gruffly.
Bulma pressed a little harder on the wound she was dressing than she was supposed to, reopening the wound and half-soaking the bandage in the warrior's blood.
Vegeta hissed air in through his teeth, "What was that for, woman?"
The blue haired woman's face was impassive, "Nothing. Nothing at all."
Vegeta snorted and stopped complaining.
In the relative silence that followed while Bulma finished bandaging her "hero," she mused aloud, "Why did you even rescue me last night, anyway?"
The Saiyan prince remained silent. He had been asking himself the same thing since he woke up this morning. He still didn't have a good answer, or at least not one he was willing to share. The only one that made sense was that when he returned and got that close to Bulma, the fa'kir he had suppressed for months took him by storm. Imagine that, the Prince of all Saiyans conquered by a hormonal imbalance! There was no way he could admit that to her, or anyone. He must pretend he had intended it all to happen. He must--
"Oh, giving me the silent treatment now, are we?" Bulma accused, pulling a bandage tighter than it needed to go.
"Would you rather I hadn't?" Vegeta snapped back, "I've had all I can stomach of your inane banter! Stop pestering me with your foolish questions, and leave me alone!" He stood up and turned to leave.
"Alright, alright, you've made your point," Bulma acceded, "You had your reasons for rescuing me as much as I did to need rescuing anyway," she gestured back to the medical bench, "You really did a number on yourself while training. Truce?"
He grunted, sat back down, and let her finish wrapping. Vegeta smiled inwardly at his deft avoidance of that unsteady topic. But knowing this vile temptress before him, she likely wouldn't let it rest for long.
Later that day around lunchtime, Yamcha stood at the door of the Briefs' residence, finger poised just in front of the doorbell.
He wasn't sure why he was there, exactly. Maybe it was to apologize for coming over yesterday with Sharly. True, it had been her idea to come over, but he just couldn't seem to say no to her. Even when she'd dumped him last night, he couldn't find a voice to argue.
Who was he kidding? Bulma would just get angrier at him and tell him to go away without giving him a chance to explain. He put his hand in his left pocket, fingered the tiny object he found there, sighed deeply, and turned to leave.
Just then, Mrs. Brief opened the door and almost ran into him. "Oh, Yamcha!" she shrieked, "I was just on my way out for some oranges. Where are my manners? Come on in, we just started lunch!"
Yamcha felt as if she had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Confronted with an open invitation inside, "Thank you, Mrs. Brief, I was starting to feel a little hungry myself," he lied and put on a false grin. It was so hard to deny that cheery woman anything. Maybe that's where Bulma got her attitude from, neatly disguised to normal viewers.
On his way through to the patio on the other side of the house, he met Bulma coming from the medical wing with a slight smile on her face. It faded when she saw him. "Yamcha, what are you doing here?" She put her hands on her hips, "Bring another girlfriend along?" she asked sarcastically.
"No, Bulma, it's not like that," he tried to start, but she just snorted and tried to walk past him. Yamcha grabbed her elbow and turned her around to face him, "Would you please listen? Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I knew it was a bad idea to come over here with her, and I don't know how she talked me into it."
Bulma rolled her eyes, but didn't start wandering away again.
"Come on, I want to make it up to you," Yamcha pleaded, "Could you give me one more chance? How about a date tonight? I've got movie tickets and--"
"Sorry, but I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that," Bulma interrupted.
"Oh no, not that thing about Vegeta being your boyfriend again," Yamcha moaned, his voice exasperated, "I don't believe it. You can't be serious about that!"
"Watch me," she insisted as she crossed her arms, "Vegeta has pride. He's intelligent, determined, he never does anything half-heartedly, and he works constantly. Unlike some people."
"Come on! What has that megalomaniac done for you lately? How do you know he has any feelings for you at all?" Yamcha tried not to beg, but the situation looked bleaker by the second.
"How does saving my life last night sound?"
"What?"
"Brik ambushed me last night and tried to kidnap me," Bulma explained venomously, "If Vegeta hadn't gotten back in time, there would've been a ransom note waiting for my parents when they got back this morning. Not to mention he'd probably would've tried to rape me for good measure."
Yamcha was dumbfounded. His jaw worked up and down, but his brain couldn't think of anything to say.
Just then, Bulma's mother saved him the trouble. "Oh there you two are! Lunch is getting cold, you'd better hurry up!" and she shooed them out onto the patio.
Frustrated by his earlier failure, Yamcha continued to watch Bulma all throughout the meal while trying not to look like it. While the Briefs made conversation and Yamcha piped in once in awhile, he couldn't help but notice Bulma stealing glances in the freshly bandaged Vegeta's direction. Every time she did so, a little smile would come to the corner of her mouth, while the Saiyan blatantly ignored her. Once Vegeta was done with his large amount of food (far faster than everybody else, but not seeming to have eaten quickly), he got up to leave. Yamcha watched as Bulma's eyes hungrily followed after him.
That did it. Yamcha would have to talk her out of her lust for the jerk. He'd just have to catch her after she'd cooled off. Tonight would probably be good.
It was many hours later as Vegeta peered through the bathroom window at the stars. The moon was almost full. He closed his eyes and sighed, wondering how things would've been different had he kept his tail. He wouldn't be here, that was certain. This house probably would have been destroyed along with Kakarot, that brat Gohan, and the rest of this meager planet.
What's done is done, Vegeta told himself. Don't moan about the past or what-if, because there is no way to change it. At least not here and now. That purple-haired Saiyan boy had a time machine, though . . .
Shifting his mind from that time-traveling brat again, he turned to the mirror and appraised his wounds. What would once have taken several days to completely heal were now only minor blemishes on his tanned body. Vegeta had always been a fast healer, but this was beyond his earlier capabilities without the aid of a healing tank. He smiled cunningly. A welcome side effect to being super-Saiyan, no doubt. In light of this development, the warrior left his bandages scattered across the bathroom floor. Bulma would undoubtedly notice, though.
His attention was drawn to the bruised portion of skin where his neck met his shoulder. He certainly hadn't noticed that before . . . Leaning closer to the mirror to get a better look, Vegeta probed the sore spot with his fingers. Was that what he thought it was? Sure enough, he felt and saw the delicate teeth marks that could only have been made by one thing.
Vegeta was stunned. That woman had done a very Saiyan-like thing last night: marking what was hers. Vegeta balked at the thought. She couldn't have known what it meant! She had seemed highly embarrassed at the scratches she had caused him, even covering them up for him. Vegeta tried to remember what Nappa had said about sustaining bite marks while mating. The first time, it declared intention. The next step would be to carry through with the intention often enough to leave a scar . . .
No. He could not become bonded to this woman. She represented a weakness, a crack in his armor.
And, he thought as he stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in his towel, there's no way of avoiding that Bulma woman if she wants something. As if summoned by his earlier thoughts, Bulma herself leaned against the wall directly in front of the door.
"What do you want?" Vegeta asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
"Nothing specific," she answered, standing up straight and moving closer. With her slippers on she was only slightly shorter than the Saiyan, minus the hair. "I just want to talk."
"With me? You must be joking." Vegeta turned away and started walking down the hallway to his room.
"Yes, with you," said Bulma as she followed close behind, "Or would you rather I talk to someone else about your little secret?"
Vegeta stopped in his tracks, unnerved by her use of the word "your," "Don't you mean 'our?'"
Having gotten his attention, Bulma continued walking, "Nope. This one doesn't involve me."
In a flash, he was in front of her, Vegeta's hand planted against the wall, blocking her way.
"What secret?" he snarled menacingly.
"Now if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?" Bulma rejoined smugly and tried to walk back the way they came, but Vegeta's other arm shot out and blocked her escape. Left with no other option, she turned to face her captor, one corner of her mouth slightly raised in what could have been a smirk. She obviously wanted him to ask more questions.
"What do you think you know?" Vegeta said more calmly.
"Well," Bulma started, her breath warm on his cheek, her voice pitched low enough so only his ears could hear, "I was thinking recent events over and came to realize a few things. First, I know you didn't come back here for me, despite whatever romantic ideas my mother may have." As she spoke, she started languidly tracing the lines of the Saiyan's muscles, leaving a wake of fire that had nothing to do with the fa'kir . . . "Second, you still had plenty of fuel and food left in the ship, so you wouldn't have come back to restock before heading out again, unless it was for clothes, which you do seem to tear up on a regular basis. Third, I took a blood sample from you earlier this morning to check your health, and it was different somehow. More efficient, maybe. And now, as I see the wounds that were fresh this morning practically disappeared, it leaves me with one conclusion . . ."
Vegeta's face had remained impassive all this time. He didn't need to ask her the obvious question as she leaned even closer, her lips brushing his earlobe, "You're a super-Saiyan now, aren't you?"
"I don't know where you get these stupid ideas," Vegeta muttered quietly, but he didn't move his arms to let her go. His face would have won easily at poker, as Bulma leaned back from his ear to observe his reaction.
The Saiyan weighed the possible outcomes in his head. He could deny everything, but since he had reacted to her earlier statements, she would know something was up. She would probably carry through with her threat and tell everyone, or at least start the rumor. If he confirmed her claims, though, she would likely be kept happy by her own genius enough to keep her mouth shut. One thing was certain: now was not the time to reveal his power. If Kakarot saw him as a possible threat or someone to compete with, Vegeta might never have a chance to surpass him. If knowledge is power, Vegeta must gain more and keep Kakarot in the dark as long as possible.
Vegeta was in a corner and the only way out was through keeping this woman quiet. Since he couldn't kill her without causing problems, he had to deal with her on her terms.
She was still looking at him, eyes locked with his. She was smiling in that self-righteous way that made his blood boil . . . she was so desirable. An intellect to match his tactical genius. A spirit of fire to rival his own. It was just now that he realized the almost perfect match. Whether he liked it or not, he was now bound to her as she was to him. He knew the bond and hated it.
"And what if I am?" Vegeta finally said in a low voice.
Bulma grinned. "I knew it," she whispered excitedly. Her eyes lit up as if she had just won a battle. If it wasn't for the fact she'd never had a tail, he would have sworn she was another Saiyan.
"What do you want from me?" the Saiyan prince growled.
"Nothing you haven't already given me," Bulma purred slyly and brushed her lips seductively against his. They were warm, soft, moist and oh-so tempting. He felt very warm, but not the urgent fire of fa'kir. This desire was completely normal. First his hormones, now blackmail! It felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on him.
There was only one way out of this.
Damn you, woman, Vegeta thought to himself as he gave in and kissed her full on the lips. She squealed in delight as he took over in passionate aggression, picked her up, and quickly moved the scene into the privacy of Vegeta's room.
Yamcha gazed forlornly through the window to the second-storey hallway. He had seen everything. Bulma had said some words to Vegeta which obviously had him flustered, he said something back which obviously satisfied her. Then she had jumped into his arms. Bulma had never been like that with him . . .
The words from his most recent ex that morning still haunted his mind. Brik had crawled into her apartment, bruised and bloody, and Sharly had run to him, exclaiming over his condition. Yamcha was confused, but she insisted they run to the hospital right then. Yamcha tried to stop her at the door, saying that gorilla deserved whatever he got, but she had pulled away from him in disgust. "I'm sorry, Yamcha. You're a sweet man, but we were just using you to get to Bulma."
It hadn't taken long for Yamcha to asses the situation and his real feelings. That morning, he had known who he really cared for, and he wanted to prove it to her.
His hand dipped into his left pocket and drew out the ring that he had chosen that morning. It bore a large diamond on a slender golden band. It was an engagement ring.
He closed his eyes in such pain, as if Vegeta himself had blown a hole through his heart. A solitary tear left his eye and he sobbed. Even if Yamcha loved Bulma with all his heart, she had never really loved him. It was more a feeling of loyalty to her first boyfriend ever that had kept bringing her back to him, but it had been his denied love that made him keep coming back to her.
This time, he had waited too long. He knew that look in Bulma's eyes as she had set them on Vegeta. She had a new goal, a new obsession, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Her determination was too strong for that.
Yamcha opened his tightly shut eyes once again and realized that he'd been crushing the delicate ring in his hand. The soft gold had deformed to an un-wearable state and the bright stone had bitten into his skin. What a perfect allegory for his life with Bulma.
Unable to take it anymore, he flung the expensive scraps as far as he could into the night, and flew away, heart heavy with anguish. He would never find another woman like her. He had missed his chance all over again.
The End
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