T.I.T.A.N.

- 3 Musky Scent -

Vegeta stood in the middle of a sea of people he didn't know nor care about and who cared even less about him. His titan dress armor chaffed, all sorts of ill-fitting despite the assurance it had been tailored.

The main banquet hall of the FF TITAN was a thing of pure opulence, decorated in the finest fabrics, metals, and artisan-wares the universe had to offer. It was lost on him. He felt numb, watching the night play out before him as if it were his whole life. An endless parade of parties and beatings, wars and humiliation. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter, the same insipid smiles hiding murderous intent.

"Lord Commander, this is your newest recruit?"

Frieza and his alien allies glanced his way, eying him over like a prized beast.

"A fine specimen, commander."

"Yes," Frieza agreed. "I have great plans for that one."

They looked away, turning back to their private conversations. Vegeta used the opportunity to distance himself from their group. He might have to attend the dinner party, but that didn't mean he had to interact with any of them.

As he made his way to the other end of the room, a flash of familiar blue caught his eye. Doing a double-take, he came to halt when he saw the woman — what was her name, Bulma? — standing by the buffet table holding a glass of golden liquid. He almost didn't recognize her. Gone were the scruffy crew overalls and messy curls, replaced with an elegant red dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, while her hair had been styled in a sophisticated bun with a few loose curls coquettishly framing her face. It was only by her unusual hair color and Saiyan-like similarities that he spotted her at all.

What the hell did she think she was doing here?

He made a B-line right for her, shoving aside a large Heranian talking to her.

"Hey!" the turquoise brute complained.

Vegeta turned on him, pointing a gloved finger at the titan symbol on his chest plate. The Heranian balked and wisely made himself scarce.

"Wow. Jealous much?" Bulma asked, smiling at him with amusement. "I didn't think you cared."

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and grabbed her elbow, pulling her over to a corner out of Frieza's line of sight. "You're a fucking stowaway. Do you have a death wish?"

"Hey, I'm not the suicidal one here," she reminded him, sipping her drink cool as could be. "Relax, homeboy, no one's the wiser. You said the commander doesn't hire female crew. Do I look like crew right now?"

"You look…" his voice trailed off as he made the mistake of eying her from close-up. Her dress hugged her figure well. Very well, revealing soft curves and the lovely sight of her skin that looked so much like his own. The dress had a draping scooped neck, only held up by the tiniest of shoe-string straps. Vegeta had the irrational urge to snap it and watch the lush fabric ripple down…

Fuck. What was he thinking? He wasn't accustomed to being around the opposite sex. Such encounters were rare and mostly of the alien variety, the women — if that's what they even were — were often begging for their lives as he exterminated their race to sell off their planet. He barely had the chance to come home and bathe in hot water and the glory of his accomplishments before he was sent on to his next mission. Not enough time to glance at a female Saiyan let alone entertain ideas of doing anything more intimate with one.

Bulma arched a brow. "Well?" she prompted, grinning playfully. "I scrub up nice, don't I?"

He blushed, much to his chagrin, and quickly released her elbow. "I should turn you in."

"You could, but then you'd be no different from them," she replied, tipping her glass towards the room of Frieza's sycophants.

He ground his teeth, fists clenching. Annoyingly, she was right. Reporting her is exactly what was expected of him, but he didn't owe them fuck. What did he care if she was a stowaway?

"…Just don't get caught. I'm not sticking my neck out for you," he grumbled.

She nudged him and grinned. Fuck she was pretty. "Aw, you do have a soft spot for me."

"Tch. You are delusional."

"More hungry, actually. What's good to eat?"

"How should I know?"

She gave him a raised brow. "Isn't all this paid for out of Frieza's pocket?"

…Oh. Clever woman. It never occurred to him to spite the commander by racking up a large supply bill. Vegeta turned and surveyed the food before pointing to a red fist-sized object. "That."

Bulma leaned across him to get a better look. She smelled divine, some kind of floral scent mixed with a softer feminine one that was just her. It was the nicest thing he had smelled in years. "What is it?" she asked.

He corralled his thoughts and said a foreign word. At her baffled look, he added, "It means, Heart of… the Deep." It was as close of a translation as he could manage in the universal tongue.

"Is it expensive?"

He gave her a wolfish grin. "Very."

She grinned back.

A minute later Vegeta had cleared a space in front of the 'hearts' so they could monopolize the platter. Bulma wriggled in right beside him, making him painfully aware of the scant millimeters separating them. She gave the food a distrustful once-over. "They're not actually hearts, right?"

He snorted. "It's a rare fruit."

She picked one up and rolled it about in her hands, bringing it to her nose to sniff the skin. "How do you eat it?"

"What do you mean how do you eat it? You eat it."

"Just bite into it?" she asked, bringing it to her mouth while looking up at him for confirmation.

He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Yes… probably."

"Probably? What do you mean probably? You haven't eaten one?"

"And if I haven't? I still know how to eat food."

She scrunched her nose. "Oh no, nuh-uh. I'm not guinea-pigging this without you, bud. Grab one."

He rolled his eyes but complied, and she counted them down.

"Okay. In three… two… one…!"

They both took a bite, watching each other's reactions. And stopped chewing at the same time.

"It's…" she started to say.

"The most loathsome thing I have ever had the misfortune of placing in my mouth," he finished for her.

"Oh my god yes," Her eyes bulged and she raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh my GOD. It's getting worse! We need to spit it out."

Logically he agreed, but… "I am not spitting in a banquet hall. Do you have any idea the low impression these people already have of me and my kind?"

"Then you won't be disappointing anyone, will you?" she said, grabbing an empty glass and daintily spitting the foul fruit into it. "Oh that's so much better. Here, no one's looking." She handed him the cup. He grimaced, glancing around. His mouth was tasting like rotting meat. Disgusted by it and the whole debacle, he spat the offensive mouthful into the glass and placed it at the end of table.

"So let's never ever do that again," she said.

He silently agreed. Both their eyes drifted back to the horrific hearts.

"…Just how expensive are they?"

"That plate is worth more than my planet," he grumbled.

"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard… You wanna drop them off the deck?"

"You want me to participate in something as asinine and wasteful as dropping the galaxy's rarest fruit off a balcony?"

"Yes." Her eyes twinkled playfully.

He smirked and felt something he hadn't in a long while: excitement.

~xox~

The hearts made the most satisfying squelches as they impacted with the lower deck, made all the more gratifying to know that it was wasting Frieza's wealth. The din of the party was a muted white-noise behind them as they took turns dropping the fruit over the railing. Bulma cheered and laughed, the sound of her voice infectious. Charming. Vegeta caught himself casting long sideways looks as she leaned over the railing to watch the plummeting missiles. It also afforded him a nice view of the back of her dress, or rather lack of one, the dress scooped low to reveal the entire expanse of her porcelain skin, with dimples on her lower back where a tail would have been if she were Saiyan. Vegeta swallowed thickly and turned his attention back to their childish game to calm his thundering heart.

"So what are your people called?" she asked.

"Saiyans."

"Oh, I think I've heard that name about. I'm human."

"Never heard of it."

"No, don't suppose you would've. Do Saiyans have a bad reputation or something?"

"Or something."

He lobbed a heart all the way across the deck where it shattered against the dome in a mist of juice.

"Whoa. Nice arm," she complimented.

He picked up another heart and rolled it about in his hands; there were only a couple left. He didn't want to return to the party once they ran out.

"So," she said, breaking the brief silence. "When do you become a full-fledged titan?"

He scowled, not answering right away. Bulma dropped the second-to-last heart off the deck, letting him answer in his own time.

"It'll take place when this ship arrives at my home-world. It is customary for an initiate's final rite of passage to be completed at his place of birth, if possible, to signify a new beginning. A re-birth."

"Ah. What does that entail?"

"I do not know. It is a closely guarded secret known only to Frieza and his titans." Knowing them, whatever the final rite was would be unpleasant. They'd already taken his tail, what further humiliation would they make him endure, this time in front of an audience.

"How did you get wrapped up in all of this?"

He shrugged. "The Lord Commander, who else? What better way to control my people than to keep its prince leashed at his side?"

She turned around, leaning back against the railing to get a better view of him. "But you don't want to be a titan." It wasn't a question.

His mouth thinned. "It doesn't matter what I want. I will do what is necessary for my people." He dropped the last heart in his hand and watched it splat, the novelty having soured some.

They were out of hearts and excuses to be absent from the hall. Bulma watched the dignitaries mill and socialize inside. "Who are all these people anyway?" she asked. "Anyone fun?"

He glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. "Hardly."

"Then let's blow this place. Wanna go to a real party?"

He gave her an incredulous look but it quickly became apparent she wasn't joking. She was really inviting him to skip Frieza's dinner and go somewhere else. He could already hear his father's warning, see Frieza's disapproving moue, feel the pain of some punishment lavished upon him if caught. And yet he couldn't stop a burning ache growing inside him, swelling bigger and bigger until he couldn't contain it, like the great ape wanting to break free.

She must have seen the desire in his eyes because she didn't wait for his answer, taking his hand. "C'mon. You look like you could use a good drink, and this place is watering its booze like nobody's business."

"I don't drink."

"We'll get you a nice juice then. Whatever floats your boat. But we're definitely going to bail on this snooze-fest. You've only got a few more weeks of freedom, right? Let's live a little. Be a bad man for once."

He scoffed, but when she tugged on his hand, he followed. They went back into the hall and wove through the crowd, making for the exit. His heart was racing. He looked around and spotted Frieza and his father still far on the other side of the room, lost in their own conversations. They wouldn't notice him gone.

He and Bulma were almost at the exit when—

"Vegeta."

Fuck. Zarbon. Of all the fucking people to run into. Vegeta winced and reluctantly turned around.

Zarbon eyed him and Bulma with predatory black eyes. "Who's this, little prince?" he growled.

Vegeta squeezed her hand in what he hoped she would understand to be a silent warning. Bulma squeezed back and offered Zarbon a beguiling smile, wrapping her free hand elegantly over Vegeta's forearm. Irrationally, it made him want to stand up just a little bit taller.

"I'm Bulma. Pleasure to meet you, Titan. Are you one of Vegeta's friends?"

Zarbon's eyes trailed over her soft blue hair and lack of a tail, his gaze narrowing perceptively. "Vegeta doesn't have friends. I am his superior."

Bulma laughed — just a little too loud — as if hearing the drollest joke. "Oh my gosh, you titans are all such a riot!" She swatted her hand playfully at him and spoke in that overly-loud, overly-joyful way people did after having too much to drink. As she leaned back, she teetered on her heels and caught her balance on Vegeta's arm.

Oh, that clever minx. She was putting on an act.

"Vegeta — wait, that is your name, isn't it honey? — Yes, this strapping gentleman here is helping me back to my room under Miley's orders."

"Miley?" Zarbon drawled, not buying it.

"Oh, you know Miley. MILEY! MILEY, YOO-HOO!" Bulma shouted across the room, jumping on her tip-toes and waving obscenely in the air. Vegeta squeezed her hand in warning. She was laying it on way too thick.

Zarbon turned to survey the crowd, and suddenly went very stiff. Someone was waving back. Not just someone, fucking Milonius, the emperor of planet Brench. Vegeta eyed Bulma with renewed awe. Just who the fuck was this woman that she was rubbing shoulders with one of Frieza's top allies?

Zarbon must have thought the same for he looked back at them like he had swallowed a frog. "I beg your pardon, miss. Sorry for holding you up."

Bulma giggled and lightly patted his chest, making Vegeta scowl for some unknown reason. "Oh don't be silly, there's no harm done. Actually, be a love and keep this between just us, won't you? I would hate to upset Mrs. Miley. She's such a delicate thing."

Zarbon nodded, blushing. "Of course." His eyes moved over to Vegeta and his lip curled. "Don't just stand there, initiate. See the young woman is safely escorted back to her room."

"Yes, Titan."

Vegeta helped 'drunken' Bulma out of the banquet hall. Once they were safely out of sight, she let him go and pulled off her heels, laughing. He pretended not to feel the loss of her touch. "Did you see the look on his face? I think he almost shat himself when the old codger waved back!"

Yes, he would treasure that look of horror on Zarbon's face for the rest of his life. "You are certifiably insane," he told her. "How the fuck do you know the emperor of Brench?"

"I don't," she laughed, plucking the pins out from her hair to let her long blue locks fall over her bare shoulders. "I mean, I only met the lecher tonight over the buffet. He and his cronies were complaining that the FF TITAN isn't pushing its engines fast enough, to which I had to interject because hello! We're approaching the Atlantikos Cloud which has trillions of icy planet-sized comets bouncing around. But I guess Miley was more interested in dissecting my décolletage than space travel regulations, so I excused myself."

Vegeta scoffed, shaking his head with amazement. As they neared a crossways, it occurred to him he had no idea where they were going. He slowed down.

Bulma finished unpinning her hair and came to a stop with him, her pretty face framed in a wild sea of teal. He felt suddenly nervous to be alone with her like this. This was unchartered waters. He was at a disadvantage.

"Having second thoughts?" she asked, dangling her heels on one finger while her other hand slipped into his.

His heart did a funny little flip flop. "No."

She gave him a wink and he followed her down a path he had never been before.

~xox~

The sound of raucous laughter and wild music filled the bowels of the ship. It was hot and stuffy. Bulma could already feel her skin start to prickle in sweat. She glanced at her companion. Vegeta must have been roasting in his armor.

They reached the door and she rapped her knuckles against it in a precise pattern. The door opened and they were allowed inside.

Now this was a party, a chaotic explosion of smoke, noise, and colorful beings shouting, drinking, dancing, and engaging in all manner of games and… other activities that Bulma politely looked away from lest she learn more about alien anatomy than was keen to know right now. This was where the crew and less prestigious passengers of the FF TITAN could cut lose from the oppressive regulations of their 'superiors'.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

Vegeta looked around the room, his face stern and hard to read. She started to grow worried, thinking he didn't approve.

"It's a bit like home," he finally admitted, then added, "Less blood though."

She arched a brow, not entirely sure if he was joking or not. Still, he hadn't disapproved so she led him further inside. Suddenly the music stopped and one by one, everyone turned to stare at them, or rather, him. His body language changed in an instant, growing tense and on guard. Murmurs of 'titan' echoed in the silence.

Damnit, his stupid armor.

"Pick me up," she whispered to him.

"What?" He didn't look at her, refusing to take his eyes off the threatening bodies around him.

"We need to show you're one of them. Pick me up, sit us down, and put me in your lap."

He finally slid his gaze to her, dark eyes calculating her plan. The tension in the room mounted. Just when she was about to throw a heel at him, he huffed and relented, scooping her up bridal-style. He did it with such ease she felt suddenly very weak-kneed.

Vegeta carried her to a vacant chair and they sat, Bulma settled in his lap and her arms wrapped about his neck to complete the charade. Everyone in the room gradually grew bored of staring and went back to their own business. The music started up, and the party went on.

Bulma let out a shaky breath. "Phew. Sorry about that. I should have realized they wouldn't welcome a titan."

"Not one yet."

"Well we know that, but to them? Initiate, titan, same difference." She sat up, eying him over. "Are you wearing anything under this?"

He was still tense, scowling at the room, his hands flexing anxiously on her waist. "Just an undershirt," he growled.

"That'll do. Let's take this off."

He gave the room one last wary glower before starting to unbuckle his chest armor. Bulma watched. "Why are you even wearing this ugly getup? I much preferred you in the other suit."

His chest puffed up at that, a small approving smile ghosting his mouth. "You have good taste."

"Don't I know it."

"For what it's worth, I'm not wearing this by choice."

"Orders from above?"

He grimaced in silent confirmation. Jeez, what part of his life wasn't governed by someone else? They had him on a tighter chain than most guard dogs.

"Here, let me help," she offered, pulling off his left glove.

"Wait—"

Too late. She gasped, her eyes going wide. "Oh, wow… are you kidding me?"

They both stared at his hand.

It was heavily tattooed, absolutely covered in the most astounding designs. Hand tattoos weren't uncommon, many of Frieza's warriors and titans had them to showcase their achievements, but the approved designs were sparse and geometric, similar to the empire's alphabet. Vegeta's were on a whole other level. It was Monet next to a child's finger-paintings. There was no comparison.

Pulling off his other glove, she let out a little "oh" at seeing his right hand just as dramatically marked. Vegeta said nothing, strangely submissive, letting her run her thumbs along the intricate swirls that danced up his fingers, over the backs of his hands and slipped inside his sleeves.

"Holy crap, how far up do these go?"

He leaned back, pulling off his armor in one smooth movement, setting it down on the floor by their chair. He wore a thin cream undershirt over his densely muscled torso that stuck to his skin with sweat. He pushed up the sleeves so she could see his tattoos which reached all the way up to his elbows.

"I am the most accomplished among my people," he told her.

From the extent of his tattoos, she could believe it. She took his arms and turned them over to examine the designs. "My god. They're really beautiful."

Something passed over his face, a flash of appreciation in his eyes he couldn't quite suppress. "They are traditional to my people," he confided softly. "Frieza outlawed them when he came into power, but I insisted on having them done in secret."

She stroked his palms with reverence. "That's why you wear gloves?"

He nodded. "Mostly. Though they are useful for punching things."

"Like windows?" she teased.

He gave her a reproachful look. "Do not start that again."

She threw him a cheeky grin and he actually smiled back. Slowly, he started moving his fingers against hers. His touch sent tendrils of electricity throughout her. Peeling off his armor had somehow revealed the man beneath. She nestled closer against him now that it was comfortable to do so, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She could smell him, a musky scent that was rich and pleasant and stirred up an ache in her primitive self. She continued mapping his tattoos with her fingers.

"Do all of these represent death?"

He was silent for a while, weighing his words carefully. "Many do," he finally confessed. "But each one means one less of my own people had to die."

Her chest constricted at his words. His existence was a sad one. Kill or be killed. The truth of it was written like vines on his arms.

"What's your home-world like?"

"Desert mostly. Red. With spiring mountains, and vast oases of green water. It is a hard planet, but we are a hard people." He looked down at her, watching their fingers caress one another in a slow tentative dance. "The gravity is intense. I do not think you should disembark the TITAN when we arrive."

"You just don't want me snooping about your home."

"I'm serious, Bulma. The gravity there is ten times as strong as the modulators on this ship. Unless you want to look like those hearts we splattered on the deck, you should find another planet to sneak off to."

"Noted," she said, feeling a moment's sadness at the idea that they would part ways come his planet.

He threaded his fingers with hers, and she admired the stark contrast of her pale skin next to his tanned tattooed hand.

Suddenly he stiffened, his gaze sliding to the left. She followed his line of sight as two large insect-like aliens — Arlians — approached, eyeing him and his armor on the ground. He placed his free hand at the small of her back — hot skin on skin — in a surprisingly protective gesture.

"This's our table, Titan," one the Arlians spat.

She tried to smooth the situation over. "Hey fellas, there's plenty of tables to go around—"

"Don't see your names on it," Vegeta cut her off, looking directly at them in challenge.

They made unhappy clicking sounds. One slammed its arms on the table, leaning in to eyeball Vegeta up and down. "Don't look so tough to me. All those rumors about titans are a crock of shit."

The corner of Vegeta's mouth curled up. He gently set Bulma down and pushed her behind his chair, never taking his eyes off the Arlian as he leaned forward, not the least intimidated. "Care to test that theory?"

Bulma watched, and she wasn't the only one. Those nearby had taken notice and were waiting to see how the scene would unfold.

"Five dowels says the Arlian takes the titan," someone near her whispered.

She scoffed. Sure, the Arlian was twice Vegeta's size, but she had seen him rip apart metal like a lion did a gazelle. "I'll take that bet."

Vegeta and Arlian sized each other up. "Well?" Vegeta sneered. "All bark and no bite. Typical."

The Arlian hissed and swept everything off the table to shatter on the floor. "I'm going to take you down, Titan."

Vegeta grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

~xoXox~

AN: Who's taking bets?