Concerto Seventeen: Propositions and Admissions (NSFW)

A/N: Is that lemon Pine-Sol I smell?!

oooOOOooo

The following fact stained the inside of Vegeta's teeth with cigarette ashes, and no matter how many times he washed them with his tongue, he couldn't get rid of the bitter taste: the cello section, minus Yamcha, didn't sparkle and shine like it once had.

It pained him to admit it –cruelly painfully so- and he would never let the vile admission cross the threshold of his lips. For all he cared, Yamcha could burn in hell. He had disrespected him in front of his entire orchestra, and he had almost claimed the beauty that was Bulma's freedom (which Vegeta wasn't sure if he should actually be thanking the man for). Either way, Yamcha would never hear the satisfaction of Vegeta giving a damn about him returning or not. Absolutely no way in hell.

But there was something missing as he danced his arms to and fro in front of the members of the orchestra, letting their music serenade him as he guided them in the milky waters of the second page. He could taste every sharp raise of each note that blew in his direction like purple wind, and no matter how sweet the melody sounded, there was something unfulfilling that brewed in his belly.

The empty chair in the cellist section -which Vegeta hadn't bothered to fill yet- was haunted with images of the shaggy haired man and his dimming light bulb of a grin, holding his cello close and playing to race the impressive tempo of Tien. It was their dynamic that added to the reason of why Vegeta had never let Yamcha take first chair. Some people, as Vegeta discovered, needed some sort of motivation to be their absolute best. For Yamcha, it was the finish line that he would never cross, the trophy that he would never hold. It made the music as sharp as the edge of a sword, and Vegeta was beginning to miss the bleeding cuts that would litter his face after he circled his hands to a finish. Without the man there, although it was a lot quitter and less annoying, the music did just not have that certain bite.

Which was why Vegeta was standing on his podium, his face cloudy with a storm, his arms folded across his chest from having stopped the rehearsal abruptly. He could tell they were annoyed with him, especially with their concentrated faces focused so heavily on the papers before them, but he really did not care. He required their perfection, and his ears were telling him clearly that they were falling short.

He grinded his teeth together and felt a deep rumble causing a tornado in his chest. In a low tone, he barked out, "Again. From the beginning."

Moans escaped the adults in the room as they shuffled in their sheets. He could feel his cheeks burn with their heated stares, but he was determined to not get smoldered. After all, they had seen what their options were if they didn't want to play by his rules.

"Is there a problem?" He asked rhetorically, not wanting to hear their gripes. "The last time I checked, this was an orchestra, not a babysitting service for your tempers."

"There is a problem," 18 bit harshly, her icicles for eyes glaring at him, "And it's looking directly at me. Surely you can't ask us to play it again, even though it's damn near perfect."

"Says who?" Vegeta snarled, not liking the tone of her voice, "If it was perfect, I wouldn't spend so many hours grueling over this play through. I have better things to do with my time."

"Well what's wrong with it?" She narrowed her eyes, a challenge. "If it's so bad, then tell us what we need to work on. Otherwise you're just making us drive around in circles. And quite frankly, I'm getting bored."

Vegeta felt his irritation rev up, like a car being accelerated while parked, and he was about to let the anger curl over the edges of his skin. He sputtered, wanting to give her a proper reply, but each trail led to the absence of Yamcha. They weren't off key, the notes weren't falling over each other, and everyone stayed in their place while giving support to each other. But it didn't sound remarkable, and Vegeta wouldn't settle for less than remarkable. He wasn't telling them that, especially not the cold eyed woman staring him down.

"Yeah Vegeta," Goku scratched his head, raising an eyebrow in question towards the podium, "I don't get why we keep going over it again. I mean, you said it was perfect before. What changed?"

"Do you think it's because Yamcha is gone?" Krillin tried to unsuccessfully lean over and whisper to 18, but Vegeta had his eyes on him before the sentence could escape his lips. "It does sound slightly different without an extra cello player."

"Then he shouldn't have thrown a tantrum," Tien proved that Krillin was a terrible whisperer as he spoke, uncaring that his voice was at a normal speaking level, "Don't get me wrong, a piece of the puzzle is missing here, but that doesn't mean that it needs to be filled by Yamcha specifically."

"Awhhh don't be like that, Tien," Goku pleaded, "He could turn it around, you know."

"Yeah," Krillin agreed, giving up on speaking for the dead to hear, "I think the guy is just going through a lot and got caught up in the storm of things. Give him time."

"Inexcusable," Tien folded his arms, but Vegeta didn't miss the look that flashed over the man's features. He was being tough, justifiably so, but he could tell that Tien liked their musical dynamic as well. "We all go through things. It doesn't mean you shit on the ones who are always down to help you."

"I'm just saying, Tien, maybe-"

"Enough with this chatter!" Vegeta's voice echoed through the hall, cutting off Krillin. His forehead throbbed with the regret of this debate. "I don't give a damn about Yamcha. Nor do I want to stand here and listen to the unpopular opinions of any of you. Despite the fact that you all have the honor to be playing in this orchestra, this is still a job. A job that you all should be fighting to be the best at, not painting each other's toes and talking about ghosts! So tell me what's more important to you: Yamcha acting like a clown, or getting this piece together for the concert? Or have you all just forgotten about the scout from Broadway coming?"

The reminder caused them to straighten their backs and regain their posture, their lips closing off their protests. Vegeta relaxed his shoulders, relieved to see them getting back to the atmosphere that he needed to create again. "Let's get one thing straight, scout or not, I will not have my name soiled with lackluster playing. So if I say that we need to practice again, then we're practicing again. I didn't make it this far by coddling my orchestra when they were too tired. I am not your mother, and I am not here to pat you on the back and send you into the world with juice and crackers. And if any of you even want a chance to get to the level I'm at, then you need to put in the time and dedication in to perfecting your craft, no matter how done you think you are. If not, don't even think about blinking in the direction of this Broadway scout."

The room was blanketed with their silence, and even 18 had directed her eyes back to her stand, although her jaw was tight. Vegeta felt a powerful wave wash over him with satisfaction, even though his tongue burned with the words that he didn't say. Krillin was right after all, but it would be a cold day in hell before Vegeta found himself asking dogs to bark for him.

The sounds of clapping created a thunderstorm in the theater, causing everyone to turn towards the entrance. Vegeta's annoyed facial expression tightened into a shock, and he grabbed onto his stand to ready his composure.

"What a wonderful speech, Vegeta!" The person was leaning against the door, the clapping decreasing until it faded out into soft touchings of skin. "You sound so authorative!"

A few mumbles were shared within the orchestra, but Vegeta was unable to pay attention to them. His stomach met his feet and he swallowed, wishing that this wasn't happening in a place he had stamped as a safe zone. The person laughed, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the podium.

"Oh don't look like that, Vegeta. I promise I'm here on good terms."

The statement melted away the frozen edge of Vegeta's posture, causing him to clench his teeth. "There's nothing good about seeing you, Zarbon."

Zarbon laughed, throwing his silky green hair over his shoulder. His eyes glinted with a dangerous humor towards Vegeta, his irises the color of spitfire. "That's not really fair, don't you think?" He threw his arms up to show his lack of a threat, his pearly white teeth lighting up the room, "You haven't even given me a chance. I only came to talk."

Vegeta grit his teeth and found his chest poking out with vengeance. As he watched the light shine over the gold in Zarbon's earring, he could only see images of the man cornering Bulma in the grocery store, threating her life in a (not so) subtle way. It made him burn with a rage that he didn't know he was capable of, like a rabid animal defending its territory. His intense feelings for Bulma made him realize how far he was willing to go to keep her safe as he envisioned taking Zarbon out here and now.

"So what will it be, Vegeta? Do you want to have this conversation right here? Or should we take it outside where it's a bit more…private?" A hint of mischief shone in Zarbon's eyes, making Vegeta's blood run icily cold. For a brief moment, his mind wandered to Bulma, wondering just how she would take it when she learned that he was killed by Zarbon. Vegeta was no punk, and his father had made it his mission to make sure his sons were not picked over mongrels, but he was kidding himself if he thought taking Zarbon on wouldn't lead to his own demise.

So he nodded his head and stepped down from the podium, ignoring the questioning faces of the orchestra that lingered behind. He could hear their whispers, taste their theories about what was taking place, and even heard Goku question whether it was all right or not if he went out there with him. Vegeta growled and yelled over his shoulder, "Take a break. Drink some water and hydrate yourselves. And when I return, I expect we will have better results."

He didn't say it aloud, but the phantom thought of, If I return echoed in his head as he exited the theater doors behind Zarbon.

oooOOOooo

Not even the cool shade of shadows in the alleyway could douse the fire coursing through Vegeta's veins.

He studied Zarbon with a furious gaze, watching as the man propped himself against the brick wall of the theater and lit a cigarette, the green undertones of his skin glinting even through the shade the building provided. He inhaled and locked his eyes with Vegeta, the indents of his mouth curving upwards into a deceptive grin. He looked like a snake; a grotesque lizard that Vegeta would rather stomp with the heel of his boot rather than disgrace his eyes further.

"You could at least loosen up, Vegeta," he teased in that effeminate voice of his. "I already told you I'm not here to bite you. I'm sure that can happen some other time, if that beautiful creature would allow it," he licked his lips suggestively, his eyes inviting Vegeta into some sort of dangerous game.

Vegeta felt like he was about to explode. Zarbon knew how to toy with his anger, using his lean physique and soft figure to appear harmless, but Vegeta knew better. Zarbon was ruthless, the top minion that Frieza liked to send out to do his business. He was sharp and witty, and his methods of producing results were nothing short of malicious. Vegeta knew the familiarity of Zarbon's torment, and he refused to get stung by it. "Save your bullshit, Zarbon. Get to the purpose of you being here. Frieza said he wasn't going to bother me until it was time to collect his money. I still have time."

"And Frieza is a man of his word," Zarbon blew out white wisps of smoke into the sky, watching as it curled rhythmically around the wind, "He would never go against his final word. After all, what good is a man if he doesn't abide by his word? Surely you know this." He laughed wickedly and stared downwards at Vegeta, a secret playing in his eyes. "So that has nothing to do with my visit today, in fact, I just so happen to come with a solution."

"A solution." Vegeta repeated the words, letting the acidity of them stain his tongue. "There's only one of two solutions Frieza would send you here for. I won't beg for my life."

"My, my," Zarbon shook his head and sucked on the stick of his cigarette, "How dramatic. It's clashes with that whole broody thing you've got going on, Vegeta. I must admit, it's your most endearing quality, so don't tarnish that. I'm not even in the mood to get my hands dirty. Red just doesn't go with my outfit today," he pulled on his gold blazer, the tousles hanging from his shoulders dancing along with him. "But if you're just dying to have me touch you, perhaps we can work out something else-"

Vegeta growled with a warning and Zarbon threw his head back and laughed, the sounds coming out as words.

"There it goes, the broodiness that just gets my blood boiling. If only your father had your charms, perhaps things would have ended differently, no? Either way, wipe that look off of your face and listen up, my little fire flame. Frieza would like to discuss a proposition with you. A business proposition."

"What kind of business?," Vegeta's belly burned with the knowledge of Zarbon's undertone, but he played in his hands anyways.

"The kind that can erase your little debt problem. If you ask me, it's like a coupon for you. A one-time use only coupon that is."

Vegeta blinked away in disbelief. Business with Frieza that could eliminate this dark cloud all together? It sounded too good to be true, and other than Bulma being in his life, he had learned early on that it usually meant that it was.

"….What is he asking of me, Zarbon?"

"Well that is out my expertise, Vegeta," Zarbon pulled himself away from the wall and stomped out his cigarette, carefully making sure that his boot did not become scuffed, "So I suggest that you visit Frieza at his office. You remember the place, right? I'm sure your daddy mentioned it quite a few times." He smiled widely at Vegeta, like he was dying to tell the punchline to a joke that only he found amusing. Vegeta bit down on his jaw with the weight of a brick, causing his teeth to cry in pain. He loosened his jaw, but the dark expression that painted his face remained, threatening to swallow Zarbon whole.

"Well, I'd best be going. My dry cleaning won't do itself. It's all fun and games until the blood ruins your favorite cardigan," he frowned sincerely as if Vegeta was supposed to pity him, "I suppose I should really think about buying a wardrobe that is stain resistant. These jobs can be overwhelming, you understand?"

"No," Vegeta bit harshly, forcing the words out through the prison gates of his teeth, "I don't know anything about that."

Zarbon grinned and shrugged his shoulders, his gaze locked in the center of Vegeta's pupils. "A pity. Who knows what the future holds for you?" He let his eyes stay focused on Vegeta as he walked past him and towards the street, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes. Vegeta watched him from behind, his vision the shade of red. Like hell he was going to visit Frieza. Zarbon could take his information and shove it up his-

"Oh, and Vegeta?" Zarbon ceased his walking, looking over his shoulders and raising his glasses, "Don't think that you can stand Frieza up with this meeting. I'd stake your life on him declaring the manner rude. At the very least, you can hear him out." He shaded his eyes again and grinned, enjoying the look of rage that enveloped Vegeta's face. And then he sauntered off, the clicks of his boots combating the pavement, the stains of his nicotine words ringing in Vegeta's ears.

oooOOOooo

The outskirts of South City were desolate at best; a ghostly reminder of a place that used to thrive.

Now the tattered buildings groaned with warning to outsiders, the orange sands of the roads engraved with the footprints of those who called the place home, and violently made sure it stayed that way. It contrasted the city Vegeta knew comfortably, but his father had raised him to have leather skin and steel bones, even if that meant stepping into the devil's pit.

Even if that meant having a dance with him too.

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he drove over the rocky terrain, clutching his steering wheel tighter. What Frieza wanted with him he didn't know, but avoiding him all together would as wise as kissing the barrel of a loaded gun. His foot pressed down heavier on the accelerator, a sudden surge of anxiety weighing through his body. In that moment, for the slightest of a second, Vegeta felt pity for himself.

Why, he wondered with contempt, couldn't he have just been able to live his days peacefully? Why did the sins of his father reign down on him in judgment, casting him into some sort of wicked damnation? Why couldn't he just immerse himself in the ocean of music, bathing freely in the blue kissed waters of Bulma, and carry out his destiny as he so chose?

Vegeta was beginning to think life was a cruel joke, and Frieza seemed to be the jester telling it.

Reality struck him like a flash of lightning and he straightened his posture, taking a deep breath. Any trace of doubt left his face, replaced by a serious scowl. Worrying wouldn't do him any good, even though for the first time in a long time, Vegeta had a reason to care about the breaths he took and how he took them.

He parked his car at an abandoned strip mall and walked towards the alley, making his way through an unexpected bustle of civilians. They ceased their talks as he approached, their eyes following his movements as he made his way past a few shop stands advertising various foods. He could feel the stares that watched him from the rusted shutters of the buildings, speaking in hushed tones. He even heard a slip of Frieza's name as he reached his destination of a black door, hiding through a narrow crack in the walls.

The echoes of his knocking paraded around his ears, and he was instantly met with a cold pair of black eyes through the peek hole, a deep rumble of a laugh emerging through the other side of the door. It opened swiftly, and before Vegeta could raise an eyebrow, he was pulled inside, his body becoming washed in the purple lights of the room.

Frieza's lair was dark with mischief; an eerie green bulb glowing over a pool table where several of his workers were fumbling with their sticks. They stopped and looked at Vegeta as he entered, their faces smiling deviously.

"Well, well, I didn't think he'd come so soon," the man said from behind him, circling around Vegeta, "Zarbon delivered that message only a few hours ago."

Vegeta scowled, watching as the man's smile disappeared behind his fat, grotesque face. His oily skin reflected the purple and green lights in an obscene way, a visible lack of bodily care evident in his body odor and warts that littered his face.

"He's punctual, Dodoria," one of the pool players remarked darkly, "He's nothing like his father."

"Indeed," Dodoria smiled, showing off his yellowed teeth proudly, "Nothing like his father at all. I can see why Frieza is interested. We like punctuality over here. Waiting gives us ideas, after all," he chuckled, earning deep laughs from his comrades. Vegeta swallowed his retaliation of words, knowing that his sharp tongue would only produce self-inflicted wounds.

"I came to see Frieza, so I would appreciate it if you took me to him," Vegeta tried to mask his irritation, but it seeped through the pores of his face, invading his mouth. He was happy his teeth weren't made of glass, that way they didn't break as he slammed his jaw down with uncontrollable weight.

"So eager to see him, are we?" Dodoria smiled toothily and turned his back to Vegeta, glancing at him over his shoulder. "You sure you want to be in a rush?"

Vegeta growled but did not respond, letting his words build in his mouth until he thought he was going to choke. He followed the obese man past the group of pool players, ignoring their condescending glares and quiet chuckles. Each step taken felt like a knife wound to the back, and each swallowed remark he made only deepened the cut until the pain ached dully in his bones.

Dodoria led him down a spiral staircase to a basement, the lights above blinking sporadically, bringing the old and tattered wall paint to focus. Vegeta clenched his fists as they reached an iron door, heavily guarded by a security system. Dodoria punched in some elaborate code and pressed his finger to the scanner, causing it to open slightly. He leaned against the frame and smiled down to Vegeta, nodding his head towards the entryway. "Go ahead," he said in a raspy, deep voice, "The boss is waiting for you."

A red glow possessed the room by way of a crystal chandelier, drowning it entirely in blood. Frieza sat at a black desk, his hands folded neatly under his chin, the white fabric of his suit snuggly fitting his body. His lips were darkened to the skin of an eggplant, dramatically contrasting his snow covered skin, the indents curving into a perfectly planted smile, oozing with poison.

"Well, hello Vegeta," he purred whimsically, the reds of his eyes intensifying under the lights, "How delightful for you to come," he motioned his hand towards a black chair in front of the desk, and Vegeta felt as if he were asking him to sit over a pit of flames. "Won't you have a seat? I wouldn't want you uncomfortable."

The sugar in Frieza's voice made Vegeta's stomach churn. He could see his reflection burning in the pits of Frieza's devilish eyes. For a second longer than he would have liked, Vegeta felt the fear that slept in the spaces of Frieza's name. "I'll stand," he croaked out, folding his arms across his chest to keep himself steady.

"Oh hoh," Frieza chortled, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands behind his head. "Why so serious, Vegeta? I'm sure Zarbon informed you that this was a friendly visit, no?"

"I somehow doubt that you want to have a friendly conversation with me."

"How rude," Frieza's face smoothened out to a stone wall, but his eyes danced with the humor of a demon, threatening to pierce its fangs into Vegeta. "To call me a liar in my own domain. You are most certainly like your father in that regard."

The knife twisted further into Vegeta's back as he watched the joy of being coy spread across Frieza's face. His anger was sprinkling into sand, threatening to break the foundation of the walls to his sanity. He wondered in that moment if he was standing in the same spot his father was in when he begged Frieza for more time, more mercy.

His father was a fool.

"Well, how about I make this short then? I wouldn't want to waste your time; you are a busy man, after all." Frieza's normal shrill voice lowered, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Thanks to your imbecile of a father, I was shortened out of a lot of money, a debt you so generously took on." A face splitting grin spread over his features like a slow leak until his face was full of amusement. "I suppose that must be hard for you, having to pick up daddy's tab, especially after all of the money he left you went up in smoke. Such a pity, having to climb another man's mountain when you can't even make it past the first rock. I can't imagine that being easy for you."

Frieza stood and circled his desk, his hands planted firmly behind his back. He leaned against the front of the black wood, standing impossibly straight. "But I can make that all go away like ash in the wind. You see, I am a fair man, and I try to make sure that all who work for me are happy. After all, positive results are only gained when your team is thrilled to work for you."

"I don't work for you."

"Not yet." Frieza held up a finger, his tongue emphasizing his syllables. "And if you agree to this job I offer you, then I will consider you debt cleared and your slate wiped clean."

"And just what is this job?"

"A simple one that even you can do. I know that brain of yours is just full of notes and music and songs, but this is so delightfully plain that you shouldn't spontaneously combust. You see, I'm trying to expand, Vegeta. The money that I once made here just won't do." A deliciously sinful smile stole Frieza's mouth and he walked slowly towards Vegeta, a hint of mischief playing in his eyes. "I've discovered that - after quite a bit of research on my end- the very important person attending your concert is a talent scout from Broadway. Isn't that something?"

"What are you getting at, Frieza?"

"Don't be so impatient, Vegeta. It's extremely childish, don't you agree? Well, the rumor is that he's specifically scouting you," he pointed an accusatory finger at him, "And with your divine talent, I'm almost certain that you'll get the job. New York City is such a large playground, isn't it? The perfect place to expand my business. And with your help, I can soon have it in the palm of my hands!"

"What makes you think," Vegeta grit his teeth, "That I would ever help you?"

Frieza laughed heartedly, as if Vegeta had just entertained him with a comedic banter. "What better way to make your debt disappear, Vegeta? It's a fair compromise, especially on my part. It's not like I'm asking you to kill someone, I just want you to distribute samples of my delicacies. Think of all the other important people you'll be subjected to. I've always heard that art is fueled by a brain under the influence. It's simple, really."

Simple really. Vegeta's ears threatened to bleed at the casual tone of Frieza's words. There was no confirmation that Vegeta was going to be hand selected by the scout - even if he had heard that he was a big contender for the spot – and if it were the case, then Frieza was out of his mind if he believed Vegeta would market his drugs for him. The mere idea of doing Frieza a personal favor made an uncomfortable weight anchor down in his chest, but he managed to keep it afloat. "I refuse," he said flatly, carefully enunciating each syllable.

Frieza's face darkened immediately, the final remnants of a smile dissolving from his features altogether, and he narrowed his eyes in Vegeta's direction. "Is that so? You haven't even heard my proper offer."

"I don't care," Vegeta swallowed as he took in Frieza's transformation of faces, but he stood firmly in his composure, "I refuse. You'll get your money before I ever work for you."

"Hmm, interesting," the indents in Frieza's mouth began to pull upward, "Well, it is your choice in the matter anyways, isn't it? If that is your preferred method, then I will oblige by your wishes. We can just stuck to our original business. Speaking of which, it seems that I've gotten a slip of the brain and have forgotten how much you owe me. Dodoria?"

Instantly, the door creaked open and the obese man stepped through, the floorboards groaning under his heavy weight, his sweaty cheeks tinted pink from his movements.

"Dodoria, what is the amount of money that Vegeta's daddy owed me? Be sure to include years of interest plus an inconvenience fee. You know, the regular."

Dodoria smiled malevolently, running his eyes over towards Vegeta. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he answered, "Well with all of that included, boss, I believe it's a whopping total of three hundred thousand dollars."

The remaining breaths that lingered in Vegeta's chest were evicted, sending his head in fury of dizziness. He stared at Dodoria widely before turning to Frieza, barely able to pull his tongue away from the roof of his mouth. "That's more than double of the original debt, Frieza. You expect me to pay that to you in less than a month?!"

Frieza shrugged, walking around to his desk and appearing to be bored with having Vegeta present. "It's a generous offer, really. Five years of no payments and me wasting my time trying to contact you means that the debt has increased. It's business, you know. I'm sure you'll work out something." Frieza sat down and propped his feet on the table, clicking his fingers towards Dodoria. "He can leave now."

Vegeta stepped back from him, his eyes burning with a fury of blinding rage. Where the hell was he supposed to come up with this kind of money? And on such short notice? "I can let myself out," he snarled in Dodoria's face, walking towards the door.

"Vegeta," Frieza called from behind, "If you have trouble making the payments by the due date, I can always arrange other ways again. Zarbon just cannot shut up about your lady friend. I might even assume he's jealous of her. He says that she is the daughter of Trunks Briefs, founder of Capsule Corporation? I know that means she's pretty wealthy, right?" A sly smile kidnaped his lips, his eyes narrowing sleepily. "I wonder how many dollars she can bleed out. What's the value of her screams and suffering? With a face like that, I'm willing to bet thousands."

Vegeta's body shut down, making him freeze in his steps. He was satisfied that his back was to them, otherwise they would see the spirits in his eyes that cried in agony. Frieza making such a direct threat on Bulma's life made him dizzy with ire, and it crippled him even further to know there was nothing he could even do other than pay what was owed.

After all, there was no price too great to ensure Bulma's safety. And even if he had to watch his own fingers dissipate to ash and smoke, he would pay Frieza his money for her sake.

So with his phantom tail between his legs, he briskly walked out of the office, every heavy step a direct curse to Frieza's name.

oooOOOooo

The sky was an ocean of lavenders and oranges, the colors blending together to create a peaceful backdrop for Vegeta's drive. The radio off and the wind loud, he allowed his brain to run circles around his anxieties. He wished he could feel as serene as the calm sky, but he was a thunderstorm. In less than an hour, Frieza had managed to add a pillar of stress on his shoulders, making him sink further down into his seat.

He ran his hand down his face, his fingers going damp of the sweat from his forehead. He cursed and slammed his palm against the wheel, accidentally making it sing. He took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his rising emotions. Especially since he was on his way to see her.

She had texted him during his visit with Frieza, and even just seeing her name on his phone tentatively lifted his worries. Meet me at the loft, Dad wants me to go over the final inspection. Plus, I have really good news [winky face, heart].

He knew what he had promised her, he tasted the words that spilled so effortlessly from his tongue after the opera. All Bulma wanted was his safety and protection, woven tightly with a ribbon of his honesty. And he could give it to her, he really could, but worrying her with his tumbleweed of a problem he hadn't even begun to unravel was impossible. After all, he didn't want to rain on her parade of good news.

His mind was still tangled as he pulled in the lot of the loft, taking a moment to gain his composure. He spotted her car sitting under the shade of thick tree branches, looking perfectly still in a sea of calamity. He suddenly felt guilty, having to put her in situations that she didn't deserve to be in. His selfish feelings wrapped her in his cocoon, and he was wondering if he should do the proper thing and let her go, like Nappa had questioned.

Then an image of her came to the forefront of his mind, her skin tattooed with his name, and he quickly spit out the idea.

He finally composed himself enough to enter the loft, and as soon as he the door allowed him entry, he was dizzy with the scent of her. It was subconsciously becoming a fragrance that Vegeta loved, a mix of blue seawater and rose petals, one that hugged him like a warm fire on a chilly night. He found her by his piano, scribbling away on a note pad.

Her eyes lit up marvelously when she looked at him, the corners of her mouth threatening to split her face in two. "Hi," she sang, running over to him immediately. Her face was radiant, only the simplest of makeup accentuating her delicate features, her cherry lips begging him to kiss them. She snaked her arms around his midsection, wrapping her soft frame around him in a genuine embrace, pressing her cheeks to his chest. His arms, by their own doing, curved around her back, gently stroking her skin. It was the equivalent of hugging the sun, and he could feel her rays brighten the shadows of his plaguing qualms. "I'm so happy to see you," she muffled through the fabric of his shirt, "You smell nice."

"Hmph," he grinned, "Well lucky for you I showered today."

"You should do it more often. You smell like an autumn breeze." She pulled her head away from his chest, tilting backwards so she could look at him. The purity of her eyes made him relax, intoxicating him with a look that was reserved for their privacy.

"What's your good news?" He reached up to move a piece of hair that stuck to her lips, tucking it behind her ear so he could see her with as much naked clarity as possible.

Her expression beamed then, smiling widely as if she was a giddy toddler who learned to walk for the first time. "Well, I went down to the art village today after working with my dad, and I came across a gallery that just opened up. Remember when you told me I should make a portfolio of all my paintings? Well you were so right! They were looking for local artists to feature for their next show, and after taking a look at my stuff, they told me they'd be honor to feature me! People can even buy them, Vegeta!"

A strong sense of pride swirled in his abdomen, racing through his body until it found the home of his mouth. He knew the first time he laid eyes on Bulma's paintings that she had an exquisite touch. Her use of colors and subjects were mesmerizing, drinking him in until he was nothing more than a hypnotized stare. He knew they started off extremely rocky, especially on his part, but he pushed her because he saw a bright potential that she kept in darkness. But now, she bathed in light, letting it roll off of her flesh until even he rivaled the sun. If everyone else could see it too, then their arguments and petty banter of the past was worth even more than he thought.

"You should be proud," he stated sincerely, feeling an intense admiration capture him until he could taste it, "Your talent deserves the recognition it hasn't been getting. I hope you take this opportunity and run with it."

She smiled at him affectionately, wrapping her arms tighter around him until her chest poured into his. "I was actually thinking of opening my own gallery, you know. If it goes well and people like it this time, maybe I can. I feel so much better now that I'm painting more, like I'm finally doing what I'm supposed to be doing." She batted her eyelashes shyly at him, her cheeks tinting pink. "I owe a lot of that to you, Vegeta. You really believed in me, even when I wasn't thinking of believing in myself."

He swallowed, uncomfortable with the sudden shift of praise. Although it made his ego purr like a kitten, he wanted Bulma to know that it was her talent and her commitment to finally start living for herself. He may have put gas in the car, but it was she who got behind the wheel to drive it.

"So how was your day? Did rehearsal run late for you today?"

His face dropped immediately at the reminder, and the expression on her face let him know she didn't miss it. "Tell me what happened," she said seriously, her eyes reminding him of the promise he was intending to break.

He felt his resolve weakening, especially under the weight of her heavy stare, and he cleared his throat of the words he couldn't form a sentence from. Bulma ran a palm down his solid back, deft fingers lightly massaging his back. "Vegeta," she pressed onwards, "What is it?"

He sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Bulma wasn't going to let up, and him avoiding the inevitable would only show her that he wasn't a man of his word. So he tucked his pride in the folds of his fingers and opened his mouth. "I went to see Frieza today."

Bulma's blue eyes turned to ice, widening at his admission. "You…you saw him? Like…in person? Why would you do that?"

He nodded, running his eyes over to the window, the sunlight waving goodbye to him as a milky blue invaded the sky. "He said he had a proposition for me. He asked me to work for him and I refused. So he increased the price of my debt."

He could feel Bulma go completely stiff in his arms and he tightened his hold on her. "By how much?"

"Double."

"Double!?" She leaned further away to see him clearly, her eyes darting around his face, littered with questions and concerns. "Vegeta, that's a lot of money!"

He sighed, wishing he could go back to about five minutes ago when she was still beaming about her news. "I know, Bulma, but I'm going to take care of it."

"And you don't need my help?" He could see the sincere concern etched in her fingers and he looked away guiltily, unable to chew on his response. He never thought the change would happen, but for her he found himself considering her feelings with each reply. And telling her flatly that he didn't want her to be concerned would make her feel like he didn't care, which was far from the case. But Bulma deserved to wear that look that made her so ethereal only moments prior, and even though she was still beautiful, her saddened eyebrows and worried stares were unbecoming of her.

"Bulma," he said patiently, "I told you I will take care of it."

Her features relaxed slowly, and he could tell that she was telling herself something to breathe easier. She closed her eyes and opened them gently, the sea of her irises a lot calmer. "Okay," she said quietly, "But please don't get yourself in too deep, Vegeta. Remember you have options."

He nodded, although his mind was made up. Every door would have to be forcibly closed in his face for him to ask her for such a price, and he was convinced it would never have to come to that. Besides, even during the duration of their conversation, Vegeta realized his 'other option' existed in only one person.

Nappa.

If anyone could understand the full direness of this situation, it was his uncle. And asking him for help didn't make his belly sink with guilt like it did when he thought of asking Bulma. All he wanted to do was keep her in a veil of bliss and make sure that her skin always glowed with her own happiness. He didn't want to drown her with his storm of issues.

Her hand reached out and touched his cheek, setting his flesh on fire. Each touch of her fingertips spoke to him in a hue of colors, making his vision come alive in clarity. She smiled at him, his own lips responding before his brain could register, and he suddenly found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her.

"What do you want to do tonight? Maybe see a movie, or grab a bite to eat?"

Vegeta heard her, but his eyes settled on the soft plumps of her lips, painted subtly with her chap stick, matching her cheeks perfectly. Bulma was like a living painting, every part of her made up of a complexity of colors that made his head feel light. It was as if he had to study her, take a lesson on her anatomy just so he could understand her fully. Sometimes, when his fingers touched her, he tucked the memory of how she felt in the spaces of his teeth so he could taste it as he slept.

She called his name again and his eyes found hers, but they became clouded by his lust and other variables. His brain was dueling itself in his anxieties of her safety, and her curves that kept his fingers warm. His hand brushed her cheek and her mouth parted, and he saw the same desire flash over her eyes. She was sensitive in that way, he had come to learn, and sometimes all it took was a minimal touch to make her want to sink into his flesh.

He bent down and tasted her.

The galaxy itself existed on her tongue, and he swallowed up all of the stars that she fed him greedily. She kissed him with fever, as if she had been waiting to melt into him all day. Her hands explored his upper body until they found home around his neck, playing with the collar of his button up. Her body was an inferno underneath his fingers, and he decided with finality that she was wearing too many clothes.

She must have thought the same, because she grabbed at his buttons impatiently, pulling them open with renewed purpose. He wasn't planning on washing the floors of the loft with their bodies, but soon their clothes discarded in a frenzied pool around their feet, and they followed suit. Vegeta sucked on the tender flesh of her neck, eliciting notes of gratitude from her lips. Such soft, pleasurable noises, the kind that made his cock throb with desire. His lips wanted to pull everything from her, her worries for him, any insecurities she may have had, any part of her that left a bitter taste on her tongue. He wanted to fill her with something new, something worthwhile, birthing her spirit with baptismal grace. He could taste the parts of her that ached for him, and while he didn't understand it, she was here and she was his.

That fact alone made his mouth trail down to her breast, plagued with the sudden urge to taste more of her.

She groaned, pushing her body into his, her fingers skimming through his hair. He couldn't stop touching her, wouldn't stop touching her, letting his hands find every fold and plane that existed on her body. It was as if he couldn't get enough, it was as if they weren't close enough.

They needed to be closer.

He leaned up and rested his forehead against hers, curling his lips around hers gently, their breaths filling the silence in the room. Bulma's body fit so perfectly in his mold, as if the ocean that had birthed her had him in mind. Her legs opened around him, a direct invitation, the heat from her core warming the head of his penis, the tip anticipatory with pre cum. His hands gripped the meat of her hips, massaging the skin until they left behind angry red marks. Bulma whimpered against his mouth, begging for his familiar fill. His hand found her instead, running a heavy finger over her clitoris.

She broke their kiss and gasped, and Vegeta took the opportunity to look down at her face. Her eyelids pressed tightly together, her lips parted and swollen, the pink undertones of her skin swimming to the top. It almost made his heart break at the sight, and a song instantly came into his head. He would have to remember the notes and play them later, so that he could always remember how she looked when he made her feel this way.

His fingers were slick enough and Bulma was tired of waiting, urging Vegeta to give them completion. He obliged, entering her swiftly, finding home in her most private of parts.

Their joined bodies moved slowly as if they had never intertwined, and Vegeta found himself pouring his troubles into her as he quickened his stoke. Bulma mewled underneath him, wrapping her arm around his neck, her lips pressed against his ear. How was it possible that one woman had this power over him? How just by a bat of her eyelash, by a laugh in passing, she managed to give him hope that he had long since forgotten? How had he gone so long in his life without gracing his tongue with her name, without knowing what this felt like?

What would he do, if it was ever taken away?

The pleasure ran over him in relentless waves as he lifted her leg to wrap around his waist, giving him deeper access. Bulma sang in his ear, begging for him not to stop, begging for "harder!", begging for more.

More. That's all Vegeta found himself wanting from her. More, more, more. More days like this, more days like yesterday. Their banters were his morning coffee, her cries of pleasure his bedtime story. He hadn't even noticed when his schedule became revolved around hers, when his apartment became a home for two, but he wasn't afraid like he initially was. What scared him the most, he noticed, was the thought of Frieza taking it away. A snarl escaped his lips incased in a moan, and he dove into her repeatedly, claiming more than her body, more than her oncoming orgasm. He closed his eyes as his body went on auto pilot, her hips slapping into his as she chased the release he dangled over her so cruelly.

He needed to watch her cum.

He turned his head to her, meeting her glossy eyes that were on the verge of tears. She smiled naughtily, breathing his name over and over like it was a religious exercise. The way she said it made him crawl closer and closer to the edge, like she was claiming her own territory, and he found himself mimicking her. She kissed his shoulders and tried to stifle a moan, biting her lip down and turning it the shade of crimson, and he could tell by the way her walls clenched around him that she was swimming the tide of her orgasm. He thought he had more time, but watching her features tighten because of the pleasure he was giving her pushed him over the edge, and Vegeta knew in that moment that he didn't want this to be jeopardized by some seedy asshole with bad intentions. He loved her too much to see that happen.

And he needed to tell her that.

As Vegeta came, he echoed his words of affection, the words that he was too embarrassed to say fully, even though she knew he meant them. He said it to her ear, to her cheek, to her chin, her temple. She giggled in his ear as she spiraled down, waiting patiently for him to join her. And when he did, he collapsed at her side, pulling her body to his as he tried to fight the haze of after sex sleep.

Bulma wrapped her arm around him, drawing circles on his chest. "That's the first time you've actually said it, you know." He couldn't see her face, but the tone of her voice suggested that she was more than pleased.

"Hmph," Vegeta closed his eyes, feeling the heavy weight of relaxation pull at his body, "Are you going to make some big deal of it?"

"No," she said through a smile, "But it was nice. It was more than nice. And you know I love you too." She got quiet, her fingers ceasing their circular motions. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, expecting to find her drifting off, but her eyes were lowered and focused, her lips curved down into a sad frown. "Vegeta," she said softly, unsteadily, "Is everything going to be all right?"

The question struck him like a freight train, making his eyes freeze in the blues of her hair. God, he wanted to tell her yes. He wanted to arrogantly laugh and tell her not to worry about it, pretend to scoff at her for being dramatic.

But he couldn't.

The truth was, the second Vegeta released himself, the uncomfortable weight began to brew in his belly again. He had already lost it all before and managed to bounce back somehow, but that was primarily because of Bulma. If Frieza decided to create a part two, then he was sure the hinges of his sanity would finally snap. He would have to make a way of this, but the questions surrounding how made it hard to see the light. So Vegeta mustered up as much honesty as he could and answered:

"I hope so."

oooOOOooo

A/N: In unrelated news, Smutfest is in like…four months? I'm pretty excited.

Thank you to everyone (as usual) for the lovely reviews and comments last chapter! Really makes me feel great!

So today I sat down and thought about it, and I realized that the ending to this story isn't tooo far off. It's not like a 'oh, 2 or 3 more chapters thing', but I think it may be less ten. :( And honestly, I'm gonna be so sad when I finish this story because I love it so much. I love it way more than I ever thought I would when I initially wrote it. I plan on going back after I finish it and redoing the first four chapters. At the time I was writing on my phone and it was hard to write a lot. I'll update when I do, if you guys want to go back and read it.

That's all for now, as always if you liked it, please leave a review! The best part(s) of my day is when I get that email notification that says "Review: Concerto".

Till next time, my friends!