Summary: Vegeta's mettle is being tested from all sides. Bulma's education about his emotional complexity takes on a different meaning.


4:30 p.m. - "Sketching"

I could fall in love with her - love - but that would be ridiculous. It wasn't just this first kiss. Bulma's confidence is rock-solid. I'm unsure how much she expected mine not to be. As she greets me, I don't know if I would describe my modesty in that way, though. Perhaps I would call it cautiousness. Of course I am cautious. Why wouldn't I be? Did our colloquy a week ago about "learning to submit" mean actual submission? I cannot speak for other men, but the king raised me to believe that submission was as odious during sex as it was in leadership. For him, it's a humiliating admission of defeat worthy of severe ridicule. The respect many of our countrymen show to my family and ruling governors doesn't fit this narrow definition. All of my life Nappa had been an exacting trainer and proud leader for the royal military and for me, but I recognized early that he doesn't see the world as the king does. Neither does my mother, Danae, whom the general has always loved. Oh yes, I know - now, in my adulthood. Mother had been betrothed to the king early in life, when they were 13 years old, until they married at 21. Although she and Nappa were from different social classes and bloodlines, they had studied at the same schools through their teenage years. He is intellectually gifted. So is she. His training took precedence eventually, but he found ways to see her until his military rank allowed formal access within the royal court.

I still wonder if I am indeed their love child. There had been whispers. Nappa had shaved his head long ago, but I have seen pictures from his youth. My younger brother Tarble resembles the king. I have what some would call a sturdy physique and thick hair, unlike them. I resemble Danae more. However, the king and I share my "below average" height. Besides that, my smart mouth and fits of anger have always made me a target for mockery – although not as much anymore since I'm skilled at kicking ass both mentally and physically. People often find the easiest, unimaginative insults to piss others off when they're unhappy themselves: fat, ugly, bald, short, stupid, slow, retarded, crippled, poor - whatever. I'm more creative. However difficult I may be, it's just part of who I am. I have my reasons. Fuck the rest.

I am beginning to doubt myself as Bulma holds my hand. She is right. I am scared. I have always lived by my own strength, or so I believed. Tell me, what is more important than one's own strength? Now I am even more confused. Nappa has been the long-suffering target of my frustration precisely because he cares so much for me. I sometimes feel ashamed about appearing weak to him. I am accustomed to being less-than-perfect in King Vegeta's eyes, but the general is different. Mother is a patient, wise soul as well. Her eventual loss will be devastating, but I must endure my grief honorably.

Bulma kisses me again, pushing my body against her drafting table. My senses are crescendo, intensifying like a waterfall upon closer approach. Now she's licking and sucking my finger like she's searching for a pulse. I wonder when her tender touch will cease. A part of me doesn't want it to; the other part demands it. I want stormy and gentle: carnal pleasure weaving naturally between the hardness of diamond and the softness of talc. Maybe my nature is granite instead, requiring excavation and polishing. That stone of who I am is craggy; therefore, roughness is required until the finished product is smooth. Is this submission or a form of control?

Vegeta grasped both of Bulma's arms, placing them at her side. She looked at him and then retrieved her wine glass. The Merlot's scent was as almost as perfect as her kiss, he thought.

"Are you having second thoughts, Vegeta?"

"I wouldn't say that. Competitiveness is in my nature. In my mind, although I expressed my desire to be here, I feel like you've won in some way."

Bulma continued studying his careful movements as they walked together. "Interesting. Perhaps you have won instead. You're challenging your perception of yourself willingly with someone who encourages it. Her index finger moved in a "z" pattern as he turned - a command. "Remove your shirt slowly, and stand underneath this ceiling light with your arms behind your head. I want to observe you from a different view."

His skeptical eyes darted past her hand. "How is this different from what you've seen already?"

"Would you prefer that I rip your fucking clothes off?" Bulma's voice was serene, a stark contrast to her forceful response. "They could be shredded by the time I'm done with you, although maybe not this evening. I do not care about pretension, but you might since that outfit is… expensive."

"Hn. Perhaps it will be the other way around, Ms. Brief - and I can always buy new clothes."

Bulma raised her index finger again, pointing to the ceiling. "Look at my hand carefully. The sign means 'Listen, don't speak.' Take note of it. I'm asking you politely." Then, before she could continue, an unexplainable force jolted her. Vegeta's subdued expression resembled a Tibetan wolf: sharp face and elevated eyebrows, with dark, searching eyes. His true fierceness as a man – as a person - had been revealed through these windows into his soul, and Bulma felt like her breath had been snatched. How could the prince not recognize this power within himself? Why had he chased butterflies for so long?

Bulma was no mystic, but she knew his was a spiritual matter. Perhaps Nappa and Zeus were right. Maybe she should have walked away, but now she just couldn't. She and the prince would learn each other's ways and bodies through eroticism, and then go beyond that. Romantic attachment would neither be demanded nor expected – those rules remained – but their connection wouldn't be short-lived. He would tell his story.

"Remind me what I get out of this again?" he asked.

Bulma whistled to turn on the stereo. She held up a rope - one of several hanging on the wall. "Well, for starters, maybe you'll be tied up, spanked, and broken – in a pleasant way – or maybe you'll practice self-restraint without toys. The latter can be just as rewarding. In fact, you are doing it now. You're testing yourself… and me. That's good. Your pants are starting to bother me, though. I want them removed so I can study you more, but I'll be patient until we agree on the rules of this engagement – if you're still up to it."

The way she saw through him was uncanny. Her soothing voice crisscrossed his conscious mind seamlessly. Her black opened-toed leather heels rapped assertively on the floor as she drifted behind to embrace his waist. He leaned back, delighting in her delicate fingertip-inspection of his chest. Her strokes followed the chords of the violin concerto surrounding them. Then her hands landed beneath his sculpted pectorals, learning them, until she pinched his hardened nipples. Her soft, winding tongue inched between his shoulders, falling along the notches of his spine, massaging each vertebra like an abstract artist's paintbrush. His head fell slightly as her finger pressed deep into the dimple above his buttocks. He inhaled with force, clasping his lips.

Bulma pressed harder, forcing him to pant. "Don't… move while I'm sketching you."

"And what if I do, madame?" He felt himself getting wet, and this was just the beginning. "Kiss me again."

"Are you asking or telling, Vegeta?"

"What does it sound like?"

"Hmm." Bulma released him and moved back. "You may put your arms down now. I do prefer being called madame in this instance, but I wasn't through sketching, which you were enjoying. Have you ever pleasured a woman like I'm doing now with you?"

Vegeta looked confused. "Pleasured?"

Bulma interlaced her fingers with his, leading him to the stairs. "Appreciating the finer tactile sensations. What seems simple can be the hardest feat to achieve. It takes time. Now then, what are we agreeing to?"

He nodded toward the side table. "I… I think I might need more wine, actually."

Bulma bit the rim of her wine glass. "That's fine, but ask yourself this: 'Why now?' Maybe you're uncomfortable with your feelings and need wine to help manage them? Or maybe you're nervous about pleasing me… eventually."

Being who he was, no matter hard he tried, Vegeta just couldn't let her have the last word. "I am not nervous. I…I…"

Bulma immediately raised her index finger, silencing him. "Remember, you can leave anytime you want, although I would like you to stay. Do you want to leave?"

Visibly upset, Vegeta released her hand. "I want to touch you in the way you've touched me – and do more than that! I want to fuck you, Bulma. There, I said it! I want to fuck you - but no, you don't fuck your clients, whatever the hell that means! I don't want a mind fuck! I knew I shouldn't have come here. Not for this!"

"If you want to touch me in the way I touched you, then you don't just want to fuck," Bulma replied softly. "In any case, when you're ready to change the narrative you've lived with and share that experience with me, I'll be here. I want to know your story. You have value, and you always have the right to say no. Do you still want to kiss me? We can do that. I would like that very much. However, I don't believe we should go too far beyond it considering the way you feel now."

"I am leaving," he muttered.

Actually, he really wanted one of her high heels planted firmly on his chest. He never considered doing that with other women. Not once. When was bored, he occasionally allowed the ladies to believe they were domineering him during sex. Listening to their grunts and simplistic commands entertained him. He had been arrogant, but he saw something completely different with Bulma. He sighed heavily, shaking his head until he slammed the entrance shut. He cupped her cheeks, gnawing hungrily at her until she rammed his body repeatedly against the door. Startled by her ferociousness, Vegeta's eyes widened as the woman's tongue slid around his mouth until she couldn't breathe. She wanted to lose her breath, it seemed, and he couldn't drink enough nectar from her fleshy lips. Where the hell did her strength come from? Did he just allow her to do this? Where did his physical strength go? Her grip on his hair sharpened, nearing a painful threshold – and god, he loved it!

Bulma then bit his shoulder to bruise him. Satisfied with the results, she licked and kissed and licked and kissed the small welt, until she sucked again. The sweat pouring down her chest intensified the perfume that was driving him mad. He pulled her head up, deeply kissing her, and whispered in her ear.

"More."

"More what, Vegeta? Say it."

"Bite down until you draw blood, woman!" he growled. "That's what I want! Stop holding back, damn it!"

Bulma broke the skin just enough until he sighed, easing his agitation. He was touching himself now, arms pleading with her body to relieve his throbbing, ravenous hardness. Breathing in his musky scent, Bulma's head and neck swayed like a wind-blown prairie rose - until she released him, pushing back from his shoulders gently. He looked down, almost appearing embarrassed by his behavior.

She kissed both of his hands to ease his discomfort. He had done well. "Hey, it's okay," she said, lifting his chin. "You're okay. I told you I will be here. I am glad we could trust each other with that experience, at least for this evening."

Defiant, Vegeta turned away. "Tch. Don't expect me to be some simple-minded pushover. That's not my personality, nor will it ever be – for anyone."

Bulma nodded and opened the door. "And don't expect me to quietly accept any obnoxious bullshit from you. That's not my personality, nor will it ever be - and I will call you out on that crap every single time. However, our sexual exploration is a different growth experience. There are many roles to play. Meet me in Greenwich Village on Sunday at Zeus's studio. The address is 173 Bleecker Street. We need to create a mannequin bust to use for future outfits. That's my last request. One will remain at a tailor's shop permanently for you. The other will be shipped to Hegemone. It's a messy process, so wear those tattered clothes I saw when we met in California."

"My clothing wasn't tattered," he grumbled. "I had my reasons for wearing them."

Bulma smiled. "Whatever you say. Good night, your highness."


8 a.m., Nov. 10, Tuesday

"Duty"

Vegeta stood in front of the bedroom mirror straightening his suit and tie. He looked immaculate for his United Nations speech, almost as if he were ready to conquer the world. Undeniably, Bulma had outdone herself with the design work. He had been awake since 4 a.m., his typical schedule on days when was expected to perform official duties. He recalled Bulma writing in a text several days before that he wasn't a morning person. He soon responded that she was wasting valuable time harassing him when she could be working. She sent an emoji with an angry red face, meant to depict him, followed by "Haaaaah!" He then responded with five angry faces and three middle fingers, followed by a grinning devil.

Their silliness had kept him sane, along with their other "work." Smiling, he pulled back his shirt cuff to observe the giant rope burn on his forearm. At least the bruise wasn't purple anymore. It had already been a week.

Bulma instructed him to call at specific times, sometimes masking her voice to give dirty-mouthed demands. Other times she deliberately made hilarious requests, but the rule was Vegeta couldn't laugh at them no matter how absurd. Once, she instructed him "to put that well-paid-for education to work," requiring him to use outdated vocabulary to describe his sexual arousal. He asked later if she had a crossword puzzle fetish. Bulma sniffed and hung up the phone. Not hearing from her for two days – his punishment - felt like ten years.

Nappa remained displeased. Vegeta spent at least one night or two nights with Bulma as he traveled between Hegemone the U.S. and other countries before the speech, but the general conceded that the prince was in better spirits. Vegeta knew Bulma wouldn't contact him shortly before or after the his speech, although he wouldn't have minded if she did. He probably wouldn't see her again until the White House dinner weeks later unless a catastrophe happened. Many social activities he attended that year including the gala in London disguised his attempts to strengthen relationships with potential political and business allies. Knowing Bulma would attend that the party was a bonus. Now, their "business meetings" together had become the antidote for his mental exhaustion.

He avoided the thought of ending of their connection, but the walls of duty were closing in. Civil war in Hegemone was possible between ethnic Saiyans and Yardrats, which would be a disaster. It could not happen. His U.N. speech would emphasize the country's right to self-governance, seeking international support to warn the neighboring Tuffle government against attempts to weaken his country's leadership. Saiyan and Yardrat nativists were being influenced by outside agitators seeking to install a puppet government before positive political changes were fully achieved - and remove current civil leadership, along with Vegeta's family. This "open secret" angered the prince immensely. The Tuffles denied the extent of their meddling in Hegemone's affairs, of course, saying that they were guarding their economic interests and stability along the two countries' borders, including oil and natural gas production, in case all hell broke loose.

Yardrats were invited hundreds of years ago to live peacefully under the Saiyan kingdom's leadership after both sides had fought off invaders. Now they spoke each other's languages and shared a single economy. Those who wanted the country to remain unified had to find a solution. Thanks to Vegeta's mother and his late grandparents' influence, most of Hegemone's citizens were reaching higher education levels similar to wealthier countries, and more people felt good about the economy – but that wasn't enough for the nativists, who said too many citizens still felt left behind. Each side blamed the other for existing problems - along with the royals. Vegeta's lifestyle, in particular, appeared far more extravagant recently. Many didn't know was he was using connections to make money honestly and separately from his inherited wealth – to be his own man as much as he could.

Vegeta and Danae knew change had to happen, with their family ceding its role as head of government to a full, democratically elected parliament, with some exceptions. Obviously those who benefited from the current situation protested and told the king to maintain it, including Vegeta's cousin Raditz and his many supporters - even if their short-sighted opposition risked tearing the country apart. Nappa finally left the Royal Army to support the prince for these reasons. He couldn't bear seeing Vegeta become consumed by his own mental demons, not when the country they both loved was on the verge of a better existence. How soon the hateful, traitorous knives would come after Vegeta with a vengeance was only a matter of time, the general believed.

"Sir, are you ready?"

Vegeta attached a flag pin to his lapel and turned around. "Yes, general, I am."

4 p.m. – "Slow Burn"

Bulma wondered whether to answer the phone. She had expected Vegeta to call but felt like it was ill-timed – not so much for her, but for him.

"Hello, Bulma."

"Hi."

"I just… wanted to compliment you on the tailoring."

"That's what you pay me for."

Smirking, Vegeta peered into his glass of vodka. "Indeed."

Bulma activated the speakerphone to continue cooking. "I'm sure the other world leaders were just as impressed with your speech."

"You watched then?" Vegeta heard his voice lift, but not much. He scolded himself for being a little too excited that Bulma had made the effort.

"Of course I did, your highness. My vanity centers on my work. Did you suddenly forget that?"

"I was testing you."

Bulma laughed softly. "Sure you were. What do you want? I am preparing dinner for guests."

"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

"And you want to see me again, I take it."

Vegeta grunted. "What does it sound like?"

"Excuse me?" Bulma put her spoon down. "Are you summoning me now like I'm commoner, or maybe the royal consort? I believe we do have rules to follow, yes?"

"Forget it." Vegeta said with mild irritation. "I won't disturb you any longer."

Bulma laughed. "Heavens, man, there's no reason to pout. I can hear your cheeks puffing like a balloon."

"I'm not pouting!"

"You are," Bulma replied, sounding like a school headmistress. "Have patience. I would love having you here, but I listened closely to you today and saw your face. Return to Hegemone. That is where you should be right now. I am not going anywhere."

The prince sipped leisurely from his glass. "Maybe you can visit my country before the White House dinner, all expenses paid."

"No."

Vegeta knew he couldn't ask again. Her firm refusal jabbed at his ego, but reassurance of her future availability comforted him. He opened the door to the penthouse balcony while they talked. The cool air tempered the slow burn Bulma ignited inside during their evenings together. He felt the ligature marks on his arm again, recalling the pain and pleasure from the experience.

"Your silence tells me you're thinking way too hard about this, so stop," Bulma said. "Your tuxedo will be delivered two days before we see each other again in Washington."

"I hope your dinner goes well, madame."

"It will. Please, take care of yourself."

They hung up while Vegeta poured more vodka. A light knock on the door an hour later steered his increasingly hazy mind back to some semblance of reality.

"Sir?"

"Come in, Nappa."

Vegeta's reserved response concerned the general, along with the drinking. He observed the bottle to see how much alcohol was left.

"You did well today, sir."

"I know that." Vegeta said, handing a glass to him. "Celebrate with me."

Nappa shook his head, rejecting the empty invitation. "Do you really know that, Vegeta?" He didn't want to argue, but the prince was often hardest on himself after huge achievements. Looking back on their training together, Nappa felt partially responsible. It's not what he wanted for him.

Vegeta slammed the glass on the bar, scattering shards everywhere. "Why are you doing this?! I'm not some fragile weakling!"

Clasping his hands behind his back, Nappa walked to the balcony. "I never said that you were. You know damn well I don't think that, so stop twisting my words."

"But you do think it, Nappa! You told me as much some time ago. I suppose you told Bulma that too?"

"No, I said that you were losing focus. In my own way, I also said you were becoming embittered. Look at how you've been drinking lately. Do not allow your intensity to work against you. Today I saw a leader. I am here to ensure that it continues."

"No, general," Vegeta said, shoving him from behind. "You are here out of guilt, because you have never been man enough to say that I'm your son. Look at me! Look at me! Just how long did you plan to maintain your dishonorable façade?"

Nappa didn't move. "If I am your father, then perhaps you could have mercy on me. Perhaps this man wanted to spare you and the queen embarrassment, exile, and suffering. Maybe you could understand that this man loves his only son beyond words and always wanted a better life for him. Maybe your father thought he could handle a lonely, insecure king who suspects that his first child, born of the woman he still loves, is not his own."

"The king hates me," Vegeta said, covering his face. "You and my mother allowed this. I have spent a quarter of my entire life believing something was inherently wrong with me - that I would never be good enough - because of that man. I remember the exact day he turned on me. Although had always been tough, he did care for me before then. You saw the change! His so-called love became capricious. He grew jealous. I was only 13, and I have mourned ever since."

"Do not blame, Danae," Nappa said with tears in his eyes. "She planned to tell King Vegeta, risking everything. I didn't care what happened to me, but I just couldn't allow that. Trust me, it would have been worse. Son, I tried my best to protect you and surround you with others to assist. So did your mother. I'm so sorry."

"Get out of my sight, Nappa – now!"

Nappa bowed low. "Sir, hate me all you want, but don't reject your mother. Please. You need each other now. You and your brother are the joys of her life."

"Get out!" Vegeta could barely breathe. He threw the vodka bottle against the wall. Hot tears seeped between his fingers as he dropped on his knees. Nappa couldn't resist holding the prince's shoulders until, at last, he brought his weeping son into his arms. He looked up to the heavens, grateful that he could finally embrace his boy in the way he always wanted from the moment Vegeta was born. If they never did again, the memory would be enough to sustain the general until his death.

Midnight - "I am alone"

Bulma worked late in the studio to avoid eating more chocolate cake. Classical music played low in the background, and her guests had left well-fed and happy. The evening darkness calmed her mind and body. She sketched with wide strokes, amusing herself with the overly dramatic flourishes of her charcoal penciling. Seeing the security light flicker, she examined the video on her phone. Recognizing the wool coat, her eyebrows furrowed from annoyance. Vegeta's body lay unevenly against the door, which at first seemed like a joke.

"How am I supposed to take this?" she said through the intercom. "Did you just ignore what we discussed earlier?"

"Please." Vegeta's speech slurred, almost sounding like he had been beaten. "I am alone. No one came with me. I am alone."

Alarmed, Bulma examined the video again. She rushed toward the door and paged Zeus. Vegeta's weight almost buckled her legs as he stumbled into her arms.

"Okay, okay. Put your arm around my shoulder, Vegeta. I can't drag you in. What…happened to you? How much have you had to drink? Where are Nappa and the guys? Oh my god, how could a cab driver just leave you like this?! It was a cab, right?"

Exhausted, Vegeta wagged his head. "Stop, Bulma. Please, just let me lie down somewhere."

Bulma rammed her fist on the elevator control panel and led him to the guest bedroom upstairs. She couldn't figure out what angered her more: Vegeta arriving this drunk or knowing some asshole driver left the prince to fend for himself. Yes, he was an adult, but this was unacceptable. Someone could have robbed or murdered him. This was still New York City. Assassins weren't the only ones who could put someone in a graveyard.

She had loosened some of Vegeta's clothes by the time Zeus called.

"What's happening, sweetie?"

Bulma wiped her forehead. "Vegeta is here, drunk."

"How drunk?"

"The building would explode if I lit a match next to him, Zeus."

"Holy shit! I'm coming over now. Call an ambulance, just in case."

"Zeus…"

"Goddamn it, Bulma! Do as I say right now! He could have alcohol poisoning if he's that intoxicated. Fuck the publicity!"

"I'm already calling!" she said angrily. "We can yell at each other later."

"You're…being dramatic," Vegeta said weakly. "My hearing is still good. I do… do not… need a doctor."

Bulma wanted to punch him. "You know what? You don't get to call the shots tonight! You got me?!"

Vegeta looked down. "I'm sorry. I just…wanted… someone to talk with."

Bulma inhaled to compose herself. Vegeta was clearly distressed, especially having come there this disheveled. She sat down on the bed, placing his head in her arms. "I'm here. You'll be fine. We just need to make sure you're okay. Say as much or as little to me as you choose afterward. I want nothing in return - other than you don't do this with me again. I won't tolerate it."

"I won't, Bulma."

Zeus arrived shortly before the ambulance drivers pulled up. He knelt down next to Bulma and Vegeta, who had passed out. "We're going to get you some help, buddy. I can't tame this woman by myself anymore."

Appreciative of her friend's kindness, Bulma smiled and kissed Zeus's hand. "Thanks for being here."


Notes: For those who read earlier chapters some time ago, I updated Nappa's age to eliminate some confusion about his relationship with Vegeta.