Nappa rubbed his temples and tried to ignore the sensation of exasperation and exhaustion. If he could will his heart to stop simply so the pounding in his skull would let up, he'd seriously consider it. His eyes flicked towards Kakarrot. The Saiyan was sleeping now, but, and he'd never admit it out loud, he was relieved the idiot had finally awoke, brief as it was. It had been 12 hours ago and had lasted long enough for him to ask if Bulma lived. His ki was slowly recovering, and likely he would wake in the next few hours, ravenous. The inconsiderate prick had slept through the worst of his recovery, and most of his wounds had closed in the last 3 day and were healing. As for himself, Nappa hadn't had much rest. The horde of fucking humans somehow forgot that he was a dangerous animal on the cusp of detonation and kept testing his patience by having the balls to talk to him! As if he would deign to answer, even had he his scouter and knew what in Frieza's ass they were saying!
He roared in frustration, and the midget monk standing a few feet away nearly jumped out of his skin. Growling petulantly, Nappa sneered in the little shit's general direction and went back to massaging his skull. Gods, he was tired.
The android with the tits shifted in the pilot's seat and rotated the chair to face the room. The bald prick with the polka dots on his head leaned over her shoulder as if he had a frozen cock's chance of understanding what the fuck she was doing. Hell. She probably didn't have a clue… but as she was half robot, she and her twin kitchen appliance were likely the only two who had any electronics knowledge. They insisted they each had practice repairing themselves and were the most likely of all of them who could fix the damn scouter. He had understood the bitch's intent well enough – she spoke in short, precise, and most importantly literal sentences which was likely a byproduct of being a machine - and Nappy was only so happy to let her play with the contraption. It was probably her distant cousin, anyway. Maybe she just had to threaten it or some such bullshit. So, he retrieved the scouter from the floor where it had smashed against the wall and fell broken to the floor. He'd only glanced fleetingly at the pair screwing intently – still on the bed, to his surprise - and he noted the considerable amount the senzu bean bag had shrunk in size before making an exit. The Princess would have to conserve… assuming she had any left.
Coming back out, he stalked to the blond and jabbed the scouter rudely into her hands. He didn't care what she did to it so long as she got the thing to function. Then he could finally tell all of these morons what they wanted to know so they'd finally leave him the hell alone.
On the edge of his overtaxed senses, he could feel Vegeta's ki flare up and start fluxuating again, and he cursed the human herd for teaching him how to sense ki. Fuck! If it were a constant thing like it had been, he'd be able to tune it out. But in the last 2 days, they had steadily been slowing down – sometimes long enough to catch a couple of hours of unconsciousness that, lately, is what passed for sleep – and there was no predictable pattern he could learn to ignore. One moment it would be calm, and the next moment, his senses would explode with a barrage of erratic ki, kicking his teeth in with force-fed WE'RE FUCKING, NOW! being drilled into his brain. It was effecting them all; everyone was uncomfortable and on edge. All except for that imbicile, Kakarrot.
Lucky godamn bastard.
The high pitched whine of powering electronics squealed in his ear and he turned away from Kakarrot. The smug, blond bitch held out his scouter and he snatched it from her outstretched hand to place it over his ear. The eyepiece was cracked, but he didn't need that part any longer so he snapped it off.
"Speak," he barked to no one in particular. He needed to test the translating capability.
Everyone started talking all at once. He stood, whirling to face the startled room, and snarled. Then, shifting his eyes back and forth, he thrust his finger out and pointed. "You!"
Chichi jumped. "Me?"
Nappa glowered and curled his lip.
Chichi tucked the flyaways of her hair behind an ear and smoothed her dress before licking her lips. "Right. So. Uhh." Her eyes darted to take in everyone staring at her. She knew what everyone wanted to ask and they were all projecting the hope that she would choose what they wanted to know with barely contained desperation. Yamcha was practically bouncing in his seat and Krillen looked like he was trying not to shit himself with the way he was wiggling in his seat. Even Piccolo looked interested, though she doubted he had any specific question. Only 17 and 18 looked immune to insatiable curiosity, though they did seem amused. Brown eyes found alien black, and she cleared her throat.
"Why didn't this ever happen to Goku?"
Nappa's eyebrows pinched before one slowly raised. Apparently, that hadn't been a question he had expected.
"It did," he stated flatly before raising a finger to point at someone else.
Chichi exploded from her seat. "Now wait a minute, you giant oaf! None of this half-assed, vague nonsense that just raises more questions than it answers!" You'll explain everything fully, you hear?"
Nappa narrowed his eyes and they glittered darkly. "Will I, now…" he purred dangerously.
Undaunted, Chichi nodded once. "Yes. You will. Because if you don't, you'll get neither rest for all of us pestering you with more questions, nor will you get food prepared for you."
The enormous Saiyan was expressionless for a moment, chewing on her words. He frowned and shook like a child preparing to throw a tantrum, but suddenly and without preamble, winced and deflated. "Fine!" he spat, and crossed his arms over his chest. His tail flicked indignantly behind him. Chichi knew better than to grin at her victory. Instead, she calmly sat back down and waited.
Nappa's expression puckered in annoyance. He huffed impatiently, but it seemed more show than genuine. "Young Saiyas with negligible ki strength are – were – sent off world to conquer other worlds on behalf of the Cold Empire. If they were successful, they activated a beacon within the spacepod in which they were sent, signaling the planet was cleared of sentient life and ready for auction. A team was sent out to conduct an appraisal so the planet could be sold. The cub would be retrieved and brought back to serve as a Soldier for the empire. If they were not successful, it was presumed they failed and were therefore dead."
Chichi had no idea what this had to do with her question, but she nodded for Nappa to go on, anyway.
"In the case of that idiot," Nappa ignored the hostile looks directed at him and nodded towards Goku, "He failed."
"Thank Kami for that," Krillen mumbled. Nappa gave him a nasty look but turned back to Chichi to continue his explanation.
"It is not unheard of for a cub to fail in such a mission. They are sent because they are weak – their ki-strength is not strong enough and their kill instinct is dormant. Such a flaw was fatal. It was better to send them away…to.."
Nappa faltered and looked away. A brief look of pain and regret crossed his features, and Chichi's hand flew up to cover her mouth before she could gasp audibly. Nappa shook his head and his expression became hard once again. "The strong were kept as Soldiers. It was less 'life' and more 'slavery,' but life is life. We needed to live while we waited for an opportunity to free ourselves. Sending the weak away was a..a chance… for them to survive, or a place to die free. Better that than to suffer the existence within the Empire as one too weak to…. We sent them away to make them strong enough. Many returned. Some did not. We prayed for a good death for the lost ones."
He glanced wistfully at Goku and spoke so softly, he could barely be heard. "Because we thought it too much to dream for any to survive free."
He fell silent. No one dared breathe for fear of disturbing the almost reverent moment. How many had been sent away? How many had survived just to return for a life of slavery? How many had never returned?
How many others were out there like Goku?
Nappa seemed to come back to himself, and his voice regained its normal, gruff quality. "Kakarrot survived, but he was still weak. His Phase was on a much lesser scale; one he could endure on his own."
"How do you know that? Maybe he just had better control," Yamcha stated with a tinge of accusation. He was watching his hands intently as he twisted and untwisted a string around a finger.
Nappa grinned wolfishly and leered at Chichi. "How old is your young one?"
Chichi blushed and, embarrassed, her eyes darted from person to person in the room. "Um. Well, he's –"
"I'm almost seven," Gohan boasted.
Without looking away from Chichi's flustered features, Nappa asked, "And how old is your mother, boy?"
Gohan looked up and used his fingers to count. "Um. She's.. oh! Twenty-two? Is that right, mama?"
Chichi buried her hands in her face and mumbled, "Yes, Gohan. That's right."
Nappa chuckled. "Radditz's brother was eight years younger, which is typical for Saiyan siblings born on Vegeta-sei because of the effects our moon-cycle had on breeding. That makes Kakarrot twenty-one. Phase erupts between the age of fifteen and eighteen for us. His instinct would have… encouraged… him to find a suitable female to guide him through the change. Tell me. How violent was he when he mounted you that first time? I bet he'd never done it before then because of passiveness, naïveté, and incompetence to even know how to slip inside your hot, wet cu-"
Chichi shot to her feet, red faced. "That's enough! You've made your point! There's no need
to-"
Nappa chuckled darkly. "I'm just explaining everything fully as you wished…"
There was an awkward silence. Someone had to break it or they'd all go crazy. 18 sternly eyeballed Krillen. Flustered, he opened his mouth without really thinking before speaking. "Actually, he did grow about a foot and a half really fast. And then suddenly started getting stupid strong without changing his routine. I should know. I was busting my ass trying to keep up," Krillen mused.
"Clearly, you fell short of that goal," 18 said with a sly smile and Krillen looked at her sourly, feeling betrayed.
"Ha! She called you short!" barked 17 from a spot on the floor he had claimed as his. Food wrappers, magazines, one of Roshi's porn magazines – opened to page 14 with a full spread of a woman… spreading… - and various other items lay haphazardly around him. He had his arms crossed behind his head, his feet propped on a chair, and his bandana covered his face.
Krillen frowned at the lazy teen. Somehow being patronized by someone who looked like they were sleeping seemed more insulting. He glared at 18, silently accusing her and her brother of somehow maneuvering him to be the butt of a joke. She shrugged a shoulder non-committedly.
"Ok, my turn to ask a question," and Nappa turned towards the freak with three bloodshot eyes. Tien was rubbing his temples. "How long is this supposed to last? Seriously, man.. because I can't take the constant ki spikes nailing me in the fucking brain because those two can't. Stop. FUCKING!"
Piccolo snorted but didn't disagree and 17 was cackling so hard he started wheezing. Seconds later, he inhaled a corner of the bandanna still covering his face and may have choked if 18 hadn't kicked him with no lack of gentleness in the ribs. Nappa narrowed his eyes and rubbed his hand against his face. Sighing, he flicked a quiet glance at the normally stoic, three-eyed human before movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He slid his gaze to peer sideways at a suddenly very tense human to watch for a reaction.
"It is hard to say. Vegeta's circumstance is unprecedented. It may yet be hours or days longer," he didn't bother hiding a grin when the scars on the man's face whitened as they were pulled into a wince. "Though it seems Vegeta's ki should be settled enough for the Phase to have broken already." Nappa's grin grew wicked. "It could be that the Prince is simply enjoying –"
The loud snap of plastic was heard as the tortured seatback under Yamcha's fingers buckled but before he could respond, Piccolo peeled himself from the pilot's chair and turned to face the room.
"All of this is irrelevant. Important to us is waking Goku so we can return to Yardrat where we've left everyone. We still have a tyrant to defeat and we need to prepare. We can't do that from here." He turned his heavy gaze to each person in turn, and cocked a hairless eyebrow at Yamcha. The human clenched his jaw but looked away. Piccolo crossed his arms and turned his head to pointedly scowl at Nappa.
The Saiyan shrugged, not at all chastised for purposefully baiting not only the male warrior, but Kakarrot's female, as well. It was about fucking time after a year of mistranslated bull shit that he was finally understood for what he actually said. Sure, speaking gibberish had often had moments he had found amusing, but he'd be damned if he refrained from catching up on his well-deserved rights as the elder to all of these fools! It was a fully bizarre, somewhat embarrassing, and totally baffling herd of 'strange' that he wouldn't have chosen had he the option to choose, and though he may not particularly like most of them – they were his mismatched group of idiots and he was going to treat them as such whether they appreciated it or not.
Nappa studied Kakarrot. It had been almost two days since the youngest Saiyan had entered a healing sleep. He should have gotten off his as a day ago.
At this point, the moron was just being lazy.
Nappa strode to the unconscious Saiyan. Had the third class been whole, waking him would only have been a matter of clutching the bastard's tail and yanking it near clean off. Well. Not really. But it should feel that way when done properly. But, as the silly insect hadn't had the sense to keep the one defining Saiyan feature that any true Saiyan would die before losing, he had to figure out a different way. Nothing came to mind in the time it took to give the sleeping heathen a careless once over, so Nappa simply did what he'd do to catch someone's attention at any other time.
He sent Kakarrot flying.
A meaty fist smashed into Kakarrot's jaw with enough strength behind it to make Nappa wince and rub his knuckles.
It had the desired effect. Despite the ridiculously overdramatic reaction of the swell of humanity the younger Saiyan insisted surround him, at least he was awake.
Sort of.
Rolling over to his stomach to spit blood, Goku clicked his jaw back into place and raised his head from the ground. He wasn't ready to move much, yet, but he had decided he wasn't dead. His eyes argued against focusing and he tried to determine which of the three versions of colors and shapes were real as opposed to stars. He felt more than heard heavy footsteps and instinct alone forced him to rear backwards and hunch his shoulders into a fighting position despite the fact he was still on his knees. He tottered and lost his balance and ended up on his ass about a second before landing on his back. Blinking up at the ceiling, he rubbed his head and grinned at the familiar ache of a busted lip. He didn't remember what happened, but any time he woke up on the ground, it meant he was in the middle of a spectacular fight.
Someone tried to help him stand, but he pulled away, even as his balance threatened to abandon him to collapse again. And then, he collapsed. Or at least, he tipped over one way, then another, and was finally shoved from behind so that he found himself once again, sitting on the floor. All efforts to stand were thwarted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Just stay down, Goku. You're not in the middle of a fight."
Goku frowned. Not in a…?
Glancing down to the weight on his shoulder, his eyes followed the hand as it formed into a wrist, then an arm, and finally - a face. Piccolo was glaring, but not at him. The target of the Namek's gaze was Nappa – who was grinning widely. Goku raised an eyebrow in suspicion and rubbed his sore jaw. When the older Siayan's lip curled up even further, Goku knew who had hit him. It didn't really matter why... He grinned back with sinister promise and received a nod in return. They may not be fighting now – but that didn't mean they couldn't fight later.
Piccolo sighed at them impatiently and tried not to let his irritation show. "It's time got back to the others." The Namek left Goku sitting on the ground, and Goku took the hand-up from Yamcha when it was offered. He stood, wondering why everyone was staring at him like he had just come back from the dead.
Oh yeah.
"Bulma?"
Suddenly no one wanted to stare at him, anymore. Confused, he rubbed the back of his head and tried to work out the remaining stiffness in his jaw. This was the first time in his life he could remember not having a tiny sense of Bulma in the back of his brain. It was… like trying to walk right after his tail had been cut off that first time. It was awkward, and he'd miss the little spot that she had filled, but he could get used to it. In its place was.. huh. Before he'd always been able to just conjure her image and just… know… sorta where she was. Now, he had to search for her ki. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be, he grew up around her and she was close by. But something felt different. Almost – off – in a way. It was almost like she was…
Goku's face erupted in a fierce blush.
Oh. Oooohhh.
Yamcha, who had immediately noticed Goku's particular shade of nuclear embarrassment, huffed and rolled his eyes as he pulled his hand free from Goku's suddenly very tight grip. "Yeah. You noticed that, did ya?"
Not knowing how else to respond, Goku took Yamcha's question literally. "Well, yeah. Uh. They're kinda not.. um. I mean.. it would be really hard to miss…" he trailed off weakly but grinned suddenly. "Hey, at least we know she's ok and the universe wont' fly apart!"
Yamcha stared at him blankly and blinked once very slowly. "Yeah, Goku. She's ok and the universe isn't going to fly apart."
Goku stared at Yamcha's back as he walked away. Shrugging, he looked to his left and caught Chichi's eyes. Immediately, he felt weak and his expression melted into one of painful desperation. She smiled widely at him. "Yes, yes, I'll feed you. Follow me," she said with gruff affection and his knees nearly buckled in relief.
Somehow, this was interpreted as an invitation for everyone to follow. One by one, they sat in the cramped kitchenette that was only meant to hold three. The mood was lifting until Tien, followed by Piccolo, sucked the energy out of the room with his next words. "While you eat, it will give the Ogre a chance to explain what he meant by 'Legendary,' because, apparently, you are one, Goku. We've been trying to get an explanation for two days. Maybe you'll finally crack that egg."
Goku watched Chichi's hands eagerly as she prepared food. He didn't bother looking over his shoulder at whoever spoke. "Sure. I'd like some eggs.." he said.
"Would it be narcissistic of me to beseech God to spare us stupidity? More importantly, can I blaspheme when I know my request - which, in essence, would be sent to myself - would be futile?" mumbled Piccolo quietly from the corner.
OoOoO
Moments of clarity were more frequent and they lasted longer. Bulma still lost herself in the tide of Vegeta's lust, but even then, she had a certain awareness. It was on a base level, animalistic and primal, but she understood her need to be invaded; to open her legs and invite penetration, to rock her hips against hardness, to feel the hot spurts of fluid erupt deep inside her core and violate everything that was her and turn it into something darker… more predatory.
The part of herself that had not yet been consumed and existed separate from him ached. Desperate for completion, she arched herself against him as he surged and throbbed in turns: over her, under her, behind her, beside her, but always within her. Their bodies twisted together in an electrical storm, and in the hazy, black thunderclouds of bestial fury, they broke against each other to become something utterly new – something primal, something unforgiving, and something wholly unconditional.
She heard the groaning of her soul as it spilled across her lips and her eyes fluttered open. His breath mixed with hers as his mouth first covered hers before traveling down her neck to bathe her collar bone in its heat or rumble in her ear in husky moans. Then, he would lick and suck his way back to the cavern of her mouth and dip his tongue between her teeth to drink in all that she gave. The sweat-slicked muscles of his stomach slid across hers, and his back flexed under the nails of her fingers as she gripped him in her need to bring him closer.
He panted against her temple, chuffing against the heat of her skin. The sound sank straight through to her cells and made them hum. He was a hammer that struck against her sanity, splitting her mind into fragments so that he could flow between the cracks and seal himself within her. His tail slid up her leg, the soft fur a sensual caress, and wound around her hips to press her tightly against him. His hands kneaded her flesh, greedy and demanding, but where they touched, he banked her flaming desire and overloaded her senses. The ki pulsing within her was hot and unfathomable – it had already corrupted and destroyed every part of herself that didn't need him to survive.
His teeth punctured the skin at the base of her neck, and she felt the sensual agony of his venom spread from the bite and poison her blood. It was a liquid drug searing through her veins. The slow, scalding ache mixed with the buzz of a high until the sensations were one and the same. She was addicted. She was the echo to his voice and when he called out to her, she had no choice but to sing out in response.
Her back arched as she broke against his hardness and the liquid gush of his heat as it filled her. He collapsed, boneless, and had only the strength to roll half-way off of her when she struggled for breath. Tangled together in twisted bed sheets and sweat-coated limbs, they slept.
OoOoO
Bulma was aware of her soreness before she knew she was awake. Her mind was hazy and she couldn't tell if she were dreaming, floating between life and death, or if she were waking from long years of being lost in a coma. As she floated in the realm of half-awareness, she realized she remembered more than the last time she woke, and it surprised her that she knew enough to know there was a now and a last time. Her surprise was a catalyst for focus and her mind rallied, despite her efforts to remain comfortably drifting in numbness and thoughtlessness.
She opened her eyes before she knew she had the ability to take in anything that existed from beyond her own half-formed self-awareness. And yet, despite not having a clear understanding of what she saw, she had a sense of something outside of herself that was just as much a part her as she was herself. She turned her head and let it fall to the side. She didn't quite understand what filled her eyes – she only knew it was separate from her and that it was wrong. This part of herself belonged with her and she felt diminished that it was absent from her.
It hurt.
She longed to touch it, and only then recalled – touching caressing, rubbing, throbbing, thrusting – something forcing its way far into her consciousness and changing her to fit itself within her. She could feel it now, this living, breathing presence inside her mind, and wondered how it could be inside her if she could see it laying across from her, just out of reach. Like a pleased cat in the sun, her thoughts stretched against this new part of her mind and she wrapped herself in the comfort of its warmth. It undulated against her in response, nuzzling against her as if she were softness and warmth. It was sluggish and sleeping still, and almost pulled her back into slumber.
But she wanted to touch the part of her inside that existed outside of her.
She remembered flesh and wetness, muscles jerking and fluid gushing, spasms and liquid electricity as it shot sparks throughout her body. She missed it. She wanted it.
Her gaze flicked down his form.
She refused a wave of sudden consciousness, wanting to hold on to… this feeling… a little longer. She knew.. She knew she understood. She knew she remembered. But she didn't want to. Not yet. She wanted to keep seeing everything as though it was the first time and with new eyes. She stared at him, trying not to recall words or explanations for what she saw. She wanted only to feel with an untamed rawness, and know him on an instinctual level. She knew the part of him she wanted and needed and that's all that mattered. It was...wrong… somehow. It was supposed to reach for her, hot and wanting, and fill her softness with hardness. Only allowing herself to know only what she needed to do, she didn't think about what she was doing. She simply reached for him.
She took the part of him she knew was wrong and covered it with her mouth. It was dizzying and she nearly forgot herself again. Yet the sensation was exquisite so she pushed with her lips and lapped with her tongue. She stroked the soft skin as she sucked and massaged the flesh at its base. The wrongness was starting to feel right again as it quivered and grew, and she hummed, pleased, when she teased drops of fluid from the tip and tasted its slight saltiness. She felt something tangle in her hair and gently pull, so she reluctantly let the thing that was right again slide from her lips.
Something helped hold her weight and guided her as she straddled the thing she wanted. Hands, she couldn't stop herself from thinking - angled her hips and held her in position while the hardness beneath her rose up to spear her. She saw sparks under closed eyelids and threw her head back. She braced herself against a muscular chest with her hands. As she moved in tandem with the living darkness below her, she shifted her weight and brought her head forward. An open mouth met her own and greedy tongues wound around one another, fighting for dominance. Something sharp stung her lower lip, and a metallic taste tugged at the foggy edges of her awareness.
She remembered this…. The taste of her own blood, the feel of him moving inside of her – his ki washing over her until she felt as though she was burning alive from the inside out. She tried to push the thought away.
Something shifted within her mind and she felt an alien presence slither against her consciousness. The echo of something cold and furious raked against her thoughts, snagging against the fragile cobwebs of memory. Fighting against it to regain the warmth of oblivion was futile and anxiety burned in the pit of her chest. Her face contorted in pain and effort to keep what she knew lay buried under a wall of oppression. She wasn't ready to let it out, yet. She wanted to keep him a little while longer… her kiss became more desperate.
His hand moved up her hip to palm a breast. He squeezed it painfully and she tried to twist away from it, but his tempo became harsh and angry, throwing her off balance, forcing her lips away from his. Gasping, she refused to open her eyes and instead clenched her teeth. He moved his hand to her throat and squeezed until she could no longer take in air. He pulled her closer until their lips barely touched so she could feel his scorching breath roll over her face. Her lungs throbbed from want of air, and her heart hammered in her ears. It wasn't until she felt the deep reverberation of his murderous growl deep in the marrow her bones that her eyes defied her wishes and flew open in icy fear.
And looking back at her were twin midnight hurricanes – each a frozen vortex spinning into an enraged, black abyss, and in their darkest epicenters, a promise of vengeful wrath so utterly annihilating and terrifying, the devastation she felt in the pit of her soul was absolute.
He. Remembered. Everything.
If there was anything left of her after the tumult of her regret and grief had burst into flame in that single moment, he crushed it under the scalding weight of his fury. Instant tears flooded her eyes and paved paths down her cheeks. He loosened his grip around her throat, but her lungs were too full of jagged ice to allow breath and she choked. He forced her to lean into him and kissed her brutally, and she couldn't close her eyes or look away from the loathing in his stare if she had to. She gasped through clenched teeth as he pummeled into her mercilessly.
She dare not even think - with even a fraction of her subconscious mind - about defending against his telepathic assault. And so she allowed his invasion, felt his mind wrapping itself around hers, squeezing it until it buckled under the pressure, oozing through the cracks until there was nothing but her naked soul before him. She knew it would be her undoing. Utterly exposed, broken and at his mercy, he didn't bring her pain. He didn't fracture her sanity.
He forced on her a world shattering release that completely destroyed her.
Because then…
He was gone.
She didn't know how long she lay on the bed, sobbing alone and curled tightly against herself. It was devastating because she knew he was there; she could feel the echo of him pulsing in her skull. What demolished her spirit – tempted her to shred her own awareness to nothing to escape the hollowness of his absence - was that he had withdrawn behind an impenetrable mental wall. Rather than suffer another betrayal if she breached his thoughts again in any manner, if he felt even the slightest vibration of her thoughts turning inwards to do herself harm, or reaching outwards beyond the cage of her own mind –
He would kill them both.
