Fight club gas leak in the apartment reference in previous chapter... yeah, what can I say. I'm a Pop Culture nut.

Angsty lemon ahead, so yeah; with Bulma being so horny and Vegeta giving her the cold shoulder, and you guys putting up with me, I figured I'd let you guys have a pretty hot chapter. (I am for some reason reminded of the comment someone made about how Stephen King – God LOVE him – could just shit into a fax machine, fax it to his publisher and it'll be a number 1 seller. ...my mind is playing tricks on me.)

Also, if you haven't figured it out by now, it's going to be in a slightly alternate universe. Just so I have enough room to branch out and not end up like just another BV fic.

Warning: Sex and violence; because they go hand in hand.

Chapter 4 – You Trick Your Lovers That You're Wicked And Divine

When she saw him standing still in the corridor, she couldn't help but seek him out. She was so sure that she would be spending the rest of the day wallowing in self pity and sorrow, griping about how the only man that seemed interested in her was her loser ex boyfriend; living in a house with a sexually desirable specimen of maleness was beyond frustrating. Sure, he looks scary; he could probably hurt her more than Yamcha ever did, but that didn't stop her flesh from aching for him. She felt like she was in a dream state; getting to be so close to him, being allowed to touch him, even if it is for the sake of mending a wound.

The walk to the Gravity Room didn't take long; if anything, the extra bottle of beer that she was currently nursing as she steadily cruised sustained her buzz, loosening her tongue, her opinion ready to be heard. 'Alright, Bulma, here we go; we're gonna tear Prince Stick Up His Ass a new one; how dare he! What the hell is with him lately? First he kisses me, which was a big WOW, and then he avoids me, either because he suddenly decided that I was too ugly, or he's trying to torment me intentionally. ARGH!' her inner monologue raged. The sliding glass doors to the main building that housed Vegeta's GR and his living quarters were in sight; no turning back now. The automatic doors opened, and she walked down the corridor towards his room.

She raised her hand to knock, so sure that she would go on a tirade the second he opened the door. Before she had a chance to knock, the door opened; he stood there, scowling his usual scowl, looking pissed as fuck, his gaze so sharp, just being near him made her feel somewhat exposed. This reminds her of her current outfit, the red bikini; and suddenly, there she was, a weak female human, standing before a bronzed and sculptured warrior. Confidence went out the window, and she felt the blood drain from her face, she was sure she looked as white as death.

"What?" He didn't have to shout; if anything, it came out as a gruff whisper, one that resonated deep within his chest. But for the life of her, she couldn't help but succumb to the sudden realization of her inferiority; sure, he was an ass. But he's strong, and he's a killer; piss him off, and you could end up dead. Fuck. She was somewhat drunk and high; her cognitive faculties were impaired, and she was sure that no matter what, her fate was sealed the moment she decided that it would be a good idea to invite a killer into her home.

"What do you want, woman?" he sounded annoyed this time as he voiced his question; he did not feel like being harassed by this googly eyed female. Not after a fruitless day of training; and after having to need stitches, all because of shrapnel; his mood was foul, and to add to the turmoil, the object of his secret envy would not leave him alone. The second he finished voicing that particular thought, he was suddenly reminded of how he had kissed her; it felt like an out of body experience, but he could still remember how she tasted, how she felt. Sometimes, you do the damnedest things without thinking twice, and he couldn't help but consider the possibility of how he could be descending into madness instead of ascending into the Legendary. The woman was a distraction, and it was more than frustrating that he was dependent upon her charity in order to achieve his ultimate goal. Self loathing settled in the pit of his stomach like stone.

For the longest time, they stood there; only he maintained his sharp gaze. She, on the other hand, fidgeted for a while before speaking up.

"You kissed me," she said bluntly. She wasn't sure what else to say, and she was sure that the prince was in no mood for small talk, so why beat around the bush? Vegeta never fussed with finesse when addressing her, so why should she?

"What of it?" he retorted. She blinked a few times in disbelief, gasping for words, but try as she might, no words would come. How blasé of him; her blood boiled, and she recognized the moment as one of those 'losing a nut' moment. Too drunk to care about the consequences, her anger and vigour returned, and she fought back.

"Well, I – what the hell was all that about?"

"Why are you really here, Bulma?" The fact that he spoke her name felt surreal; he never called her by her name before. On the rare occasion that he did address her, he would refer to her as 'woman' or 'human'. The sound of her name rolling off his lips shifted her focus; her hormones took over. She was like a sex starved teen, seeking out the bad and dangerous boys to play around with. What remaining sanity reminded her that she had just gotten out of an abusive relationship had long gone, and she was too taken in with the sexual tension that was in the air. "Are you looking for a good fuck? You seem desperate enough if you're knocking at my door."

She couldn't help but notice how self-depreciating he sounded. "You kissed me. Do you have any idea how tortured I've been, sleeping at night, twisting and turning, thinking about you?" She could hardly believe her ears; pouring her heart out to a monster. The monster stared back, unflinchingly, as silence enveloped them both.

Though his face betrayed nothing, his thoughts were a mess; he knew what he was, and he knew that he was more than lucky to have been sheltered by the generous weakling human. He didn't have much to his name other than his tattered pride; sure, he kept reminding her of his royal heritage, but even to his ears, it sounded like a lie. He was the last of his kind; the last son of the house of Vegetasei, and he had grown up under the rule of a tyrant, forced to kill, torture, maim, destroy... he could still remember the slick feeling of blood on his hands, and no matter how many times he cleaned them, they would always remain. His touch would taint this beautiful woman, and he hated himself for succumbing to the temptation of wanting to touch the blue haired angel.

That fateful day when she repaired the GR, he couldn't help but notice her. She smelled the way angels ought to smell; along with her ethereal scent, he could smell the anxiety that haunted her. It was very out of character of him to suddenly feel like wanting to protect her; she looked fragile and slender, and his blood boiled thinking about if any man had ever hurt her. 'This might be my chance of redeeming myself,' the voice in his head whispered. But pride and fear held him back; he would not give into her again, not now, when the demons of dejection and failure loomed over him like a ghost that refused to be purged.

But he didn't have to give in; it was her who made the first move. Like in slow motion, he could see her move towards him hesitantly, her face closing into his as she tip toed to kiss him on the lips; he didn't move for fear of breaking the reverie of the moment, as though he might wake up from a dream and that this was all some cruel trick in his head. As much as he doubted what was happening, he could smell the alcohol on her breath, the soft and moist pressure from her lips onto his, her cold hands slowly touching his arm. This little creature, weak as she is, trusted him not to hurt her; this was a first, though she herself may not know it. A lifetime spent in a world where there is only pain, you tend to distrust everyone, and you tend to feel like everyone is about to get you. This was new to Vegeta, and for once, he felt like he was on terra incognita.

Red was her colour, she knew it. She felt like she was a temptress queen, even after the cold snubs that he had given her. Red is the colour of blood; blood gives life, and life cannot be sustained without love. And love is what this man needs; she suffered no delusions of this being another fairy tale romance like those silly Disney films where the prince and princess live happily ever after. Happily ever after was not a word that she would associate with this man, but none the less, she felt like she wanted to, needed to, give herself to him, to show that she trusted him. Does he know what it's like to trust someone? She doubted that. It was mad, suicidal, even, to trust this monster, one part of her screamed. But she was beyond caring; the world might be coming to an end, and for once, she wanted to show someone the kind of love for another being that she had always craved but never managed to capture for herself, even if that someone turned out to be the egomaniacal murderer alien with a trigger happy temper.

He yanked her into the room and slammed the door behind her. Firmly gripping her shoulders, he shoved her against the door, staring her down with all the bewilderment and rage he could muster. "You're being foolish, woman. Do you know what I am capable of doing to you?" To emphasize the point, he squeezed her arms hard, drawing a sharp gasp.

She stared into his eyes, showing no fear. "I know." They held their gaze for the longest of time before he spoke again.

"I could tear you into shreds, woman. I could break your bones, pull you apart limb from limb with barely any effort." Taking advantage of their close proximity, he lowered his gaze appreciatively to admire her slender curves. She seemed somewhat starved, honestly; he could see bones protruding by her hips, her collar, her cheeks... it was as though to emphasize how delicate she was. Her breasts were small and humble; in the vibrant red bikini top, she looked sinfully luscious, what with her vulnerable energy and feminine glory barely concealed from his raving gaze. Skinny though she was, her hips flared beautifully outwards as he shifted his attention lower down her body; her waist was small, and the curve on her sides were bowed perfectly in a dick-stiffening arch.

She didn't flinch; and yet, somehow, though he felt like ravishing her, the anger that poisoned him all this while made him want to hurt her, just enough to let her know that he could feel too, though all he knew of was rage and blackness. Being alone with her brought out an animal from deep within; he acted purely on instincts while keenly watching her for any and all reactions.

Before she knew it, his hand gripped her throat, barely enough to cut off her air supply. It felt small and fragile in his hands; images of the battlefield flashed through his mind, and he remembered that it was the same excitement that he felt just before landing a killing hit. He felt powerful. She stiffened a little, but maintained her gaze onto his; all this while, that look she had from the beginning never diminished. Heavy lidded, cherry lips parted, chest rising and falling with each excited breath... it was beautiful. SHE was beautiful.

Instincts told him to stay his hand, though the guarded animal in him dared not to relinquish his hold over her. He stared down into her eyes, tilting her face upwards; the other hand greedily felt her up. Grabbing a generous amount of flesh as his hands skimmed down her hips, he squeezed, eliciting a surprised gasp from his captive. His hands kept roaming, and he basked in the sensations that she evoked upon him. From the quickening of his heartbeat, to the flooding of warmth that slowly seeped through his veins... it was intoxicating. His stubborn pride refused to accept that he was not acting like an animal in heat, though he could not, for the life of him, resist; it felt like daring to reach into a trap for the prized lure... only this time, there was no nasty surprise. He kept expecting something that he wasn't prepared for, something that he knew would destroy him... but nothing came. There was no pain, no suffering. Despite his hold on her, he felt a certain vulnerability; and being vulnerable was something the proud warrior was not accustomed to.

Conflicted with these emotions while grappling with the attraction, he proceeded cautiously. With his right hand, he tilted her head so that her neck was exposed to him; she was so small, compared to him. Her skin was soft and smooth, and he was aware of it every time he breathed in; she filled his lungs, and soon, he could feel her as though she was under his skin. Without much thought, he brought his mouth down to taste her; she wriggled and gasped beneath his firm grip, and the more he sucked, kissed, grazed, the more she bucked and moaned. She felt like rain, scouring his soul, his hands clean of all the bloodshed.

He did all he could to take her in; the way her skin smelled, how soft she felt beneath his lips, how she tasted in his mouth, the noises she make – he was so engrossed in his newfound fixation, he didn't realize until she pulled at his hair that he might be hurting her. A quick glance showed red marks where he ravaged her with his mouth. Not willing to relinquish an ounce of control, he grabbed her hand and pinned it above her head; he grabbed the other hand and pinned it there with one hand. Her breasts pointed out at him deliciously, almost spilling out of the tiny bikini top; he took the opportunity of kneeing her legs apart to press up against her, to let her know her effects on him. Lips crashed, and they were soon lost in freefall; all that mattered was how she tasted in his mouth, and how heady her scent smelled.

Absolutely intoxicating; that was all that he managed to think of, as he ripped her 'clothing' away; he wanted to see more of her, and his greedy hands wanted to feel every inch of her.

"Please..." he heard her whisper.

Faster than the eye could see, he tossed her on the bed, and was soon above her, spreading her legs open obscenely with one elbow hooked behind her knee before roughly nudging into her. There was no pretence of gentility; he devoured all that her body had to offer, like starving men were to feast upon encountering a free banquet. She gasped, wailed seductively like a siren; face flushed, breasts bouncing... she was an enigma, and now, she lay bare before him, willingly submitting to his will. He had one of her hands pinned above her head, still distrusting the woman, despite her being smaller and weaker than him; it was the same feeling he had when Freiza was still in his life, where the cage would fall down on him when he least expected it.

SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, was all that echoed in her ear. He looked down at her while mercilessly ploughing into her, and she could see that he looked almost feral; God, was she a sucker for bad boys or what? Her damp hair clung to her face and shoulder; her body felt like it was on fire, and it felt like the entire world was spinning. A burst of intense pleasure hit her with such intensity, she arched off the bed, howling; he had to hold her hips down because she thrashed around so much, the pillows were falling off and the sheets were coming loose.

All that she could think of was how selfless she felt at the moment. She could care less about her pain; surely, his life compared to hers was much more horrifying. She could almost see it in his eyes; it was as though she could tell what he was feeling without him having to vocalize it. The more she looked at him, the more she felt sorrow for him; 'this man is a good man; just that life has been such a bitch,' she thought as she felt him crash onto her, convulsing as his monumental release washed over her.

End Chapter 4

Women are suffering machines – Pablo Picasso

Sorry for the errors; I am too tired to proofread. Read and please review, or I will not be motivated to finish this. XD