((Now, if you'll remember, this was the chapter in NIAMY that started the real plot. There was absolutely no contact between Vegeta and Goku in that entire chapter. So in this chapter, it's all Goku. No contact with Vegeta at all (well, no real contact with him anyway). Therefore, it's all new material (though I'll include a scene from the prologue/fifth side story, just 'cause.) The next chapter should be where it gets interesting.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always, my lovely readers.

-Shinsun))

Twists And Turns

Chapter 4

I stared at the stranger in the mirror, the stranger wearing my face; for a long moment. I tried to make my expression relax, to fade that intensity from my eyes or maybe even smile, but I found it strangely impossible at the moment. All I managed to do was change my glare to a look of semi-betrayed shock.

And I still looked like Vegeta.

Upon closer inspection, I was further proven right in that observation. My overall profile was of course my own, but the endless dark fierceness that had always pooled from my ex-rival's eyes now emanated from mine. Where once I had worn a simple, almost childish visage, now the shadows of doubt, anger, and conflict traced my face.

No wonder he's so drawn to me now. I thought, Returning to what's familiar... Never thought I'd be familiar to him as anything but an object to be persecuted and bedeviled.

Even the fact that such words as "persecuted" and "bedeviled" were now in my vocabulary proved that I was slowly becoming someone else. ...And I couldn't do anything to stop it.

.

.

Slightly shell-shocked, I stumbled back into the kitchen, relieved to find my wife had left it empty. I didn't want to face her repercussions for my earlier behavior, and certainly not the questions she was sure to throw at me.

I sighed, unsure what to do. I should probably have sought to fix things between ChiChi and me, since I'd made her angry and probably upset... but for the time being, I didn't know where I would even start. I couldn't even comfort myself, much less someone else, and I was far too tense.

Distractedly, I filled a glass of water from the faucet, but the cold water did nothing for me except make my teeth ache before chilling my throat as I swallowed it. I straightened, trying to think of something I could say to ChiChi, and the glass in my hand shattered in my grip as I hit my head on the cabinet above me, hard. My vision flashed red as a growl, foreign to my ears, shivered from my throat; and my hand shot up of its own volition and tore the cupboard door from its hinges, just wanting to deal some kind of damage to the culprit of the throbbing lump on my forehead. The crackling shriek of abused metalwork mixed with the string of curses spewing from my mouth as i dismembered the cabinet this way.

I snapped back to awareness suddenly and froze, the rectangular wooden door hanging from my hand. My gaze staggered over the vicinity around me, taking in the sawdust pluming in the air from the injured cabinet, the shards of glass scattered at my feet.

What... what did...? Oh, gods...

If I caused this kind of destruction from a small amount of irritation on inanimate objects... what would I do if that creeping anger flared up around people?

I fled the scene before someone came to investigate the source of the racket, forgetting that I still held the disembodied cabinet door in my hand.

X

I lay in my bed that night, thoughts swirling in my head preventing sleep. My hand was throbbing dully from being cut by the shattering glass, matching the throbbing of the bruise on my head.

Why did I get so angry over something so small? I wondered. I hadn't even given a second's thought, I just... acted on impulse. That wasn't unusual for me, I rarely did think twice before doing something... but this time I didn't even think once. I shuddered to think what would have happened if it had been ChiChi who had gotten me mad, or, Kami forbid, one of my sons. What would I have done without thinking then? Wrung their neck? Tore their arm off?

I'm dangerous... I always knew that fact, but now I was painfully aware of it, because I no longer had any barrier of control between that danger and the world. I had enough raw power in my veins to obliterate the planet a dozen times over at least... but I had always been one hundred percent sure I would never do something like that. Now? I wasn't so sure...

I needed to find some way to get this uncharacteristic anger under control. There was only one person I knew who would be able to tell me how, and I had no desire to speak with that particular person. Vegeta. This was all his fault anyway. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have even known what a Saiyan was, let alone walked in the shoes of one, had a brief flash of the destructive instinct that fueled what was left of my nearly extinct race. He had shaken awake the Saiyan in me, and I think I was beginning to hate him for it.

I'd never hated anything before. Strong dislike, maybe. But hate was just too strong of a negative emotion to apply to anyone I knew. Now I was seriously considering it.

.

.

ChiChi joined me later that night, and I could tell by the way she crawled into bed that she was seeking forgiveness for earlier today.

She lay down next to me and slowly met my eyes, her own contrite in the dark.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," she murmured, and she actually looked it.

I reminded myself why I loved her; why I'd agreed to marry her. Despite everything that happened today, everything that happened in the three weeks since I'd committed a thoughtless sin with the Prince of All Saiyans... that didn't change. My wife might infuriate me, but she was still my wife. One constant in the world that was rearranging itself around me.

"I'm sorry too," I said seriously.

She smiled and kissed me gently. It was a sweet gesture, so I relaxed myself for her as much as I could.

After a moment her kiss became more demanding, and I knew she wanted to compensate for the night where I'd refused her. Make-up sex was something ChiChi was exceptionally prone to, and to my dismay I found that my body was still in no mood to give her what she wanted... maybe it would never be again.

I knew, though, that I could not refuse a second time. ChiChi would not so easily forgive that, and would demand to know why I was being the way I was. I couldn't answer that.

Still, as she straddled my waist, I couldn't convince myself to respond the way she wanted. Her kissing did nothing for me; more bothersome, in fact, than arousing as she intended. Her caresses were likewise lost on my aloof skin, the eventual nipping and sucking shirked off by my unwilling body.

I wanted to claw at my skin, to voice my frustration, to command my body to respond to my wife, to erase the memories of that time with Vegeta and make myself once again ignorant of the comparison between them.

Vegeta...

Immediately, with the simple thought of the name, my flesh began to take interest in the sexual touch my wife was administering to my skin. Her hands were soft... like his... like the glove-less palms of the prince... I could feel a stirring in the southern region of my body, and ChiChi seemed pleased, murmuring something naughty against my neck as her slender fingers skittered over my chest.

Of all the punishments in the world, Kami, why this? I thought resignedly.

The irony, that the only thing that would cause me to respond to my wife's efforts was the memory of something that should never have happened; was so purely fitting that it was, in fact, not ironic at all.

ChiChi's hand traveled lower, and I threw away my morbid thoughts in favor of somehow making her happy. But at what cost? Pleasing her while thinking solely of someone else was against my wishes, against any sort of acceptance from her, and against our marriage vows. But then, I'd already torn those vows to pieces by dying twice, and then knowingly and deliberately cheating on my wife.

Might as well, since I'm probably going to Hell either way. Of course, I'd been to Hell, more than once, but that was besides the point.

As ChiChi's hand landed on the awakening of desire between my legs, I summoned as vivid an image of the Saiyan prince as anyone would hope to find. Clearer than a photograph, more enthralling than a memory, because I could recall scent, touch and even taste as well as sight.

Strangely, the bitter sting of dawning hate just made the image of the prince in my mind's eye even more stimulating to the bulge stressing at my pants. I felt the pressure of a hand squeezing my growing arousal, but with my eyes closed to the world, I could imagine it was the hand of my rival, my prince, and a soft moan left my lips. I trained my thoughts to zero in on the memory of the prince's lithe apparition in my mind; sculpted form, coiled steel of muscle and fluid bronze of sweat-kissed skin. Dark fire of sweeping satin hair and burning ebon eyes. The scent and taste of fire, smoke, and rich, forbidden desire that I could recreate so perfectly that it made my mouth water.

In the back of my mind my conscience cringed, briefly reminding me that it was my very real wife caressing my now fully-erect member, not the vivid fantasy I was training my thoughts on.

I could hear ChiChi murmuring dirty little things as she lowered the waist of my jeans, but I tuned out her lilting, feminine voice and registered the words in a panting, rough, masculine one. A shiver snaked down my body, half guilt, half boundless want. I obligingly lifted my hips as my jeans were removed from my legs, my breathing becoming rough as I pictured Vegeta's wanton, smirking face looming over me, drawing blood with scraping nails and nipping teeth.

I felt lips close on the head of my arousal, and with the image still fresh in my mind, I arched and groaned; the remembered scent titillating the region of my brain that processed smell, even if it never actually reached my nostrils then.

ChiChi's light, human attempt at a sensual purr as she took my erection into her mouth was tuned out by the memory of a carnal, real Saiyan purr, the remembrance of how Vegeta's had vibrated into my own chest and sinuses, echoed by my timbre of the sound only we could properly make.

ChiChi faltered slightly as a deep rumble started in my chest, probably confused as I'd never purred around her before. Only Vegeta had taught me that I could even purr. I'd thought it was something only cats did, but he'd shown me a new kind of pleasure that had snapped the instinct into awareness and brought forth the sound.

"Wha -?" she began, her hand tentative as she lightly touched my sternum, as if searching for the source of the purr.

"Don't – stop -" I panted, keeping the image of the nude prince in the forefront of my mind lest my arousal start to flag under the reality of my wife's presence.

It was sickening really; or it would be, if I gave myself the moment of conscience to actually think about it.

Still I could sense – through what was left of my senses – that ChiChi was hesitant as she shed her clothing. I tossed my own shirt over my head, chancing a glimpse of my wife just to see if there was any reaction from my body to see hers completely exposed and ready.

Nothing. Zilch. Zero reaction.

With a frustrated, albeit explosive sigh that might have sounded lustful to ChiChi's ears, I let myself collapse back on the pillows again, bringing the vision of the forbidden prince back into my mind, and drowning myself in it.

And... in a word... the night was a battle. Not the kind of battle my Saiyan blood would relish in, nor the sexual battle of sensations ChiChi wanted it to be.

It was a battle of how to keep my erection fed long enough to give her the satisfaction she wanted. How to intensify the images and memories to a degree enough to bring me to sufficient climax. How to have make-up sex with my wife entirely with my eyes closed, trying not to listen to the nattering guilt that reminded me that my mind was lying to itself, and that my body was lying to my wife.

I was becoming a rather good liar, and I seriously doubted anything good could come of that.

TBC