Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
Free My Heart
“If you don’t get off your fat ass and do something, your body will deteriorate.”
“Fat!” Bulma screeched, sitting upright so fast that her blanket tumbled into her lap. She scurried to cover her breasts, heat suffusing her cheeks. “I thought you said I was scrawny?”
Vegeta peered at her from beneath his dark brows as he did another push-up. He had caught her slip and he was relieved to be facing the ground. Her breasts really were magnificent. Her pale alabaster skin glowed under the harsh light, making her almost ethereal. Her nipples were hard and red, the sensitive naked skin abraded by the rough wool of the blanket.
It had been a long time since he had a woman. He was by no means a eunuch as his peers believed. He just preferred his women to be of a different class. It was typical of him to explore new worlds for hours even days before he was supposed to purge them. He would prowl through their unsuspecting back alleys and visit their gathering spots. It wasn’t hard for him to find a willing woman to take him home for the night. Pure lust, unsullied by fear or greed. They neither knew who he was nor did he pay them for their time. They just wanted him for him, nothing more. In the end, he killed them of course. He killed their entire planet. But for a few hours it would just be them, skin, sweat and raw sex.
He squeezed his eyes shut and did another rapid series of push-ups before he got his body back under control. He needed to stop having such thoughts if he was going to get through this next trial with his dignity intact. No matter what, he could not give Zarbon and Jeice the satisfaction of knowing he lusted after the woman they incarcerated him with. It would give them the upper-hand they needed in their long standing struggle for dominance.
More importantly, he would not give into his desire to spread her legs wide and fuck her until she screamed his name loud enough for the entire ship to hear. What he needed to do was remind himself how ugly she was.
“I can see your ass spreading from here, woman.”
“Oooh,” she hissed and shot up from her seat, whipping the tail of her blanket behind her like it was a train to an elegant dress. He imagined she looked stunning in opulent settings. She would shine in a ballroom or in a throne room. She was meant to be the wife of a king. Too bad he would never be one.
She paced the room, her eyes spitting fire at him every time she passed. At least now she was moving. She had been nearly motionless on the cot for two days, only getting up to use the facilities. Of course, her mouth kept moving the entire time. He didn’t think it was possible for anyone to have so much to say. However, the last few hours she had fallen eerily silent. Her eyes darkened, and her skin seemed paler. He knew, just by looking, her spirit was cracking.
Too many times he had watched prisoners sink into despondency just from lack of exercise. Physical activity kept the blood moving, and that kept the heart beating strong. More importantly it kept vengeance at the forefront of one’s mind, which was the real tactic to surviving in the dungeons of Frieza’s ship. You had to live for the day you would exact your vengeance or it would be too easy to fade away and die.
She stopped outside his vision, but he could hear the blanket rustling around. He was fairly certain the woman couldn’t hurt him, but he disliked not being able to see where she was. A lifetime of waiting for an attack had taught him to never turn his back on anyone, no matter how weak they may seem.
He sprang up, shaking his arms to relieve the burn in his muscles. Although he never admitted it, working-out while his ki was sapped was always the most rewarding. The strength and stamina of his muscles without being ki-infused was a testament to how truly powerful he was.
Without giving away his purpose, he shifted his weight so he could see her from the corner of his eye. She rearranged the blanket so it was tightly wrapped around her body toga style. Her eyes were closed and she was humming . She bent her knees, her feet pointed outwards. Her pitched increased and she bounced up on her feet several times, before coming to rest on the tips of her toes.
He scanned her bare legs, beneath the fall of her blanket, all the way down to her toes. His brow winged, the only acknowledgement to her accomplishment.
Her humming dipped and swelled, some foreign lullaby which threaded through his soul. Bulma stepped out, arms above her head and whirled around him. She dipped with the music, swayed with it, leaping through the air. Her blue hair floated around her, sliding across her back, and caressing her bare collar bone. Her eyes were closed, her face a picture of pure contentment as she circled around him in a graceful dance he had never seen before.
The folds of the hideous blanket flared and Vegeta was struck with the insane urge to reach out and grab the corner. One little tug and she would be twirling around him naked, all white skin and blue hair. As beautiful as a snowflake in the wind.
Barefoot on a metal floor took its toll and she lost her balance in the middle of a pirouette, colliding with him forcefully. He instinctively reached out to steady her, gripping her elbows. Her hands came to rest on his chest, petal light and just as soft. Her sapphire eyes snapped open, stunning him at their sheer intensity of color. He had never seen eyes like hers before. They were jewel-bright and endlessly deep. He pink lips parted with breathlessness, and he could see a flush staining her unmarred cheek.
“Swan Lake,” she whispered up at him as if he should know. He said nothing, but he didn’t let her go either.
“Yamcha tried to teach me to fight, but I could never remember the katas. Yet I know ever step to Swan Lake. I think it’s the music. There’s no tone to fighting. No rhythm. But when I hear the ballet it vibrates through every cell in my body.” She tilted her head to the side, listening to the echo of notes in the air.
Vegeta swept his gaze over her face, peering into her, looking for answers to the myriad of questions her very presence posed to him. She was so different from anyone he had ever encountered in his entire life time.
“There’s a rhythm to fighting. It’s blood and violence. It throbs in the air, pounding louder and louder until it’s the only thing you can hear.”
Bulma pursed her lips, her brows narrowing.
“The only thing you can hear, you mean.”
“What difference does it make?”
She shrugged, and the blanket slipped, revealing more of her skin. “None at all, I suppose.”
The disappointment in her voice made him frown. Her eyes dropped to stare at her hands on his chest. They were so pale contrasted against his tan skin.
“The Saiyans have a dance.”
“They do?” He was rewarded for his tidbit of information by her eyes shooting back up to his.
“Yes, but isn’t nearly as delicate.”
His smile was a slow stretch of his full lips that made her belly quiver deep down.
“It’s about submission and dominance,” he purred.
Bulma could feel the air heat up between them. Her breathing becoming shallow and no matter how many times she inhaled she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her fingers unconsciously curled across his chest, her nails scraping over his hardened nipples.
“Of course. Saiyan males probably have all sorts of rituals to keep their females in line,” she tried to sound contemptuous, but it was hard when her voice was breathy and light.
His smile deepened, becoming darker instead of brighter–more predatory. There was no way he was going to tell her the Saiyan mating dance was all about the females allowing their chosen males to dominate over them.
The grating sound of the door latch being thrown startled them. They jumped apart, Vegeta shifting his weight so his shoulder was shielding her. Taking his unspoken cue she backed up, placing herself fully behind him.
The door opened up to reveal Zarbon, dressed in a green and cream silk suit, leaning on a silver cane. Cuddled up beside him, grinning hugely was Jeice, dressed in soft pants and a very thin white shirt.
“Bath time, dovies!” Jeice caroled in a sing-song voice. But his smile was soon turned upside down when he noticed Bulma wrapped in the room’s only blanket.
“Oh well that just won’t do at all,” he cooed, and Zarbon smirked wickedly in response.
Bulma felt something sick flutter in the base of her belly. Zarbon looked down at his lover, smiling fondly at him. He kissed the tip of Jeice’s nose, gathering him closer to his side.
“You’re right of course, my pretty,” Zarbon purred.
Faster than Bulma could follow with her eyes, Zarbon lashed out at Vegeta. The tip of the sliver cane he was holding struck Vegeta in the center of his chest. Vegeta fell to his knees, convulsing violently. Bulma reached for him, but pulled away at the last moment when she realized it was electricity pulsating through his body.
Zarbon withdrew the cane and Vegeta fell back on his side clutching his chest. Bulma knelt behind him, her soft hands coming to rest on his neck and shoulder as she checked his pulse. He was alive, and from the way his jaw clenched he was still conscious, just momentarily paralyzed.
“Poor Vegeta. How helpless you must feel. All that pride. All that supposed power from your royal ancestors, and yet you are nothing more than a mongrel waiting to be kicked. You’re shit Frieza’s heel Vegeta, and I can’t wait for the day he finally scrapes you off.”
Bulma was looking down at Vegeta while Zarbon spoke, so she didn’t see Jeice come up behind her. He roughly pulled the blanket away, laughing cruelly as she cowered behind Vegeta, trying to cover herself with her hands. He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms at her sides so her entire naked front was visible to his lover.
“You are such a lovely little thing. It would have been fun to play with you, but we’d never touch Vegeta’s scraps. Might get a monkey disease or something,” Jeice whispered in her ear. She went soft in the knees, relief flooding through her. He all but assured her that neither he nor Zarbon would rape her. She closed her eyes, sagging against his chest.
“That is of course, if Vegeta takes you. We are watching, you know.”
Bulma went live-wire taut in his arms. With horror-struck eyes she watched as Zarbon latched the tip of his cane into the front of Vegeta’s collar locking it into place like a leash. She was still cold with stunned terror as Zarbon dragged Vegeta off the floor and out the door. They disappeared around the corner, leaving her along in Jeice’s embrace.
“You didn’t really think you were safe did you? One way or another you’ll be getting fucked down here. And when you’re done, its down the slave quarters with you, where you will spend every day for the rest of your live, spreading those sweet little thighs for any man who wants you.”
His hand slipped between her legs, his obscenely long fingers covering her mound and creeping towards her entrance. “Maybe I should just do it now, before Vegeta gets a taste. That way we both can be happy.”
The gut-sickening sensation of his hands on her body, and his sweet breath on her neck sent Bulma into a frantic rage. Without thought of consequences she reared back with all her strength, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Get off me! I hate you. I’ll kill you!”
She slammed her head into his nose, and kicked her heals into his shins. She fought against his hold with all the fury of her soul, but in the end it was insubstantial against his strength. He laughed mockingly in her ear, but at least his hand was gone, now wrapped around her waist to keep her still. She flung her hair out of her face, her eyes colliding with Vegeta’s.
He and Zarbon were standing in the doorway. Zarbon was snickering, but Bulma couldn’t comprehend expression on Vegeta’s face. It was cold and removed, but behind his black eyes she thought she could see fire.
“Come now, my pretty. You know how I hate it when you play without me,” Zarbon sulked at Jeice.
“You’re right of course, my darling. I just couldn’t help myself. She’s just so fresh. I love it when they are unbroken.”
“Of that we are in complete agreement, but this was your little plan. If you want to play a different game then you need to let me know.”
“No, no. This game is perfect. Lets us finish. These dirty little slaves need to have their bath.”
“Indeed,” Zarbon purred and pulled Vegeta away. To Bulma’s relief they followed closely after them. They took a short walk down the hall before being pushed into a room no bigger than the cell they had just been in. The only difference was instead of a flat steel floor it was nothing more than grating. The welded edges tore at the bottoms of Bulma’s soft soles as she very carefully made her way into the room.
She turned around to face the door, watching as Zarbon and Jeice slid open some wall panels to reveal a fat, yellow hose. Zarbon pulled it off the rack, taking a few steps closer to them.
“Ready?” he asked with a huge grin.
Bulma swallowed hard, having watched enough movies to know what she was in for.
Zarbon’s grin widened when they didn’t answer and he motioned to Jeice over his shoulder to turn on the water. Chuckling happily, Jeice spun the orange knob.
Bulma watched as the hose bloated just before the water blasted out of the nozzle. The stream of freezing cold water hit her with such velocity it knocked the air out of her lungs as she was slammed up against the back wall.
She screamed in pain. The water pelted her body until her skin felt like it was going to split apart and sluice right off her brittle bones. She twisting around on the wall, trying to escape the blast, but if followed her mercilessly, like icy knives trying to slash furrows in her tender flesh. She cried out, begging them to stop, but through flood of water she could only hear laughing.
Suddenly the onslaught was interrupted. She crouched down, naked, feeling almost animal like. She peered over her shoulder, afraid of what she would see. Vegeta stood in front of her, anchored to floor by sheer force of will as he took the blast full force in the chest.
“Ah, isn’t that sweet, Zarbon? I think he loves her.”
Zarbon laughed and twisted the nozzle to increase the pressure. “You’re right, he must love her.”
Vegeta just squared his stance, refusing to look behind him. He knew how intense the water pressure from the hose could be. He had experienced `bath time’ many times before. But when he saw how it launched Bulma up against the wall he was shocked. The way she pirouetted through the air reminded him of her dance, but without the grace or the beauty, just terror.
His first instinct had been to race up to Zarbon and wrench the hose from his hands then beat him bloody with it. Never in his entire life had Vegeta ever had such a reaction in response to seeing someone hurt. It was her screams that really did it. They pierced his skull, drilling down through his teeth and striking in the chest. He had to make the screaming stop.
Knowing he was powerless to stop the torture, he did the only thing he could do, protect her from it. It made him sick to do it. The looks of sheer surprise and delight on Zarbon’s and Jeice’s faces were infuriating, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. All he had to do was take one step to the side, and the blast would strike her again, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand to hear her screams. He couldn’t stand to see her pain.
His life and meager reputation of pride he created was over. They would stop at nothing now to torment him endlessly. Even if she died down here, they would never let him forget his momentary weakness for her. He might as well slit his own throat.
Something cold and wet pressed against his spine. He could feel each pad of her fingertips fanned out across his back. Her hand, that was all. She didn’t press her body up against his seeking to steal his warmth. She didn’t cower against him for strength. Instead, she was simply pressing her hand against him to reassure him and herself, they were alright. They would survive this. He felt something warm pierce his core, and inside a fragile seed of golden strength grew.
“Stay behind me,” he growled, and he could feel her fingertips curl in response.
“Yes, Vegeta.” He could hear the coldness and fear in her voice, and he widened his stance, glaring down his enemies. With one look he succulently conveyed his contempt for them. There was nothing they could do to him that hadn’t already been done. Their little games were old and trite.
Zarbon smirked in response, knowing for now, their game was over. Their desired result had been achieved, and when the slaves returned to the cell, their game would be accelerated even more by the elements.
Jeice turned off the water, and Zarbon wound the hose up. Once done, Jeice skipped happily past Vegeta to gather Bulma up in his arms, unmindful of how wet she was. He was so warm, almost hot to the touch. She wanted to lean into him, to bask in his heat, but pride and disgust stopped her. She would rather have her fingers and toes rot off with hypothermia then let even a fraction of his heat warm her. She would die before letting him touch her.
A deep growl rippled through the room, so low it was barely audible, seemingly involuntary. It carried with it an undercurrent of meaning that Bulma was in no condition to interpret. She glanced up, while straining away from her captor. Vegeta still had his back to her, his spine rigid, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Before him Zarbon stood, a perfect grin gracing his perfect lips. He twirled the flashing silver cane in his fingers, the fluorescents reflecting across the slender length hypnotically. She blinked as it blinded her, and she looked away.
“You know, Vegeta, with the collar on if I zap you with The Stick while wet it may very well kill you. You’re not going to make me do that, are you? Surely the little female isn’t worth dying for.”
Vegeta scowled at Zarbon through lowered brows. Hate and fury warred in his blood, pulsing through his veins. Desperately, he wished to be rid of the collar harnessing his power. He wanted nothing more than to murder everyone in the room. Even the woman. Especially the woman. She unwittingly exposed his weakness to his enemies. The unfathomable need to protect her. The need to have her.
He twitched his head to the side, using his peripherals to look behind him. The woman’s eyes were downcast, her body straining away from her captor. He could see she was freezing. Her entire body was shaking, and he could hear the clacking of her teeth from where he stood, yet she refused an easy source of heat from her enemy. Just like she refused to try and steal his unoffered warmth earlier. Pride stopped her. Pride made her strong even when she was abdominally weak.
Vegeta’s frown darkened. He hated the woman, but he couldn’t help, but to be impressed with her inner strength. A part of him wanted her dead, so she could no longer impose herself onto his already chaotic life, but just the thought of her lifeless at his feet made him want to rage and tear at the world until it stood in bloody tatters. He couldn’t bring himself to understand the situation he found himself in. He had no experience, no markers for how he should behave. With no battle strategy, his only logical action was retreat.
He shrugged at Zarbon who chuckled warmly before leading him from the room, back to his cell. Bulma watched them leave with huge, sad eyes. Jeice nipped at her ear, and she flinched away in disgust. He snickered at her reaction, his breath feathering over her wet skin. She shivered, closing her eyes as the pain of loneliness and abandonment ripped through her chest.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered frailly, suddenly so tired she could barely find the strength to stand.
“You? This has nothing to do with you, my little pretty. You are just a pawn in our never-ending game with Vegeta. We torment him, he undercuts us to Lord Frieza. We take something of his he values, and he empties one our secret accounts. It’s a beautiful dance we’ve perfected over years.”
Bulma lifted her face to the ceiling, her eyes closed to pray silently. On the backs of her lids she could see starbursts of colors and she was reminded of the summer days she used to spend with Goku when she was a girl. She knew now she was in hell. Her only relief was the knowledge she was going to die soon. She knew in her heart there was no way she was going to survive, naked and wet in the cold metal cell Jeice was going to throw her in.
“I would really like pass the joyous position of `Pawn in Maniacal Mind-Games’ to someone else, please,” she murmured hopelessly.
“Sorry, only you will do. You saw how he protected you just now. In all our years we’ve never witnessed Vegeta do such a thing. I bet he’s ripping himself a new one right now. Freaking fantastic. Taking you from him will be piece de’ resistance.” Jeice nuzzled her lengthened neck, just beneath her ear, before purring the last to her. “But first, we will have to see if Vegeta will save you or let you freeze to death.”
Head still lolled back, Bulma opened her eyes. The white fluorescents stabbed at her eyes, but she didn’t blink. She just stared into the whiteness, wondering if heaven would be so blinding.