Fondness
She stood before the mirror, turning her head this way and that.
The beautician had convinced her to let him cut the last of the perm out rather than straighten her hair. She'd made the mistake of asking him what he thought of the big, bouncy curls, and the young man had curled up one lip rather primly and said, "Wrong, honey."
It looked better straight. She'd have to get used to the cut though. She kept turning her head, expecting to feel the weight of long hair.
She had topped the day off with a shopping spree, something she hadn't done in a long time. Months, really. Heh…she'd been busy. She unpacked the dress, long, silken and royal blue, and held it up before her in front of the mirror. She'd agonized about the color in the store and finally said to hell with it. Blue hair wasn't as bad as red hair when it came to having to be careful about wearing clashing colors, but she still had to watch the shades of blue she picked. But sky blue and royal went very well together.
She sniffed. Speaking of royal, she wondered idly if she would be having company tonight or not. Vegita had landed the capsule ship he'd taken to do his "uninterrupted" training a few weeks ago just outside of West Capital. The witnesses said it had come down, looking beaten and slightly crumpled, two days ago. But no sign of its occupant. She had thought maybe he might come back last night, and had deliberately called a couple of old girlfriends to go out. It wouldn't do to have the prodigal return and find her waiting at home in breathless anticipation. He took too damn much for granted as it was.
She pulled the dress over her head, and stood admiring the cut of the fabric, the way it belled out below the waist, and whirled when she turned. You couldn't show Vegita even a hint of fondness, she thought pensively, without having him interpret it as weakness. She had learned quickly that if she showed so much as an outward, direct hint of affection, he would sneer at her as though she were a fawning, simpering schoolgirl, doting on his every move. Why, she didn't know. He seemed completely incapable of accepting any sort of friendship at all, shrank from it, in fact. Or beat it away with vicious words. The only times he seemed to be able to give or receive any sort of affection at all was when he came to her bed.
She shivered. That had more than made up for any lack of conversation in the beginning. All that he lacked in social skills, he made up for in passion. He was tireless, intense, seeming to forget everything else in the universe existed when he touched her.
He had been, to her amazement, almost completely inexperienced the first time he'd come to her. And he had hurt her…almost without even realizing he was doing it. All his life, she sensed, everything he'd ever known before coming to Chikyuu, had been violence. He literally hadn't known any other way to take her. She smiled. She had taken great delight in showing him all the other ways, soft and gentle, but building like a kindling flame to a raging inferno, that two lovers could please each other. And he had pursued his "training" by night as diligently and passionately as he trained in his gravity room by day.
She really should leave the house tonight as well, but her parents were hosting a corporate gala, and she needed to be on hand to play second hostess to the---
"That is better."
She somehow managed not to turn, not to jump, at the sound of his voice just behind her. She didn't even look around. "What's better?" She asked casually, as though he had not left without a word weeks ago.
He stepped behind her, into the frame of the mirror's reflection.
His battlesuit and armor were dented and torn, but he smelled clean. "This…" He ran his fingers through the short, soft fall of her hair. "It does not look foolish."
"Meaning it did before?" She sniffed, still not turning "Fuck you, Vegita."
"Insatiable, foul-mouthed wench." He threaded both hands around her waist and pulled her back against his body. Her knees were rapidly turned to jelly, but she only leaned back against him companionably, resting her head against his shoulder. "Though you have your uses, I suppose," he whispered against her hair.
He was trying to bait her into a fight already, with the first few sentences out of his mouth since he's arrived. Asshole. Well, he wasn't going to get the satisfaction. "Wish I could say the same for you," she murmured.
The deep, throaty chuckle as he pressed his lips to her neck and set off a burst of heat, low in the pit of her stomach. "If I am so worthless to you, tell me to leave, woman. If you are still able to speak." His hands were going in opposite directions now, one smoothing up the silk of her gown to lightly caress her breast, the other…the other moving downward, gently stroking the place where her thighs met…
She turned to face him, her face flushed, breaking that heatstruck embrace. "Okay…get out." She stuck her nose in the air, waiting for the parry to her thrust. Heh…better not think of the word 'thrust' too much, or I'll lose this round of our little game for sure.
He grinned, that smug, half-smirk that he used in lou of a smile.
"In a moment. Step back, woman."
"What?" She frowned at him, confused, but backing away nevertheless.
He began to power up…in her bedroom! The crazy son of a---
Everything in the room began to vibrate violently as he raised his Ki higher, and higher…and higher. The mirror shattered, the glass in her French burst outward, drapes billowing like sails in a hurricane. She lost her footing and went sliding back against the far wall as an explosion of power, so gigantic she couldn’t look at it, poured out of him.
She uncovered her head from where she'd sheltered it against under her arms, drawing breath to shriek at him like an enraged harpy. Everything in her room was destroyed, as though a fucking tornado had just touched down inside it. And Vegita---
She stared at him in open-mouthed wonder.
He was burning like a golden torch, blazing with power. He was… "Super Saiyan," she whispered. "You did it."
He face was hard and arrogant, but the satisfaction, the nearest thing to joy she'd ever seen in him, was shining in his teal-colored eyes. She stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out a tremulous hand to stroke his face. It was like touching a shielded power line, humming with energy inside.
"I changed my mind," she said softly. "You can stay."
He began chuckling again, and stepped forward, hefting her up in both arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinning as well. He was supposed to be my rebound man, she thought faintly, as he carried her to what was left of her bed. How did I let myself get suckered into giving a damn about him? But…he had come to show her what he had done, hadn't he? He had wanted to share it with her, the knowledge that he had finally attained the power he had sought to the brink of obsession. He lay her down on the wobbly bed, and as he crawled onto the mattress with her, the frame collapsed underneath them. She found herself laughing out loud, threading her fingers through his thick hair as he snickered as well, as he began to do things to her that took away all thought and all worry of caring for a souless killer who didn't give a damn about her.
Just before sleep took them both, he shifted her in his arms, kissing her, deep and savoring and sweet. "Perhaps…" he whispered against her lips. "Perhaps when I have slain Kakarott and burned this worthless planet to cinders…perhaps I will keep you alive."
"Oh, yeah?" She murmured.
"Yes…" He smirked. "I will need a maid servant to wash my clothes and prepare my food when I am ruler of all the galaxy."
She kissed him gently, and spoke the next word lovingly, like a fond caress. "Asshole…"
END