In Dreams, a dragon ball z fanfic

AN: I'M BACK! After taking a hiatus from writing DBZ fics, I have returned! And to get my creative juices flowing once more, I offer you this one-shot (it seems like that's all I ever do, but there will be an update of The Mistress coming). After having my son, I felt that I lost inspiration for B/V fics but I have returned to my love for them and this one-shot is my first offering since December. Enjoy.

Summary: B/V, post-Buu. In dreams, a Saiyan hides his deepest, most darkest deeds. In dreams there is no reprieve. In dreams, he comes to see the creature he became; a monster.

In Dreams

The streets were painted with blood. Blood of his victims, blood of his so-called comrades. From the corner of his eye, he spied his Saiyan counterpart, Nappa, rip the body of a woman in half. Her blood spurted outwards, smattering the floor and staining his own cheek like crimson rain falling from a hellish cloud. With morbid fascination, he watched as her vital organs plopped to the dusty ground, only to be swarmed by flies a few seconds later. They feasted upon the bloodied morsel like parasites.

He wiped his cheek, catching the rivulets of blood upon his once pristine white gloves. They were crusted with drying blood... The blood of his victims.

Their screams tore through barrier of his mind, invading his ears like the endless ringing of torturous bells.

Vegeta had to stop them. He had to stop the screams.

"Are you done fucking around, Raditz?" The sound of his own voice felt like sharp razors grating down the side of a ship. He looked to his right and saw the unhappy picture of his Saiyan guard atop a trembling figure. The long, spike-haired man grinned up at him ferociously before moving to stand as he tucked his member back into the flap of his armor.

"Finished, my lord," Raditz replied a little too happily.

The Prince of all Saiyans snarled indignantly, "Well, it's about time!" He raised his hand and sent a ki-ball hurtling towards the woman staring up at the sky with deadened eyes. Although she had been breathing before his attack, her soul had been destroyed the second Raditz had invaded her body.

But just before the ki-ball engulfed her entirely, the woman seemed to morph... And instead of dull lilac eyes staring up and beyond the clouds, a pair of exquisite cerulean orbs danced in their place.

He tried to move, tried to do something, but his feet remained firmly planted in the dust-ridden road. And he was only able to shout out in agony as the electric ball of energy burned away her flesh as acid would to a living creature. She dissolved before his very own murderous eyes.

"Bulma!"

"Bulma!"

Vegeta's eyes opened and he found himself gazing up at a dark ceiling. His breath rasped heavily as he tried desperately to still his beating heart. It hadn't been one of his worst nightmares, but it was chilling nonetheless.

He was almost ashamed to look towards his left, but he knew. He knew that she was sitting up beside him, her eyes wide with fear and such sorrow as she gazed down at him through the darkness. He closed his eyes to her. He was not a weakling and he refused to run into her arms like a child needing to be coddled after a nightmare.

He was a warrior, dammit. He was not a weakling... But he had done it again. He had killed her again. Albeit it was in his dreams, the monster within him had still killed her.

Vegeta's jaw twitched at the silken touch of her hand upon his angled cheek. "Don't touch me!" He snapped irritably.

She refused to be cowed; her palm continued to stroke his cheek and he could not find the will to bat it away. "Another nightmare?" Her breathy voice enveloped him into reality, welcoming him to truth of his deception. Bulma knew that he was no angel. She knew of the evil deeds he had committed in his past. But she did not know that he was haunted by the screams of his victims every hour of every waking day.

As his years on Earth drew on, the shrieking screams grew louder. Though they were somewhat dimmed in her presence, they never truly vanished. Vegeta had yet to make peace with his past. And for that, he was ashamed.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered quietly, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just called out her name in such anguish and self-hatred.

Bulma knew how to deal with her husband. She was not one to back down from his challenging attitude, nor accept his rude behavior. "It's kind of hard to do that when you're thrashing around next to me," she commented dryly.

He popped open an eyelid and gazed up at her unwillingly to retort to her sassy words. His other eye shot open as his Saiyan eyesight caught a dark circle bruising the lower right hand side of his wife's jaw. "How—?"

"You accidentally hit me," her lip quirked up in amusement. "What happened to your self-proclaimedcontrol, Prince Vegeta?" She remarked laughingly.

He, on the other hand, was far from laughing. Bulma ceased her mirth to sigh as she caught the glint of self-loathing in his eye. Although Vegeta professed to control his emotions, he sometimes wore them on his sleeve when it came to her and their children. Or perhaps she was just becoming much more adept at reading them. Whatever it was, their time together had meant that she could understand him on a level that no-one could.

"It's ok," she assured him gently, her eyes growing serious at the stony expression on his face. "It looks worse than it actually is."

"Does it hurt?" He asked gruffly.

Bulma shook her head. "It just stings a little bit." She watched with confusion as her husband slid out bed to make his way to their en-suite bathroom. Her eyes widened as he returned to her side with the First-Aid box that had been tucked away into a corner of one of the bathroom's cabinets. She hadn't even realized that Vegeta knew of its' location. Apparently, her husband was more observant than she gave him credit for.

As silently as he had risen from the bed, he set about opening the box and pulling out a jar of healing salve. The ingredients had been procured from the endless information he had stored in his brain as Frieza's mercenary. He had given her the contents and instructions on how to create the salve, as he required it's use after the countless hours of training he endured in the GR. That didn't mean to say she had told him the location of the healing salve. After the Cell incident, it had always been Bulma's job to apply the salve on her husband's wounds. He only let her because of her constant griping about his needs and the worry she harbored for him. In all honesty, Bulma was lucky to have such a man like Vegeta as her husband. Only he would put up with her temperamental mood swings, her whining and as he liked to called it, her 'constant bitching'.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of his calloused fingers gently rubbing the slave into her bruise. She didn't know how he did it. She didn't know how he could make her feel so—so desirable. Even with a bruise staining the near-perfect features of her face. Electric ripples of pleasure danced luxuriously down her spine, surrounding her stomach and abdomen in a glowing warmth that almost made her melt under his touch. Slowly, she opened her eyes to focus on his blank face that clearly contradicted the blazing inferno within his obsidian eyes.

Through it all, she knew that he was avoiding her gaze—she knew that he was focusing on his task. But Bulma also understood that it would be fruitless for him to ignore the same desire that furled within his stomach. He always succumbed to the force of lust between them.

"Vegeta..." His name fell upon her lips like a flower blossoming in the sun's dawning rays. Untouchable and yet ethereally beautiful. With his name she spoke a thousand words of affection and love, that no other impassioned speech could have compared to his softly spoken name. He finally looked at her. "About your nightmare..? I—Are you okay?"

In the depth of his eyes he shadowed a monster—a beast that lay hidden beneath the years of peace in her arms. It flickered at the mention of his turmoil. It was there, so tangible and utterly real in its ferocity. She revelled in the fiery gaze. With all the sins he had committed in the past, she had the privilege to know that he would die before causing their family any harm. But she worried about him, as was her given right.

It was so strange... This thing called love. It could make you turn a blind eye to the most hideous attributes of your significant other. It could empower every breath of your being and make you light-headed with a single glance from the one who possessed your heart. From the one who possessed her. But to know that the one you loved suffered, her love suffered, in the cold night—well, it made her want to weep with sorrow.

Bulma waited with bated breath as he leaned forward, moving his hand to cup her injured jaw. In his eyes, she saw a flicker remorse. Remorse for his past deeds? Remorse for the years he wasted in ignoring her? Remorse for his continued nightmare? She couldn't be sure. But it was there.

"Woman," his breath feathered her lips as he cupped her chin, "You talk too much." It was merely an accurate observation at present, but he meant every unspoken word that lingered between them. He didn't want to dwell on his nightmares. He wanted to concentrate on this moment. This moment with her.

A lazy but saddened smile found its way to her lips, "Then why don't you make me shut up?" She whispered.

He smirked. "Gladly."

Before she could comment, he was already pushing her form back onto the bed, his lips finding hers in a sacred dance that surpassed the passage of time. Though she wanted to comfort him from his nightmare, she knew there was nothing she could say or do to heal the wounds that had been so deeply etched into his blackened heart. And so, she offered him the only thing that could compensate for her lack of empathy towards him.

Her love.

Afterwards, they lay together in silence with her head upon his chest. He cradled her naked body to his, as though he were protecting a fragile jewel that was worth more than all the riches in the world. He liked the way she made him feel. So wanted... So needed. However, it wasn't enough.

"Don't," Bulma pleaded softly to herself against the cool night.

He looked down at her questioningly as he held her. Her word had not made any sense to his dimming pleasure-saturated senses.

"Don't do this to yourself, Vegeta. Don't punish yourself in silence. Not like this."

Ah.

Vegeta held back a sigh at his wife's implied words. She was talking about his nightmares, about the man he became when he dreamed. In the daylight, he was cold and aloof but a family man at heart. But when the sun set and the dreams invaded his sleep, he seemed to revert back into the monster he was before he met her. A murderer. A rapist... A pedophile.

The last one sickened him the most. He could almost feel the bile rising to his throat as he thought of the countless atrocities he had committed towards children. He had slaughtered them in their billions, taunted them in their thousands... And raped them in their hundreds. He was a monster. He did not deserve the life he had now—this life of peace.

He did not deserve to have his children.

If only... If only Frieza had let him be as a child. The lizard had been glorified by Vegeta's childhood antics.

The Prince of all Saiyans down on his knees like a rabid dog, waiting to be fucked like a bitch in heat.

And so, he forced other children to bear the shame he had felt in his younger years. There was no excuse, except perhaps that he had been, and still was, mentally imbalanced. But to imagine his own children in the same situation? Hurt by his hands? The thought alone made his hands itch to shred the world into pieces. If such pain was ever to be bestowed upon his own children, he would bathe the universe in the blood of the gods. And Hell be damned.

"You have no idea, Bulma." Vegeta finally said, hearing the sound of her heart-beat against his rib-cage quicken at his chilling, empty words.

"Then tell me."

"You would not want to know," he replied with a hollow voice.

Bulma raised her head to look him, her eyes focused upon his angular cheek-bone as she deftly stroked his smooth skin. "I do. I do want to know. You must be having nightmares for a reason..."

There was, Vegeta thought darkly. There was a reason. It was because he had indulged in this life of peace and love. How could he tell her? He was certain that she would never allow him near their children once she knew. He would not blame her if she took that course of action—if she wished for him to leave. He would leave in a heartbeat if he felt that he was unwanted by his blue-haired vixen.

Unable to stand the thundering thoughts in his mind any longer, he gently pushed her warm body off of his and moved to stand. His naked form was outlined by the shadows of their spacious room. Slowly, he began the task of donning a pair of cotton trousers that were on the table beside their bed. They were there in case their youngest decided to pay them a visit during one of their heated nightly sessions. The amount of times they had almost been caught... Vegeta almost smirked at the embarrassing situations that had been avoided, all because of these pants and Bulma's large, old t-shirt.

"Where are you going?" Bulma asked as he moved towards the double-door french windows of the room.

"I'll be back soon," he assured her.

Her heard her sigh sorrowfully.

It made him want to bow his head in shame. He had made her suffer in the past by leaving her, but there was no cause to create tension between them now. They had moved beyond the petty games that had occurred during the start of their relationship. "Don't worry," he heard himself say softly, "I will return." In the past, he would not have returned to her side for months. He preferred to train in the rugged terrain of Chikyuu. It offered a solace from his nightmares that sometimes her arms could not. But never would he wish to sleep by himself again for so long. If it came to that, then the dreams would become unbearable. The monster inside of him would find itself awakening. And he could never allow that to happen.

Silently, he flew out of the window and into the dark embrace of the breezy Autumn night.

Morning came swiftly and Bulma set about her daily routine. The fact that Vegeta had left in the middle of the night still niggled at the back of her mind, but there was nothing she could do about it. Only he could lay the ghosts of his past to rest. It was the one thing she could not assist him on. Even though he had left her in the past and had been gone for months without a trace, he eventually returned. But that had not occurred since before the Buu escapade. He had never been gone for months after that, but now... It was happening again. And it worried her.

"Momma?"

She looked up from her food, "What is it sweetie?"

"Where's Poppa?"

Bulma reached out to ruffle her young daughter's hair. "He's busy, Bra-chan. You know how Poppa can be when he's busy."

Bra frowned. "But won't he be hungwy?" She looked down at her own pile of food sadly. "I know. Can I save him something?" She asked hopefully, her eyes lighting up with the sudden solution. Bulma almost laughed aloud, though in her soul she was uncertain as to when Vegeta would return.

"You can save him something," she looked at her daughter's almost empty plate. "But what?"

Bra pouted and pointed thoughtfully to one pancake that was separated from it's half-finished stack. "This."

"Why did you pick that?"

"Because it's not wound and Poppa likes funny shaped pancakes." Bra said innocently.

Bulma bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. If anything, Vegeta preferred round pancakes and was a stickler for them, as was Bra. But she wasn't about to tell her sweet little daughter that. "I'm sure he'll be very happy, honey," she assured her. "Now, eat the rest of your breakfast so you can go wake your brother up. He sleeps in too late on a Saturday."

Bra chirped happily in agreement. She didn't mind waking her older brother. It meant she got to go into his room and jump on his bed. And although he grumbled and whined about his sleep, she knew he secretly liked being woken up by her because a smile always tugged at his lips when he finally rose from the bed.

Night had fallen by the time Vegeta had finally returned home. This time, he had not stayed away too long from home.

Home.

He inhaled deeply as he stepped in through the back doors of the kitchen. A wonderful calm enfolded his aura like never before. Who would have thought that his trip to the mountains could have been so... Productive? He certainly had not. Though it had been more of a hellish experience, it had strengthened him like never before. And that strength had come from the most unlikely source he could have ever thought of.

It's funny how things turn out.

Like a predator in the dark, Vegeta honed in on his mate's ki and slowly moved to stalk towards his prey.

A smile played upon his lips.

Not a smirk, but a real smile; the first in all the long years of his life.

For hours he had blasted his ki at the snowy mountainous peaks. No thoughts invaded his trance-induced state, no awareness pierced through the cold armor of numbness he had clothed himself within. He became detached, as he had forced himself to become many years prior to arriving on Chikyuu.

Though at that very moment, he felt the first of many images from his nightmares invade the barriers of his mind.

He growled with fury.

Another mountain crumbled beneath the fiery ball of energy that swelled from his very own fingertips. Images, sounds, smells from his past assaulted every sense, every fragment of his withered soul and it left him breathless. The monster beneath his skin pounded against its' mortal coil and rampaged back and forth through his heart like a caged beast.

Feeling his energy begin to drain, Vegeta lowered himself to an icy cliff, breathing heavily as he knelt with his head bowed.

He couldn't do it.

Not this time.

Vegeta couldn't get rid of them; his faceless victims that seemed to awaken the dark force that lay buried deep within him. They screamed and tore at the very fibres of his mind and thoughts and in the end, he could not control them. If he could not control them, then he would not be able to control himself.

He roared out his torment, feeling the mountain beneath him shudder from the force of his outraged cry.

And then, he appeared like a shadowed ghost from the depths of Hell itself. "What," he rasped, "Do you want?"

"I'm sure you couldn't have screamed louder if you tried?" The deep, grated voice replied with sarcasm.

"Imbecile," Vegeta spat, "Get out of my sight, you stupid green Namek-jin shit."

Piccolo scowled with feral grace, his fanged glinting in the artificial moonlight. "Is that any way to greet a friend, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan Prince rose to his feet, his eyes screaming bloody murder. "You are no friend of mine. Now, what," he hissed, "do you want?"

"Just a word from Dende to keep the racket down. Your scaring the mountain people out here."

Vegeta caught the slight intonation if disgust in the Namek-jin's voice. "I'll do as I please," he replied curtly.

Piccolo shrugged non-commitently. "Fine. But I'm sure your wife would just love to know about the damage you've caused to the ecosystem out here. And the price it's going to cost for Dende to fix it."

Dark eyes narrowed dangerously, "What ecosystem? It's a fucking mountainous area; there's no ecosystem here."

"That's where you're wrong," Piccolo confirmed, twitching his antenna with intention.

Vegeta paused his tirade to catch the smug look on the green creature's face. Damn. "Fuck! The woman's going to have my balls for breakfast if she learns of this."

Ever since Dende had become Chikyuu's Guardian, the little runt had begun to demand compensation from the Z fighters for the damage done to the environment. Which meant gaining some sort of favor from Bulma, whether it be new antidotes for deadly viruses of the future or just a simple ride in her prized heli-jet. He didn't know why the Namek-jin freak held such a fascination for speed or his mate. But it was beyond annoying and beyond anything he could control.

As a result of the Z-Senshi's constant destructive nature during sparring sessions, his blue-haired mate had berated them on several occasions for their lack of control in destroying forests, mountains and deserts during their training sessions, all because it meant she owed a favour to Dende so that he could fix the damage. And in her case, her lectures were loud and reached a pitch above what a normal human could hear. The other fighters would cower in her presence, whereas his eyes would shine with desire. He didn't know why, but he always grew horny when he saw her angry. It was just a testament to how royally fucked up in the head he actually was.

"It's not my problem," came Piccolo's quick remark as he saw the look of dawning realization on Vegeta's face. Before he turned to leave, he cast one final glance at the Prince. "Just don't do any more damage, or she might kick you out of the house for good." His words had been meant as a joke, but Piccolo saw the dark cloud that passed over Vegeta's angled features. He tilted his head thoughtfully, recognizing the look as a reflection from a well-known emotion of his past.

"She has good reason to," Vegeta muttered to himself, seemingly unaware of the Namek-jin's presence.

Piccolo paused, tilting his head. "You really believe that?"

"I didn't ask your opinion," the Saiyan snarled, snapping to attention once again.

The green-skinned man rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't be surprised if she did throw you out, especially with your attitude."

"You know nothing, Namek-jin!" He shouted, trembling from the years of built-up guilt and rage.

"You're wrong, Vegeta. You're wrong."

The Saiyan Prince halted, glancing sharply at his adversary. "What are you babbling about?"

"I know exactly what you're talking about. Because, once, I felt it too."

There was pause.

The wind whistled through their tightly wound bodies, swirling around them like a gentle whirlwind at play. The muscle in Vegeta's jaw contracted at Piccolo's words. Could the creature know of the torment he suffered? He knew that once, in that forgotten past, the Namek-jin had also been an enemy of this planet... And also an enemy of his long-time rival before they joined forces for the sake of the planet. "What did you feel?" He asked quietly, his voice raw without purpose.

"Guilt. Remorse for my past and regret for the primal urge to forget my oath of protection towards those whom I... Care about."

Vegeta's eyes snapped up, locking with Piccolo's unflinchingly. They warred silently for many minutes before he could no longer stand the penetrating gaze of the green-skinned creature. The urge to deny the conversation swept through him like a dry forest on fire. "I feel no guilt and no remorse."

"Is that why you still have nightmares of your past deeds?"

The quick reply caught him off guard. Vegeta growled, his denial clearly shining in the bottomless pits of his eyes. "That is none of your business."

Piccolo was treading on thin very thin ice. "Let them go, Vegeta." His voice was as calm as a tranquil sea, lapping at the shores of a golden beach. "You deserve to have this peace; don't dwell on past deeds."

The urge to rip the Namek-jin into tiny pieces crossed Vegeta's mind. But he knew that his mate would be thoroughly disappointed in him if he had. "If you knew of my past, you would not say that," though he tried to stop himself, the truthful words spilled from his lips and out into the open air.

"I don't need to know about your past Vegeta. Because that's exactly what it is. Your past."

For hours Vegeta had mulled upon the Namek-jin's words, all through the next day and well into the night. But at some point, he came to an understanding. He could never change his past, or the atrocities he had committed. They would haunt him for the rest of his living days. But the truth was that he accepted it as his fate. He would no longer cower from the shrill screams that assaulted his dreams and he would no longer deny that a monster lay dormant within the cage of his heart. He could not change his character, or deny who he had been.

It was in dreams that the beast of his past could rise without remorse, without sorrow, without regret and without accusation. It could rise and give what it could only offer to its' victims; Death and ultimately, peace.

For now, he would embrace his dreams as he would embrace the monster that slumbered somewhere deep within his subconscious.

Let it sleep and awaken in my nightmares, he thought solemnly. I would not have it unleashed upon my family, into this reality, for all the power in the universe.

"You look different."

So enmeshed in his thoughts, Vegeta had not noticed his mate's open eyes as she looked up from the bed at his towering form. "How so?" He raised his eyebrow.

Sitting up, Bulma shrugged gracefully, a smile dancing gaily within her sky-blue orbs. "I don't know... Just different."

Carefully, he pulled her from their bed so she stood before him. He noted that she was still in her work clothes. When he would next get the chance, he would inform his mate about her excessive work-hours and her negligence of the family. But now was not the time. "I will still dream about my past," he remarked solemnly, his eyes hardening as he grew thoughtful. "That cannot be changed... But I have made my peace with it and I accept responsibility for my sins."

Bulma smiled radiantly. "Perhaps, if you've made your peace with it, you won't have any more dreams?" The hope that shone in her eyes was as clear as unmarked glass.

Vegeta disliked having to dash that hope. "No." He was correct as he saw her face fall unhappily. He knew that she would have moved mountains if it meant he would gain a reprieve from his nightmares. Tucking his finger beneath her chin, he raised her head so that she could look at him. "With my past, the dreams will still remain, but they can linger no more and follow me into my waking hours."

Her brow creased. "You're never going to tell me about them. Are you?" She accused softly.

Vegeta smirked, "Curiosity killed the cat; isn't that one of your human sayings?"

"Vegeta," she warned, lightly poking him in the side.

He blinked, losing the smirk as he inhaled deeply, drinking in her strawberry scent that drifted towards him. "I cannot speak of my dreams to you, Bulma." Absently, without realizing, he raised his hand to touch the healing bruise upon her jaw.

"Why not?" Her frustration was tangible to him, but there was nothing he could do about it except make her understand.

Though his patience was wearing thin, he spoke gruffly. "You know that I've killed; mercilessly and without thought. But there are other crimes worse than murder. Worse than genocide."

Bulma nodded slowly, her sharp mind churning at the words her husband had spoken. He saw the wheels on her brain turn insatiably and finally, understanding blossomed within her gaze. "You're right," she said reluctantly, "I don't want to know."

In all the long years of being mated, Vegeta could finally and truthfully say he had bested his mate and made her bend to his will. Other times, she had just let him assume that he was right and she was wrong. But this night had been Vegeta's first true victory, though he had absolutely no idea that he had obtained it.

Once again, she caught him by surprise as she moved forward to plant a gentle kiss upon his cracked, weather-beaten lips. Drawing back, she smiled with contentment glowing from her alabaster skin. "I'm glad you came back home so soon."

The corner of Vegeta's lip quirked upwards as he saw the latent lust begin to burn within his mate's eyes. "Insatiable wench." Pulling her close, he lightly smacked her rear, earning an indignant squeak from his ingenious wife.

She grinned triumphantly. But before Bulma leaned in for another kiss, her eyes slid to the open doorway of their room, only to focus upon their three year-old standing there with a cuddly monkey in her hands. "Bra-chan!" At her surprized cry, Vegeta released her instantly, to turn and face his youngest child.

"Poppa, you're howme!" With that, their blue-haired daughter ran towards him with the speed of a cheetah. Before she came crashing into his legs, Vegeta swept his daughter up into his arms. "Why'd you leave us Poppa?" She asked tearfully, unable to understand her father's disappearance as she snuggled comfortably against her father's chest.

Vegeta's glance slid towards his wife. She shrugged, causing him curse inwardly. "I had to take care of something." His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing out of bed, brat?"

Bra leaned in close to whisper. "I couldn't sleep... There's a monster in my woom. Will you get wid of it?"

The Saiyan Prince resisted the urge to chuckle at the idiotic notion. But a sobering thought entered his mind as he thought about the monster within his own heart. "True Saiyans are not frightened by monsters," he said in his most haughty voice, "So I shall attend to your request." He resisted the urge to wince as his daughter whooped loudly into his sensitive ear and moved strangle his neck with her tiny arms.

Casting a baleful glance towards his grinning wife, Vegeta turned and took his daughter back to her own room so that he could ward off the monster she had created from her active imagination.

By the time he had tucked his daughter into her bed and returned to the room he shared with his mate, Bulma was already ushering him towards the running shower of their bathroom. As she undressed him slowly within the confines of the steamy room, Vegeta let his own hands tug at her clothing as he moved forward to kiss her roughly.

He groaned with frustration as she eventually pulled her lips away from their heated kiss, breathing heavily as her body was pressed flush against his. "Did I mention Bra left some of her breakfast for you?" She panted quietly, her eyes singing with delight.

His brow furrowed, "The brat never lets anyone touch her food," he commented truthfully. Saiyans were quite fussy about the meals they ate.

Bulma laughed, "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," she paused for dramatic effect, "She left you a mutilated pancake." Her shoulders trembled with silent laughter, knowing full well that Vegeta liked round pancakes and despised any other shape it could take.

Vegeta drew back slightly, his gaze boring seriously into his mate's. At length he let out a long, contented chuckle.

Sure enough, Bulma soon burst out laughing, which was quickly turned to into quiet moans of unreleased pleasure as Vegeta crushed his lips against hers with unkempt passion. He slipped his tongue into moist depths of her heated mouth, licking and teasing as his hand moved to cup one of her breasts. Their tongues grappled for control, but in the end she submitted to his will as his calloused finger found her pebbled nipple.

Once, Bulma had told him about her love for his hands. He found it odd but she told him, quite sensually, how she adored their coarse ruggedness, their masculine shape and... The way they could make her moan for hours in pleasure. It was a far cry from them being the hands that belonged to a murderer—stained with the blood of billions. And although in his dreams they remained tarnished from the blood of his victims, when his hands touched her in the waking world, it was as if his sins were absolved. His sins, the blood, everything would disappear without a trace and all that remained was a pair hands belonging to a man;

A man that finally found solace in the cries of passions wrought from his mate's luscious ruby lips.

Owari.

AN: Another B/V one-shot down. I might run out of ideas if I keep this up! Heh... It didn't turn out as great as it should have, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.