The Kiss

Disclaimer: I do not own any DBZ or any characters remotely associated with it. I'd be stupid to even try.

Every Action Has an Equal and Opposite Reaction

His kiss. She was electrified. Such soft, gentle lips feathered against hers, lightly but firm. He brushed them against her again, a bit more firm, and lingered there much longer than before, achingly slowly trailing his lips all along her mouth. She shivered and relished in the unbelievable sensations that ran up and down her body, rocking her soul to the very core. She tried to bring her hand up, wanting to caress his face, wanting to keep his lips touching hers…but he stopped her, and suddenly she didn't feel his lips anymore. Her eyes opened, only to see a pair of black holes staring back at her. Thinking the worst, she started to pull back, her face reddening from embarrassment, horror beginning to pervade her mind.

'Way to go, idiot. If you'd just sat back and enjoyed it, it wouldn't have ended', she chided herself. Averting her gaze, unable to face his soul-devouring gaze much longer, she self-consciously moved further away…but was met with his an iron resistance, as his grip still grasped her hand, the one she had wanted to use to increase the contact she'd had just moments before. She looked down and saw how small her hand was in his, marveling at the contrast of her pale, ivory complexion against his tanned, supremely strong hands. She wasn't surprised to find out that though tanned, his hands, his touch were not hard or calloused against her delicate skin, but was soft and smooth just like hers, though she knew his hands were infinitely more powerful than hers. And had been the instrument by which entire worlds fell by. Just a twinge from his wrist, a mere crick in his hand and her fingers would be introduced to the pain he'd inflicted on so many before. One of his pinky fingers held the power of 20 of those so-called "World's Strongest Man". How stupid for us humans to believe those brutes were strong.

No, this deceptively normal, athletic-looking only man held more physical power in his earlobe than all those fools combined. And the ultimate danger in that was that HE knew that as well.

She looked up at him again. Fear now evident in her eyes. She knew she looked at the hand holding hers too long, enjoyed those soft lips that often wore a scowl too long, and wouldn't you know, that scowl was back, but this time, it seemed to be turned down more than before.

'Shit. I'm dead'. She didn't mean for this to happen, didn't mean to purposely feel his touch. She knew of his avoidance of touching anything, let alone anyone. Her person especially. If it couldn't be helped, like an employee of hers or her mother grasping his arm (and subsequently groping him), he merely snarled and sent the employees running away in fear, almost peeing in their pants as they fled. Her mother, though, air-headedly either didn't notice it was directed at her or simply ignored the growl he gave her. He tolerated the woman's touch, barely, because if he didn't, the amazing food she often made for him in such phenomenal quantities would disappear. And being of royalty and extreme intelligence, he wasn't one to act like an impulsive fool. For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction.

"For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction." She definitely proved Newton's theory on that. She had found his door open as she alighted the stairs on her way to her own quarters at the other end of the hall from his. Since it was late, she hadn't wanted to disturb his 'royal highness', assuming he'd been sleeping since the fireworks that often exploded in the gravity compound were not present there as she'd passed by it to enter her home. But as she had reached the top of the stairs, she caught a sliver of pale light escaping from his room, and the door slightly groaned and creaked . 'Must remember to grease that in the morning', she absently thought as she headed into his quarters, wondering what she would find.

His room was well-kept, the large wardrobe dresser on one side bare, except for his ever-present training gloves sitting one top if it, his clothing for the next day also accompanying the top of the dresser. The wall closet was closed, hardly more than a couple of jackets and one shirt stored within. A soft whisper from the wind billowed in from the opened balcony door, the warm summer breeze drifting the scent of him to her. Not offensive, definitely not repulsive, but not sweet and cloying either. Just…him. It was the scent of regality, confidence, arrogance and something more that defined him as one of a kind. She ventured further in and headed towards the balcony, finding him just standing there, lost in his own thoughts. It didn't seem as if he saw or even noticed her presence. His eyes seemed glazed over, he was a million miles away, though his body was standing right before her, his powerful and intimidating arms crossed over his impossibly ripped and sculpted chest, the classic pose and poise of The Prince of All Saiyans. The moon looked as if it were a spotlight shining down on only him, bathing him, highlighting the full splendor of him. The darkness that surrounded them only served to heighten the mystique and ever-present menace of his persona, to which she knew was just a mere pretense, a façade by which he used as an armor. He was an enigma. And he knew that. He used it to his advantage, a skill he knew brutally well. One minute, seemingly receptive, contemplative even to other people, comments or opinion.

In the blink of an eye, pain, suffering and death given with frightening speed and accuracy.

He'd never shown that to her. Annoyance, megalomaniacal, attitude and constantly challenging her, yes. But with his extremely sharp intelligence and wit, never physically harming her. Instinctively, he knew if he resorted to physical violence, it would show how much more supreme she was, proving that she could win their battles, without ever physically touching him. That he would never tolerate. He was not her ex.

He, Vegeta, The Prince of All Saiyans was exponentially better than him.

She lightly touched his arm, finding herself near him unexplainably, and saw the muscles tense underneath her touch, bringing him back to the here and now. She looked up and saw he had focused his gaze down to her, the heat emanating from his body caused her to unconsciously take a step back and remove her hand from his hand.

Well, she tried to anyway.

But he grasped her hand and held it there against his arm, continuing to stare at her. There was something in his eyes, something she caught miniscule glimpses of before, but never was able to fully register what it could possibly mean. She tried to find her voice, but his beauty, yes, HIS beauty had mesmerized her so completely that it seemed like an eternity before she remembered she knew how to talk. But just when she finally was confident that there would be actual vocalization that was going to occur from her, he removed the hand from hers and placed them on her lips, effectively rooting her to the spot, and silencing her. She was caught. Stuck in his gaze. Trapped, ensnared, use any verb to describe it, and that's how she was. She couldn't move away from him at that moment in time even if her life depended on it.

And he knew that.

That's when she saw him inching closer down to her, watching his lips make its way to hers. Vaguely, she realized her throat was parched, and dry, having not swallowed to keep it moist because all thought of normal bodily functions escaped her, her body separated from her mind, as both seemed to have abandoned her and left her vulnerable.

Then, she felt them. His lips touching down onto hers, and she instantly melted. How she managed to stay vertical was beyond her, much less being able to withstand another soul-capturing kiss. And…he lingered all along her mouth, tracing hers with his own, soft, tiny butterfly kisses. His breath, soft, warm, seductive, caressed her face. She inhaled him, feeling as if his essence was now inside of her, and as corny as it sounded, it seemed as if he was giving her the kiss of life.

Finally, she felt alive.

"What are you doing here, Onna?"

6 words. Those simple, questioning words seemed to stop time in its tracks. She knew as well as he did she had no business being in his room. They always fought, always screamed and bickered, always schemed to make the other person's life a living hell. They hated each other with a relish, not hiding that fact from the other. Absolutely abhorred and reviled each other, didn't they?

Didn't they?

"I, uh, um, there was a light I saw from the hall, coming from your room, and…"

"And what?" He viciously said, her hand effectively locked in his again. His face…inches from her own, all she could see was those eyes boring a hole through her.

"There's no business that you have being here. So what if there was a light coming from my room? You have absolutely no business…no fucking right to be around me. To infect me with the disease that is you." The words he said, were like knives stabbing her heart, each one causing her to flinch and wither visibly before his eyes. The part of him that loved reactions like these relished and gleefully celebrated, the harsh glint glimmering in those black pools.

"You are nothing but a nosy, annoying, irritating, self-righteous, spoiled, conniving brat. Constantly sticking your nose in my business, where it absolutely has no business being. This compound that you and your family have flaunted to everyone on this miserable planet is large enough to separate your wretched self from my presence. Yet you always seem to be in my way, in my vicinity. I never asked for your help. Never asked or insinuated or hinted of needing your "hospitality". Your damned gravity room has nothing to offer me. It hasn't made me into the Super Saiyan that I rightfully deserve. I'm still second to that miserable example of a third class idiot. You're useless, a pointless footnote that is unfortunately in my life right now." He painfully, slowly said, measured and punctuated, driving its viciousness into her, ripping her apart inside.

She was stunned. Frozen. Broken. Impossibly, she paled even further before his eyes, surprising him just a little. Her hurt, the pain of his words clearly and utterly evident on her delicate features. Again, surprising him, the complete opposite reaction of what he expected from her.

What the fuck?

Shock was a mild way of saying what he felt at that realization. But it consumed him enough that he didn't realize she had somehow managed to break free from his grasp and was no longer standing in front of him, wilting. Blinking, snapping himself out of his reverie, he looked for her, wondering what the hell had just happened. Didn't she hate him? Wasn't this all a game to her? Showing off her "superiority", her status, rubbing his face, his pride into it? She didn't have any compassion or empathy for him. She didn't care for him, right?

Right?

But…then why did she look like I had reached inside of her and ripped out her soul, tearing it to shreds? Why did she look…as if I'd just killed her? Why was she running away? He could feel her small life force, such a negligible energy compared to his, fleeing away, it seemed to be dangerously fluctuating, but growing dimmer and fainter, not because of the distance she was desperately trying to create from him…but because, because…

'Because it seemed…she was wounded, dying'.

He touched his lips, the softness and desire within hers still searing into his, not the cold or unfeeling that he thought he'd receive. That he'd been so sure he'd receive from her. She seemed…she seemed to have been baring her soul to him in that kiss, leaving her extremely vulnerable and open to decimation.

Something he did exactly.

That's not right. That can't be. This is all a game to her, she does not care for me, she's just using me! He reasoned with himself. "Graciously" housing me, feeding me, clothing me all because she wants something from me, my strength and power to help create the victory she wanted to be celebrating when the androids were defeated. She's nothing but a user, he screamed to himself, trying to ignore the large knots twisting him inside as he blasted from the balcony in pursuit of her, wanting to confront her with this. That's the only reason for the little bitch's "hospitality" isn't it?

Isn't it?