A/N: Takes place in Frieza's Empire. Saku is an OC.
He didn't know why he found her fascinating. He just did. There were plenty of other women who were more attractive; women with slimmer hips and bigger tits; women who could not drink him under the table at the Hanging Dog; women who smelled of flowers and other nice things Jeice had never heard of before, certainly not fag ends and ship fuel. There were women with class out there, swanning around Frieza's courts, fanning themselves and fainting whenever their man went by. He knew. He'd shagged a few of them.
He didn't want her. Not exactly. It was just a sex thing. A casual thing. A mate thing. And that was fine.
Then why wasn't it?
Jeice watched her sitting on the end of his bed, naked and downing the last of the Terradian firewhiskey. A small frown creased her forehead.
He leaned against the doorway, adjusting the towel around his waist.
"Don't think too hard, sweetheart, yeh'll get wrinkles. Then ah'll lose interest. And what ah'm I gonna do without a regular Saturday night shag?"
"Fuck you, mop-top."
She grinned, downing the last of the firewhiskey. He watched the flash of her throat in the moonlight. Something deep in the pit of his stomach knotted, tightened like a vice.
She was quick to note the change in him. She always was.
Her grey eyes flashed. "Get over here... Leave the towel... And that lecherous grin."
They were just playing a game. They always played games. Had done from the moment they met during a sticky struggle after Dodoria's crime syndicate decided to wage war on their Terradian rivals, NAGA. It had been messy. It always was when you involved money and the Empire. Three years on, still the same sticky wet struggle, only now mouths were involved, hot and panting, and thighs digging into him, pushing and thrusting. Still. That was fine, right? Just mates having fun, doing what mates did when they were alone and they were high or horny, or both. It wasn't love because that was just daft. You didn't fall in love with someone like Saku. She made that perfectly clear. Besides, there's no time for that. Not when you're working for Frieza.
"OW! Shit! Fuck, my arse!"
"'Fraid I can't do that. Not without the proper appendage." Even her voice smirked at him.
He returned it in kind. "Funny. You need to trim down yer claws, babe. I nearly lost a buttock there. Ah'm particularly fond of that one, in all."
"Big girl's blouse. I'll put them away then, shall I?"
He shook his head fervently. "Ah didn't say ah didn't like it..."
So it's not love. He's convinced of that. It's convenience. It's not comfortable, but it's there all the same. She's there. He can't imagine her not being there. Neither does he want to.
Her hands are in his hair now, grabbing fistfuls, pulling, tearing, dragging him down to that mouth, that gorgeous mouth; their tongues collide, salt, sweat and saliva mixing. He can feel her groan against his mouth. Her legs lock themselves around him, keeping him close, tightening their grip, squeezing out the last of his resolve, not that he had much to start with. Because he can never say no. Not to her. Not when her eyes darken and her lips part and she kisses him that terrible way, teeth grazing his collar bone and apple, fingers gently scraping the scar Captain Ginyu left along his thigh that first day of training in the Force. Her claws drag down his back, gripping his arse, hard, and he closes all space between them, their hips thrusting with reckless abandon, because that's all they know; lips crushing, skin smacking, his body hard and lean against her soft frame. And he loves the way she looks against him. She's not pale, but anyone looks pale against his skin.
Burter hollers from the cabin over. His disapproving grunt is followed by a string of supporting expletives in Guldo's native tongue. Both are drowned out by Recoome's snoring.
They're loud. So what? Until Ginyu's death threats come, they won't stop. Not that Jeice could, even if he wanted to. He never could say no to her. He couldn't say no to her even when he was alone, tossing one off after another one of Frieza's hell-bound missions, when there was only his petty excuse for an imagination to keep his bed warm on the long flight home. But it's fine, because everyone needs something to grab onto. Even the Cap'. They're none of them like Frieza. Oh, once he enjoyed flying that narrow line, putting a toe over or occasionally a foot, but he was no more a cold-blooded killer than Recoome was a ballerina.
So many times he'd come away from a planet retching and pretending to ignore the looks on his team-mates' faces; pallid, miserable, but laughing all the same, because you had to. If you didn't, it was your neck. And Jeice kind've liked the way his was attached to the rest of his body.
Course, things were changing now. Now there was the Rebellion. And he knew which side Burter was on and he knew which side she would choose, too, because she never played a game by halves, oh no, that was for cowards.
Jeice knows which side he'll be on, too. And he'd like to say he'd choose it because he's brave like them, really he would, but as her fingernails dig into his back and he hears her voice tremble and cry, his own name echoing around the cabin, he knows the only reason he's going over to their side is because he has to be, HAS to be, on whichever side owns those hands, those eyes and that gorgeous, gorgeous mouth.
Jeice isn't sure which one of them came first. It doesn't matter. They're in it together, just like always. And why should things change? It's fine just the way it is, full of danger and adventure and shags, and her claw marks on his back, and of free booze and long nights at the Underworld, and fag ends at dawn. Because it works like this, whatever it is, it work–
"...What d'ya mean yeh love me?"
She grins. "Heat of the moment. Don't think too much about it."
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