Chapter 36: United at Last [R-18]
The air in Lara's private quarters on Outpost Gamma-7 was thick with the scent of recycled oxygen and something else, a faint, metallic tang from the hull, but underneath it, the clean, almost sterile aroma of her personal space. It was a space carved out of necessity, a meager 10x8 cabin, yet to Lara, it was a sanctuary. A standard-issue bunk was shoved against one wall, its thin mattress barely concealing the metallic frame. A small, utilitarian desk, scarred with countless data pad impressions, held only two things out of place: a faded indigo textile, hand-woven and alien in its intricate pattern, draped carefully over the edge, and a shimmering, palm-sized hologram projector that pulsed with the gentle image of a distant, tranquil nebula, a memory of home.
This was her refuge from the grimy, oppressive reality of Outpost Gamma-7's industrial hum and the ever-present threat of Frieza's iron fist. And now, it was about to become something else entirely.
Kakarot filled the doorway, a force of nature barely contained by the narrow frame. His aura, usually a volatile storm, was tightly reined, but Lara could feel the seismic tremor beneath his skin. He'd just walked away from Frieza, from Vegeta, from a universe that had tried to bury him. He was alive, yes, but he was a raw nerve, a predator who had just reclaimed his territory. The triumph in his eyes was cold, edged with a dangerous fury that even now, in the relative safety of her quarters, made the air crackle. The residual adrenaline from facing down death still hummed in his massively muscled frame, making him twitch with barely suppressed power. This was it. This was his only outlet, the one place where he could shed the masks, the strategy, the calculated deception, and be utterly, savagely himself.
Lara met his gaze, her own breath catching in her throat. Relief, so potent it felt like a physical blow, warred with a lingering, sickening wave of trauma. She hadn't seen him dead. Killed by Prince Vegeta. Blown into space. Though she still thought of it over and over again in her mind that it was almost like she was there. That memory, fresh and terrifying, still clung to her like a shroud. But now he was here, real, breathing, demanding. The passion that surged through her was desperate, a fierce need to anchor him, to anchor herself, in this reality.
He didn't speak, not at first. His eyes, dark and turbulent, swept over her, a possessive claim in their depths. Then, he moved. Not a walk, but a controlled stalk, covering the small space in three powerful strides. He didn't ask, he demanded, a silent, primal message that reverberated through her bones.
Lara met him halfway, her hands lifting to his chest, fingers splayed. His uniform top was already unzipped, the heavy fabric pushed back, revealing the taut, bronze skin underneath. Her slick palms slid over the ridges of his newly hardened muscle, a testament to the brutal training he'd endured. He hadn't just survived; he'd been forged anew. She felt the warmth radiating from him, a stark contrast to her own cool, smooth blue skin.
"Kakarot," she whispered, her voice thick with everything she couldn't say. You're here. You're alive. Don't leave me again.
He gripped her waist, his fingers digging in, almost painfully, drawing her flush against his solid body. The scent of him, sweat, ozone, and something uniquely Saiyan, earthy and powerful filled her senses. His mouth crashed down on hers, a kiss of pure hunger, a savage taking. Her lips parted instantly, welcoming the invasion, her tongue tangling with his in a desperate dance. It was messy, urgent, a taste of triumph and raw survival.
His hands, rough and strong, went to the hem of her simple tunic, bunching the fabric, yanking it up and over her head in one swift motion. Cold air hit her bare skin, but the heat of his body quickly enveloped her. She heard the soft thud of her tunic hitting the floor as his mouth left hers, trailing a burning path down her throat, to the hollow of her collarbone, then lower, to the swell of her breasts.
Her breasts, full and heavy even for her lithe frame, swelled under his touch, the nipples tightening into hard peaks. He suckled hard, his tongue rough, drawing a gasp from her. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of absolute satisfaction mixed with a dark, primal need. His teeth scraped lightly, teasing, then he latched on again, pulling in her flesh, his jaw working. Lara arched into him, her fingers tangling in his spiky hair, holding him close, desperate for the friction, the proof of his physical presence.
His calloused fingers traced a thin, silvery line on her left breast, just above the nipple. The faint scar, a mark from the Prince's energy blast, stood out against her smooth blue skin. Kakarot paused, his head lifting, his eyes darkening to a near-black intensity. Lara felt the shift, a tremor of cold fury radiating from him. He stared at the scar, his jaw tight, a silent, venomous promise passing between them. He lowered his head, not to suckle again, but to carefully, deliberately kiss the scar. His lips lingered, a tender, possessive act that spoke volumes of his vengeance, a silent vow that anyone who dared touch her again would be obliterated.
"Mine," he grunted, the word a deep rasp against her skin, more threat than declaration.
His hand slid down her back, pushing her skirt down, letting it pool around her ankles. Her small, utilitarian quarters had never felt so charged, so alive. His arousal was already evident, thick and hard against her belly, pulsing with a life of its own.
"Don't leave me again, Kakarot," Lara pleaded, her voice choked with emotion, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into the rough fabric of his uniform pants. "Please, don't leave me."
He lifted her, the ease of the movement startling even now. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her core pressing against his. He carried her to the bunk, the standard-issue mattress groaning under their combined weight. He didn't lay her down gently; he dropped her, albeit softly, onto the bunk, then loomed over her, his eyes blazing, a hunter finally cornering his prey.
"Never," he growled, the word a dark, absolute promise. "No one takes what's mine. Ever again."
He tore at his own uniform, ripping the fabric of his trousers. There was no patience, only a consuming urgency. His powerful erection sprang free, long and thick, already slick with pre-cum. Lara gasped, her eyes wide, mesmerized by the sheer, unbridled power of him. He was a beast, magnificent and terrifying.
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