Saiyan Cells
oooOOOooo
The text on the program of Bulma's laptop is taunting her cruelly. Her pinky finger throbs in an angry heat from where she bit the nail too hard, and she sucks on it in apology as her eyes glide over the words. She's searching for something amongst the numbers and data analyzation, as if reading it for the tenth time in a row will change the findings.
Her sigh drips with disappointment as realization sinks in, once again, that it doesn't.
She wants to step away from the computer and take a break, but there's a nagging bolt of electricity humming from her fingers, begging her to continue. And although her back is aching in a way that makes her wince in pain, she hasn't moved-won't move. Not until she finds a solution. And certainly not unless the genetic markings of Goku's DNA can rewrite themselves into something she can work with.
Her eyes are beginning to burn like they're made of sand, and she forces herself to squint against their plea for her to stop. Instead of listening to them, she's shut off the harsh white lights of the lab until the room is lit with only the blue of her computer screen. It doesn't help much, but at least she can focus better. A soft ding! escapes from the monitor and she robotically opens an email from her father away from her documents. She wants to bang her head against the keyboard in frustration as she reads the message.
Why don't you ask Vegeta for assistance if you're reaching a dead end? I don't see why he would refuse.
As if she hasn't tried that already, she muses to herself. As if she hasn't casually rolled the question off her tongue over a yogurt during breakfast, or suggested for his help after a shower seemed to cool him off. She's even tried offering favors of all varieties, anything to get more than a grunt of refusal from him. But each time is the same, each response a knock on the door to the last. He eats her up with those eyes of his, so dark and colored with nightmares, and stiffly tells her 'no' before rushing away from wherever they are as if she's the anomaly of his existence. Bulma has learned her lesson of nagging him-especially since he's pushed her against the refrigerator and snarled for her to stay away from him. The cold that swam through her body then is enough to make her obedient in that regard, and she hasn't bothered him since.
But now as she reads the email, her fingers drumming over the keyboard with a reply, she's beginning to recant her silent contract with him.
The boy from the future. He's entered their lives like a thunderstorm interrupting the sun, delivering ill tales of misfortune and doom for their futures. Except Bulma hasn't deduced him to some shady fortune teller, and because of it, she's allowed her curious mind to poke and prod at his prophecies. Goku, the same man who Bulma has known to never get sick, not so much as even a runny nose, is supposed to die of a viral heart disease. The same man who has saved the world for her and others countless of times will finally show them he's human, and fall victim to an intrusion of his body. How? She can't understand it, no matter how many times her brain has gripped the words like a nutcracker. He's not only impossibly strong, but he's not even of this world. If his alien genetics, that can't even become acquainted with the common cold, fall prey to this, what else is he susceptible to? Even though there's a cure provided by the mysterious teen, Bulma can't help but wonder if it's enough.
But for all her research on his analytics, she's come up with nothing. She's even wondered if it's because of his head trauma, although she herself knows this is a silly theory. But she has nothing to compare it to, nothing to test his cells against. Gohan's pure blooded Saiyan cells have been watered down (or boosted up, depending on who you ask) by that of Earthling blood. And the only other Saiyan present refuses to be "worked on like some testing dummy." But Bulma is growing desperate. Seeing Goku die once is enough; if there's anything -anything- she can do to prevent that from happening again, she will. No she can't lend him her physical power, but the strength of her brain has always helped more than hurt.
The doorway to her lab creaks open, and before the sound can fully register in her ears, Vegeta is standing close by, his arms folded and his face the expression of granite. She feels his eyes cut her up with their irritation, but she is far too tired and far too determined to let him interfere. "What is it, Vegeta?" Her words all but wave him off as she turns back to her computer screen, knowing that if he's come down here to see her, then it's probably nothing good.
"I need more bots in the chamber," his voice is dark and dripping with venom, as if she's broken the bots herself. She scoffs after he's finished.
"Vegeta it's almost one in the morning."
She doesn't need to turn to know that he's folding his arms tighter, his eyes narrowing into deadly slits. "What the hell is your point?"
This makes her cast her eyes upwards, her own attitude mirroring his. "My point," she sharpens her words, "Is that there's nothing I can do about it at this hour. Not only is it too late, but I have my own work to get done."
The blue lighting cutting into the darkness absorbs half of his face, making him appear more sinister than he normally is. The silence in the room hangs in the air like a heavy fog, the both of them staring challengingly at each other. A growl works its way through Vegeta's body until it folds over his lips. "I said: more bots, now."
"And I said," she swivels her chair until she faces him completely, propping a leg over the older, "I won't do it at this moment. You can wait."
"But can you!?" His voice has lifted like a phoenix, his coal eyes pressing into her blue ones. "Because if I don't train like I need to, you and everyone else on this shitball planet is going to die."
This makes her swallow her bitter reply. She knows these androids are coming, and she knows Vegeta is a huge equation into making sure they stay the tinker toys they are instead of the monsters they're said to become. He's a monster himself, she subconsciously thinks, but at least his antics are being thrown at the enemy this time. "Fine," she says lowly, "But if I'm going out of my way to help you, then you need to help me."
"I don't have to do anything," his words are laced with a threat, and he narrows his eyes so that she knows he means it, "But you will fix these bots."
"Oh no, buddy, that's not how this works. I'll fix your precious bots, but you're going to give me some of your precious DNA." Her lips curve into a smile, but it instantly dims as he takes a few steps forward. She can feel the heat of his skin rolling off him in waves, spilling to her feet and threatening to drown her.
"You idiotic female," he's speaking so calmly that Bulma's skin crawls with fear, but she masks it with a scowl of her own, "I could snap your neck with two of my fingers, and you dare give me an ultimatum?" His shadow has replaced her skin and she instinctively rolls her chair backward and stands, holding her ground somewhat.
"It's a fair deal, Vegeta. You can be as much help to me as I am to you."
"You're alive and that's more help than you deserve. What you're offering is hardly fair."
"One measly little vial is all I need. I'm not asking for a limb or anything like that, just a sample."
"I don't give a damn what you need. I won't be experimented on." Bulma suspects that again is supposed to follow his statement, but his teeth have made his words prisoner, and instead he lets out a sharp breath that's meant to intimidate her. Bulma swallows and takes a deep breath, not wanting to lose this one.
"It's not an experiment, Vegeta. It could be important. Not just to save Goku's life-"
"If it's for his sake than I especially won't do it!"
"-But yours as well." She's growing impatient at his stubbornness, but a fleck of curiosity flashes over Vegeta's face. His eyes are all but asking her to continue, so she does. "You're the only other full blooded Saiyan. If Goku can come in contact with a heart disease, doesn't that make you wonder if you're susceptible too? Wouldn't you want to be one step ahead of something happening to you?"
"I'm always one step ahead," he says in his deep voice, although it appears to her that he's saying it with a point to prove, "And I know what Saiyan cells are capable of, both of my own expertise and a professional one. You are not the first scientist that I've come in contact with, although I would say one of the most useful. But considering you're staring death in the face because of your antics, I'm not sure I can say that anymore."
What other scientists? Bulma wants to ask this, but her lips are frozen. She's sure that someone like Frieza employed only the best of the best –after all just look at Vegeta- and she's curious as to what he may know about their practices. Instead she says, "Please, Vegeta. Help me help you."
He's silent for a moment, although his intense stare has not loosened its grip on her, and Bulma is starting to feel suffocated. "Kakarott's son-"
"-Isn't a pure blooded Saiyan. It won't do me any good to compare apples to oranges." She sees that Vegeta seems to be thinking over her request, so she decides to sweeten the deal. "I'll double the amount of bots I build. I'll make them faster, stronger, capable of more than just shooting lasers at you. I'll make all the necessary tweaks needed to help you ascend to a Super Saiyan."
His jaw clenches, resembling a fish on her hook, and she watches as the line reels itself in. "You swear it?" He asks, taking her aback. Surely the demon in her lab who was threatening her life only mere moments ago, isn't giving her the verbal equivalent of a pinky promise, is he?
Judging from his stone face, he most certainly is.
"On my life I swear it, Vegeta." She raises a hand as a contract of their agreement, offering him a strong smile. "I will start work on it as soon as the sun is up."
Vegeta growls and she knows it's because he still has to wait, but she knows he's intelligent himself. There's no way she can deliver what she's promising so late in the morning. Not if she wants to get his samples in her database and catch some sleep. She's just about to ask him if he agrees when he scoffs and shakes his head. "Fine!"
It's all he says but it's all Bulma needs. With a sound of satisfaction and a pep in her step, lest he changes his mind, she runs to the sink and washes her hands, not even caring to turn the lights of the lab on. She's shuffling through draws for a needle and vials before he's questioning the observation.
"You're going to stick me in the dark?"
"Relax," she says, thumbing through a box of packaged needles, "The computer's enough. Besides, it adds a nice vibe in here, don't you think? It's like we're drifting in space."
"Hardly," he grunts and removes his spandex top, letting it fall to her feet. Bulma turns around and nearly drops her equipment, her cheeks growing hot. "Wh-what are you doing?! Why's your shirt off!?"
"Tch," he stares at her incredulously, making her feel like a fly about to get swatted, "How else are you supposed to do this!? Hurry on with it before I change my mind!"
She mutters to himself so low that he can't hear it, and ignores the throbbing in between her legs as she leans over him. Vegeta has a well sculpted physique, one that puts every man she's ever seen to shame, including Yamcha. His body is littered in scars, but she finds them adding more to his appeal, like a rough sketch of beautiful artwork. She pretends not to stare at him as he crosses the lawn to the chamber, or grabs a water from the kitchen, but she's only been this close to him in all his glory once before, and she was too afraid he was dying to pay attention.
But now, as she's sticking the needle in his arm, she can't help but feel a little flustered. Vegeta's skin is warm, a lot warmer than a person made of ice could be, and she loses herself for a moment thinking of how human he feels. The blood in the vial slowly fills up, as if time itself has slowed down for her own torment. Vegeta hasn't moved, not even to curse when the needle has cut through his skin, something Goku would be yelping on the floor about. Given the scars that criss-cross his body like tree branches, she imagines that a needle is the least of his infliction worries.
The vial fills and she switches out for another one, accidently wiggling it around the entrance. "Sorry!" she says automatically as if she's really hurt him, "I didn't mean to do that!"
"Tch, as if I'm one of the weak Earthlings. You should know by your little computer that Saiyans have more durable genetics and are not completely made of salt and water like the bastards you call friends."
This makes her angry, and she jams the needle deeper in his arm, but he doesn't budge. "My friends are not as weak as you make them out to be. If my memory serves me correctly, three of them sure did a hell of a job standing up to you."
"And if my memory serves me correctly, two of them died."
"That's funny," she says harshly as she fills up the last vial, "Because so did two of yours."
Vegeta must have a really high pain tolerance, or doesn't care at all, because one minute Bulma is preparing to remove the needle from his arm, and the next he's got her pinned to the wall, danger flashing across his face. "Watch it," he breathes out, his eyes intent on some sort of deadly game, "You fragile sheep who roars like a lion." His thumb presses to the base of her neck, and the contact immediately makes electricity jolt through her body. "It is taking me much restraint to not press down right here," his finger lightly nudges a particular spot, and Bulma suddenly finds it difficult to breathe, "And make everything go dark for you."
"You wouldn't," she challenges, standing a little straighter.
"How do you figure?" A smirk steals his lips, as if he's gotten her where he wants her.
"Because," she's secretly hoping these words don't end up being her last, "Then who would be on your side?"
"My side?" He steps slightly back from her, although his hand is still making direct contact with her neck.
"If I even required anyone to be in my corner, what the hell makes you think that person would be you?"
"Haven't I already shown you that I've been in your corner? I've done nothing but try to help you in your ascension goals. Without so much as a thank you."
"I'm a prince. I don't thank the peasants."
"I'm not a peasant, I'm the richest woman on this entire goddamned planet, if not the smartest, you've said so yourself. If that doesn't make me royalty in your eyes then fuck you! I've been nothing but good to you, Vegeta, and all you've offered me are insults and threats."
Vegeta's face flashes somewhere between rage and intrigue. The heat of his fingers warm her neck, the whites of his gloves painted a pale blue by the computer. His eyes are locked into her, and hers into his, and their silent stare down shifts into a darker territory than Bulma anticipated.
"I have and always will be alone," he seethes, "And if you think that someone as inferior as yourself can change that, you're wrong." He pulls the needle out of his arm and crumbles it into ash as if it were made of sugar. He flicks the remains to the floor and continues to burn a stare into her.
"Who wants to be alone?" She doesn't know why she's entertaining this portion of the conversation, but something about the way Vegeta says it makes her heart fold. Bulma, very recently, understands the shitty part about being alone. "Who can stand it?!"
"I can."
Bulma clutches the vials in her hand and narrows her eyes at him accusingly. Gohan told her of what happened on Namek, including Vegeta's very emotional final words to Goku. There was pain in the spaces of his bloody teeth as he told of what Frieza did to his people, Gohan said, and it certainly doesn't fit the bill of someone who claims they don't care about isolation. Maybe he has grown used to it, and maybe he doesn't know any better, but if Vegeta doesn't care, then why is he here?
"Liar," she spits out in the shade of a whisper, "You can't stand the loneliness either. It's always written on your face." She studies his features, half presented to her in the glow of the blue, and a clenching hits her stomach the same way it always does when she stares at him for too long. Bulma doesn't know if she's just more sensitive to his isolation since her own breakup and the lack of visits from her friends, but she feels like she can see something hidden under his features that he won't speak of.
His lips curve downward, and Bulma shuts her eyes as she prepares herself for a round of curses that she suspects he'll fling out. Instead, the warmth of her neck is gone, and he merely breathes out, "You've gotten what you've asked of me, so I expectwhat you've promised in the morning."
She opens her eyes and is ready to find him gone, but he's still there, staring at her through a sliver in the darkness. He doesn't look angry, although the tone around his words suggests otherwise. She nods her head, unsure as to what he's expecting of her to say. He glances down to his arm and the tiny trail of blood oozing out of it. Is he…is he asking her for a band-aid?
She shakes her head in disbelief, walking towards the cabinet to get him one. She turns around and he's closer, looking at her with hardened interest. The heat in her cheeks rise as she can't figure out what she's said to make him intensely stare at her like this, but she takes the band-aid out of the wrapping and puts it on him anyways. She's about to take her hand away from him when he grabs it, the black moons of his eyes still pressed into her own.
"You don't know a thing about me," he says and she suspects that he's been chewing over what to say all this time, "So stop pretending like you do."
She glares at him as the fingers tighten on her wrist, but she doesn't back down. "I never pretend to know what's going in that thick head of yours. I only observe and call it like I see it. You're lonely, and rather than utilize the company around you, you treat them like absolute trash."
"Who the hell do you think you are!?" He's stepping closer to her now, his lips curved around a snarl. "I am a Saiyan Prince! The only reason I deal with you and your family is because you are of use to me now. Keep chastising me like that and the need of you will greatly diminish."
Bulma had enough. She's tired of Vegeta and his senseless snobbery, of his bad guy antics, of his overall rudeness. She's tired of this back and forth game with him, these snips that always result in her life being threatened and for her to feel like she is the equivalent of dog shit in his eyes, albeit an intelligent one. All she wants to do is help her friends in some way, considering in two and a half years she is going to once again be a mere spectator, and he is a constant thorn in her side during the process. She steps forward to him until they share the same air, and she is sure that the blues of her eyes burn with an unruly fire. "Back! Off!" Her index finger finds its way in the middle of his chest, earning her an eyebrow raise from him. "Stop taking out your baggage on me! Saiyan royalty or not, you still need to have decent mannerisms, especially when you're living under someone else's roof!"
"Woman, I suggest that you move your finger-"
"And another thing! It took you three months to finally give me what I'm asking for, and meanwhile, I slaved for you! And you have the nerve to insult me further!"
"I swear on my entire race I will break your finger if you don't-"
"You prance around here looking sad and miserable and 'Super Saiyan' this and 'Kakarot!' that, and I try, try, to do everything I can to make you comfortable and successful and even be a fucking friend to you, and you still treat. Me. Like. Shit!" Her finger is jabbing his chest with emphasis on her words, and she can feel his body vibrate with a rumble. If Bulma doesn't realize she's playing with fire, especially by the way he's gripping her wrist, it's because she's too hot herself to care. "Would it kill you to show some freaking gratitude?! You're not the only one coddling hurt feelings, you know!"
"Don't try to give me grief because of your incompetent ex-boyfriend! If he were here, I'd kill him again by my own hands just to show you how much I don't care about your little hurt feelings!"
"Fuck you, Vegeta!"
"Fuck you!"
Their chests are both rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm, their eyes angry and accusatory and directed at the other. Bulma feels the skin of her wrist burn against his glove, and her own finger is still pressed against his chest. The computer screen behind him blinks, immersing them in darkness briefly before it turns back on again, although the light is softer than before, making it difficult for her to see. But there's no mistaking that Vegeta is staring at her furiously, probably plotting the ways to kill her in his head. But that's okay, because so is she.
At least, that's what she's initially thinking, before she feels his thumb rotate in tiny circles around her wrist. It makes her skin jolt awake as if the material of his glove is made with caffeine, and her breath hitches in her chest. Even through the almost-darkness, she can see that his eyes have lost that sharp, deadly edge that he once displayed, and instead he's looking at her as if he has a question. Bulma feels her stomach twist over into a cloud and she realizes how close she is to his shirtless torso, and how warm it feels against her finger. Against her better judgement, she brings her palm to rest on his chest, letting his skin swim beneath her fingers. She expects him to throw her hand away from him and threaten her again.
He doesn't.
He looks down to his chest where their skin is meeting, the computer blinking again so that she can't see the expression on his face. When the monitor resumes its dim lighting, his face is closer to hers and his forehead is tense with confusion. Bulma recognizes that look; as a scientist, she frequents that expression herself. It's the very one she gives when she's studying something and wants a closer inspection. A more tangible approach to the subject matter, if you will.
Her legs move her backwards until she's against the counter under the medical cabinet, and to her surprise he's moving with her, his hands still circling her wrist. His affixed gaze over her is smoldering, gobbling her up and spitting her out until she's nothing more than bone. What's he doing? What's she doing? What happened to their argument? What about her research? His samples? The questions collide against her brain like a freight train, the loud horns ringing in her ear about what the hell are you doing, Bulma?! But she's tranced by whatever this is, knowing their ill words lay on the floor behind them. Her words echo in her head until they fade out, her chest thumping away until it moves down through her belly and slides into the depths of her legs, making her suck in a sharp breath. Vegeta places and arm on her side and places it on the counter, trapping her between him and metal. She should be afraid, and normally would be, but now she can't help but feel the anger towards him dissipate into lust.
She remembers her last words to him and thinks that yes, she would most definitely like to fuck him.
"Vegeta," she whispers, trying to get a hold on her nervous breaths, "What are we doing?"
He doesn't say anything, instead appearing to mull over her question, his face showing that he's been wondering the same thing. She's prepared for him to gather to his senses, but when he doesn't, she feels a little courage. The computer monitor blinks off again, and she uses the opportunity to crush her mouth against his.
His lips are like hot molten lava, and she relishes in the heat as she drags his bottom lip in between her own. He's standing there as if he doesn't know what to do, or rather, doesn't want her to be doing this, and suddenly she's embarrassed. The room is illuminated again and she pulls away, feeling the immediate need to get him out of her lab. She tries to squirm out of his grip, letting go an apologetic laughter. "I should umm, get your samples in the database so that I can-"
Before she finishes her words, his lips attack her mouth, kissing her hard. She's surprised but melts into it, kissing him back and meeting his intensity. She lets out a moan as his tongue intrudes the confines of her lips, his hand leaving her wrist and finding her waist, kneading it with a gentle force. Bulma wraps the free limb around his neck, pushing his head closer so that she can taste him more. And god, does he taste good. Like a cinnamon candy: a sinful, spicy treat that she wants to lick off of her fingers. His tongue is dancing wickedly in her mouth, his hand moving up to run his fingers down her neck. A pleasurable sigh escapes her lips and she arches her neck, her bottom lip being pulled as he drags it away with his mouth.
It's impossible for her to believe that this is happening, especially with Vegeta. He hates her, doesn't he? After all, he's never so much as batted an eye when she's wearing clothes that would have given Yamcha a nose bleed, and any advances she may have flirted around in the past were met with a flat out flustered refusal. But here he is, his tongue running up and down the smooth column of her neck, and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body feels like it's going to combust every time he sucks at her skin, and she throws her head back and groans, an impatient need beginning to radiate below.
Vegeta picks her up and sets her on the counter, not even bothering to look at her face before removing her top and eyeing her breasts. The fickle computer blinks again, and the second the night swallows them, she feels his hot breath around her nipple, his wet tongue lapping over her skin relentlessly. She wants to take the time to access the situation, but right now all she can do is surrender to whatever the hell this is. She's afraid he's going to stop right here, come to the realization that he's really a cold hearted prick and sexual acts with an Earthling are beneath him. But his gloveless fingers slide beneath the fabric of her panties and Bulma lets out a gasp.
He rubs against her clit, her mouth still sucking away at her breast, and Bulma feels like she's fighting an unfair game. He lets her nipple go with a cruel pop! and brings his head back up to hers, just in time for the monitor's light to let her see his face.
"You're wet," he says as more of a statement than one of admiration, and his fingers move faster, making her head drop as she cries out. He chuckles darkly, using his arms to push her thighs further apart. "Filthy, vulgar woman," he says in a whisper, his fingers circling her slippery clit meticulously, "Moaning like that for the enemy."
"You're not the enemy." She says, her head still lowered, her moans coming out in short bursts of breaths, "And even if you—aah!—were, just…fuck…right there, Vegeta. Don't stop!"
He chuckles again and moves his lips back to her neck, obeying her command as he massages her sweet spot over and over with his deft fingers. Bulma's body heats up in shades of red, her hand wrapped around Vegeta's neck tightly as he continues his magic. It's almost as if he's read a book on how exactly to do this as he's not yet missed a beat of her pulsating clit, and she feels herself about to slide over the edge, her words of arousal getting caught in a tangle in the back of her throat. She's there, she's almost there…
But then his hand is gone and her panties with it, and Bulma feels the cruel cold air of her lab blow against her wetness. She brings her head up to glare at him furiously and ask him what the big deal is, but the computer blinks the room dark and she feels his solid cock at her entrance.
His forehead leans against hers as he effortlessly glides in, a feat he can thank himself for, and they both gasp at the intrusion. Bulma fits around him perfectly, molding to a precise fit every time he pulls out and sinks back into her again. The counter squeaks as he picks up his pace, his internal grunts turning into vocal pants, and his hand massages her jaw as she loses her sensibility.
Her mouth flings open and she tries to croak out some sort of gratitude for the pleasure he's giving her, but she comes up empty. All she can do is succumb to his torture and give it back to him, meeting every thrust head on until the slapping of skin drowns out the lab. She can see his face again thanks to the computer, and he's staring at her with the softest eyes she's ever seen him with, even though they're clouded by lust. His mouth hangs open as he once again dives in, hitting a certain spot that makes Bulma squeal. She closes her eyes and rides the wave until she's far away and can't see them anymore.
"Bulma," his deep voice breaks her thoughts, and she is overcome with surprise because he's never called her by her name before, "Open your eyes. Look at me."
She does, and she can't believe the words are coming from his mouth. He's different right now, she analyzes, and it's hard to believe that this man who carries the blood of many on his hands is being an open book. He's barely holding on himself, with the wetness that glides over his cock like silk making them both tip towards the edge, and his eyes hold an animalistic restraint that she's never seen before. It's just enough to make her cum.
Before she does, his hand finds her clit again and massages it firmly, applying more pressure and moving much faster than the first time. Bulma can't take it. Fuck he feels so good, from the way he's pounding into her until she feels like she's going to break, to the way her clitoris is singing under his fingers. It's so much, such an insane buildup to one of the greatest orgasms she knows she's going to receive.
She leans forward and kisses him, crying out her final wave into his mouth and he swallows it. Her body feels like jelly as she cums, swallowing her up in the cruelest yet most blissful of ways. Vegeta tips over the edge of his own arousal, plummeting into her with such speed that she's wondering if he's ascended at this very moment.
Slowly, she comes back down from nirvana, emerged in the blackness of her office again. A laugh tickles her throat because holy shit that was amazing and it came from Vegeta. She pulls away from his kiss and is preparing to lean her forehead against his before she feels nothing but air. It takes a second for her to realize that he isn't there, and the computer reveals that he's cleaning himself up with a Kleenex. Bulma waits for him to return to her, but she watches as he washes his hands and grabs his spandex shirt, heading for the stairs.
"Umm, hello!" She says angrily, pulling her top up, "Where are you going!?"
He stops and she can see his fists clenching, and he slowly turns his head over his shoulder. His face is in a state of bewilderment, as if he can't believe this has happened either. She knows he must be feeling the post effects of an orgasm, but if he is, it's masked behind his defensive expression. "I—you-we," he sputters out, looking at her with a mixture of confusion, lust and anger. His lips shut and he takes a deep breath, trying to regulate himself. Finally he turns back around and heads up, but not before flatly saying, "This was a mistake and it will never happen again. Never mind those bots, I do not require them any longer."
Bulma is confused, hurt and upset by his reaction, and she's still sitting on the counter for a long time afterwards, only the slippery coldness of her vagina any indication of what just happened. Her computer flashes to a bright light and a notification pops up, displaying that someone is attempting to disengage the spaceship. She feels her eyes burn with tears as the box asks for her permission to release the locks, unable to believe that Vegeta could be such a coward. She hops down off the bench with shaky legs, and walks over to the computer, not bothering to even look at the thing as she punches in the keycode and accepts the request. She sits down in her office chair, uncaring about her naked bottom against the material. Vegeta definitely made it apparent that he wanted exactly what they engaged in, but now he's being an asshole and running away because of course he would. It hurts far more than she'd thought, than she'd like to admit, and as Capsule Corps shakes with the departure of the ship, Bulma sinks down in her chair further and hugs herself to keep from crying. The asshole means what he says about isolation, after all.
She looks over at the abandoned vials on the counter, completely undisturbed despite their workbench fuck, and glares at them with accusation. She gets up and throws them in the mini fridge, completely pissed that they were the reason she's forced to feel this way. Stupid Saiyan Cells, she vents internally, plopping down into her seat and shutting off her computer, I hope to never have to look at them again.
oooOOOooo
Whoo! I only meant for this to be a one shot, but this ended up being a full chapter haha. Sorry if its too long, but hope you like it anyway, precious anon! I also hope your work week is a little better because of it!