He quirked the corner of his lips upwards, skewing the scar on his cheek. He watch her silhouette squirm, hop and wiggle as she fought with her jeans from across the dark room. She was all beauty and no grace, at the moment. He sighed laying back, his hand stroking the spot beside him that she had warmed. His nose pressed into the pillow inhaling her sweet scent. He could still feel the soft caress of her lips all over his body.
"Damned hips," she hissed through gritted teeth, drawing him out of his reverie. His gaze was drawn back to her still struggling with her jeans.
"Why do you even wear those," Yamcha snorted as he watched her from where he lay on the bed.
"Because they make my ass look great," she turned around and gestured to her backside to prove her point.
"I'll give you that," he chuckled. A smirk formed on her pink lips and a playful roll of the eyes as she finally got in her jeans. "B, C'mere," Yamcha reached for her hand.
"No, not again," she giggled, "I already have my pants back on."
"I just wanna talk," he pulled her closer to the bedside.
"Yea? About what," an aqua brow rose as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"About us." He felt her tense. He could see the purse of her lips and draw of her brows. She was thinking of a way to get out of this...again.
"What is there to talk about?"
"I dunno. Whatever this is that we're doing. I mean you show up here, make love to me like never before then just leave. I'm starting to think you're just using me for my body," he smirked.
She cringed. Make love, is that what he thought they were doing? It had been a long time since they made love. The night he had been revived after the Saiyans came they didn't make love. What they've been doing for over a year wasn't making love.
"Why do we have to talk about it? I didn't come here for that."
"Well what did you come here for, Bulma," he clenched his jaw and sat up straight.
"I came here to suck your dick. You knew that. I knew that. I did that. Now I'm not doing this with you. What the point?"
"The point is I want to know. I need to know." He ran a hand through his hair. He knew, but he didn't want to admit it. Not yet at least. He needed her presence in his life, especially with the looming threat that awaited them three years from now.
"I don't want to do this," she sighed.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to think about all the shit to come. I mean we don't even know if we'll be alive in less than three years from now, so why worry about little things and just enjoy the now."
They possibly had less than 1,000 days to live. So much had changed in the short time leading up to this and so much more would. Some of those changes were a long time coming. Some she never wanted to acknowledge. She tried to chase away the thoughts when they haunted her late at night. Some changes were inevitable. She changed. He changed. They weren't the same people they were before. They weren't kids. Just like people grow and change, so do feelings.
"That's even more of a reason to Bulma," he sighed in frustration. He had been dropping hints about settling down since that "kid from the future" came a month or so ago and she would just wave it off as nothing.
"I'm not doing this," she stood to her feet.
"We're not kids anymore, Bulma. I think it's time-"
"Yamcha, I just said I'm not doing this!
"You're just selfish," he glared at her as she rolled her eyes in defiance.
"Selfish people live longer," she crossed her arms and turned her back to him. Neverminding the rustling behind her that she knew was Yamcha jumping out of the bed and looking for clothing.
"Bulma! Don't you walk out on this."
"Or what? Yamcha, don't play dumb. You know just like I know where this was heading."
"If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back here hoping to get a quick fuck."
She opened the door and turned back to him with a sharp glare, "You won't have to worry about me coming back here!"
ャ
Bulma climbed the makeshift scaffold she had forged in her teen years up to the rooftop of the west tower of Capsule Corporation. She settled on a seat on the ledge her legs dangling over the edge. This rooftop held many memories. More than often it was her solace. Her escape from annoying parents and boring high school classes. Looking up at the stars she once dreamed of traveling through. She brought the creation she rolled with her own fingers to her lips then brought the flame of her lighter to the tip. Taking a long drag on the first hit, she exhaled blowing some of her stress up into the air along with the smoke. She flipped the hood of her jacket up onto her head and shoved her free hand into her pocket. Positioning her earbuds into her ear with one hand, she took another hit with the other. Her shoulders relaxed with a sigh as she gazed down at West City from where she sat like a princess looking down upon her kingdom.
"That is not one of your filthy cigarettes." Her heart jumped and a wave of shock started at her toes and rolled up her body as a voice spoke from the shadows.
"Damn it Vegeta," she shrieked pulling the joint from her lips with her index and thumb, "What is your deal!"
"Why are you here?"
"Why am I here? This is my house I can be wherever I want!"
His dark brows furrowed as he stared at her and as good as Bulma Briefs thought she was at reading people she couldn't for the life of her read his expression. "Why are you so loud," he turned and flew off the rooftop.
"He's so weird," she groaned before taking another slow drag. Vegeta adjusting to his new stay on Earth had been an adventure in itself; between his culture shock and persistent temper tantrums, there was never a dull moment. There were so many things that she hadn't even thought of when she invited the Saiyan to stay. She just knew that it was better that he be close by where an eye could be kept on him, instead of him running free and causing chaos on Earth. It had been a trial to have to explain what shoe laces are and how to tie them to the easily irritable man. She never thought they'd have to teach an alien how to use a fork or chopsticks. There had even been times where she had completely forgotten that he wasn't even born on the same planet as her and each time she slipped into that false notion of thinking he never failed to remind her. He's just so weird...and interesting.
She lay back on the rooftop and looked up at the starry night sky before taking another hit momentarily forgetting about her alien houseguest. She wished for the days before three-year promises of death, before Goku was Kakkarot, and before Super Saiyans. Inhaling deeply, filling her lungs with smoke and exhaling making it dance in the air. Why couldn't they just listen to her? Why couldn't they just go find where these androids were, bust in there and blow them up before they even got around to their senseless killing spree. She was surrounded by muscle-bound, thrill-seeking idiots that's why.
"Don't listen to the genius, what a great idea," she sighed before lifting the joint to her lips again. Show-offy boys would be the end of the world. "No surprise there," she chuckled. Men ruined everything. Time and time again man's ego and overall stupidity caused wars, tragedy and ultimately deaths. As much as she didn't want to admit it a niggling of resentment had formed in her towards her friends. They all holed themselves away training to become stronger to defend the world from the androids and what was she left to do? They had left her behind, once again. This was becoming far too frequent for her liking. Bulma Briefs did not like being the outlier. She did not like being left out. She did not like this feeling of helplessness. Was she just suppose to sit back and leave everything to the boys? Was she just suppose to ignore it and leave it to them and act like she didn't notice?
No, Bulma notices everything but there are times when she acts like she doesn't; like Yamcha's wandering eyes and interest. Every since he had died and been revived he had grown complacent. Happy just to be alive and she honestly couldn't argue with that. Though they were already on one of their "off" phases, he was happy just to be with her as she was with him. He was happy just playing baseball in the day and warming her bed at night. He was happy for the team's winning streak and the flock of groupies to come with it. Happy for all the short skirts and phone numbers written on napkins. He never called them because he was happy enough with her but as happy as he was he wanted more. He didn't have an unfaithful bone in his body. He wanted what she couldn't give.
When he wasn't "training", playing baseball or knocking her boots he was bitching and moaning about her choices. Her choice to not get back together officially. Her choice to house the murderous alien indirectly responsible for his death. To say that he was upset about the guest at Capsule Corp wouldn't even do it justice. She had never seen him so upset. He detested the Saiyan. He was jealous. She'd be a fool to think that he was jealous over her. She'd also be lying if she said that she hadn't daydreamed about Yamcha causing a scene and asking if she wanted him or Vegeta like something out of a movie her sister had to take her to because back then she wasn't old enough to get in herself. No, this jealousy had nothing to do with her and everything to do with power. Vegeta made it all look so easy. Power rolled off of him. His dark aura radiated power. Every movement he made was precise and deliberate, strong and graceful. He was poetry in motion. He didn't even have to dirty his hands to kill Yamcha himself. That is what Yamcha was jealous of. He wanted to be stronger. She saw how he tried. He wanted to be stronger for her. She remembered him holding her and telling her how he'd give his life for her if it meant she lived on pass the three-year death mark. An argument she had gotten into with her mother years ago when she first started dating Yamcha came to the forefront of her mind. Her mother had said she would hurt that poor boy and look what she had gone and done.
She sighed and pressed the butt of her doobie in the rooftop. She'd have to change her clothes and shower or else her mother would pass out if she found out her precious Bulma was smoking marijuana around the house. Closing her eyes, she reasoned she'd call Yamcha up soon. Not to get back together. This would be the honest to Kami last time, but she still wanted him in her life. He had been there for so much of it, she couldn't see her life without him. She also reasoned that he had valid points like offering refuge to the homicidal alien that would've killed her if he had the chance. There was no way around that though part of her thought he wasn't that bad.
"Shower and sleep now," she sighed, "call Yamcha in a week." All she could do was take these next few years one day at a time.
