Disclaimers: Dragon Ball Z and its respective characters belong to Akira Toriyama.

Author's Notes: This is a series of responses written for Madison's writing community Blue and Black (community[dot]livejournal[dot]com/bulmavegeta) over on LJ. Responses are not connected to each other unless otherwise stated.

Warning: There is no plot, but there is a lemon.

Prompt: Passion
Title: Offer

Bulma wasn't sure how long it's been since the Nameks set off to their new home planet. She didn't see the need to keep track of time as the days bled from one project to another, pausing only to relax with her friends as she settled to life back on Chikyuu, her last adventure having cured her of her wanderlust. While the green-skinned aliens had kept to themselves and out of sight during their stay, Bulma was going to miss them. Ki sensing abilities or no, she knew the serene calm that had blanketed her home was due to the peaceful, empathic nature of her guests. It was all the more evident when the warmth and comfort that had enveloped the Briefs Residence was abruptly stripped away upon their departure. Replaced with a suffocating, incessant tension that had gotten stronger.

It may have been because of that mysterious boy who arrived to warn them of an impending threat. But Bulma attributed it more to Vegeta's unrelenting quest to train himself to death.

She didn't want a repeat of the last time. There was nothing pleasant about the icy fear that knotted in her stomach or the cold dread that crashed over her when the GR had exploded. With Vegeta still inside it. She didn't doubt the Saiyan deserved to die for all the atrocities he had committed while serving under Freiza, but Bulma thought herself as a good person. She wasn't about to have his blood on her hands. Not when she could have done something to prevent it. At least, that's what she told herself when they finally managed to dig him out of the wreckage and barely got him onto the operating table.

Rather than thanking them for saving his life, he had the gall to insult them! He snarled that if it weren't for their inferior, antiquated technology it wouldn't have exploded in the first place. Clearly the GR's destruction had nothing to do with the insanely high levels the Saiyan had been repeatedly punching into the program.

The sweet curve of her smile twisted into a grimace, eyes hardening at his words as she glared at him with the full intensity of her anger. It would have made a lesser man blanche. But of course, Vegeta only sneered at her little display of defiance.

"You should remember your place, Woman," He warned, in that casually menacing voice of his.

Bulma should have let it slide, should have continued to play the role of good hostess, should have held her tongue instead of snapping back. The man had been trying her patience since day one and being nice and accommodating to him had done nothing to make living with him any easier. "Pretty sure that since you are living in my house, my place is being your superior, my dear Saiyan no Ouji," she couldn't help the condescension slathered thickly in her voice when she used his royal title. "You should remember your place, you ungrateful bastard!"

Fear flit briefly across her delicate features when she realized what she had done. Then just as quickly as it appeared, she forced it away. She didn't regret a single word and she felt damn good for finally giving him a piece of her mind. If he decided to kill her, as she guessed he was planning on doing from the look of black murder in those dark, intense eyes, well at least she had the satisfaction of having told him off first.

His hand was around her throat, stars winking before her eyes from impact the back of her head made as she was slammed against the wall. His grip was surprisingly gentle but no less strong, or immovable.

"I would watch my mouth if I were you," He growled, his breath hot on her face. He smirked in that oh-so-smug way when she instinctively winced. But it disappeared when he saw the steel in her resolve and the blatant defiance in her eyes. She was done cowering before him.

"You mean you actually notice things that don't involve food or your precious GR?" she snorted.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, "I notice a great many things. For example: The way you enjoy wearing little more than those fabric scraps you try to pass of as clothing. Or that you're always sneaking glances at me from the corner of your eye when you think I'm not looking. Let's not forget your habit of leaving your room unlocked and returning to it at hours no one is awake to hear you scream."

It took all of Bulma's will to stamp down the beginning tremors of terror before they made themselves felt to the man who had her by the neck. She wasn't sure which frightened her more: that he was threatening her bodily harm or the guilty thrill that shot up her spine that he had been watching her rather than ignoring her. She held his gaze, unflinching but very aware of the power he was restraining in order to make a point. If he meant to kill her, he would do so in the most agonizingly slow way he was capable.

Rather than crumble in defeat, the certainty of her fate gave her scientific mind the comfort and strength it needed to deal with him. "I'm flattered," she crooned, as if the hand that clenched around her neck was nothing more than an unusual accessory she had picked out herself. "That I could have such an effect on you."

His eyes narrowed as he bared his fangs in a cruel grin, "Don't be. I tend to destroy those that annoy me."

"What a coincidence! So do I!" She shot back through grit teeth.

He stared at her for a few moments, then threw his head back and laughed. "You don't have what it takes, Woman," he sneered, slowly releasing his hold on her.

She gave him a dazzling smile and with a haughty flip of her hair she purred, "If you say so, Ouji-sama." She turned on her heels and sauntered to her room where she decidedly left the door unlocked. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of pushing her around anymore and thought that maybe, just maybe he'd start treating her with a little more respect now that she stood up to him.

Oh how she thought wrong.

If the blue-haired heiress thought the ruthless, disgruntled Saiyan prince was difficult when he had first arrived, he was absolutely impossible from then on. Which was why, on a hot sweltering day like today, she wasn't hunched over her desk in her air-conditioned room or lounging by the pool or reading in the shade. Why instead, she was on her knees, up to her elbows in spilt oil and scorched circuitry and glad she had worn her work gloves and coveralls.

She muttered beneath her breath, words that most people thought too unsavory to be spoken, let alone by a woman of her stature. Then again, most women of stature hadn't grown up surrounded with friends capable of leveling mountains and decimating continents. Nor did they spend most of their free time attending to the whims of dethroned royalty, who was more of a royal pain in the ass.

"I told him not to go over four hundred. So what does he do? He raises it to fucking five hundred," she growled in an unconscious mimicry of said royal pain in the ass. Her blue eyes glared at the components melted beyond repair and was glad, for the nth time since she and her father rebuilt the GR, she had the foresight to install the fail-safe mechanism.

"Can't tell if he's stupid or suicidal," She grumbled, unscrewing the corroded parts from their mounting.

"I could say the same about you, Woman."

"You already do," she snorted with a roll of her eyes while she yanked at a cluster of wires. "And feel free to stop staring at my ass. I already know it's fantastic," she smirked, wiggling her rear in emphasis. If she had actually seen the way he was looking at her with an almost feral hunger glittering in those obsidian eyes, Bulma would have thought twice about the gesture.

By the time she finished with the repairs and emerged from underneath the console, Vegeta had schooled his features back into his customary, unimpressed scowl, his eyes staring hard at her. She quirked a brow at him, removing her work gloves to stuff them into her pocket before looking down at her attire.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ouji-sama," she used his title with about as little reverence as he did the word Woman. "I thought you preferred it when I wore more than fabric scraps," she wondered in feigned confusion, an obvious reference to their first argument. And there had been many, many arguments between then and now, most of them ending with either party thinking themselves victor when it was actually a stalemate.

"My displeasure has nothing to do with your clothing," he stated flatly, if not sounding a little disgusted at her insinuation, "It's the pathetic rate you're taking in fixing the machine."

"Well if a certain someone actually listened to my instructions of not overloading the GR, there wouldn't be a need to fix it in the first place!" She snapped, arms akimbo.

Kami, why was she losing her temper so quickly with him? She had done just fine in keeping her anger in check before she decided to stand up to him. Maybe she had favored her fear for so long that since she was no longer ignoring her anger, it was coming back tenfold? That was it, most likely. She refused to think it could be because Vegeta had an uncanny way of getting under her skin. That the mere sight of the man made her blood boil, that the velvet rumble of his voice made her skin flush with heat, that his-no, no, and no! She got angry with him because he was a rude, sadistic, inconsiderate asshole who took her and her family's hospitality for granted and she was having no more of it!

"And how do you expect me to become strong enough to defeat Kakarrot if I can't push my body to its limit?" He glared, stalking up to her with a refined grace that would have made her knees weak had he been anyone else.

But because he was Vegeta and not anyone else, Bulma straightened herself to her full height and met him with a mocking "Am I hearing you correctly? The great Vegeta actually asking a mere woman for her opinion?"

He cut her off with a laugh, a malicious gleam in his dark eyes, "And you're not the genius you claim yourself to be if you can't identify a rhetorical question when you hear one."

Bulma grit her teeth, biting back a scream as she squashed the desire to slap the knowing smirk off his face. Kami help her, if she only had some measure of Ki she would have already tried that. And probably ended up with a broken neck. But with the way he had been trying to get a rise out of her lately, that option was looking more and more tempting.

"Oh fuck you!" She hissed and tried to sidestep past him.

He blocked her easily, leaned in close until they were nose-to-nose, and with that infuriating smirk on his lips purred, "Is that a serious offer?"

Bulma prayed the smudges of grease on her face would hide the blush that she was certain burned her cheeks. There was no doubt she considered the Saiyan attractive despite his nasty disposition and temper. And there had been times during the moments she fluttered between sleep and wakefulness where she wondered what it must feel like to run her fingers over the well-sculpted plane of his muscular body, or how he would respond while she ran her tongue along the length of his neck.

But she would never see them as anything more than her mind telling her how sleep-deprived she was to be having these kinds of thoughts, wouldn't she? Not even now that she'd permanently broke it off with Yamcha. She found it strange, even disconcerting that the Saiyan could command such intense feelings from her. She stared at him, wide-eyed in shock and disbelief until she spied the mocking curve of his lips. She hated how easily he could toy with her emotions.

Arms akimbo and her shoulders squared back, she snarled, "Oh please, I happen to have standards."

"You think too highly of yourself, Woman," though he radiated an arrogance that was unrivaled, he spoke in a tone that promised a slow, painful death if she did not choose her next words very carefully.

She looked thoughtful for a moment then declared cheekily, "I think I damn well deserve to if I've managed to make you consider it."

"Do you honestly believe I desire you?" He scoffed, stepping away from her, his dark features a grim taunt.

She shrugged, the gesture suitably hiding the sharp pang of disappointment stabbing into her gut at his words. Let him say whatever he wants, Bulma decided, his words have no power over me. Oh what a barefaced lie that was. His words, his actions, even the way he looked at her had a tremendous effect on her. However, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"No," she said nonchalantly, answering his challenging gaze with her own glittering blue eyes, "I think you're just mad I saw right through your gambit."

And with that she left, head held high and a sultry sway in her hips.

She was in the living room, glaring at several large boxes of parts and components in consternation when Vegeta came across her. The delivery men just left their heavy load there and Bulma had no way of getting them to the storage room on her own. She had cannibalized the parts for her server droids to fix the GR's training equipment until the parts arrived and she supposed, in hindsight, she should have left one whole.

She was muttering calculations under her breath, trying to figure out which training gear to dismantle for her makeshift server droid.

"Touch anything in the GR and I will end you, woman," Vegeta growled into her ear.

Bulma jumped, a shriek poised on her lips. She willed herself to maintain her composure before turning her attention to the Saiyan standing beside her. "Kami, do you always have to sneak up on me, Vegeta?" she snapped. She frowned at his chuckles and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was only going to dismantle the bots just long enough to get these things into storage."

Vegeta eyed the large boxes marked with the Capsule Corporation's logo, "Why don't you normally have that weakling carry these for you?"

She blinked and suddenly looked away, hoping he hadn't seen the brief flash of hurt and regret in her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but Yamcha and I broke up weeks ago." While they had parted on relatively amicable terms, Bulma couldn't help but think it awkward to ask a favor of her former boyfriend this soon. "Besides, I don't need him." She added softly, immediately cursing the vulnerability she heard in her voice.

No doubt Vegeta would have heard it too and she braced herself for his mockery. Only it never came. Instead, he hoisted the boxes onto his shoulders and asked, "Which storage room do these go to, Woman?"

Blue eyes stared at him in disbelief. Was this some sort of trick? Vegeta couldn't possibly be doing this without a reason and he had shown Bulma he wasn't the charitable sort. "Storage room 7," she answered, quickly leading the way before he changed his mind or made demands.

"Could you put those three by the wall, please?" She tried her best to make it sound like a request rather than instructions, and to her surprise Vegeta did as she asked without incident or an insult exchanging between them.

"That's everything," she nodded, impressed at how quickly she finished with Vegeta's help. She turned to the surly Saiyan who had been quiet all this time and gave a smile she had never shown him before. It was not the smug triumph of having bested him, nor the false pleasantries of the gracious hostess, it wasn't even the coy teasing of the seductress. It was just an honest, open smile of gratitude and appreciation. "Thanks for your help, Vegeta."

He regarded her uncomfortably for a moment; brows furrowed pensively, then quickly snarled, "I only did this so you would leave the GR alone. You've cut into my training enough as it stands."

Normally, Bulma would have bristled at him but she noted he lacked his usual hostility and decided it was Saiyan-speak for You're Welcome. So she giggled, even went so far as to wink, "Don't worry, Ouji-sama, I'll make it up to you."

Vegeta was suddenly pressed up against her side. "And how do you plan on doing that, Woman?" He purred into her ear, the heat of his breath and the faint rumble of his voice sending delicious, thrilling tremors coursing through her body. Her back was not up against a wall and he kept his arms folded behind him. But oh Kami, he was standing so close, too close that she felt trapped.

She willed herself to look him in the eye, nearly shrinking back when she saw the unabashed want in the depths of his dark gaze. Heat bloomed in the pit of her stomach and sent her heart racing. It was all she could to remember to breath.

"I've been working on an upgrade for your GR," she quickly supplied. "And now that the parts have arrived, I can finish it."

She watched his jaw clench, saw his entire body straining in an internal war that Bulma wished she neither noticed nor understood. "I see," he managed to say. He spoke so coldly she could practically see frost forming on his lips. "I suppose that would be satisfactory."

"Did you have something else in mind?" she asked bluntly, uncertain whether she would like any answer he would give her.

His mouth twisted from a scowl to a leer, "You're supposed to be a genius, Woman. Haven't you figured it out?"

"I have. And that's what I was afraid of," she whispered.

"You fear me not because I'm a Saiyan but because I am a man?" He sounded amused, a brow quirked in curiosity. He tucked a strand of her aqua hair behind her ear with a tenderness she didn't think he was capable. "You are an odd, little thing." His fingers lightly stroked her cheek and she sighed into his touch, her lips brushing against his palm in a feathery kiss.

She heard him growl and the next thing she knew she was against the wall, his mouth closed over hers. Blindly, they divested themselves of their clothes in a blur of motion to explore each curve, each dip of the other's body unhindered. With one hand he pinned her wrists overhead, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, helpless. His breath was hot against her neck, his tongue and teeth laboring over the small stretch of skin where her neck ended and her shoulder began. Each rough caress on her skin ignited desire through her body and made the aching need at the junction of her thighs grow more and more incessant.

With practiced ease, he kneed her thighs apart, sliding her upwards just high enough her toes barely touched the floor. She felt his arousal resting at her entrance. One hand trailed down from her breast, ran along her side and stopped to firmly grasp her hip, holding her still with no amount of effort on his part. He had known she would buck against him and relished the frustration in her voice with each, haggard breath she took.

"Do you want this, Woman?" He asked, the raw, primal hunger in his eyes betraying the calm control in his voice.

Her rational mind was screaming at her to stop this, that the very same hands every single inch of her was burning for were covered in the blood of the innocent. She knew he would never be able to give her intimacy beyond the physical sort, that this was nothing more sex to him, that she deserved someone better.

But Kami help her, for all his faults, for all the aggravation and terror and blinding fury he put her through she wanted him.

"Y-yes," she gasped, letting him see the undeniable need was mirrored in her own eyes. Some dim portion of Bulma's consciousness wondered what he would have done if she said no, but the wicked grin on Vegeta's face, fangs bared like a predator with its prey drove away all coherent thought.

She took a sharp intake of air when he pushed into her but he didn't stop until he was completely sheathed inside her. She heard his faint moan, and she resisted making a self-satisfied chuckle. He let go of her wrists then, bracing himself against the wall with his hands on either side of Bulma, trapping her as though she would regain her senses and try to flee. She quelled his worries by wrapping her arms tight around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder and breathing in his scent.

"Go slow, please," she whispered with not a hint of fear in her voice.

"You're in no position to negotiate," his laughter rumbled against her frail body, but he did as she asked. He took his time, increasing his speed in measured increments until the small, whimpers of pain she made were shallow gasps of pleasure, and was eventually rewarded with a low, guttural moan and a tight, delicious clenching around his length.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. She angled her head, kissing the line of his jaw until she locked her lips with his. She was exploring every inch of his skin her hands could reach with an instinctive, possessive greed that was all but a declaration of the longing she'd felt for him. Her hand snaked between their bodies, sliding down to where she enfolded him and at her touch he seemed to lose it. His thrusts took on a fevered urgency but his control didn't go slack, even as he pounded the breath from her lungs, his rough, calloused hands kneading, teasing her where she was the most sensitive. Each deep thrust he made pushed her closer to the edge until she thought she'd go mad with the wanting.

A choked sob escaped her lips.

"Woman, are you-" the rest of his words dissolved into a ferocious, starving growl when the beginnings of her climax swept her up in a massive wave of pleasure and her body bucked and thrashed in reaction. She felt his entire form grow taut, felt him try to impress as much of himself on her person as he could without injuring her when he spilt himself inside her.

She heard a dull crack and fine powder settled against her hair. She turned her head and found deep indentations where Vegeta had braced his hands against the storage room walls.

"I am not fixing that," she mumbled flatly.

He chuckled, nipping lightly at her lower lip, "You're usually so concerned about being discreet."

"I still am, you arrogant bastard. I meant I am not fixing that right now," Bulma smirked and clung to him just a little tighter.

Vegeta understood the words and the gesture and gave her a wolfish grin, "Good. I'm not quite finished with you, yet."

"I'm flattered that I could have such an effect on you," she teased.

"Hn. You think too highly of yourself, Woman," he snorted. "I may not be so gentle this time around."

And he wasn't. And she didn't care.