Summary: A handsome visitor captures the attention of the busy Brief family – especially Bulma, it seems - leaving Prince Vegeta unmoored and contemplative about youth. (Notes at the bottom.)

Now fifty-five-years-old, the prince of all Saiyans finally believed that he understood "the whole person," as his wife called it, and was grateful. He was one of the strongest men in the universe, now committed to Earth's protection and respected among peers. Next to his genius spouse, his mental sharpness was unmatched. His kids loved him, accepting his one-of-a-kind idiosyncrasies.

And now this.

He had been gone a month and the problem remained unresolved.

Watching his teenage daughter train with his wife in an old, dingy brick warehouse, on West City's north side, irritated him. Of all places, why there? Bulma's offices and home had well-equipped training facilities – safe ones. For decades he had the luxury of using, destroying, and redesigning them with her.

Tarnished fluorescent light fixtures creaked high above the warehouse floor. Paling brick walls flaked with decay and the place reeked of dry rot. Screened rooftop fans moved lethargically, their blades hacking from years without lubrication. How many of the city laws did this wreck violate? Several, probably.

Worse, Bulma owned the place. Vegeta would have blown the monstrosity to ashes if she had not. His self-restraint had increased exponentially over the years. Plus he didn't want banishment from their bedroom… not completely. Sometimes his "misfortune" ended with elaborate cat-and-mouse sex games reminiscent of their earliest tumultuous days together. Such was the strength of their love and desire – most of the time.

Like a slit-faced bat, he hid within the ceiling beams listening to Bulma's punches, foot shuffles, and breaths. His eyes closed for further concentration. She's improving. Harmony. Good. He relished these achievements. First his kids. Now his wife.

Still, he fumed at Bulma's glaring, unapologetic defiance about training at this location. Part of being a team now meant listening to each other's concerns – not flouting them. Being hot-blooded, stubborn souls, the spouses had spent years working on this.

Indeed, Bulma had weighed her husband's concerns. She always did – from the beginning of their lengthy relationship. They had walked together through death's shadows to help other mortals. She accepted the hazards her duty-bound, pride-driven husband faced when they were apart – and when together. They were accomplished battle mages. Intellect and industry were their long-swords.

Thus, risking her life unnecessarily to aggravate Vegeta was absurd. Their marriage was resilient and the warehouse's underpinnings were solid enough. She enjoyed immersing herself in its grittiness. Vegeta's strange behavior would pass once he recognized progress, she believed, but she wasn't trying to impress him or anyone else. Her efforts represented more than vanity-driven exercise. Taking a year off from work was a physical and spiritual pilgrimage, much like several of her childhood travels.

Bulla sensed her father's lurking. Her crystal blue eyes stayed on her mother, though. Revealing Vegeta's location would invite a world of pain that the fourteen-year-old wanted to avoid. She held a special place in Vegeta's heart, but he kept his unsympathetic vows of retribution – always.

Horrors.

Bulla's right punching mitt collided with the left. Kami, accept my most humble of prayers. Reward me for my good deeds today. Please don't let papa lose his shit while I'm around.

But the Saiyan princess could do nothing to save herself.

Bulla, you know I'm here, Vegeta said telepathically. Pay attention and stop dawdling. Your mother is suspicious. Eyes straight. Arms up.

She gritted her teeth. Yes, papa. I'm doing both. Why can't you just join us? Mom will be happy.

Vegeta's eyes followed a hairy spider's path between the roof joists. Trust me, she won't - but that's between Bulma and me. Regardless, don't stay much longer. It's been almost three hours and this place is a rubbish bin. I know you've been in complete remission since that treatment, but you must be careful.

Annoyed over being reminded of her asthma, Bulla glanced at her gym bag. Yeah, papa, I know. It's been two years. Modern medicine is awesome and I'm bulletproof. It took forever to convince mom to let me come today. Just give us a break, OK?

Mentioning this vulnerability was unfair, Bulla felt. She and Vegeta exercised many places, though he often preferred being near home when they sparred.

Her first-ever asthma attack terrified the prince to his core. She was nine-years-old and they had trained outside. Within a few hours Bulla lay desperately gasping on her bed. Vegeta had left to pick up Bulma when he sensed their daughter's distress. He quickly capsulized the car to fly on his own. Bulla was a strong kid but the asthma attack's aggressiveness and severity astounded him.

He had never heard of anything like this in Saiyans – or their hybrid offspring. Science had eradicated a handful of life-threatening conditions exclusive to Saiyans long ago. Bulla would have died before entering hospital had Vegeta's ki infusion been unsuccessful. She spent eight days there. Later, when his little girl cried and apologized for being "weak," the prince almost cried himself.

"I am not afraid to die," she said with wisdom beyond her years. "I was afraid that you would blame yourself, papa. Mom and Trunks wouldn't blame you."

Trusting her judgment, Bulma wouldn't let Vegeta brood alone. After kissing him, she bluntly commanded continuing Bulla's training, at both parents' discretion. For years Vegeta rigorously trained their now-adult son, Trunks, and Bulma rarely interfered. She simply reminded her husband of what he knew already: stopping would undermine their daughter's buoyant confidence.

"Hey, tough guy, we'll figure out how this happened," she said confidently. "Remember those stories about Saiyan women that our kid loves? You are not a liar."

"Not to you – ever," Vegeta replied. "The women I observed as a child were fierce and often outspoken. The rest is folklore that… helps me too. Not all of us were terrible, Bulma."

Bulma's smiling blue eyes radiated as their hands joined. "Then carry on."

A disorderly chorus of insects buzzed outside. The day felt mild but would be hot soon. Acknowledging her father's concerns, Bulla would obey his request – but not to save herself.

Bulma lowered her arms to catch her breath. "Are you feeling all right, sweetie? I know I'm all human but you seem to be holding back more. You've been the perfect exercise resistance machine this morning!"

Bulla removed her glistening black training mitts and threw a towel. "Oh, I'm fine. I want to hang out with Marron and Pan today, though. But I don't want to leave until Eros arrives. What does papa think about you coming here now?"

Scowling, Vegeta looked down. You're walking on thin ice with me, Bulla. Remember, I handle your allowance - and I will cut off that money, happily, if this line of questioning your mother continues.

Bulla winced, yet Vegeta's threats emboldened her. Papa, is this about Eros? Has he done something?

To Vegeta's consternation, the girl's persistence matched his wife - often at the worst times.

"That's an interesting question about your father." Bulma wiped her chest. Now she was suspicious. "Has Vegeta said anything?"

"Well, yeah," Bulla said, sounding hesitant. "Kind of... in his own way. He believes it's unsafe, but I think there's something else."

Poof! Vegeta said darkly within his daughter's mind. You hear that, brat? Allowance gone!

Without a hint of upset Bulma smiled and said, "Don't worry about it. Your papa and I are crankier than normal. That's all. Now go be with your friends, kid."

"Eros should be here soon," Bulla said, retrieving her bag. "I'm going."

Bulma winked. "Have fun, love."

Eyes straight. Arms up. Bulla's mouth curled into an impish smirk. Papa, you may have invaded my mind and taken my money, but there is one thing a Saiyan keeps…

Vegeta's fists clenched. One more word, Bulla Brief, and that trip to Sadala I promised goes away too!

Laughing, she waved victoriously. A Saiyan keeps her pride! Her pride!

Curious and a bit unnerved, Bulma looked around. "What's going on? Why are you laughing?"

Bulla blew a kiss before launching into flight. "I love you, mom! You too, papa!"

Bulma's lips clamped as the prince descended from his roost. Their arms crossed, respectively, as they prepared for battle.

"Harassing our daughter wasn't entertaining enough for you?" Bulma asked, observing Vegeta's grimy body with cool detachment. "Now you're spying on me too? Not a good look, prince dust bunny."

She always had been the match to Vegeta's firewood, and damn it...

Combustion.

"What if she got sick?" Vegeta said tersely. "It's bad enough that you come here. This place is beyond filthy, and after five years we still don't know all of Bulla's asthma's triggers. Maybe someone or something environmental poisoned her early on. What if…"

"Wrong questions," Bulma replied with quiet fury and hurt. "Don't ever use our daughter's condition against me like that again, Saiyan. What the hell is wrong with you? Bulla swings punches like the champion she is. The problem is your overprotectiveness over me coming here, and you are trampling on my last shred of patience - and being chauvinist in a way I haven't seen in years. Now I recognize Bulla's point."

"And you haven't considered taking me seriously," Vegeta said.

Bulma exhaled. "And we have been through worse. I almost feel like you want me to fail. I'm fifty-four and have a long life ahead, I hope. I have accomplished much, always trusting that I could be great. I have been surrounded by people my entire life who believe the same about themselves. I married one. I'm not like you, Vegeta, but learning differently like this now – imperfect as it is – has been good. So explain the real problem, in plain language, before I leave you and your bad attitude here."

"I don't want you to fail."

"So what is it?"

Without responding, Vegeta faced the warehouse's entrance. A muscular, sepia-skinned young man entered. His reddish-brown tail swished cautiously.

"I…I felt tension," Eros said, looking nervous and confused. "Are you both well?"

"You see no visible bruises," Vegeta said flatly.

Bulma frowned.

Observing Bulma's stiff defensive stance, Eros thought Vegeta really must have pissed her off. On second thought, maybe she provoked him?

Vegeta's frosty black eyes offset his hardened, stately expression. His intimidation skills were bar none, and Eros's resistance had proven disappointing so far. The young Saiyan from Universe Six's planet Sadala wondered how he displeased the prince. He had been on Earth just over a year and was unready to return home. Vegeta was a good mentor with a kind family, and Eros felt honored that a man who once lost everything had gained much – and shared it with him. In return, the prince connected with a new world of Saiyans - good ones- who accepted him as a brother-in-arms.

Eros came from a Saiyan sub-group with tails on Sadala. No others had them. Having had a tail once, Vegeta was intrigued beyond mere genetics. He grabbed the sensitive appendage on Eros's first day, immediately paralyzing him.

The prince shook his head. "That's your first lesson," he grunted with unhappiness. "I hated doing that."

After recovering from the pain and regaining equilibrium, an angry Eros replied, "I'm not so sure. That certainly is not the honorable greeting I expected, Prince Vegeta."

Vegeta snorted. "And you are a twenty-five-year-old Saiyan too arrogant to protect your tail? This is how you greet me – an elite warrior? Gods, you probably would fall flat on your face if I severed it right now. So tell me, have you been set up to fail? Because I pull no punches – especially with others like me – as well as those who work alongside me."

"No, sir," Eros said with quiet deference. "I came of my own free will. Sadala's elite forces may never accept me, but I have other talents. I can be cunning, too, whenever it serves my aims."

"Hn."

Vegeta moved aside for his new protégé to pass. Eros's right hand opened, shooting an intricate ki web beneath the prince's feet. With his arms firmly crossed, Vegeta stomped, instantly crumbling the energy field and replacing it with a spiraling dirt crater. Eros took flight so he wouldn't tumble in.

Examining his own destructive artwork, the prince laughed and said, "Next time use that fancy electric fish net like you mean it. You certainly have a reason to make me pay for what I did. Eros, I like challenges, which is the only reason you're here and working closely with me instead of three or four others like you with proven potential. You will get your honorable greeting with my family tonight."

"Thank you." Eros bowed and tried not to smile like an excited kid. The prince's "I really don't give a fuck" attitude was horrifyingly entertaining.

But today was different.

His stomach turned. Vegeta may have been shorter, but the prince could kick his ass from now through the next decade. Above all, the young man knew Vegeta valued privacy.

"I'll go."

Bulma stepped forward. "No, you won't, Eros. We have to finish practice, which my daughter graciously began for you. Then we meditate. My husband and I can finish talking at home. Isn't that right?"

Vegeta surveyed Eros. Until now he hadn't noticed how little clothing the man wore to exercise. The prince conveniently "forgot" about his youthful bare-chested jaunts in tight gym shorts through the Briefs' estate, after he first chose to stay on Earth. For a while, Bulma and her mother tripped over their feet when he strutted past.

Nope. He really hadn't thought about it. He scratched his chin.

"You travel with me tomorrow - and wear that."

"Yes, sir," said Eros, looking relieved, though Vegeta's snippiness felt more unnerving than usual. "Where are we going?"

"Mount Paozu."

Bulma was no fool. Her husband was far more disturbed - and up to no good. The prince prized discipline. He had been everything but that lately. She couldn't send a lamb like Eros out for ceremonial slaughter. He had been polite, helpful, and hungry to learn all year. Vegeta said he fit in perfectly with other trainers and students. The young Saiyan happily shared knowledge as Bulma broadened her own physical and spiritual practices. Out of the many friends who offered support, helping her learn and grow, Eros had been the most fun because of his infectious excitement about everything.

Vegeta largely had kept his distance before Eros became involved. He wanted Bulma from to feel free from judgment on her journey. He would step in only if she asked.

He would have done so in a heartbeat.

"Actually," Bulma interrupted, "Master Roshi contacted me earlier, Eros. He requests your help at the martial arts temple this week. Says your training would be enriched. Perhaps you could try tomorrow?"

What is she doing? Angry and embarrassed, Vegeta inhaled to calm himself. "While Roshi's guidance is indeed helpful, Bulma, my requests take precedence."

"I understand, sir," Eros replied. "I will be honored to work with the master afterward."

"Good," said Vegeta, whose eyes clearly warned Bulma not to interfere again. "As my wife said, you should finish practice together." Head held high, the prince strolled out. "I'll be in late."

"Your food will be in the warmer." Bulma smiled cheerfully after returning her attention to Eros, but he recognized the hurt in her eyes.

"He's not OK, is he?"

She patted his hand reassuringly. "No, honey. He's not. He will be, though, and you haven't done anything wrong. Now let's get started."

House robots greeted Bulma with a fresh outfit and healthy lunch after she returned from the warehouse. She would have preferred sharing the meal with her husband, as they usually did most Wednesdays. No matter how busy, they reserved at least three-to-five hours together to catch up privately. Window-shattering sex happened sometimes, too, to their great satisfaction.

But Vegeta had been away for his month-long retreat. Bulma rarely had problems keeping busy while he was away, as usual. Eros and Bulla also kept her well-entertained and encouraged in his absence. Trunks joined in the fun also, when he wasn't working. Though Eros had lived with them for months, the prince had been surprised by everyone's closeness after returning, as well as Bulma's increased time with the young man between Eros's studies and training.

Vegeta didn't know what to make of his reaction. After all, he had invited Eros into their home. Normally such sentiments would be ignored. Bulma's warmth was magnetic for people. The prince accepted, even when he doubted others' intentions. That part of his personality likely wouldn't change.

Then, one day, he overheard Bulla's friends teasing her.

"Eros is so handsome and sweet," they whispered and cooed. "Did your dad look like him once – along with the tail? We've only seen pictures of Goku. Your mom is still so pretty, too."

As if Vegeta couldn't hear them.

Girls their age shouldn't discuss grown men like that, he thought. Regarding himself, the prince knew he didn't look a day over twenty-five - or maybe thirty-two? Anyway, Saiyans kept youthful appearances and sturdy bodies for years, even as some physical signs of aging emerged. He had broken through Super Saiyan ascensions and bravely confronted challenges, inspired to achieve more.

Plus, Eros's good looks paled in comparison when Vegeta was his age - even now. That's what the prince told himself.

After a couple years my wife thought I had some redeemable qualities when I moved to Earth – or maybe that was almost a decade afterward? We did have a kid after the first three, damn it! Whatever!

Vegeta left the warehouse that Wednesday feeling more dejected than ever, which he hated. His pride got kicked, but the prince also owned up to being an asshole for unjust reasons. He had dishonored a worthy student and himself. Eros, who had honored his adopted family, deserved praise, not jealousy.

So does Bulma. But first, I must restore my credentials as an educator.

So many interesting places on Earth and I overlooked this one right in front of me. Eros stopped to observe the breathtaking terrain. He almost felt ashamed for not visiting Mount Paozu earlier.

"What are you learning today?" Vegeta shouted from a nearby clearing.

Accepting the prince's unorthodox invitation, Eros replied, "Never take anything for granted!"

Vegeta noticed Eros now wore an adaptable weatherproof exercise suit. He silently chucked to himself. He's overdone it somewhat, but I'll take it. Mine is more flexible and looks better anyway.

Eros approached as Vegeta continued his meditative physical practice. The prince moved fluidly, hips rotating, allowing his arms to follow his body's movement. He appeared mature, grounded. Eros, who learned the routine from his other teachers, recognized the stark contrast.

Vegeta as a gruff, demanding teacher blew hell's fire to fortify the soul – from elemental iron to reinforced steel. Here, in the wilderness, the prince confronted vulnerabilities: uncertainty, hurts, offenses, rejection, openness to love, being loved.

"Permission to join, master?"

"Come."

Together, the men's uniform movements closed a gap. Their arms spread out and up, joining at the palms toward the skies. Legs stepped forward and back. Arms and hands traveled like pouring water over and around themselves. Breaths synchronized.

Vegeta gestured to sit. "No need for mandatory formality here. That can continue later. Just don't go overboard, kid. I still know more than you."

Eros's laugh matched his relaxed, kind smile. "Yes, and thank you, Vegeta."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm surprised Bulma said I probably would come here today anyway."

Eros's head bowed slightly. "Actually, I made an educated guess. I… apologize for offending you." After a few minutes of awaiting the prince's response, he looked up.

"And what, exactly, do you think I'm offended about, Eros?"

"I believe I have contributed to conflict between you and your wife."

"You are correct."

Mortified, Eros gulped and blushed. I'm a dead man. What was I thinking? Of course he wouldn't say no.

Vegeta tapped his temple. "I, however, haven't taken responsibility for my response. In other words, you didn't cause my problem. But first, let's discuss your problem of avoidance."

"Avoidance?"

"This work is not your calling, Eros. Take a few days to gather your belongings from my home. Return to Sadala and resume higher education. You now have friends on Earth if you want to come back."

Astounded and hurt, Eros could barely respond. "But, master, please. How…how…can you do this? I have worked so hard."

"Have you really?" Vegeta asked dispassionately. "You aren't the first I've discharged, so don't expect pity. I haven't said anything about your assumed achievements all year. Others may have, but you are Saiyan. I said I expect more, and I accept my failure with anger and disappointment. However, you should consider your part in this outcome, as well."

"How dare you stand in judgement?!" Eros shouted with fury. "You've given up – just like that? This is my life! I now see your precious ego drives everything, Prince Vegeta. Your so-called nobility is a lie, no matter many how many lives you save."

Sensing the rising challenge, Vegeta uncrossed his legs to rise. "Your opinion of me is insignificant, boy. You lack focus. My wife is more disciplined and mentally centered than you. Always has been, without your patronizing, so-called help. That means something. I chose unwisely. So did you."

Eros stared at the ground. "All you care about is making yourself look good. I would have been another trophy student, right? Overlooking the prodigies to help the slow guy. Beyond your family, everything is about you - and don't call me a boy."

Sensing trouble, birds took flight as a wind gust passed through. The prince's eyes filled with joyous anticipation. We put the screws to him for months and all it takes is my dismissal to push him over the edge? I should kick this pretty boy's narrow ass on general principle for being so fucking sensitive.

Vegeta just happened to have fighting gloves - snap, snap, snapping them with each inserted finger.

"Have some pride, boy," he sneered. "You won't win. I wasn't much older than you when I became Super Saiyan. It nearly drove me insane until I did. I remember craving the triumph at your age. I, too, remember what it was like having no family, like you. That's why I accepted you. Nothing came easy, you whiny, pathetic little shit, and now you dare spit on me?!"

Time to throw civility out the window.

"You sure do like hearing yourself blather, old man. I don't care anymore about your status."

"Oh, ho!" Vegeta leaned back and laughed. "That's what I like to hear! You still won't change my mind. A hesitant eleven-year-old once surpassed me and his talented clown of a father to the second Super Saiyan transformation, while you barely master the first levels! Now get the hell out of my sight!"

"No," Eros said defiantly. I'm on to this lying bastard now. He's can't be this addle-brained. "This is your mess – and you will clean it up. Make this a fair fight in your natural state. I deserve to leave with some shred of honor. We've never fought directly."

"Oh, give me a fucking break," Vegeta snarled. "Since when is life fair? But since you asked politely…"

Staring each other down, the men entered ready stance. Vegeta's crushing right and left hooks pushed Eros back, leaving an extended, yawning dirt trail. But the young Saiyan finally diverted and dropped under the prince's next volcanic blow. Vegeta grunted as a rock-solid fist crashed into his solar plexus.

As Eros veered further beneath, Vegeta levelled a circular kick to the chest, followed by a magnificent side strike. Eros recovered, reappearing above the prince with a sharp knee between the shoulder blades. Vegeta flipped around, snatching Eros's leg as they descended and crashed. Dust and rocks scattered overhead like confetti.

Eros's ki web whip snapped, smashing rocks directly over Vegeta, who spun aside. Webs bound his legs, arms, and neck like wild vines. Before breaking them, the prince noticed their increased power.

With an unblinking glare, his eyes narrowed. Pretty boy has held back all along. "Ah, I see you were very productive in my absence. Now let's get serious because I'm bored! Keep a secret like this again, and you'll be begging for death before I'm done with you!"

Eros belted out a ground-splitting roar. His arms crossed and flew backward, revealing the ambient, gilded sheen of the second Super Saiyan transformation. His teal eyes glowed with ecstatic triumph.

Vegeta clapped slowly as he flew around him. "What am I supposed to be? Impressed? You're still on probation."

Eros smiled and replied, "I didn't know you disliked surprises! Please accept my apology - but, um, you did kind of lie to me."

"I won't accept," Vegeta said, rolling his eyes. "Tomorrow it's just us again - and make your damned breakfast with no robots or my kid's help."

Eros bowed. "Yes, sir."

"Get that shit-faced grin off your face, too."

"Yes, sir."

Both pleased and annoyed, Vegeta flew off. Took me almost fucking seven years for that second transformation. I'll enjoy making him pay.

Carrying a fruit basket, Vegeta arrived home unceremoniously after hours of solitude. Dimmed blue lights flickered alongside his footsteps. The illuminations were merely decorative because he saw well at night. Bulma's new black kitten rushed to nudge his legs: yet another blatant attempt to claim him. He tried moving aside delicately, but her manipulative, defiant meowing could wake the dead.

The prince wondered why his family considered these animals endearing. He picked up the purring cat, insultingly named "Oozaru," placing her on his left shoulder. Her tiny legs stretched contentedly across his broad muscles, clawing into his T-shirt for greater support. He cast a side glance when she chirped.

"Look, this is all you're getting," he grumbled. "You're sitting over here because I'm right-handed. How offensive it is that my wife named a weakling beast after Saiyans' sacred ancestral transformation."

Vegeta sensed his daughter puttering in the kitchen. Bulla claimed to be a night owl, but her father knew better. She wanted to talk sometimes - or be close as he silently handled business. Vegeta rarely denied her unless she appeared tired, like now, judging from her darkened eye circles.

Bulla snickered seeing Oozaru on his shoulder. Her father had many talents. Smelling fresh meat, the cat darted from her comfortable perch toward the teenager.

"Traitorous woman that one is," Vegeta said as his new friend abandoned him. "Bulla, that trash magazine you're reading can't be that interesting. Go to bed."

She removed dishes from the food warmer, handing them over. "But I want to talk, papa."

"We can tomorrow, princess. I have a long day ahead."

"Papa…"

Frustrated, he moved the dishes aside. "This is not a debate. I'm tired. So are you, and I can't eat as much this late - but I must have something." He felt more mentally tired, but she didn't need to know.

Bulla picked up the kitten, in part to comfort herself. "I know you and mom argued today."

Vegeta sighed. "What of it? It certainly won't be the last time."

"This is different, papa. You really haven't been yourself lately – almost like you've been lonely."

Vegeta's serious eyes acquiesced to her empathetic appeal. "It's hard to be lonely for long when one's daughter is an expert interrogator. Now do as I asked, please. I don't say please often, and I don't… want you to worry."

Then they smirked. Oozaru moved to the farthest side of the massive kitchen while her caretakers backed into their respective fighting positions.

Bulla giggled as she caught Vegeta's reverse punch. "You're holding back, papa."

"Perhaps I am," he replied.

Bulma threw up her hands entering the kitchen. "Man, you are such a pushover for this schemer. It's borderline nauseating."

Pouting, Bulla twirled her lavender hair curls. "Oh come on, mom. That is not fair."

Bulma planted a giant kiss on her head, before gently slapping it. "Ask your brother. He might have a different opinion. Now get out."

Grinning, the precocious teen recognized that her parents would make peace soon. Her father's calculated positioning of chocolate sauce, fruit, and dessert wine were prime clues.

"Good night, folks. Papa, one more thing…"

With growling eyes, Vegeta leaned forward on the counter. "Another word and your Saiyan pride replaces your allowance permanently. Bedroom - one minute."

"Bye!"

Bulma sat on a kitchen bar stool while her husband calmly resumed food-gathering. He smelled of fruit and leather, with a touch of mint. She nibbled on a large strawberry, patiently waiting for Vegeta to play the coy raconteur.

"You put these out for me."

"I did."

Her tongue lapped the fruit's chocolate-drenched tip. "What's the special occasion?"

Devious vixen. Vegeta glanced back. She happened to be wearing the form-fitting jeans he loved. "You sleep better when you have them – and I need my sleep tonight."

"There is no more tonight," Bulma replied. "Check your watch. It is now one minute into Thursday."

Unfazed, Vegeta tore into a whole roasted duck and downed a vat of ramen. Bulma shook her head at the sight. She once claimed his jaws unlocked to eat more, similar to a reticulated python snake.

She rolled another strawberry in his direction. "Is this an apology?"

"Call it a truce," he said. "Am I… banished?"

"From our bedroom?" Bulma laughed out loud. "You bet your tight ass you are! It takes more than berries and good chocolate to reclaim the throne. Your bed sheets are in the guest room with the hot pink walls."

Vegeta frowned. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Bulma replied gleefully. "The father of my children will sleep there until he explains why he thought I had the hots for a funny, deferential, attractive, tail-wagging Saiyan… who is half our age."

Vegeta bit down firmly on his strawberry. "Because you're having a midlife crisis," he said, eyeing her charming red lips. "At least I'm not alone with mine anymore."

"You are not helping your case." Bulma licked his chocolate-covered fingers, aiming for the half-eaten berry. "Don't ever worry me over something like this again. You are enough. Only you. Only you. Understand? Promise me."

"I… I promise." Vegeta paused. Bulma's inner beauty was unmatched – and she loved him. Satisfied, she left the counter. He could finish eating, and the bowl of strawberries would join her in bed.

He looked up. "Your footwork is coming along well, and you're making good use of your strength training. Relax your shoulders more during those straight punches."

Winking, Bulma touched the door frame. "Don't overeat."

"Don't... leave," he replied in an undertone.

"What?"

"Don't leave." Vegeta stood and took the bowl, inviting Bulma into his arms. "I see you. All of you. I have never wanted you to fail. I… had… hoped you knew me better. Ever since we met, every time I thought I was failing, or have failed, you showed me so much."

Bulma stroked his face, remembering those early days. "I chose my words poorly earlier. We were both wrong."

After extinguishing the lights, the couple kissed through strawberry-chocolate lips. Such was their love and desire for each other.

Bulma pushed Vegeta against their bedroom's wall, laughing as he friskily plucked her pearl shirt buttons aside like sand pebbles. Her sleek, toned arms directed him to bite her right shoulder blade - as if he needed a roadmap. He tasted a hint of salt, licking the spot until she uttered a gentle moan.

"Already?" he teased. "Where's mine?"

Not to be outdone, Bulma slapped his chest. "Shall I remind you of when we first had sex?" The prince busied himself with removing her jeans until she smacked him again. "Pay attention, damn it!"

"Stop that, woman!" Vegeta shouted. "Spanking comes later. Wait - what? Oh, yes. First time! Let's take pictures, too!" He had other plans, but Bulma's idea sounded promising. Breasts, here I come!

"Pictures?" Bulma reared back with mock disgust. "Not on your life, you freak."

Why must she always have the last word? Dumb question. Despite being face-down in Bulma's ample breast cleavage, he had to respond. "It takes one to know one, babe." Indecipherable mumbling followed.

"Hey! That tickles, Vegeta!"

His deep, passionate kiss cut off her boisterous laughter. Her bare legs widened across his midsection until he lifted them over his, facing the wall. His heart and once-forsaken soul drowned in her mesmerizing blue eyes. They always did.

"I love you." Bulma cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "We'll get old together, OK? That's a hell of a long time from now. You won't be forced to declare love a third time until we're one-hundred."

"I know." Vegeta wanted to show appreciation by pleasuring his wife however she wanted, with nothing more. "Tell me, what can I do for you?"

Bulma pulled his shorts down, finally, to massage his hardness. Her lungs filled with precious air as Vegeta's nimble, roughened fingers slipped inside of her. A faint whimper evolved into a trembling moan. Her sticky wetness flowed faster. They stopped to laugh and kiss again together, as they often did, appreciative for a long marriage that beat the odds. Glossy fingers entered their mouths.

Banging his left fist on the wall, Vegeta panted into Bulma's ear. "Answer me - now."

She dropped her underwear. "This good enough for you?"

Licking his lips, the prince fell on his knees. "Yes, my queen."

Strawberries and cream were his favorite.

***END***

Notes: I hope you liked this summer-inspired slice of life. (Yes, I was cheesy with naming Eros.) Had to break from the other long-form stuff again. Don't be too mad (pretty please). I do the shorties to avoid mental atrophy. Gotta get some research done for the bigger ones - and my day job. Won't be too long. Comments welcome! Thanks for reading!