(I think this is suggestive enough, rather than explicit, that I can leave it unedited.)
The air felt as sharp as glass and smelled like Christmas morning.
Bulma hugged the back corner of the rink, watching the man glide about on the ice. It never got old. In the figure skating world where androgyny and beauty rang supreme, the Prince of Ice was a steadfast tower of raw masculinity. Unshakable. Unfailing. Uncompromising.
Where most preferred sleek strength and slender lines, Vegeta laughed in the face of convention and made it his personal vendetta to work every single muscle in his body to swollen perfection. And it showed. Oh boy, did it show. How could it not underneath his skin-tight leggings and top that licked over every ab and glute like blue melted chocolate? It was almost a shame that come competition time he would need to wear regulation trousers instead.
Vegeta was working up a sweat despite the frigid temperature. He moved about the ice in a frenzy, spinning and skating with a grace more fierce than elegant. He was no ballerina, but a demon, moving through his routine like a warrior on the battlefield, slaying spins instead of enemies, landing jumps instead of blows. His eyes glowed with a demonic light.
He skated about the rink, picking up speed for the climax of his routine: an almost impossible combination of loops, flips, and axels, affectionately dubbed a 'super' combo. In fact, only one man had ever achieved it flawlessly in competition.
Quad Axel. Triple Toe Loop. Triple—
Vegeta's skate slipped out from under him and he went careening into the rink's wall.
Bulma was running towards him before he came to a stop.
"FUCK!" His word echoed ferociously off the empty walls and his fist slammed against the ice. He curled up on the rink like a dying spider.
She reached him, gripping the rink's railing to get a better look at him. "Vegeta, are you hurt?"
His shoulders tensed but he did not move. "…Spying on your investment?" he accused with acidic tones.
Bulma pulled off a glove and threw it at his head. "Stop acting like a baby. You know that's not why I'm here." True, she was his sponsor — had been ever since he parted from the toxic Cold figure-skating conglomerate — but over the last year they had developed a relationship that went far beyond the professional.
Vegeta sat up, glaring at her, a little red spot on his brow from where it had rested on the ice. His eyes shone with a vulnerability that his anger couldn't quite mask. He looked away and huffed. "I'm fine."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"You're not my trainer."
"Because you refuse to take one like the stubborn jackass that you are. Even Goku has a coach."
Vegeta's lip curled, his eyes flashing. "Don't mention that buffoon's name in my presence."
Eesh. Touchy today, were we?
She tried again, more softly. "Please, will you come here? If you're injured it will only set you back."
His jaw worked in irritation but finally he picked himself up and with one hand on the railing leapt over the barricade. Bulma's mouth pinched in displeasure, hating when he did that. It was asking for a sprained ankle. But as always the limber asshole landed smoothly on his skates, and clomped his way to the nearest bench where he plopped down, hands and head sagging with the weight of exhaustion.
Bulma kneeled in front of him and started undoing his skates. "Does it hurt?"
"Just my pride."
She knew he wouldn't have said even that much if they hadn't been alone. "You'll get it," she reassured, pulling off a skate.
He glanced up at her, his expression vexed. "How do you know that?"
She smiled at him, her confidence genuinely felt. "Because you're you."
"Tch."
She allowed him some time to think. He always needed a lot of it. Whereas she could process several ideas all at once, her mind running a million miles per second, Vegeta had a different process. He liked to ponder, to dissect, to think and stew until an idea had over-marinated and thoroughly soured. And then, inevitably, he would get pissed into action.
But this was different. His shoulders slumped with an air of defeat that wasn't like him. The extended training hours he had been keeping smelled suspiciously of desperation.
She pushed down her worry and pulled off his other skate before massaging his calves.
"…It's been months." His words were so softly admitted she barely heard them over the hum of the AC. Her chest tightened. Three simple words. So easy for most people but for someone as proud as Vegeta, they had cost him a lot to admit. He was doubting himself.
"You need to relax. You're over thinking it. It's not like Goku thought his way through the super combo, is it."
His brow furrowed, but she could see he was giving weight to her words. He leaned back, throwing his arm over his eyes to shut out the world for just a moment and maybe, privately, enjoy the leg massage she was treating him to. He looked so vulnerable this way, sprawled out and unguarded. It was a rare indication of trust. She badly wanted to reward it and help chase away his unease.
The soft rise and fall of his impressive chest was hypnotic. Her eyes traced down his supine figure to his tapered waist. His shirt had lifted a fraction, revealing a sliver of tan belly and the crease of his hip that dipped deliciously beneath his leggings.
Her fingers dug harder into his thighs, kneading with more purpose. "Want me to help you relax right now?"
"Isn't that what the massage—" He looked down from under his arm and saw the wicked glint in her eye. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a blush started creeping up his ears. "Here?"
"Live a little," she goaded, even as her fingers snuck under his waistband and pulled them down.
His arm slapped to the bench, gripping the edge with white knuckles. "You can't be serious."
Oh, they both knew she was. That he didn't tell her to stop or push her away was all the encouragement Bulma needed. Her fingers found their target, fishing him out of his leggings and letting him rest in the warmth of her palm. She loved feeling him this way, how the softness grew and filled out in her grip. She helped the process along, giving him a few teasing strokes.
A soft sound huffed from the man. "This is a bad idea," he growled, his voice sounding tense. He glanced around to double-check they were alone.
Bulma continued teasing him, watching with appreciate eyes as he grew to half mast. "I and little Vegeta here disagree. Well… not so little Vegeta anymore."
"I… I've been training all evening."
She got comfortable between his legs, and looked up at him from under lowered lashes. "I don't mind if you're sweaty. Can I blow you now or are you going to pretend to resist some more?"
His mouth thinned but he lay back down, pressing his palms into his eyes. "Why must you always be so vulgar?"
"I could answer you, but then I couldn't do this."
She dragged the flat side of her tongue up him from root to tip. If Vegeta had any more complaints he kept them to himself, his whole body tensing in response.
She took her time 'relaxing' him, secure in the knowledge that no one else would interupt; Vegeta had reserved the rink all evening. She teased with tongue and lips and fingers until he quivered, weeping prettily down his length. His thighs trembled with restraint. Soft sounds hissed between his teeth, until at last he broke.
"Bulma, fuck… How long do you plan to torture me?"
She tightened her fingers at the base, watching him throb cruelly. "I thought you were fond of torturing yourself. Just relax, Ice Prince. I've got you."
And then it became impossible for her to talk any longer.
It was no small task to ease his ache, but Bulma relished every mouth-watering second of it. She greedily soaked up his every sound and buck and corded sinew as his control was wrested from him. It was a powerful thing to make a man of his calibre come undone in her hot wet mouth. He arched and shuddered, and struggled to suppress a groan as he shattered all over her tongue.
"Gnh…!"
After she had cleaned and tucked him back in, Bulma rocked up to press a soft kiss against his lips. "You'll get it. I know you will."
He gave her a reproachful look. "Hn." It wasn't much of an answer, but the fire of conviction burned anew in his dark eyes. "I think I'll get something else first."
"Oh, I really hope you're talking about fucking me."
His cheek twitched, and he refused to deign her with an answer
She stood up, dusting herself off before offering a hand. "C'mon, your highness. It's freezing in here."
He took her hand and stood. She started to break away to collect his things when his arm grabbed her waist. Two quick steps had her back against the rink wall, and he kissed her with a passion he normally reserved for the bedroom. She was surprised, but soon melted against him.
Just as her knees were getting weak he pulled away, enough to whisper huskily against her mouth. "Thank you."
She wasn't sure she could answer, so she nodded. He smirked and turned to gather his skates and duffle bag, leaving her with heart fluttering like a swarm of butterflies.
Oh no. No, Bulma, no. Don't you start falling for that man, god damnit.
Vegeta was already walking off, the perfect specimen of the male form and everything a self respecting woman should avoid in a healthy romantic attachment.
He would drop her in an instant for title, for the super, for his pride.
Even knowing this, Bulma gathered herself and headed after him. After all, she was already invested.
~xoXox~
AN: For Jadefyre, who initially suggested ballet or something along those lines due to the discipline and body training required. My mind went to ice skating for some reason.