So I realized I've never done a "get-together" number! Just a potential scenario during those forever ~mysterious~ three years. I guess it could be a sequel to my other 3-year one shot. Anyway, R&R if you please, and check out my other stories :) Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ or these crazy characters
Storm on the Rise
A ferocious thunder roared, the deafening sound matched only in volume by Bulma's responding shriek. The coffee mug she held in her hands plummeted to the floor as she jumped, misting her ankles and kitchen linoleum with lukewarm bold roast. "Ugh, get it together, Bulma. It's just a storm," she said to herself, releasing an exasperated sigh. She wasn't the sort to startle at the sound of thunder; in fact, she had found that, since Vegeta started living with them a year ago, she rarely startled at anything anymore. After all, what was there to be afraid of? She had a practically-un-beatable bodyguard within shouting distance at all times. Regardless, this storm was a mean one, and for whatever reason, it had her on edge.
As she turned for the closet to retrieve a rag and broom, she jumped again at the sight of the Saiyan Prince, standing observantly in the doorway. He was looking at her intensely (Bulma was quite sure "intense" was the only way his eyes could look), his brows furrowed. "I heard a commotion," he said flatly.
The scientist blinked, then remembered his super-human hearing. He must have heard her oh-so-stupid scare from his training in the gravity room. "Oh, I dropped my coffee, that's all," she explained cooly, bending down to carefully collect the large pieces of broken porcelain in her palm.
"And this caused your cry?" the Saiyan questioned, continuing to watch her, but making no move to help her clean up the mess.
Avoiding direct eye contact, afraid his super-human senses extended to lie-detection, Bulma shrugged. "Guess so," she replied, brushing past him to throw away the coffee cup pieces. "No imminent danger here! Sorry if you were expecting an android," she added nervously, cheeks reddening. The idea of warrior-Vegeta-facer-of-death-and-all-things-dangerous-and-terrifying finding out that she had been scared of thunder was just too embarrassing to handle. "Thanks for checking on me, though," she added with a wink, throwing the embarrassment ball back into his court.
The Saiyan scoffed, finally breaking his gaze. "I was doing no such thing. You are of no concern to me," he replied. Bulma waited for the alternative explanation, but he gave none.
"Oh, right, I forgot, silly me," the beautiful scientist muttered, rolling her eyes. She bent down again to sop up the spilled coffee.
With her backside to him, Vegeta studied her once more. He hated how much he liked to look at her, especially bent over and bobbing about; his imagination was his enemy. "It is night time," he stated, changing the subject, mostly to distract his own mind.
Standing, Bulma placed her hands on her hips. "So?"
"You drink this disgusting concoction in the morning," the Saiyan pointed out, nodding his head towards the spot on the floor where the coffee had sloshed. "You are intending to stay awake during your normal rest cycle. This is not recommended for humans."
Staring at her long-term house guest, the genius raised a blue eyebrow. "Ok, thanks, I'll take that into consideration?" she said finally, her tone uncertain. What an odd thing for him to say. If she didn't know him better, she would have suspected he was concerned for her well-being. "You know, I wouldn't have to stay up all night if you went a little easier on those bots! I mean, really Vegeta, you're destroying them faster than I can fix them."
Vegeta's expression changed only slightly, eyes softening in the most unnoticeable way. "You are skipping your necessary rest to fix my training equipment?" he inquired.
"Well, duh! I like sleep, but I have a feeling I'm not going to get a whole night's worth until you become a Super Saiyan. Or die trying, anyway," Bulma retorted, imagining the scene at 5:00 am when his majesty entered the gravity room to find no working droids. She opened her mouth to remind him of the last time such an incident had occurred, but was cut short by an earsplitting clap of thunder. She screamed a second time, despite herself, and jumped against the stoic Saiyan.
Vegeta, infinitely more surprised by the woman's proximity to himself than the thunder, gave a startled exhale, but allowed her to remain clinging to his tank-top.
Slowly looking up and meeting the Saiyan's eyes, Bulma swallowed. She had never been this close to him before; she could literally feel the definition of his abs and sculpted chest against her own body. She searched his face for some sort of reaction, or indication as to what was supposed to happen next. Was he going to push her away? Storm off? Yell? So far, there was nothing.
The two stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but was perhaps only a minute. Finally, with enough courage gathered and the tension too great to bear, Bulma leaned forward and kissed the warrior—a kiss which conveyed her intentions. She was not a timid girl who fancied him; she was a woman, and she wanted him. Her hands snaked around his neck and into his hair, pulling him deeper into the exchange. Much to the scientist's surprise, Vegeta not only allowed this kiss to happen, but returned it, following her lead as she pulled him closer. His arms, however, remained stiffly at his sides, as if half of him was not yet ready to commit to this activity.
Pausing, Bulma looked at him again, although their faces were so close that his features blurred. "You should touch me," she breathed, lips brushing his. She could feel the bulge of his manhood and the heat from his skin—he wanted it, just like she did. There was no denying it, so there could only be surrender. She knew, however, that Vegeta was not one for surrender.
"I do not take orders from you," the Saiyan reminded her, although he remained unmoved, his nose pressed to hers. Without warning, he gripped her from behind and hoisted her legs around his waist, mouth hungrily devouring her lips, tongue and neck.
As Bulma frantically tore off his tank-top, Vegeta pushed her against the kitchen wall, hands traveling under her own shirt. She was glad he was good at this; part of her had been afraid he was an overly sexy virgin. As her hand traveled down the waistband of those notoriously seductive spandex shorts, she nibbled his ear and whispered: "just so we're clear, I'm doing this tonight instead of fixing those bots."
The Saiyan snarled. "Fine."