The Prompt: Genderbent!Vegeta and Bulma: Because male!Bulma is so awesome.
The fill:
Author's Note:
(I was half tempted to change Krillin's name to Marron, so then it's still a pun on chestnuts, but that would just confuse people.)
There were words for what Vegeta was, for women like her. Ball breaker, temptress, witch, cold-hearted psycho, sociopath, bitch.
Personally, his favorite was 'Black Widow.' After all, it did imply sex.
Which was exactly what he wanted. And exactly what she wanted, even if she wouldn't admit to it. In turn it only inspired a new name for her: tease. She had to know how hot, how adorable, how sexy Bloomer was and want a piece of his fine ass. Really, it was a miracle she had resisted for so long. But now he was ready to take her into his arms, and into his bed. Of course, Vegeta would be the one to carry him into the boudoir, but cared about the tiny details? Hell, why need a bed even?
Wherever they might land as they grappled sweatily and groped for what was important. Sliding off that sticky spandex and gold-white armor to finally reveal what he'd been teased with for so long. So enticing that Bloomer had been reduced to dropping things before the Saiyan in an attempt to watch her bend over, only to be met with a shrug as she simply stepped over the ladder/food/broken glass/Mom.
Vegeta finally noticed his stare. "What?" she asked, with her mouth full of eggs and toast.
"You're such a lady."
"Shut up."
Bloomer's voice only rose. "A delicate, sensitive rose of a princess. Men must fall to their feet when they saw you."
She was sneering. "Yes they do. Weaklings." Then she ran a piece of bread over her plate to soak up any of the bacon grease before jamming it into her mouth.
"Drives men mad with lust."
"Shut up." The Saiyan casually threw the plate in his direction. "And get me more bacon."
"I'm not your slave!" Bloomer screamed and dodged the butter knife casually tossed in his direction.
"What, are you too busy fixing your hair to make me breakfast?"
One hand went to stroke the short bright hair he'd only recently had trimmed. Much easier to take care of the short neat strands compared to the wild curls, and this only emphasized his high cheekbones and the excellent shape of his skull. "Haven't you had enough!"
All of those names paled for when he came face to face with her solid uncaring form.
So heartless, so cruel, it drove him mad. Mad with desire, and passion, and to bed her while simultaneously strangling her. Toss her onto a bed like a madman, have his way with her until she finally just shut the hell up. But then he would have the feeling that Vegeta would still bitch and complain even while she was being pounded. 'You're not doing it hard enough! Go faster! Go. Faaaasstteeer. Useless.'
"I'm a Saiyan Princess! You, pathetic earthling, will do as I command you!"
"Oh, yeah, Pretty Pretty Princess? If you're so great, then you can get your own food!"
"You will bow to your betters, little man. I will make you!"
Immediately, Bloomer's face cleared from its red-hued rage that blinded him and led to him mindlessly shrieking curses at Vegeta while throwing thing, to an optimistic, surprised smile. "Really? Really? What are you going to do?
"Tell me. In detail."
There were creases cutting into Vegeta's angular forehead. "You're a bizarre man."
"Aw. You worry about me."
She stood up, leaving the table a mess for Bloomer to clean up. Just looking disgusted at the turn in conversation, and how it lacked death threats and throwing sharp objects. But that was how Vegeta had been raised; she couldn't know any better. All the more reason why she needed and wanted the debonair and startlingly handsome Bloomer to show her the way to civilization.
Or not. Maybe she could continue to be the untrained animal. Just so long as she managed to put on a bib before she tore into lobster. The lobster that Bloomer had provided for her, without a word, just as he had all the food the filthy Saiyan while ate wearing the clothes that Bloomer had cleaned and created and provided while sitting under Bloomer's roof.
Was it so wrong to want a little of his money back?
"You can run all you can, but we both know where this path will lead. You can try to resist all you want.
"But eventually, one day, you'll find yourself slipping. And thinking about me. Thinking about all this." He motioned to his chest, and then to his crotch. Vegeta's mouth puckered, like she'd been told that something awful had been slipped into her breakfast. Like half a worm or something. The disgust in her dark beady eyes only spurned him forward.
"And then you'll give in. You'll find yourself in my arms, begging for it. 'Oh please, please, please, take me now.'" He stomped one booted foot on the floor, and she looked on, too disturbed not to.
"'Right now, on the floor this kitchen. Make me scream.' And what's that Vegeta," Bloomer cupped a hand to his ear. "You want more, you want it harder? Right now?
"You'll be yelling my name. Scratching my back."
He winked. "I'll be waiting for you."
Vegeta finally managed to pull herself together long enough to sneer magnificently before stalking off. Every solid unafraid thump of her footsteps sent another nail to be driven into his heart. It was so nice of her to finally let Bloomer have the last word.
Then he was hit with a barking yell, "You're disgusting, worm."
Clearly, she wanted him.
Despite how horrified her friends would have been, he found himself dialing their numbers, one after another until his fingers ached, and asking how they felt about Vegeta. What they knew about her. The darkest moments of her life that perhaps she'd shared with the other fighters, but not Bloomer.
Yamcha spent twenty minutes yelling at him, and then yelling about Vegeta. "That's dwarf bastard" was the kindest thing that came out of his ex-girlfriend's mouth.
Krillin seemed to sense his intentions, the most suspicious of them all. She kept asking, 'why do you want to know Vegeta better?' 'Who cares what her favorite color is?' 'Are you okay?' 'You can tell us if you're feeling off.' 'Have you been working extra hard lately? Are you leaving your lab once in a while?'
Cheech told her to get Vegeta out of his house, and to lock the door behind her. Which was stupid, as Vegeta had already proven several times that no locks could hold her. That only one that seemed strong enough to be around Vegeta was the one so obviously wrapped around her heart, and that Bloomer was missing the key too. Well, luckily, he had blowtorches and picks and the will to never give up. Speaking of which...
When Goku finally managed to get the phone away from her husband, she sounded oddly coy. 'Oh. You want to know more about Veggie. Getting close, are you? Hmm?'
Bloomer could only answer back, 'What the fuck's wrong with you?'
'Oh nothing. Go easy on her.'
Bitches were crazy, obviously.
Vegeta was definitely insane. How could she turn down such a luscious piece of manmeat? Did she not notice the giggle and stares he got from the secretaries? How could she not get jealous, but instead just stare blank ahead whenever they did this?
But even when Bloomer would flirt back, she would just sit there and wait to yell at him over the Gravity Room. At most, at his smoothest lines, she would roll her eyes to hard it look like she was possessed. One leg would actually lift from the force, and the girls would giggle at her display once they realized she wouldn't swallow her tongue. Giggle. At Vegeta. Rather than Bloomer's chest that his white silk shirt revealed.
All the flirting, the blatant affection he tried to show her, all the kindness and passion, all that he did his best to show Vegeta. For his actions, all he got was a frightened stare when she came into her room to find her bed no longer empty, the whipped cream lying across his mostly hairless and pale chest glistening wetly in dim candlelight. How that fear had turned to horror when Bloomer added a dollop to a certain happy, happy part of his body and asked languidly if Veggie wanted a lick. Then he sucked a tiny spilled bit of cream off his finger, looking up at her. The Saiyan had fled so quickly the force of it drove the whipped cream into his nose, which burned after a few moments. He'd had to roll around and wipe his face onto one of Vegeta's smelly pants, stumbling around and bouncing off the furniture in his blind panic as the burning increased.
By the time the pain had subsided, her room was splattered from the whipped cream that had flown off his frantic body, and from when he'd accidentally stepped on the can and sent more of it foaming out. Vegeta insisted on not talking about it, something Bloomer had mixed feelings on. Her own sign of emotion came out when the scientist's mother had asked if she wanted her pie à la mode—then she had just shuddered for a good fifteen seconds while the turquoise-haired man grinded his teeth down an inch.
She was a difficult woman to deal with. All the demands, none of which were sexual…it wore at a man. His dreams were becoming more vivid, involving more Vegeta and almost paradoxically, less spandex. He found himself drifting in his lab, walking around or drooling in front of the computer screen, lost in daydreams, replaying all those small moment like how she would smile when Bloomer would mess with Yamcha by moving the furniture around and making him bash his shins on an armchair. The adorable way she would fill her cheeks like a chipmunk at meals, then stumble upstairs to pass out on her bed, almost curled up, hair a mess, all black and wavy and shockingly feminine that didn't jive at all with the muscles and scars that would peak out just a little through the torn blue fabric, seared a little in spots and would leave stains on the sheets, and maybe Bloomer had peaked in on Vegeta, just to make sure she hadn't had a concussion and died in her sleep.
How could he just pretend there was nothing there when he would find himself thinking about her and smashing his hand on some machine, screaming and cursing the world for his pain, both emotional and physical? Holding a bag of ice his mother had brought him to his injured hand, glancing around to make sure the room was empty, then lowering the ice pack to his crotch with a wince and cursing the world and Vegeta's seemingly asexual tendencies.
Something had to snap. And the alien had a remarkably deep reserve of either strength or complete disinterest that made Bloomer cry in the showers in the morning while he rubbed peach conditioner into his hair and shaved his pecks.
No one had ever been so cruel, even for a sociopath that had killed numeral billions (including Bloomer's ex-girlfriend), she was rough. Why couldn't she just look at Bloomer? Just smile, a little, was that so much, a smile at a handsome boy from an exotic woman?
What could he do? He'd done everything!
Well. Mostly everything. Nothing, you know, crazy. Like how his father had wooed his mother, asking her out on a date and giving her flowers and chocolates and wearing a nice suit. Please. She would probably eat the flowers and chocolates and then insult his suit. And like he could even take Vegeta out in public.
Yet…sometimes you had to find a different tool, even one unwieldy and awkward, to get the job done. Like the jaws of life.
Bloomer found himself putting on his nicest clothes, gelling his hair, sucking on a mint, and getting a bunch of flowers from the garden. When he found Vegeta, half asleep before the television and barely grunting at the comments Mr. Briefs was making, he looked her straight in the eye without a leer, and asked her for dinner.
Like a weirdo.
Who did this crap anymore?
But maybe, maybe Vegeta was a little more old-fashioned? Wanted to be properly wooed before bedded?
Vegeta just stared at him over the handful of flowers, at the spilled dirt, then sighed for a long time. A vein shaped like a Y pulsing in her long angled forehead, blue behind bronze, almost pretty. Bloomer wanted to touch it, and then imagined looking at down at his mangled hand with its gushing blood before the pain began.
"Ooooh. You have to say yes, dear, you must." If he'd been a stupider man, Bloomer's father would have given Vegeta a little shove of encouragement.
The Saiyan just sighed again. "What is this?"
"Flowers. An offer of dinner?"
"Are the flowers coated in sleeping powder again?"
"That was an ACCIDENT!"
"I'm sure."
"I wouldn't roofie you! I don't need to!"
"It didn't work anyway." Vegeta looked gloating. "You're Earth medicine was too weak to even make me yawn."
"I'll show you!" He nearly ran off to his underground bunker for the pain meds and his needles were, until he remembered exactly why he was here. "No. Fine. I won't."
"You won't?"
She looked so surprised it nearly made Bloomer wonder if the dark-haired woman was a masochist or had a drug habit that had gone unnoticed.
"I'll let that one go. Because I care for you so much."
Vegeta looked like someone had dropped a pile of worms on her lap.
"Do you hear me, monkey brains? I care. I CARE!" His voice dropped to because desperate, hungry, husky. "Can you understand how terrible that makes me feel?"
She was turning away. "Human. Go away."
Was that a crack? Could that be a crack beneath the hard exterior? "I care for you Vegeta. I'm the only one that does. That gives a damn if you live or die."
...or was that boredom? "If you keep talking, I'll make sure no one gives a damn about your death. Because they'll all be dead anyway. Since I'll kill them as well."
He fluttered eyelashes. "Oh, Veggie. You look flustered."
She didn't. "I am not."
"I think you're blushing."
She wasn't. "I am not."
"I think you're beginning to care for me as well."
"I do not and never will."
Bloomer was sure his voice could make most women drop their underwear in public, in front of their parents, in a church. Most definitely, if he ever decided to not be so principled, and tried it. "Your mouth, that not hideous mouth that lets out the most awful things, it says no, now yet.
"But your eyes, your dead little beady eyes, they say…maybe."
There was rolling of those black little eyes.
"Oh, Veggie. I meant that in a nice way."
Teeth gritting.
"Your small dead little beady eyes that are the most arresting shade of black. You could stop traffic." And she had, when she refused to use crosswalks and would stomp across the heavily trafficked interstate highway. While cars honked and drivers screamed curses and for mercy from an uncaring god. "All those people you murdered probably went out thinking how incredible you were."
There was blinking. She didn't look warm. Vegeta never looked warm, even when sweating. But she looked warmer. "It's good for you to know my strength and power. You pitiful insolent humans are normally too weak and foolish to even realize that."
Bloomer nearly swallowed a tooth along with his pride, so strong was his swallow. "Yes. Sure. But it's really the beauty of you that makes us forget how strong you are."
She was trickling down from absolute zero to a point of a degree a shade or two hotter. The stick jammed up her ass seemed to slide down an inch.
Never, never had she looked so approachable.
Bloomer mentally high-fived himself. You are so awesome. Just like your dad says. "So, what's say we get some dinner and talk about some of those planets you destroyed?"
A little suspicious trickled into those reptile eyes. "I suppose that wouldn't be terrible."
"You can show me your muscles. Brag about the scars. I'll even feed you." Now he was just being sarcastic and mean again. But he had to let some of it out.
Vegeta nodded. "That sounds satisfactory. Fetch the food, little man."
"And…say, if I wanted to eat some of that food off you, or you eat it off me, like I offered before…"
She grimaced and shuddered. A small flash of teeth beneath strained lips. Then she shrugged like she didn't care, even as her face began to drain of all emotion: Vegeta's form of desolation. "It depends on the food."
No one had ever been so happy as this scientist right here. "You just made the smartest decision of your life."
The world might pretty much end in less than two years, but at least he would get into Vegeta's pants before then. Die at least with knowing what she looked like naked, and what she was like in bed. Win that bet that Yammy had made, just shock the laughter out of those dark eyes that were so unlike his Saiyan's.
His. Finally.
"There should be plenty of food in the fridge," Dad piped in, still seating not far away and watching the television. Both the human male and alien female jumped in surprise. "Just make sure to use protection."
"DAD!"
"I always wear protective armor," Vegeta answered.