It's All a Blur
by: crystal_tokyo_princess (anime_chik_2000@yahoo.com)
Author's Note: My first try at character POV writing It's Bulma's point of view, sorta. She's sooo OOC. You'll figure out what it is. ::blushes::
I'm lying here with the sheets draped carelessly over my body; a window's open and I can feel the draft cooling me down as my eyes flutter shut. The truth is, I'm tired, but I can't sleep. I'm worried and I'm relieved, all at the same time; everything is so confusing. I'm calm -- too calm for who I am. As I breath in and out, my mind whispers that I don't like being unsure, that I like solid answers.
But the thing is, all the answers are solid, I just haven't pieced them together. It's all such a blur, as to how it happened, what pushed everything to that point, the point where we began to make love. He was lonely -- I was lonely. I sigh to myself. That damn argument in the kitchen I'd reached out -- rashly, without thinking -- to slap him and he'd caught my hand, dark eyes almost on fire, and he'd almost laughed. He had smirked that sexy, trademark smirk of his, and then without even thinking, he'd kissed me, and I'd responded, then he'd carried me up to my room.
I can remember every detail, every touch, every kiss, every motion of what happened -- and it frightens me. I've never felt anything like that before, not even in my many, albeit brief experiences of this kind with Yamcha, who although my age was clumsy when those moments had happened. I can still feel his -- Vegeta's -- hands, his rough, yet soft, careful hands caressing my skin, touching my back, my sides, my thighs, and everywhere. It was like they had a mind of their own, but they were also restrained, for a while that is. Then everything happened at once. He came, I came ... and pleasure like no other I'd ever felt before washed over me, painful and yet so wonderful. The thoughts and the memories make me shiver, but I can't even put into words what Vegeta did to me not too long ago.
He's still lying next to me, -- asleep -- and I wonder just what made me allow myself to do this with him, let him continue with what he'd planned on doing, probably what he'd wanted to do since exploding the gravity capsule. He is the man who has murdered so many people, so why? And what, I ask myself, makes me ask that question when I've never really thought about how many worlds he's destroyed or how many people he's killed, unless he's pointed it out in one of our many arguments. Moreover, I want to know, why, when I turn toward him, does seeing him give me butterflies in my stomach?
I reach out and touch is forehead, smoothing away the few drying beads of sweat left on his forehead from our exertions. He'd need to wash that thick mane of hair of his in the morning I blink then. I made him sweat? I blush, remembering how my own wet arms had been wrapped around his sweaty back, how I'd dug my fingernails into his back with a cry of ecstasy as everything I'd known turned blank in that long, tiring pleasurable moment. He'd gone slowly, almost too slow, but I think now I understand that slow is the best way. Best for both parties involved, I guess, even if it caused him to use more patience than he's used to using.
He winces in his sleep, and I pull my hand away quickly, afraid that the little moment I'd had would slip away, shatter, and crumble apart if he woke. He'd be angry, but then again, I guess I'm attracted to his scowl, that brooding, angry scowl he always wears. He settles back into the pillow, his face although still scowling is more sorrowful than it is brooding. I reach out to touch his face again and then my hand wanders to his ears -- which seem to be a soft spot -- and his course, unruly hair. Even though he's on his side and his hair is now heavy and sweat-streaked, it maintains its shape. A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth as I crane my neck toward him
Suddenly, his strong arms pull me close, and I lay there, my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat while breathing deeply but quietly, hoping he isn't awake. He isn't, at least I don't think he is; his heart rate and breathing are too slow. I crane my neck forward and kiss his temple. Despite myself, my lips linger. Then I relax, nuzzle into his chest, and rest my head there. He shifts again in his sleep and rests his chin on the top of my head. I smile, although I know the arguments will come again tomorrow. He'll be angry for letting his emotions get the better of him, and he'll take it out on me, picking a fight after his training. But I'll always have this moment, these moments, and I'll always remember them and cherish them. I'm attracted to the bad boys, to the dangerous ones, and I don't think Vegeta will be changing anytime soon. I nestle farther into his chest and close my eyes. Arigatou, Vegeta. Oyasuminasai.