Temptation

A/N: So, this was totally, 100% inspired by some sick fanart by lem0uro (Tumblr)! I couldn't stop looking at it, it was so gorgeous, and then this happened. So I hope that's okay. Enjoy!

UPDATE: Rated M for swearing and sexual imagery, in following chapters!

Her body felt heavy. Summer had been almost oppressive lately, the season content to drag on over the lazy months. Even with the air conditioning blasting relentlessly, Bulma could feel the heat pushing at the large windows of her room, and she rolled to her side with an exaggerated sigh.

It wasn't just the heat keeping her awake. Despite the efforts of her day, she working tirelessly in the family lab, trying to beat the clock and devise new ways to fend off the looming android attack, sleep still evaded her. The reason? A certain alien house guest had recently been occupying space in her brain - especially (no, particularly) in the dead of night.

She'd like to say she couldn't put her finger on exactly when it had begun to reach this fever pitch as of late, but she's no dummy, and she certainly wouldn't delude herself.

Yamcha was a prick. After his uncovered infidelity, Bulma had too much pride to let it go. He'd been kicked to the curb a scant few weeks ago, when they both had traded lacerating words and accusations, neither willing to admit how close to the truth the other had cut.

Even he had brought it up then, "You can't keep your attention off him for five minutes!"

"He's going to help fight the androids; we need him!"

"Yeah, and what about me?"

"What about you?"

Bulma grimaced and pushed her face into the pillow. She still felt sour over the whole ugly thing, though with each day that passed, it lessened, and now all that often cropped up was embarrassment. She hated being made a fool of, but she also didn't exactly pride herself on being mean-spirited. Yamcha had managed to bring about both.

She wriggled and kicked the sheet further down her legs. She huffed. She shimmied over to her other side, tucking her arm under the pillow, eyes shut tight.

Aaaand there he was, bronze and olive skin glistening, all harsh lines and bulging biceps. The technicolor of her imagination could barely do Vegeta justice. It's not like she hadn't noticed his attractiveness upon first introduction; Bulma wasn't blind. But since splitting with Yamcha, she had been finding herself daydreaming idly about that inhuman physique more and more frequently. It was getting dangerous.

Her eyes snapped open and, with another puff, she hauled herself up out of bed. A quick glance of the ground at the foot of her bed, and she snatched up a sheer scrap and pulled it over her unruly curls. There had been a couple of late night, accidental run-ins either in the hall or kitchen between she and the object of her vexation, and while she wasn't prude enough to put on pants just for a glass of milk in her own home, she also wasn't familiar enough with the Saiyan prince to flounce around with her breasts on display.

Despite how much her throbbing loins dared her to be.

The compound was dead silent at this hour, and she strived to keep it that way, her bare feet soundless as she padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. There was a small part of her disappointed not to find him rummaging through the fridge, though she was quick to squash it down.

Drink in hand, she started back the way she came, but a soft movement out of the corner of her eye caught her off-guard.

Bulma froze, immediately wary. She could barely make out the curve of a shoulder from the living room from her vantage point, but she was sure it was him. Obnoxious curiosity took hold, because he was never ever in the living room, and her body was tip-toeing in that direction before she had time to think better of it.

Vegeta, recumbent on the sofa, head tilted back and eyes closed in rest. Oh. Her lips parted of their own volition as she greedily took in such a rarity. Bulma knew it would be cruel to disrupt such a pleasant scene, she wasn't quite sure when - if ever - the warrior took a moment to be at peace, but fuck if she didn't want to.

Swallowing, she felt emboldened by the privacy of the moment, and Bulma pushed forward into the living room. As expected, the Saiyan's head snapped up immediately upon the intrusion, and his eyes slanted suspiciously in the dark. Almost as quickly, however, those same black eyes widened imperceptibly, and she noted with a shiver of pride as he took swift assessment of her level of undress.

If she weren't mistaken, Bulma thought there might've been a pink hue cast upon his cheeks as she dared to sink leisurely down on the opposite end of the couch.

When he made no effort to move, she tilted her glass up for a drink, peering at him from over the rim. Vegeta's figure and features stayed stiff, he watching her from the corner of his eye, waiting.

She gulped, and licked her lips. "What are you doing in here?" He said nothing. "I would've thought to see you in the kitchen, but..."

When his eyes glanced down at the table at knee level, she tracked his eye line and spotted several peels, wrappers, and boxes lain to waste across the table-top. Bulma smirked and rolled her eyes back up to his face. "Ah-ha, I see."

Normally he would bite at her, but she either must've really thrown him off or he just wasn't in the mood. She shrugged and lifted her glass, swirling the contents, "I couldn't sleep, myself. Crazy how you can feel so exhausted, but your brain just won't shut off, right?"

"Tch," was Vegeta's response. "I wasn't aware yours was ever on, woman."

She smiled coyly. There he was. "So, I suppose that gravity machine just built itself, right?"

His eyes stole at her from the sides, his mouth turned down. "Keeps fucking up well enough on its own, too."

"Ohhh, c'mon. I think you have more than enough hand in that," Bulma sniffed and took another sip. "Maybe if you used it for its original intention instead of your sick self-flagellation-"

"This is what you come to bother me for?" He cut her off gruffly. "You think I give a shit about your intention?"

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as her insides coiled in equal parts arousal and offense. "I honestly don't think you give a shit about much at all," she admitted, trying not to sound breathless under his careful eye. "But it sure beats the hell out of me what exactly you're trying to do in there all day."

Vegeta sneered at her and turned his face away, as though the sight of her appalled him. "Idiot woman," he griped. "As though you could understand any of it."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to discern, here," Bulma snitted and placed her glass a little roughly on the table next to his debris.

"You're weak," he spat at her aggressively, glaring upon her then, and she felt hot in her face. "What I'm working for, what I desire- you couldn't possibly comprehend. So stop 'trying'."

Bulma's whole body flushed as he snarled at her, and she had to be conscious not to let her jaw fall agape. But there was a word - a single word - that rang in her ears as she stilled, contemplating her next move. Slowly, she leaned in, her rounded shoulders pushing her breasts together (she could see his eyes peek down, half of a half-second), and she wet her lips (there, he looked again) with the tip of her tongue.

"Desire, huh?" She barely whispered, voice a hush, and he rolled his shoulders against it. When Vegeta made no other movement, Bulma smirked and, vulgar woman that she was, crawled the single cushion across and into his lap. Her knees slid to either side of his hips as she settled, unburdened, blue eyes never leaving his steadily unnerved visage.

As her hand slid up to cup his shoulder, she felt his two gloved ones curve almost reflexively against her lower back. They were warm, firm, and just barely pressing her. He stared up at her, mute and clearly at a loss for how these tables had turned upon him, and Bulma lifted her other hand up to frame his cheek delicately. Her thumb caught his lip, and she felt his shaky breath tickle her digits.

Her body ached for that part of him she could feel stirring under her bottom, and she instinctively swayed down and into him, humming behind her pressed lips.

"Vegeta..." she murmured, and his eyebrows twitched. She tipped her nose closer to his own. "What do you desire?"

It was a game of chicken, and everything in her pulled both ways. Bulma knew what she wanted, would freely admit it especially now that she was a few weeks into a self-inflicted dryspell. But this proud man she sat astride, despite how ready his body seemed to betray him and confess, had a different agenda altogether.

Another stroke of her thumb pulled at his lower lip, and his fingers clenched harder against her back. She shuddered as he found the strength to mutter under his breath, "You vulgar creature…"

Bulma's lips pulled crooked, before she brazenly dipped them down to graze the corner of his own. He tensed immediately under her attention, and all at once her chest got tight and the air felt thin around her. When she drew back an inch, his expression was still that of a trapped animal, he was breathing shortly through his nose, and she demurred at the sight. She squeezed his shoulder with her other hand and maneuvered her body up and off of his, her feet sneaking back to the floor from her perch.

Vegeta sat still in place on the couch, those warm hands fallen upon his thighs as his guarded eyes watched her move. She felt at a loss suddenly, missing the outline of him but knowing a line had been crossed here.

Bulma bit her lip and tucked a lock of blue behind her ear. As the silence slammed in between her ears, she lost her nerve at last. Quickly, she spun on her heel, crimson flooding her face and chest as she made haste back down the hall to the safety of her room. Dear God - What was she thinking?