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"I've had it with you, Yamcha! Get your shit and get the hell out of my house!!"
Bulma was absolutely fuming; no one had ever seen her this angry, which said quite a bit about Yamcha's ability to piss a woman off. After they'd broken up the previous week, Yamcha had showed up on her doorstep sobbing and blabbering about what a fool he was, how he'd never do it again and couldn't live without her, how he wanted to marry her...
"Come on, baby! Your being at work doesn't mean I stop having needs!"
"Three times in one week?! It's only Tuesday, for Kami's sake!!"
... and now, this. She'd finally taken him back on Sunday afternoon, after he showed up at her lab with flowers and quadruple-strength coffee. While part of her had still loved him, she realized now that, more than anything, she'd just really wanted the coffee.
Her mistake realized, she began tossing his belongings out the fourth-story window and onto the lawn with zeal, putting some extra force into the throw whenever the object in her hand was a valuable one.
"Oh, God," he wailed, "not my lava lamp!"
Ah, yes, that brought her a deep, delicious sense of satisfaction. He fucking loved that stupid lava lamp, and now it was in pieces, seeping toxic goo into the ground below.
"Bulma, baby, can't we talk about this?"
"I don't think so," the blue-haired woman shrieked, "because your mouth is like an asshole: all that ever comes out of it is SHIT!"
With the extra emphasis on that last word fueling her rage, she brutally slung one of his most prized baseball trophies against the outside of the building before tossing the remaining fragments down towards him.
"Fuuuck!!" The scream was so pained, Yamcha's voice had taken a girlish tone, as if someone had just dug their heels into his balls. "Baby, at least let me explain!!"
Her first reaction to those words was a violent one; however, some sadistic side of her mused that this just might be entertaining. She'd have the chance to pick his bullshit excuses apart, and humiliate him for a change. Using the express elevator in the hallway, she strutted out to meet him with a strange mix of anger and confidence in her stride.
"Five minutes, starting now, asshole. Make it snappy!"
She'd expected it to be cheesy and over-the-top. What she wasn't expecting, was this: Yamcha on both knees, clearing his throat, and beginning to sing.
"I would give you the stars in the sky, but they're too far away If you were a hooker, you'd know," he belted with a wink, "I'd be happy to pay If suddenly, you were a guy, I'd be suddenly gay"
Bulma could do nothing but stare, mouth agape with awe. She knew it would be sad, even pathetic, but this was just messed up. He opened his arms dramatically as he began the chorus,
"'Cause my heart belongs to you,
My love is pure and true,
My heart belongs to you,"
As Bulma rolled her eyes, he gave a sorry shrug before chanting the next line,
"But my cock is community property."
Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth twisting in a half-smile; she wasn't sure whether to simply agree or to burst out laughing.
"You're the only girl that I like to screw,
When I'm not on the road When I come home, my dinner's made,
And the front lawn is mowed,"
Stretching his hands out towards her face, he continued at the top of his lungs,
"I'll kiss your mouth, even after you swallow my lo--"
THWACK!
"Jesus, Yamcha!!" As she shook the stings and prickles out of her hand, she added angrily, "I have never once swallowed: I have taste buds!!"
Yamcha, dedicated to his ill-fated cause, rubbed his freshly sore cheek and resumed his song.
"'Cause my heart belongs to you,
There ain't nothin' that I wouldn't do for you,
My heart belongs to you, But my cock is community property."
"I've noticed," Bulma growled, about to turn and walk back into her home. Yamcha leapt to his feet, running to her and grabbing her hands gently before singing,
"I wanna make it clear,
So you retain it,
My dick's a free spirit And you can't restrain it"
It almost seemed as if he were begging her to understand when he practically screamed,
"No, you just can't hold it down!"
Shaking herself free of his grip, she watched as he returned to his knees to finish.
"I love you so much it hurts,
From my head to my feet I think of you and I can't,
Help but fondle my meat I see your face every time,
That I go out and cheat--"
Finally, it was just too much for Bulma. It started as a small snigger, which transformed into a hearty chuckle and then snowballed into hysterical laughter. "D-did you...*snort*... really think that *guffaw* something like that would work?!" She was howling at this point, her sides feeling ready to split as she barely managed to wheeze out, "I... I was going to... h-humiliate you myself, but...*cackle*... but you've done a damn good job of it on your own!!"
Thunderstruck, Yamcha stared for a few somber moments before finally collecting what he could of his things and walking away, asking himself all the way how this could have gone so, so wrong...
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A few days later.....
Bulma was hard at work on a new protein compound; if she was going to get back into the dating scene and find herself a real man, she would have to look her best, and she'd noticed a few wrinkles beginning to appear... not to mention that cellulite on her legs! That wouldn't do at all! She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't even notice Vegeta enter the lab until he announced, "I've brought you something--"
She flew out of her chair, hand to her chest as she scolded, "Holy hells, Vegeta! You could've at least knocked!" Then, she noticed a small plastic sandwich bag in his hand, which appeared to be holding... even in her mind, she couldn't believe it. Were those bloody, yellow ovals really?...
The Saiyan smirked as she gawked at the gift, confirming her suspicions with a nod.
"...his balls?..."
He chuckled, replying, "Just as tiny as I thought they would be."
They stared at each other for a moment, the blue-haired genius' face lighting up beautifully with wonder and appreciation.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it started...