3…

Bulma stood outside the guest bathroom, glowering at the door. Steam fumed from her like one of her malfunctioning inventions. The nerve of some people. Vegeta was still in the shower. For over a goddamn hour. Look, she was all for cleanliness; not much could beat a long hot shower to wash away the aches and stress of a hard day. It's not like she wanted to begrudge the man that luxury. But c'mon, an hour? What the hell was he even doing in there?

It wasn't the money. She was rich enough to pay the bill, and it wasn't the environmental concern. Capsule Corporation recycled a lot of its waste water. No, it was the sheer principle of the matter. There were other people (aka her) in this house who needed hot water, damnit, and as a guest it was only polite that Vegeta consider his impact.

Ugh. Vegeta be considerate? Right, she should have known better.

Still, she had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and talk to him. That went as well as could be expected. He only snorted and walked off, claiming this matter was somehow not his problem.

"You're the genius, aren't you? You fix it," had been his parting quip. It dug and burrowed under her skin and kept her awake all night, fueling her thoughts of revenge.

Sure enough she found him once again showering — going on 72 minutes now — without any concern for anyone else. The arrogant self-centered jerk.

Just you wait, Vegeta. This genius will fix the problem.

Bulma pulled out a control from her pocket and with all the force of righteous indignation, pressed the red button.

A minute later — long enough for the last of the hot water to run dry — some very colorful cursing issued from the bathroom. The door flew open and there, in all his wet muscled glory, stood a very disgruntled saiyan. A hastily snatched towel dangled from one hand in front of his waist, allowing Bulma a generous eyeful of muscle definition that put even her wildest fantasies to shame.

Dear Kami, he was stacked.

"YOU!"

The snarled syllable snapped her attention to furious black eyes which attempted to murder her on the spot.

Slipping the remote into her back pocket, Bulma feigned surprise. "Me?"

His lip curled up, a sharp canine flashing in the light. "Turn the hot water back on."

She cocked her head. "Vegeta, I don't know what you're talking about. If there's no more hot water, you must have used it all up."

He wasn't buying it, coming right at her. Oh crap. Having a healthy sense of self preservation, Bulma backed up only too late realizing the wall behind her blocked any escape. She hit it. A second later a powerful arm slammed by the side of her head.

"I don't enjoy being toyed with," Vegeta said in a low voice.

"And I don't enjoy taking cold showers because SOMEONE is being selfish!" Bulma spat back.

He leaned in. The weight of his presence was suffocating. "Turn it. Back on." He enunciated between gritted teeth.

"Or what?" Bulma tilted up her chin with all the arrogance her privileged upbringing brought. How dare he try and intimidate her in her own home? She had endured far too many near-death experiences to be so easily cowed. Besides, he couldn't hurt her, not without screwing himself out of a home and calling down the wrath of Goku, and until he turned Super Saiyan, they both knew how one sided that battle would be.

The flash of irritation in his onyx eyes told her all she needed to know. She had called his bluff. Emboldened, she leaned forward and jabbed her finger against his shower-flushed chest. "My house. My rules."

His cheek twitched. "I'm near killing myself to protect your miserable planet from some overpowered tin cans, and you're squabbling over some hot water?"

Bulma let out a very unlady-like snort. "Spare me. You're only 'killing' yourself to show-up Goku in what amounts to a Saiyan dick-measuring contest."

"A what?" Vegeta reeled back, his hand tightening over the towel at his crotch.

Struck a nerve, had she? Smirking at her small victory, Bulma allowed her eyes to wander down his torso to the tempting V of his hips — lingering there for a moment on the glimpse of his happy trail — before sliding back up again. "It's just an expression."

He was blushing furiously. "I don't have time for your vulgarities, woman." He stepped away, hastily wrapping the towel around his waist to make his retreat.

"Aren't you going to finish your shower?" Bulma called after him.

He paused, cold eyes glaring at her. "When I'm finished with something, you'll know it."

"Promises, promises," she purred as she watched him leave, the muscles of his back ripple pleasantly. A sane person would heed his warning and flee the known universe. But Bulma had always liked a good challenge.

~xox~

AN: Jadefyre wanted a "prank war" drabble. Only the drabble kind of turned into a mini-fic. Whoops.