Vegeta manipulated silence well, Bulma learned.
Noise, music, and laughter dominated the Briefs household. Though its three chief inhabitants were rarely without their noses shoved between the pages of a book, there were lots of loud animals. (Dr. Briefs much preferred his fur-adorned companions than those stuffy engineer fellows.) Mrs. Briefs enjoyed gossiping on the phone with her friends and, to be frank, her voice sounded not unlike the cries of the animals. The occasional explosion occurred, almost always followed by at least one bellow of, "HEY! Hey, Is everyone okay? Watch yourself!"
Vegeta's captivating orchestration of silence left Bulma quite impressed, indeed. For Bulma Briefs considered herself brilliant by birth, but a scholar by design. And she learned of Vegeta's mute aptitude as most scholars do—by carefully studying the subject of which they wish to master.
The Saiyan warrior-prince-whatever began his fifth week of stay at the Briefs home before Bulma considered herself even somewhat versed in his many variations of silence. She could distinctly identify three: the sulky variant, the quiet gloat, the unspeakable anger—not to be confused with Vegeta's generable grumpiness, because he wasn't shy about letting everyone know of his irritable mood by producing frequent grumphs and snide hggnnns. And that's clearly not silence, now, is it?
It irritated her beyond understanding. Bulma, being the genius she is, grasped advanced biotechnological concepts in merely nine days. However, after more than a month of astute observations and analyses, much about Vegeta still remained an enigma. Why did his scowl deepen in response to her laugh? How could he manage to make her face burn so hotly by just entering the room? What hairspray did he use? Out of Vegeta's endless peculiarities, many remained yet to be deciphered by the young scientist after thirty-seven days… and counting! Ugh.
"Ugh," sighed Bulma, as Vegeta strutted into the kitchen. Her declaration was more of a reaction to the sudden warmth in her cheeks rather than to his general presence. Nevertheless, the man responded with a retort of the nonverbal kind.
Vegeta's eyebrows inched toward his hairline. His lips twitched. He continued on his path to the refrigerator.
"We don't have any milk," said Bulma.
Vegeta stopped walking. His shoulders tensed.
Bulma stared resolutely at her half-empty bowl of cereal. At the dirty ashtray upon the table with her freshly lit cigarette resting in the furrow. Looking at anything but his naked torso and scar-painted skin stretching atop his bulging shoulder and arms…
"I just finished what was left in the carton. Sorry."
Vegeta turned to direct his glare at Bulma.
"What about a muffin? Want some coffee or something?"
Vegeta's lips pursed.
"We're also out of bacon."
Vegeta leaned on the countertop. The sunlight spilled through the curtains to kiss his jaw and collarbone. His biceps swelled from the weight. Bulma took a long drag from her cigarette.
"Not to worry. I've wrote them both down on the list." She knew Vegeta's favorite breakfast consisted of two bowls on cereal, six bacon strips, a dozen eggs, four slices of toast, two bananas, and sometimes waffles. "Oh… and no more waffles either. I'll add those to the grocery list, too. Momma's going shopping today. But she won't—"
"And what exactly am I supposed to put in the coffee, woman?"
"Huh?"
Vegeta looked extremely unhappy to repeat himself. Like, seriously, he seemed way too concerned. What was his damn problem?
"What-do-I-put-in-my-coffee?" he annunciated with painful slowness. "We have no milk."
"There's vanilla creamer in the purple jug in the refrigerator door. You can deal. You know where we keep the sugar."
"Good. Your morning drink is vile if left as it is."
"That's because your palate is extremely unrefined. I drink my coffee black, thanks."
"Do not speak to the Prince of the Saiyan race about refinement, peasant earthling!"
Bulma's heart skipped a beat then began to thunder wildly beneath her breast. But despite her elevated heartrate, she somehow managed to remain somewhat calm.
"Says the royal who doesn't know cream from milk."
Vegeta said nothing, but his scowl deepened. Bulma smiled.
Hah, she'd won this round!
Vegeta appropriately prepared his breakfast—a mug of coffee and an entire stalk of bananas—then sat across the table from Bulma. He opened the fruit with his teeth.
Those lips. Bulma's mind wandered to an all too familiar fantasy that was quite inappropriate for a girl who mostly considered herself a loyal girlfriend... Mostly.
Bulma stirred at the soggy remains of cereal in her bowl and cursed her overactive imagination. Vegeta feasted. The girl and the alien continued on like this for the next four minutes. Approximately two hundred and fifty seconds without exchanging any sort of insults or unpleasantries. A record, for sure. They simply ate their food. Bulma finished her first cigarette and lit another, but the silence proved to be too uncomfortable.
"You have a few new bruises…super tough pre-sunrise training sesh, eh?"
Nothing.
Another drag from her fag, the wafting stench as smoke filled the kitchen, a long pause.
"Vegeta, you don't have to put yourself through all of this. We've sent out countless radio transmissions, but we still haven't heard anything back from Goku… I mean, Kakarott. it could be years before he makes it back to earth and even then—"
"Why don't you mind your own business and shut the fuck up up?"
A wordless exchange of something almost like attraction passed between them.
"Have some manners, jerk!"
"Have some tact, woman!"
"Too bad you don't know anything about tact or manners!" She rose from the table and loomed above Vegeta. "It wouldn't kill you to not roll your eyes at everything I say! Or to say 'please' or 'thank you' every once in a while!"
Vegeta's stood abruptly. His chair soared into the kitchen hutch, breaking both.
"Please, shut the fuck up! Better?"
"What did you say to me?"
Bulma's vision flooded with crimson. Her body reacted to her rage before she realized what happened. How dare he! How fucking dare he!? Bulma drew her arm back, only to release it straightaway with as much force as she could muster. Her right palm very nearly collided with Vegeta's left cheek, but obtained no official blow.
With terrifying, unbelievable speed, Vegeta's rough hand restrained her by the wrist. The abrupt change in movement caused Bulma to give a tiny scream. Vegeta's eyes widened. The small contact their bodies shared startled both parties. Electricity. A shrieking silence. This overwhelming, animalistic desire left them stunned. Then everything happened very fast. Their lips found one another's. Heat and softness and wet and ensued.
"Yo-ou," Bulma breathed, as Vegeta's teeth made their way from her lower lip to the delicate flesh of her neck, collarbone, and beyond. And then moving to her earlobe for a quick taste before following the aforementioned design, "are an ass."
Neither of them truly gave a shit.
"I'm sorry. Bulma, please..."
The words spilled from his mouth so fast Bulma wasn't sure she heard them correctly.
"Wh-what—?"
"Don't make me say it again."
She couldn't speak. The whole spiel about danger, dying, and destruction died on her lips. The wrath she felt thawed to irritation peppered with confusion. Vegeta had never apologized before. Not once. He sat with his legs over the side of their bed and his sharp chin resting upon his fists. The celebration of the defeat of Kid Buu ended hours before. Their son had long ago retired to bed. Now that there were no distractions, the ugly truth of the past twenty-four hours forced itself to the forefront of their minds.
"Listen, Vegeta," Bulma began again, this time with less menace. "I can forgive you for sacrificing yourself for our family, I'll even forgive you for accepting the dark power that creepy wrinkled sorcerer offered, but… there's the World Tournament."
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. But when she opened them again, she was met with the same scene: a murderer sitting before her.
"I don't know if I can ever think of you the same. It's hard to forget the sight of your blast killing all of those people…"
Bulma's eyes stung with unshed tears. Vegeta remained partially cloaked by the shadows, but his face could be seen quite plainly. The Saiyan actually looked drained. And did she detect a hint of shame mingling with the wrinkles in his brow?
"I… wish I could tell you what possessed me to act as I did," said Vegeta.
"I can tell you what it was! It was your stupid pride!"
Vegeta said nothing.
"We all know your strength and power, Vegeta!" He let out a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair. The darkness shrouded his hunched form. "You're so stupid. You don't have to prove anything to anyone!"
Bulma began to cry. It had been a really long day. She collapsed upon the mattress and tried her best to stifle her sobs. She jerked away as she felt Vegeta's knuckles dragging along the length of her arm.
"I do have something to prove."
Bulma watched his slow movements through damp eyelashes. He ran his fingers through her hair. This time she did not move away.
Vegeta so very rarely showed Bulma tenderness—it wasn't much his style and Bulma did not much enjoy the typical sweet love-making session. But tonight they were alive despite it all, tired of everything left unspoken between them, and Vegeta's touch somehow felt the same but also a little bit different.
He moved to hover above her, still taking his time. His hand traced her cheekbone and jawline. Vegeta's gaze brimmed with both intensity and so, so many questions.
Bulma's resolve completely melted.
"Fuck… Don't ever do that again, Vegeta. Do you hear me? We don't hurt people."
He nodded, and lowered his hard body to press against her own. His dick agonizingly firm as it dug into her lower abdomen. So aroused. Passion and longing engulfed Bulma's being, her stomach immediately aflame.
"Get on your back," she instructed. He followed her orders with unusual submissiveness. Almost obedience. However, there was undeniably something in this for him. They both knew good and well Vegeta preferred Bulma on top.
And there it was! The look in his eyes was not without its customary wickedness as she straddled him. She pulled the shirt from her frame and his hands were immediately on her waist. He ground his erection into her warmth and she released a moan of satisfaction.
Her fingernails dragged slow and firm across those absolutely delicious tapered abs of his.
"Goddamit, woman."
Trunks sat on the carpet with his legs crossed and the video game controller clutched tightly in his grasp, hogging the living room television yet again. Vegeta despised watching the little figures on the screen shoot at each other—he could feel his brain cells dying of boredom. He hated his son's passion for the stupid game even more. They should be training, but nooo. Bulma insisted that the child deserved some mindless fun every now and then, and plus he had aced his math exam with flying colors and—oh, did Vegeta mention that the boy had his mother wrapped around his bratty little finger?
He told the turquoise-haired woman as much. She snapped, "You're gonna spoil your daughter rotten, just you wait!"
When Bulma revealed she was expecting the first time around, it took twice for Vegeta to even acknowledge her confession. ("And how is that my problem?") But this time around, he opted to wait outside the bathroom as she took the pregnancy test. Three months after the positive results, he accompanied her to his first ever doctors' visit.
Vegeta couldn't help but give a tight-lipped smile when they discovered they were going to have a girl.
She better look like her mother.
The woman beside him had fallen into a deep sleep. One of her arms wrapped around her round belly and the other intertwined with Vegeta's. Her mouth lay askew and her wavy hair draped like silk around her shoulders.
"Whooo-oo yeah, baby! Yes! Take that, newb!" Trucks bellowed, as the screen before him lit up with congratulations.
"Trunks, quiet please. Your mother is asleep."