A/N 1:
This is the censored version. For the uncensored story, please find me on Ao3, under the same pen name.
8-8-8-8-8
Look At Us
8-8-8-8-8
Bulma Briefs has always been a confident woman.
Dissenters would say that she is downright overconfident, but to this, she says that it isn't really overconfidence if one has the brains, money and looks to back them up… And Bulma has always had more than enough of all those.
She was intelligent – this, no one can deny. Her father may have been the one to pioneer capsule technology, but since Bulma took the reins of Capsule Corp, their company had risen to become the most powerful conglomerate the world has ever seen. She patented a ridiculous amount of new technology, all of which are currently leading the entire planet into the biggest industrial revolution since the industrial revolution.
She was filthy rich. Capsule Corp is worth trillions of zeni, and she has multiple properties all over the world. She is currently the sole inheritor of the entire estate, since her elder sister Tights had basically disappeared and did not want anything to do with all the money and technology.
As for beauty, not to brag, but Bulma has never met a man who did not give her a second, third or fourth glance. In her youth, she was considered the most eligible bachelorette, and her early adulthood had been full of men willing to give an arm and a limb to woo her, pursuing her even after she had already married a man who had literally given all arms, limbs and his entire corporeal form to save her from the threat of an evil bouncing pink blob of destruction.
Bulma had everything, and was thus one of the most self-assured people you would ever meet.
Until today.
She stared forlornly into the mirror, poking and prodding at the fine lines that had begun to appear on her once perfect face.
Bulma knew that she looked absolutely gorgeous for a woman in her fifties. She was also smart enough to acknowledge that unfortunately, she still stood no chance if she were to compete with women in their prime. She knew that her body was changing… aging.
Bulma Briefs was growing old, and no amount of money and brains could help her with that. She had reached menopause a couple of years ago, and she had to admit that her skin had lost some of its elasticity then.
She wouldn't say that she didn't mind aging, because she really did. She was a bit sore about it. But since she knew she was still good-looking for her age, she wasn't truly too upset about it. She had not really been too self-conscious, until it had been oh, so blatantly pointed out to her.
She had been shopping with Vegeta and ten-year old Bulla when it happened. Bulla, true to her Saiyan roots, looked a bit younger than her actual age, as she had yet to reach the age of her next growth spurt. Vegeta had barely aged at all, looking perpetually like the thirty-something year old man that Bulma had started an illicit affair with more than two decades ago.
Bulma was holding Bulla's hand, standing a foot away from Vegeta, when a woman giving out free candy samples had smiled at them, handing Bulma a bar of chocolate, and said:
"Here ma'am, for your adorable granddaughter!"
Bulma stilled, her eyes wide and locked in disbelief at the woman, and Vegeta, sensing the sudden drop in her ki, went on the defensive, brows furrowed, fists clenching as he advanced.
"What the fuck did you just say to my wife?" he snarled, moving to stand in front of Bulma, as if to defend her from an incoming attack. It was an entirely unnecessary gesture, making Bulma numbly realize that her emotions must have gone so haywire that Vegeta had actually seemed to panic. "This child," he pointed to Bulla, "is our daughter."
"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry," the woman, red as a tomato, burst out, bowing low before them in absolute mortification. She peered up at Bulma and Bulla before stuttering, "I am so sorry! You look alike, and she is such a little girl, so I had assumed… I am so sorry! Please forgive me!"
"It's alright, I'm not mad," Bulma said, smiling even though her mind was still reeling.
She had been mistaken for Bulla's grandmother.
She looked at her husband, who was still venomously glaring at the girl who had yet to move from her low bow.
It was then, as she stared at her overprotective husband's youthful body, his strong arms and perfect face, that she realized that it was only a matter of time before she started looking like Vegeta's mother.
Hell, she probably already did.
She had immediately told Vegeta that she was feeling unwell, and the three quickly and quietly made their way back home.
Vegeta had tried to make her forget about the incident, but she had softly brushed him aside, saying that she just wanted to rest.
"Are you certain?" he had asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Yes, don't worry about me. Now, go train. I did promise uninterrupted training if you went shopping with us this morning," she smiled, touched by his concern.
"If you are feeling unwell -"
"Vegeta, just go, I know you can't wait to try out my new upgrade on the training room," she jibed, giving him a soft push in the direction of said room. "I'll be just fine."
Bulma lied. She had been moping in their bedroom ever since.
She sighed, standing up to remove her blouse. Dropping the article of clothing on the floor, she looked back up at her reflection, only to release another tremulous breath.
Now that she was really paying attention, Bulma was stricken by how much she looked nothing like she used to. Her skin had slightly discolored in some areas and her once flat and hard stomach had softened. Her sides had some loose skin. Her breasts, though still being held up in her bra, had visibly dropped, reminding her painfully of how, a few years ago, separate incidents with Jacco and Son-kun had both told her that she had "saggy" breasts.
She held back tears as she continued perusing her body, dropping her pants to join her blouse, and she now stood in her underwear before the large mirror. Her chest nearly heaved as she looked at her legs… her legs, her once beautiful legs. Her legs had been long and slim, perfectly shaped, with small ankles and beautifully rounded knees. Now, she could see lines along her upper thighs and –
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled Bulma rather harshly from her self-deprecation. She turned around to find none other than Vegeta, shirtless and sweaty and looking so deliciously perfect that the tears she had been holding back started falling unbidden down her cheeks.
Vegeta blanched, his eyes growing wide at the sight of her tears. He rushed to her, and Bulma was helpless to do anything other than grab him around the waist and bury her sobbing face into his firm, youthful chest.
She understood his alarm. After all, since he had known her, Bulma may scream and bitch to the high heavens, but only a truly devastating event could make her cry.
His arms went around her, surrounding her in a strong comforting cocoon, his fingers clutching at the skin of her back as she continued to cry into his skin.
"Bulma," he began, his voice full of uncertainty. "You are still upset. It was a stupid mistake. I knew you'd be angry… but I do not understand why you are so sad."
Bulma looked up into Vegeta's eyes, and his confused face just melted her heart even more. She burrowed back into his chest as she started speaking. "I… Vegeta, I am… I don't know what to say. I just never really realized that I had gotten so old, and you… you haven't changed a bit."
"I thought you understood that we Saiyans don't age like you earthlings. We all - "
"Yes, I know!" she interrupted. "You stay in your prime longer so you can fight longer. It's just…"
She took a deep breath, holding back a sob as Vegeta kept holding her, squeezing her slightly in encouragement.
"I just don't know how you can continue wanting to be with a grandma like me when you still look like this," she finally admitted, her long-buried deep fears surfacing amidst her rioting feelings.
It was right then, as she held his gorgeous body in her arms that Bulma realized that she had known for a long time that she had been growing older at an alarming rate compared to her husband… and that she had also, for a long time, been anxious about when he would start resenting being married to a woman who may soon begin to look twice his age.
She agonized over what it would be like for him to be stuck with her once she got too old and became unable to satisfy his body.
Her usual confidence, nay, arrogance, had kept her fears at bay. Seeing her doubts laid out so clearly before her had shaken her, and now, for perhaps the first time in her life, Bulma Briefs felt insecure and inadequate.
She felt like an insect whose life was so short and insignificant that it had already begun to whither while the world around it has only begun to flourish.
In spite of all the money, fame and recognition, Bulma knew that Vegeta and their small family of four had become her life, and she would be long gone before they even began to slow down from their primes.
She was so deep in the mire of her misery that she didn't even notice that Vegeta had pulled away from her, holding her at arm's length as he looked at her with a frown.
"Woman," he started, and that got her attention. She snapped up, meeting his eyes as he stared at her in disapproval. He rarely called her that anymore, not unless he was angry or irritated at her.
"Did you honestly think…" he began, before cutting himself off with a growl, a familiar tick starting over his left eye.
He pulled away from her, then reached for one of her hands with his, leading her away from the mirror that she had been torturing herself with. Wordlessly, he pulled her behind him, their steps bringing them to the doorway leading into their private bathroom.
He opened the door and walked in, pulling her with him. He stopped before the large marble counter that held her beauty products, products she glared at with disdain as she thought of how those stupid expensive bottles couldn't keep her from growing old, anyway.
Behind that low counter was the large bathroom mirror, and she gazed into it, watching their reflections as he turned and locked the bathroom door. His back glistened, her eyes greedily taking him in, and she turned away from the mirror to face him, feeling that not even a perfectly reflective surface could capture the perfection that was her man.
A chill set into her limbs as the colder temperature of the bathroom registered and she shuddered, and Vegeta, always in tune with her, rubbed his warm palms up and down her arms before he reached behind her and unclasped her bra.
Her hands shook as he slowly slid the garment down her arms, and she stood there fighting a ridiculous impulse to actually cover her breasts to conceal them from his view. She did not remember being this hesitant to let Vegeta see her body even when he had first taken her to bed, and shame filled her along with guilt when she realized that she was actually embarrassed to be nude before her own husband and lover of twenty odd years.
Vegeta, on his part, seemed to completely ignore her misgivings as he reached up and reverently cupped her breasts in his hands. He looked up at her face to see a red blush staining her cheeks, and he chuckled teasingly at her uncharacteristic shyness.
"Bulma, whatever you are thinking, stop it. You are my wife," he said in a near whisper, a growl of reprimand in the edges of his tone. "I wish to touch my wife. To bathe with my wife."
Bulma nodded, feeling his bare hands slowly travel down her sides to rest softly at the curve of her hips. He tucked a finger into the elastic of her panties, pulling it taut and quickly releasing it to let it snap her skin, and she jumped softly while the infuriatingly handsome man just smirked at her.
He pulled away then, his hand reaching down to remove his own pants, the motion of him stooping down and slowly divesting himself of the skintight material leaving Bulma breathless with both longing and a bit of agitation.
He truly was perfect. A finer specimen would be impossible to come by. She had always known that her husband was a god among men but with her confidence fledgling, she wasn't quite sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing to be with such a beautiful man.
He kicked his pants away from his feet and stood bare in front of her, his battle scars painting a pale and stark contrast against the smooth richness of his skin. His powerful thighs, etched with sinewy muscle, rippled hypnotically as he took a step closer to her, reaching down to hold her hips once again.
"Bulma, I expected you to be naked by now as well," he smirked, his fingers holding on to the edges of her panties as he pushed them down her hips, Bulma automatically twisting her legs to let the garment fall to the ground.
He leaned back, letting his eyes rove over her form, the wicked light behind his eyes sending a thrill through her as she saw the desire painted in his dark orbs.
He pulled away from her then to turn on the water in the bathtub, and she watched as he walked from one side of their bathroom to the other to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. With his back turned to her as he reached down to adjust the shower temperature, Bulma could practically touch the thick air of yearning that surrounded her as she watched his body, mesmerized at his rounded buttocks. She intimately knew the feel of that taut skin in her hands, how the muscles clenched as he strained against her in the throes of passion.
She stopped daydreaming when he turned to her with his hand outstretched, a mischievous gleam in his eyes and she knew without a shadow of doubt that he could sense how aroused she had gotten just watching him move around.
She reached for his hand and followed him as he stepped into the shower with her in tow. He pulled her close to him as they stood under the spray of water, and Bulma could feel his warmth more keenly than she felt the heat of the water falling against her back.
He shifted back and reached up for her shampoo, and she watched him pour a generous amount into his hand, working it into a lather before he brought his soapy hands up to her short blue hair. She chuckled at him as he washed her, before bringing his sudsy hands up to wash his own hair as well.
"Vegeta, since when have you started using my shampoo?" she laughed and he just smirked back at her, continuing to rub her apple-scented shampoo into his hair.
He turned again to pick up his body wash, and pouring a large handful out, he lathered again, scrubbing his body clean. She watched as he cleaned his strong arms and chest, before he leaned down to clean his thighs, his legs, and the apex of him. His movements were quick and systematic, but Bulma was enthralled by his every movement over that body that she loved so dearly.
Bulma was so intent on her admiration that she realized that she had not moved to clean herself at all. She began to reach for her own soap when a large hand on her wrist stopped her.
"Let me," he said softly, almost inaudible amidst the pattering drops of water falling about them. He took her body wash and proceeded to wash her up, nudging her arms up to hang loosely by her sides so he could thoroughly wash her whole body. His strong hands were quick but gentle, softly stroking her breasts, her stomach, her sides…
His hands on her lulled her into a sense of peace, and her breaths hitched each time he passed a hand over her nipples. He started making his way down to her hips, his hands going around her to stroke and wash the soft globes of her buttocks, pulling a surprised squeak from her when he, with a lascivious grin, playfully squeezed her butt cheeks before continuing down to her legs.
The water cascaded down them as he kneeled down to rub the soap over her, meticulously cleaning her thighs and legs. She looked down at him, his head bowed as he worked, and Bulma let her fingers drift down to tangle amongst the wet strands of his wild, spiky hair.
Bulma felt warmth building up in her chest as he carefully tended to her, her eyes misting as she registered the softness with which he treated her body. It was these moments, with his quiet and tender caresses, that really drove home the fact that he was truly the only man for her.
She loved him so much… this was the root of her distress. If she kept aging so much faster than him, she was going to leave him behind too early. Bulma knew that Vegeta was a changed man, but she couldn't help but worry about him should she not be around anymore. Who would treat his wounds when he pushed himself too much when training? Who would feed him? Who would calm him down when he was angry? She just wanted to always be there for him.
She also knew that he loved her too. Even without words, he let her know that everyday. His actions fed her heart and soul, and the way he touched her now was no different.
Would he be sad when she was gone? Was he going to be alright? Will he think about her often?
Her thoughts stalled when his hands journeyed up to her center to clean her there, a gasp spilling from her lips as he carefully caressed her lower. She felt the stirrings of desire form in the pit of her stomach.
Vegeta lifted his hands up as the water rinsed the suds from her body, his fingers stretching across her lower back while his mouth moved closer to her, placing a delicate kiss below her navel.
His lips started a trek across her lower abdomen, licking and kissing her skin, hot air blowing harshly from his mouth and nose as he dipped down, his lips hovering dangerously close to her center.
Bulma gasped, her grip on his hair tightening convulsively as his own fingers groped her ass, pulling her body closer to him as his teeth naughtily nipped at her upper thighs, close to the heated part of her that had begun weeping for his touch.
She hissed, desire flooding her at the promise of pleasure from his touch. Holding her hips steady with sturdy hands, he blew a breath into her before she felt his lips touch her core.
The water kept pelting down on them as he worked her body into a frenzy, and before she even realized what had happened, she was against the shower wall, her back against the cold tile as he lifted her left leg to rest against his shoulder, his mouth continuing its desperate search for her essence, making her arch closer to him with a wordless plea for more.
Her mouth was slack, her breathing becoming labored as he kept working her with his mouth, until she could take it no more, and she groaned his name out as she came, short gasping breaths leaving her while he kept pleasuring her long after she had climaxed.
He stood then, and Bulma threw herself into his arms and attacked his lips with hers, her mouth hungrily slanting over his while his arms enveloped her in an inescapable embrace.
She felt her feet leave the tiled floor as he lifted her, and she found herself seated on the marble counter, hissing as the cold stone touched her skin. She didn't stay cold for long, as his thick and powerful form dominated her, his arms possessively holding her against him.
She scooted closer to him, using her legs around him as leverage to pull herself to the very edge of the hard surface. She cried out in delight as his lips pulled away from hers to leave bites and kisses along her throat.
One of his hands tangled into the hairs at the back of her head and pulled, making her neck arch against him as he laved her with hot, open-mouthed kisses.
"Look at me," he commanded, and she did, so delirious with desire that she would have stolen the sun for him if he had asked, if it would mean that he would sate the fire burning inside her.
He leaned up and pulled her face close to his, staring directly into her eyes, and Bulma took in every single action, every single harsh breath.
"I want you to remember," he growled harshly against her cheek as he teased her, close enough to enter her.
"That this," he rubbed against her, and she mewled. "this is ours, Bulma. Ours. Only you could do this to me."
"Vegeta!" she gasped, his words penetrating her muddled thoughts.
Just then, he pulled his torso away from hers, placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her to lie back against the counter.
He placed her down so the mirror was to her side, and his arms reached out to recklessly push the various bottles off the counter to make space for them.
She laid back, a shocked exhale leaving her when he pulled her hips up to align it with his. Her upper back was against the cold surface, her arms flat against the counter, while her hips were tilted up. She watched as Vegeta leered at her from above her, the position making it easy for him to see all of her, and she felt his hard body nudging at her as he pulled her legs up to rest on his shoulders.
He grasped her hips, and with nearly brutal force, he pulled them onto his, claiming her so suddenly that she screamed in ecstasy, her back arching wildly, her entire form convulsing.
"I will always want this Bulma. I will always want you," he rasped, his eyes burning into hers, his words stirring her heart while his body pressed insistently into her own.
"Vegeta," she keened again, her body overwhelmed with pleasure while her mind was overcome by his love. "Please. Always love me. I have always loved you. So much!" she cried, tears gathering again in her eyes as his own flashed wildly.
A loud groan left her and she turned her head, only to stare lustfully as their carnal activities were reflected off the mirror she was now looking into. She was hopelessly turned on by the sight of him loving her forcefully, his face intense as he watched her body bend to his tantalizing touches.
He pulled out from her and she almost cried out in loss, but then he pulled her down from the counter and turned her so she faced away from him. She was now facing the mirror, and through it, she watched his flushed face as he moved to stand beside her.
He suddenly reached up with one arm, wrapped it around her waist, and lifted her so her back was to his chest.
She instinctively reached behind her to wrap an arm around his neck, her other hand finding purchase on his muscular forearm.
They both looked into the mirror, staring at her completely open before him.
She hesitated a little at the sight of herself, remembering how she criticized her changing body so harshly just a few hours before.
Vegeta caught on to her feelings immediately.
"Bulma," he growled into her ear. "Look at us."
He began to lower her body onto his, a hiss leaving his lips while a moan left hers. Their eyes were both glued onto the mirror before them.
When he was inside her, he kissed her cheek, his breaths panting over her skin.
"Look at us, Bulma," he groaned.
She found herself unable to look away from their image on the mirror.
His features were twisted in pleasure, his lips teasing her jaw while his eyes stayed trained on her reflection. She could see him, flushed, panting… his eyes alight with adoration, for her.
It was hot. She realized as she watched them in the throes of passion that them, making love, looked so, so hot.
He was so beautiful, they looked so good together, and she realized that no matter how other people saw her, in his hands, she felt like the most beautiful being to ever exist.
He made her feel exquisite. He made her feel loved.
She realized that the beauty and privilege of her youth had been her cocoon, a protective layer that made all things come easily to her. She was sheltered and ignorant to the woes of reality, living in a fantasy world with magic and mayhem.
This cocoon gave her the chance to grow, molded her into something magnificent. Now, in his arms, she had matured, flourished… in his hands, she had morphed like a butterfly, older and wiser, carrying all the experiences of her past, and made stronger and more beautiful by them. To him, she was not defined by the smoothness of her skin and the firmness of her body. To him, she was precious and always dearly cherished. To him, she was perfect.
Just as perfect as he was, to her.
He was an insufferable, prideful man, full of scars on the inside and out, insensitive to others and painfully uncouth…
But to her, he was everything.
He made her see that she, loud and overbearing, wrinkly and saggy, may have her flaws, but she was his everything.
They will always be perfect to each other…. Perfect for each other… Each other's everything.
"Do you see it now?" he growled, and she nodded, turning her head so she could meet his mouth with her own. She captured his lips, kissing him with desperate need. Her tongue tangled hungrily with his, teeth clashing in their fervor, and Bulma tried to let him know, through her kiss, that she knew what he had done… that she loved him so much, that she was so happy that they found each other in the vast universe, as she knew that he was absolutely the only one who could make her feel this way.
He pulled away from her kiss, pressing his forehead against hers as he gazed deep into her eyes.
"See how much I want you, Bulma? That will never change," he swore to her, his eyes staring intensely into her, drilling the truth into her heart as his body drove hers to incredible heights.
"You," he whispered defiantly, "are MY Bulma. Always."
"Yes!" she screamed, tears at his words falling from her eyes and mixing with the sweat that now coated their bodies. She called out his name, her head falling back, and his quick movements made her lift her head again, needing to watch them love each other, make her his all over again.
Unable to look away, she kept watching as their movements became more ardent, more urgent, as she writhed against him, desperate to bring them both to completion.
Suddenly, it all became too much, and with a shriek from her, and a groaned expletive from him, they came together, their bodies, hearts and minds in perfect sync in their shared ecstasy.
His knees buckled as he finished, and with a gasp, he slowly moved, letting her legs fall as he gathered her body in his arms again. He slumped down with her on the floor, her form wrapped in his embrace.
For several minutes, all that could be heard from them were harsh and stuttered breaths. Bulma was the first one to break the silence.
"The shower is still on," she smirked.
"Don't care," he mumbled into her hair.
"The bathtub is overflowing."
"The bathtub can go fuck itself."
"Vegeta, we're wasting water."
"Bulma, you have more than enough money to pay for the water bill."
She laughed heartily, pulling his face close to hers, giving him a soft kiss that he returned eagerly.
She extricated herself from his arms and pulled herself up, standing before him in all her nude glory, her confidence renewed by his touch and the way his eyes still roved over her like she was the most immaculate vision to ever grace his eyes. She reached down, offering a hand to him, and he, without hesitation, grasped it in his own.
"Tch," he sneered as he stood. "I guess we should wash up again."
"Yup," she agreed, pulling him to the bath with a grin.
Oh, how she loved this man. And today, he had managed to soothe her fears and keep her mind at peace in a way only he knew how.
He deserved a relaxing massage in the bathtub, at the very least.
END
A/N 2:
I headcanon that Saiyans have an aging pattern wherein they grow old in spurts. They look identical for several years in their childhood, hit a spurt, age into a pre-teen, look the same again for a few more years, until they hit their spurt that turns them into an adult. Their next one comes around their thirties, and they look about this age indefinitely until they hit their last few growth spurts into old age. This HC kinda played into this story.
Feedback would be greatly appreciated!