Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball

Gravity

The nice morning turned boiling by midday, a relentless sunny onslaught shines on Bulma during the walk to the workshop. Halfway there, the purposeful stroll turns languid under the pounding sun, gradually slowing to a full stop under the shade of a large tree. View of the manicured gardens that surround her family's property brings up many memories, most recently her guests' departure. All but one that is, a metallic glint amidst the greenery chided.

The gravity machine originally made for Goku and improved for Vegeta is where the latter spends there most of his waking hours. Shortly after the Nameks departure, fighter and scientist settled into a surprisingly similar routine. Sleeping, eating, and training for him. Sleeping, eating, and working for her. They occasionally interacted; cordially quiet around meals and most notably boisterous, insult-ridden repair requests the rest of times. He has substantial vocabulary and creativity, she'll give him that much.

She doesn't mind it, the extra work takes up the spare time consequent from breaking up with Yamcha. The split was a long time coming and doesn't cause heartache exactly, but prying apart interwoven parts after ten years together does leave things slightly off-kilter. And so, she has plenty of time available for tending to the ever demanding, perpetually scowl-wearing Saiyan warrior.

Movement near to the entrance of the machine draws her eye, Bulma loses her train of thought. Hells he is sexy. She feels an inevitable pull and the realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Before, his less than stellar attitude cooled any stray thought. Right now, his bare torso evokes a full body shudder not at all unpleasant and when he folds over at the waist giving her a lovely view of his toned behind, she turns and runs away.

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