Lovemaking
A Vegeta and Bulma love story by Reiyuka
After that first time, she left her bedroom door unlocked for him. Not that he had particular need of that, after all, her bedroom window was usually open anyway. But she made a point of it to invite him.
There was seldom a night in which he didn't show up. Sometimes he came as early as 11pm, at other times as late as 5 am. She always welcomed his company, however, and was pleased when he decided to spend the entire night with her.
He was usually in a hurry, their clothes scattering about the room as he pulled them off. He was gentle in a surprising way, but the moment where she opened for him, all gentleness flew out the window and he continued in a hurry of emotions. His passion infused her own and she loved every minute of their lovemaking.
Sometimes his passion changed to a need, a hunger, like she was food for a starving man. He nipped at her neck, grazing the skin with his teeth as if he wanted to take in her taste. He grabbed fistfulls of her hair, smelling it as if he wanted to remember her scent forever. His hunger was hurtful – she took great extents to cover up her bruised lips and the bite marks on her shoulders, hiding them from plain sight, yet revelling at them in private. She felt proud at being wanted, at being needed so. A part of her thought that she was sick, enjoying the pain he brought her as much as she savoured their regular lovemaking, however hurried that may be.
But then there were the times where he was surprisingly gentle, going to great lengths to please her. He was a skillfull lover and whenever he was in one of his genteel moods, he displayed his skill with a tenderness that most people would have thought unfathomable. After she had first experienced his hunger for a woman and had enjoyed it so, she had feared that something was wrong with her to receive such bliss from such pain. Luckily she found out that it didn't matter what he did to her. His being gentle or being a brute didn't matter to her body. Her body that ached for his touch and arched with the lightest hint of his breath on her skin.
They never spoke of it afterwards. Many an evening was spent in complete silence as he shared the Briefs' family time after much coaxing of her mother. Many a night was spent watching the sweat on his brow, the gleam of his gravity-defying hair and the rise and fall of his chest. Many a morning was spent marvelling at her new scars of love, at the marks and patterns that his body had created on hers, like a mark of ownership. Many a day was spent fighting with him, throwing things at him in a huff and calling him whichever name possible as he led her on in her childish anger.
She didn't know why he came to her bed, other than that he found her exotic and beautiful. That didn't matter so much as the things she had come to feel for him. Things she was slowly coming to terms with and things which gradually took over her way of thinking. It didn't matter if he cared for her – although she hoped and thought he did everytime her body was filled with contentment after careful, tender lovemaking – or at least, it didn't matter yet. Or anymore. She herself was not sure of that. Their life at night was separate from everything else in their existence. And at the same time, she felt like she existed solely for their shared nights. She knew not what would happen to them, but she was well aware of the fact that it couldn't last.
For now, he was with her, though, and that was all her mind could focus on.