Strawberries.
Of the many Earth fruit delicacies Vegeta had eaten, these were his favorite. Strawberry ice cream was the killer. Everyone in the Brief household knew to avoid his vat of the creamy dessert in the walk-in storage freezer. If as much as a spoonful went missing – and he always knew – the Saiyan prince would find some insidious way to avenge the theft.
He was bathing in strawberries: arms, legs, and chest.
Chest?
No, no, no! Something was off. His gradually opened his eyes. His wife was licking and sucking on his chiseled pectorals like an ice creme cone. Bulma had doused him with a sticky, warm substance reminiscent of strawberries, evidently, but the key ingredient was nowhere to be found. His chest tingled; so did other bodily parts that his frisky spouse wanted him to use on her.
"Stop."
Bulma parted his lips with her finger to kiss. "No."
"This is beneath you, woman, slathering this foreign material on me without permission. It makes your morning breath smell strange, too." He turned over, pulling their blanket over his shoulder. "I was sleeping comfortably before your interruption."
Bulma licked her fingers. "You could brush your teeth more often before bedtime too, dearest husband of mine." She rose over him, shoving a knee against his back. "I kiss you in the morning because I love you. Otherwise, you would have a boiled peppermint bush and myrrh extract shoved into that ungrateful maw right now."
"Oh, really?" Vegeta dashed from the bed, causing her to fall face-down across their sheets and pillows. She barely had time to holler at him. He was ready for it, though.
"You ass! You ass! That's no way to treat your wife! You wake me up for morning sex all of the time! You're just selfish! It's all about you – twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I should throw you out!"
Bulma continued her rant for another two minutes before realizing that Vegeta was showering. Her arched eyebrows rose and relaxed. Like Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt, she had another chance to capture her prey. The woman had been a sharpshooter with men her entire life. The prince of all Saiyans was no different. He could destroy a mountain in seconds, but even he was unable to resist her.
He married her.
She skipped into the bathroom, dropping her silk negligée on the floor. Vegeta could barely be seen behind the shower glass. He loved bathing there. The space was cavernous, with textured, sandstone-colored tiles covering the walls from top to bottom. Natural light flowed in from frosted windows. A heated mineral water spa was on the room's periphery. Bulma had the room designed that way for him. She never told him directly, though. Vegeta once described what little he remembered of his planet's topography, before Frieza crushed his childhood and homeland to dust. When he finally realized what his wife did – an incredible gift of love and respect – he felt overwhelmed. After the room was completed, while holding Bulma in bed one night, he simply said: "I will be away a few days." They had been partners together long enough for her to understand – no questions asked.
"You don't need all of this steam. I can't see you well."
Vegeta propped his muscular leg on a large rock bathing seat after she joined him. "Maybe that is the point, Bulma. You are not the only one who appreciates the fine art of predation. One uses all tools available to catch one's breakfast."
"Oh, so I'm breakfast now, champion? How about sucking these two eggs on my chest, then? You can fry the bacon between my legs afterward."
Vegeta grabbed her, dousing her with liquid soap. "Eh, maybe I will have you for brunch after I train. Now please wash off that artificial garbage. If you wanted to arouse me, then you should have used the real thing. It's not like we don't have strawberry jam in the kitchen."
Bulma pouted as he pushed her underneath the shower-head. She didn't stop him from spinning her body until she was thoroughly drenched. Then, he spanked her – just once.
"I love how that sounds," he growled, until Bulma drove her right finger into his tail nub. She seized his dick with her left hand. He stumbled backward as if she'd punched him.
"Now then, what were you saying?" She pushed in harder. "Why… don't… we… have some breakfast, damn it?! I… am… hungry!"
Not one to be cornered easily, Vegeta dived for her right hand first. "I hate you," he hissed. Had she continued, he would likely fall unconscious from the carnal pleasure – and the pain. He felt faint already. "I didn't want to do this yet, but you leave me no choice."
Indecipherable foreign languages echoed from the bathroom for another hour. Vegeta barked and grunted orders, pausing at times to laugh with Bulma about her soprano-level howling.
Their son, Trunks, had been walking in the hallway near their bedroom. He never stopped being amazed at how loud his parents were during their sexual gladiator games. The entire space was almost as large as the first floor, with the bathroom strategically built far, far away from the main entrance. Bulma also had a sound-masking system installed long ago for privacy. She and Vegeta could talk, argue, and have as much raunchy sex as they wanted without disturbing people within a five-thousand-mile radius.
At nineteen-years-old, the din didn't scare the hell out the young man anymore – or turn his stomach. He understood, especially since his parents were growing older. If anything, he felt pleased that they were having fun and in excellent health to enjoy each other. Unlike his baby sister, he had memories of when their parents weren't always this happy – Vegeta, especially.
He smiled and continued walking. One of them forgot to turn the system on last night. That's rare. They might live longer than me having that kind of sex.
Bulma's legs sprawled on their bed in an acute triangle. Vegeta, now dressed in gym shorts, had stripped the sheets and blankets before dropping her on the mattress. Her body bounced on top like a rag doll.
"Those should be washed," he said, dropping their bath towels on her face and torso. Amused with himself, he shook his head. Bulma wasn't moving and would probably remain in her geometric pose for at least another hour. "You have accepted your punishment for disturbing me with honor."
"Mmmgshs usghs… mmm." All she could do was gurgle incoherently. "Shshigssgs." Her right arm flopped, directing him to leave.
"Hn." Such nerve. She's still giving me orders. I could keep this woman walking bow-legged for eternity, and yet she still challenges me.
He loved every minute of it. Sex was icing on the cake by this point: strawberry buttercream icing flavored with a touch of rum. Bulma, the cake, was the sweetness of living, not merely existing and dominating, that he once hadn't believed was meant for him. Sometimes he still wondered.
Removing his shorts, he moved behind her. Bulma sighed as he moved her rear up to penetrate her from the side. His hand rested on her thigh as he rocked and thrusted slowly, carefully, tenderly. While he always enjoyed splitting the ceiling with other forms of sex, this "spooning" had become a favorite. He was totally in love with her. Holding her like this felt natural. She always looked so safe and content.
Their bodies remained intertwined and warm after orgasm. Vegeta burrowed his chin into her hair. "Are you...happy now, Bulma?" His face showed little emotion, but his voice sounded slightly hesitant.
She looked up. "Uh, well, I'm not the only one who likes being taken for a ride."
Vegeta's eyes closed.
That certainly wasn't what he wanted or needed to hear. Maybe Bulma didn't care for this intimacy as much now as he? He never said how much closer he felt to her when they did. After all of these years he thought she felt similarly. She was the touchy-feely spouse whose mind sprinted through more nuanced emotional states than he ever believed existed.
He recalled numerous conversations that left him confused, ashamed, and angry because he couldn't muster the words to express himself. Bulma wasn't trying to hurt him; she was only miles ahead of understanding and interpreting her fears, strengths, and weaknesses. Her less-desirable characteristics were, of course, less potent and self-destructive than Vegeta's had been. He had to learn to give - to give, not take – like this, and it was extremely hard.
He released her to find his shoes. "Don't wait up for me tonight."
Bulma's cerulean eyes fixed on his back, studying the tension within the musculature. Uh oh. He's shutting down on me. What the hell happened? He delayed training for us to hang out this morning. I thought he was enjoying himself.
She became angry.
She loved Vegeta. It was an understatement to say their relationship had been difficult at first, but when they finally hit their "sweet spot" as partners, they had been happily and crazily married ever since. Yes, she chose to be with him, accepting his myriad complexities and scars, but right then he couldn't get away with just leaving. Years before, they agreed to bluntly state their relationship concerns before leaving home: whatever angered, concerned, or hurt them.
Doing this allowed both to save face, move forward, and manage outside responsibilities through the day – and, most important, think over what happened. If necessary, they could fight like angry hornets later. Many times they would. More often, they also approached arguments with a clearer idea of how the problems arose. Resolution didn't always end with direct apology either. Sometimes they didn't argue at all, having lost all motivation. When that happened, it usually meant that the aggrieved spouse just wanted to have his or her concerns to be heard.
Bulma hopped from the bed to retrieve her bathrobe and find a hairbrush. "Don't, Vegeta."
His shoulders stiffened. "Don't what?" He snapped his fingers to open the bedroom's side elevator. He wanted to be in the gravity training room – anywhere else, really – as soon as possible.
"This, right here," she said, facing him. "We have an agreement, babe."
Vegeta crossed his arms and looked away. "I am not in the mood for protracted discussion."
"Fine," Bulma replied. "Tell me the issue, and we can discuss it later. I must work today too, you know. You would have left by now if you couldn't speak at all. That hasn't happened in a long time between us."
"You are angry with me."
"I am." Facing the vanity mirror, she sat down to brush her hair.
Vegeta found the simple act magnetic. Her locks had progressed into a stunning shade of lavender-silver, too. She was most beautiful during these relaxed, unpretentious moments. He couldn't leave now, and he knew Bulma knew it.
He was also incredulous. Damn this woman. "Really? You are angry with me? What the hell for?! I haven't done anything wrong!"
"You have," Bulma said, "but, first, should we talk more now or later? If so, then provide the topic."
Vegeta's head tilted down, clearly expressing distrust. "It… has always been so easy for you, Bulma. I know we've been together for many years, but sometimes you forget…" He stopped.
Bulma rotated in her chair, crossing her arms over the top edge. "That finding the right words can be difficult and, at times, still agonizing for you."
"Hn." Vegeta opened the balcony doors. The September air had just enough chilliness to calm his senses. Bulma slipped into her thick ecru-colored bathrobe and slippers to join him.
"Care for more company?"
"Do as you wish," he said curtly. "You know me. I can take or leave it when I'm thinking - even with you." His dark, penetrating eyes had the hue and luminosity of graphite. Bulma loved them as much as he loved the ocean reflected in hers.
He blinked once as she sat down. Body scan over.
"I am warm enough, Vegeta."
"If you say so." He resisted the strong urge to wrap her in ski pants and an overcoat – and snow boots. The outside temperature was sixty degrees Celsius. Bulma, of course, would say "one-hundred forty Fahrenheit" to be fancy. She loved watching the orange-and-red-colored leaves spin and float until reaching solid ground. Vegeta had just as much appreciation for the natural world as she. He never said it, but, when he wasn't training, he often found ways to have her explore it with him.
Once he made peace for staying on Earth, the world became brand new - and now, delightfully, he had a partner who shared in his excitement. Bulma had been an explorer from childhood, but she enjoyed watching her husband immerse himself in what others took for granted. In fact, they had sex so many times in the mountains that the elk weren't afraid of them anymore. That was their inside joke, at least.
They sat quietly for a while until Vegeta looked at her. "Why?"
Bulma had been dozing, but she heard him. "Why?" She stretched and yawned. He had provided their discussion topic. "Hmm. Okay. Is that all?"
"I suppose it is."
She kissed his cheek. "Thank you for sticking to our agreement."
"Yeah, whatever." Vegeta moved her aside to stand. Either that or commence another round of deep kissing and fucking on the balcony's barrier wall. All of this was possible despite his earlier insecurities, which was the opposite of what he wanted. He didn't want to prove himself.
Yet he had still asked Bulma "Why?" The question was loaded. Maybe he really didn't want more granular details about his wife's acceptance of him. He had never, ever asked. As a younger man, before they settled down, he arrogantly assumed that she was supposed to. They had been raising a child together - separately. Why wouldn't she accept, even though he hadn't fully accepted her? His subconscious mind knew better, of course, which is why he had trouble "disappearing" from her life. Bulma continued being exactly who she was, from beginning to end.
Then there was the Majin "incident." The prince had allowed himself to become possessed because of his once-distorted idea of pride, risking his and everyone else's lives. Did Bulma shame him afterward? No. Did she walk away, taking their son? Hell, yes. That felt like having lava poured over him.
But they returned to each other.
Bulma knew that terrible event had changed his life forever, but her anger and hurt were justified. She also realized that many of his psychological demons had been purged. She also accepted that being with the prince had always been a choice – a choice. She could have asked him to leave permanently at any time, and, most likely, he would have without further argument.
Bulma didn't wait up for him that evening. Her oil-stained work clothes and shoes lay on the floor of their bedroom's antechamber. Vegeta hated when she did that, but that's why they had cleaning robots. Two packed bags sat near the entrance, which he didn't notice because his thoughts preoccupied him. Their talk wouldn't happen tonight, and it appeared that both were content with that.
He stretched out in the bed, placing his arms behind his head. He didn't see terribly in complete darkness, but he wouldn't have paid attention to the nightstand had it not been for a night light. He frowned.
She took sleeping pills tonight.
That made him feel worse. Worrying over him might not have prompted her need for them. She didn't use them often, but something else could have happened. Would he have to maim someone for upsetting her? He laughed softly. That probably would be fun, but then Bulma might need more pills afterward. When her body stirred, he turned sideways to watch her breathe. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her back. He kissed her bare shoulder, and then he fell asleep.
Darn it. I took too much.
Bulma had overslept. She usually awakened briefly before Vegeta left in the morning to teach students or train alone, or with Trunks. The bags remained where she placed them. Within an hour, she was dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a jacket, with her hair pinned back. Luckily, was Vegeta raiding the kitchen refrigerator for lunch. She walked in front of the door, where he remained bent over.
"What upset you?" he said, handing her two jugs of orange juice from below.
"I just couldn't sleep, and no it wasn't anything you did if you're wondering."
"I dislike it when you take those pills, Bulma. They could reduce your responsiveness to danger."
She clasped her hands and blinked flirtatiously. "That's why you're here to save me, big daddy."
He looked up. "What the hell is this? Why are you dressed like that?"
"Because we're all going to Aries point for the next four days, so get dressed. It's already 1 p.m. We'll use my plane."
Vegeta slowly chomped on the roasted leg-of-whatever variety of meat he had then. "That would be a no – especially if 'we're all' includes our children. Have you forgotten what the word badlands means?" He had also fought Goku there for the first time. Now he wondered if those pills damaged her brain.
Bulma sipped from her coffee thermos. "Be dressed in fifteen minutes. You know it takes more time to travel there normally."
Incensed, Vegeta's eyes blazed. "I said no! How dare you demand this from me! You know what happened there. Go alone, and do not expect me to be here for a few days after you return!"
"We still have to talk, honey."
"That's it! There is no use wasting our time on this - agreement or not. This is preposterous." He threw the bone into trash grinder and walked out.
He cursed and muttered angrily all the way to the gravity room. The training robots would be programmed ''shoot-to-kill' today.
"Daddy?"
He sighed. His daughter had been waiting for him. "What, Bulla? I need to be alone right now."
"I thought you were going with us."
"It is … not a good time, princess."
"Are you and mommy fighting?"
"We are having a disagreement, not a fight."
"So why were you yelling then? I heard you from the window."
He looked forward to Bulla graduating from the "why" stage of early childhood into the "I don't fucking care what my parents do as long as they leave me alone with my friends" phase.
"You are tempting me to yell now. Also, your ears are sensitive because you're part Saiyan. Everything sounds like yelling at your age, especially on this planet."
Bulla took his hand. "Pick me up, daddy."
"You're too big for that…"
"Pick me up! Pick me up! Pick me up!"
"That's enough, child!" He covered her mouth. "My answer is no – got it?"
She stomped around him. "I'm not going if you don't! Tell me why you're not!"
He bent down, looking into her eyes. "You are so much like your mother sometimes. You'll leave with Bulma. Our argument has nothing to do with you. You are loved. I expect good behavior while you're gone. I'm leaving now, princess."
Vegeta stroked his little girl's head and picked her up. Damn these Brief women.
"Trunks said you went camping together when he was little."
Camping my ass. Vegeta frowned, knowing his son had told a bald-faced lie. They trained like warriors. Trunks knew the prince wouldn't go without manipulation. That traitorous, ungrateful brat is dead to me!
"Fine."
Bulla's eyes lit up. "Fine, what?"
"Do not make me repeat myself," Vegeta grumbled. "You heard me."
"Yay!"
"Keep your mouth shut about this. I will fly there alone after you leave. Now go away before I change my mind. Did you and Trunks pack training clothes?"
Bulla nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good."
Vegeta arrived the second day, landing about twenty miles away from their camping site. The rugged terrain hadn't changed: vast caves and canyons of red- and-orange rock and mudstone, too. Streams wound through parts of the landscape. Desert animals scurried. Others may have considered the land beautiful in its own way, but that sentimentality fell dead at his feet. He remembered exactly where he and Goku fought, though the rock formations had been decimated. In his son's lingua franca, the battle was "epic." In some ways he wished Trunks had witnessed it – a crazy, crazy thought, yes, but both he and Goku had been reborn as men there. That was factual.
"No one would probably ever understand except for Kakarot and me." He didn't long for the poisoned mind of the person who fought back then, though.
His children had started the evening fire earlier than necessary, he thought. He held his tongue to resist the omnipresent urge to create and preserve order.
Trunks raised a finger to his lips so Bulla wouldn't squeal. Then, he opened a telepathic connection with his father. "Well, well, well. You finally showed up. Did you bring more capsules with food? I'm starving."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "Starve, then! How could you lie to your sister like that?"
Trunks smiled as Bulla climbed into his lap. "By any means necessary, buddy. You're here, aren't you? Mom wanted you around more than you realize. She didn't have to tell me. She's napping now."
"It is rather early. Is she feeling well?"
"Just tired. She has encyclopedic knowledge of every creature running around here. It's scary."
Vegeta smirked. "Yeah, I know. The animals are interesting, though." He threw Trunks a small container of food capsules. "Don't expect fine dining. I did that on purpose."
Trunks saluted. "I wouldn't expect anything different."
He had soon changed clothing after entering the main tent. Bulma didn't wake until he laid down on the air mattress. She reached for his hand, which he held without looking directly at her.
"Got bored without us, didn't you?"
"I was tricked by your deceitful son. I will brutalize him during morning training."
"He's such a good boy."
"I do not appreciate any of this, Bulma. I am still angry with you."
"Good. Now we can talk honestly. How did you feel after seeing where you fought again?"
"I don't know."
"Pain, sadness, exhilaration, dread, fear, envy, pride, remorse, freedom?"
Vegeta looked over at her. "Will you stop it, woman? What do you expect me to say?"
"Actually, honey, I really don't expect you to say anything. All I want is for you to understand and fully accept what that complex, deadly situation did to and for you."
Vegeta released her hand. "I'm hungry. We'll shout when the food is ready. Finish your nap."
Bulma sat up, grabbing his fingers. "You asked me why, Vegeta, remember? We were enjoying ourselves before you left our bed that day. Tell me what happened."
"I asked if you were happy," he said, fidgeting. "I thought I had pleased you. Holding and making love to you in that way helps me feel closer to you. I didn't know how to react from what you said. Did I overreact? I guess, but how would you have responded?"
"By responding the way you are now. I'm sorry, honey. We joke and bitch about everything so much together that I was just being playful."
"Tell me now why were you angry with me."
"Lie down with me again." She lay her head on his chest. "Vegeta, you are 51 years old, and I am 49. You cannot continue doing this. I've known for weeks about where your mind has been. It's cyclical, almost. If you can't trust in where we are together, then there's nothing more I can say. We have two children, you've died twice, and I have died once - and, um, you have invaded my personal and professional life for more than two decades."
"Tch. You are rewriting history. You invited me to live here."
"Yeah, so you wouldn't kill yourself and everyone else. You are still here for a reason, and it's pissing me off that my husband might spend the next sixty years of our marriage waiting for the other shoe to drop. That's ridiculous. Look at us. We have more and better sex than our handsome and intelligent son."
"I question the intelligence part, Bulma."
"The point is we both made a choice, foolish man. Loving you is like breathing for me. We wouldn't be together if I didn't understand the other language you speak: through your actions."
Vegeta touched her breast and smirked. "So, uh, how about some action?" Bulma laughed out loud, pulling him down for a kiss.
"Mommy! Daddy! What are you doing? Trunks said…"
"Bulla Brief, I don't give a…" Bulma quickly covered his mouth. He nipped her finger.
"Ow! Vegeta, stop it!" She couldn't stop laughing. He winked and stomped out of the tent.
"You are a dead man, Trunks! Bulla, get your training clothes, too! There's still enough daylight for us to blow up things. No dinner until we do!"
END