The mood is high and the air in the nightclub is thick. Vegeta has won his biggest trial yet - a huge corporate case that will put his firm on the map once and for all.
The alcohol from her too-full glass runs over her fingertips, it's a fancy upscale club with an even fancier name. Fire - in some exotic language. Like the dress she is wearing that fits like a second skin and makes the sweat pool down her spine.
Everyone is here. Everyone is elated. Even Vegeta seems to be in an openly good mood. He's still wearing his suit, jacket and tie discarded, and as she is making her way back from the bar she can't help but swoon over how hot her boyfriend is.
Sex on legs. All forbidden darkness. Especially when he's smiling like this. It's a smile fueled by bourbon but it makes her panties damp nonetheless. She's a little buzzed herself when she finally makes it over, squeezing his strong bicep and telling him how proud she is of him. Always knew he could do it.
Before he can answer her song comes on, it's some hip remix with tango elements and she's on the dance floor tempting the devil in disguise to dance with her. Fingers curling in a come-hither motion and a grin so dirty anyone can guess what will likely happen in the too-small bathroom stalls later in the night.
To her surprise Vegeta is drunk enough and high on his win in court, joining her on the dance floor. Whisking the reigns of control straight out of her small hands.
The next thing she knows is that he is spinning her across the dance floor, dragging her along his body and dipping her low - on beat! She's known he had training when growing up, but this is the first time she's encountering his hidden talent.
Strong hands are gliding over her tight dress and exposed skin like the lover he is and the fact that they have the dance floor to themselves while the crowd is cheering and whistling faintly reminds her of the provocative and sex-charged show they are putting on.
She doesn't care. Let them watch. She loves this man, who usually is so uptight in public, so the fact that she is shamelessly grinding her crotch against his thigh between her legs is Christmas to her extroverted personality. When he spins her again and her behind presses into his hardening member Bulma knows where she'll drag him when this song is over.
They are both sweaty, bowing to the hollering crowd in mock curtsies before disappearing together. Working out the sudden tension in a place just a tiny bit more private. She's so high on life that she moans wantonly throughout anyway, his hand over her mouth be damned.
It's only a few hours later when the phone buzzes on the nightstand mocking their disheveled appearances and heavy heads. It's Raditz. He's sending them a video pushing and urging Vegeta to open the message, who doesn't even lift his face out of the pillow to grunt into the phone, and get back to him after watching it.
When they both force bleary eyes to open long enough to focus their blood freezes. It's them. On the dance floor. All but having sex.
Next to her Vegeta goes very still and very quiet. She knows why. Knows that now it's only a matter of time before the tattoos winding up his torso will come to haunt them. The very ink she so often uses as a treasure map to his most private places. Tracing precise lines with soft fingers and nipping kisses.
Their late night escapades have dragged the elusive Prince of Darkness into the light.