Desperation
as long as the wrong feels right, it's like i'm in flight
He watches her diligently from the window high up in the complex. She's easy to spot in the yard, a thrush of blue in a world of green, her face proud and tilted up to the sun as she lounges by the man-made pond. She's bathing in the daylight, and it's hypnotizing, and he really can't help but hate her bit by bit for making his stomach churn in this agonizing way.
Her every moment is caught by his dedicated eye these days. A shift of her hips, a flick of her wrist; Vegeta is almost unnaturally attentive to her nuance. He supposes that's his own fault, letting himself find that place in her and with her – a pause for weakness, one he is not particularly proud of.
It did not yield the effective consequences he had anticipated. Instead, he was rewarded with this nagging necessity, annoyance, confusion, and frustration.
She rises from the lounger and cants her head in the direction where he knows his training facility is located. The possibility that she's considering him brings a smirk to his face and sends a ripple down his spine; it should be expected, of course. But on second thought, there's no reason it should, and he gruffly stomps from the window before he can note her careful glance up the wall toward his perch.
xxx
He'd rather a quicker, more dignifying means of death if he could find it anywhere else.
That's when the decision to leave comes, as she's huffing jagged breaths against the shell of his ear and the delicate feel of her surrounding him almost brings tears of shame to his eyes. Her hair is like silk against his collar and his attention to such an inconsequential detail, and the fact that these extended periods of closeness are bordering on intimate – he absolutely can't do this. Not with this woman.
The thought alone makes him nauseous, and Vegeta digs his fingertips roughly into her hips and he tips her off his torso. The loss of her is immediate, and he burns at the recognition of it. He can't be doing this.
Bulma gripes in high tones and rolls over on her side. He tells her to leave. She flips him the universal sign to fuck himself then settles deeper into his pillow with a soft sigh that makes him clench his fists. The woman's been determined to bunk with him since they began these midnight rendezvous, and he has always turned her away before the satisfying ache in his bones had dissipated. This evening should be no different.
He presses up from the bed and pads across to the bathroom without a word. He avoids his reflection, washes his hands, and he counts the moments before she vacates his space.
Yet when the doors part again, he finds her still recumbent, tangled up in his damp sheets. She looks fair and otherworldly under the sliver of moonlight that slips through his single side window, and his feet can't carry him from the room fast enough.
Author's Note: ... okay, so I found this song off Eminem's new album. It's called "Love The Way You Lie" and talk about inspiration! The moment I heard it, I typed this little diddy up. So yeah, I know it was originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but it looks like that's changing. ;)