A/N – this chapter isn't so much comedy as much as it is 'sickeningly romantic drunken couple bonding', I think? I may add one last chapter after this one (although it's kind of out of season now oops)
"What is it you want to pester me with now?" Vegeta demanded.
He had escaped the night's festivities by retreating to one of Capsule Corp's upstairs lounges, where he had been free to mull over his awful evening. He had been enjoying his moment of solitude, which turned out to be fleeting once Bulma intruded upon him.
Her motive for the incursion on the royal wasn't hard to guess—she had a bottle of 150-proof rum at hand, and in her other a glass filled with eggnog, which she had poured a portion of the former into to dilute the solution. The liquor in the bottle alone had to be strong and unable to be consumed straight, as Bulma took only the most timid of sips from her alcoholic eggnog concoction.
"That beverage smells terrible," the prince remarked, flaring his nostrils. He was not making a complaint without cause; the odor of such a high concentration of alcohol irritated his fine-tuned nasal passage.
"If you take a swig, the smell won't bother you anymore," Bulma invited, a purr to her voice as she waved the bottle of rum toward him.
"Is it your intention to poison me with that wretched drink?" Vegeta scoffed, though he did not outright refuse her offer. He was in a foul mood.
For him the evening had been humiliating and exhausting to his pride, having allowed himself to be coerced into what the Saiyan prince viewed as the equivalent of slavery, all for the benefit of others. Long ago he'd promised himself that he would only be remotely kind toward Bulma and their son, but he had been almost civil toward Bulma's parents, a pair of jesters whom he had little tolerance for. He didn't want them to see him as anything less than intimidating, but his behavior had been almost benevolent. Acting in such a manner was a disgrace to him.
Having a drink and kicking back to take his mind off the horrid events of the evening sounded tempting.
He snatched the bottle from her, wrinkling his nose as the highly concentrated aroma of alcohol from within reached his senses.
"Cheers," Bulma proposed cordially, settling herself on the sofa next to her counterpart and raising her glass to him. Her pleasantries went unreciprocated. Vegeta almost relinquished the entire bottle of its contents in one gulp. He had to struggle to hold his bile as he ingested what tasted like acid to him.
Not hearing any remarks from her brooding companion, Bulma opened into a mostly one-sided conversation. "Why'd you get up and leave in the middle of dinner? You didn't even save room for dessert. You just shoved everything that was on your plate into your mouth and you stormed off with a mean look on your face."
He didn't bother answering. He couldn't tell Bulma how much he despised sitting at the dinner table with her chattering brain-dead mother and equally foolish father.
But what had set Vegeta off was when Trunks had dumped a spoonful of gravy-smothered mashed potatoes onto the elder prince's lap. Amidst the annual Christmas dinner chaos, Vegeta had easily slipped away for a much needed change of clothes—and a change of scenery. He couldn't stand to be around so many cheerful faces and having his clothing soiled by his clumsy brat of a son all in one night.
Her inquiry unanswered, Bulma rambled, "Ah well, hey, I'm just glad you willingly showed up for dinner this year. Last time we had to drag you out to eat with the family."
He could not forget that little fiasco. His roars of protest over Bulma's nagging had filled the home that entire day. He'd ended up conceding and grudgingly joining his family for the celebrations, but only as a non-participant (except when it came to eating the Christmas meals, of course). The battle had ended favorably on his end, at least, with the hate-sex that had followed later that night.
"I guess sneaking away turned out to be a good idea. Now we can have some grown-up time," Bulma said with a suggestive tone, nudging Vegeta in his ribs with her elbow and breaking him out of his pleasant imaginings. "Now we just gotta loosen you up a little."
The royal offered only a scoring Tch and took another drink, draining the bottle completely of the liquid it housed.
Only several minutes later, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth in a taut frown, Vegeta remained still as Bulma hung a wreath around his neck. In accompaniment of the wreath she began hanging ornaments in his spiky hair, which managed to support the added weight. Bulma had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a snort as her eyes roved over her Christmas decoration-clad prince.
If he had not been inebriated, Vegeta would not permit this unacceptable behavior and desecration of his royal appearance. "Remind me, what value is there in doing this?" he asked suspiciously.
"It's a holiday tradition… a 'stupid human mating ritual', you might say," Bulma lied, snickering, "I told you about mistletoe, didn't I? It's like that."
Vegeta said nothing, silently accepting her answer. Earthling traditions seemed foolish to him. It wouldn't surprise him if being garnished in holiday decorations counted as some sort of stupid human courtship practice. The act screamed of impracticality and senselessness, but he allowed Bulma to amuse herself. And that he was too intoxicated to dispute her claim attributed to him condoning her behavior.
Bulma chuckled at how gullible he was. Upon hunting him down after dinner and offering him a drink, her intention had been to engage in sofa-bound makeouts, but adorning him with decorations was even better, and it was not something she could get away with on any other occasion.
"Your hair looks like a Christmas tree," she guffawed, "Now, if only I could get some tinsel and a string of lights… and if you go Super Saiyan, I can get some green hair dye and—"
Retaliating at last, Vegeta swatted the ornaments from his hair. "No, absolutely not. You've pushed your luck far enough as it is."
The royal clumsily fumbled with the wreath around his neck as he pulled it up and over his head, then he tossed it like a frisbee. The projectile wreath went sailing through the air, where it disappeared into the unlit depths of the room. The rebounding motion of swinging his arm caused the drunken Saiyan to stumble and collapse further into the sofa. Bulma burst out laughing at that gesture.
"You know I was only kidding about the mating ritual thing," she admitted. "I just thought you'd look adorable with decorations in your hair!"
Sputtering, Vegeta objected, "You fool! Do not mock me for your amusement!"
While Bulma underwent a fit of laughter, Vegeta grit his teeth together, his face burning red in his embarrassment.
It wasn't that she had dressed him in Christmas decorations that had humiliated him. He had believed that it was part of a legitimate coupling practice, and he had been fully expecting to reap the benefits such an act promoted. He only resented that he had very willingly fallen for her ploy.
He would not stand to subject himself to such improper treatment of his appearance without being rewarded.
While Bulma continued to laugh jovially, the Saiyan pulled the meanest grimace he could muster in his drunken state, sitting upright with his body turned toward her and scowling her down. The heiress only laughed harder, but her merriment came to an abrupt halt as the grouchy drunk struck, clutching her face in his hands and slamming his mouth into hers. The attempt was clumsy and off the mark, and he did not break away, holding the suffocating lip lock for over seven seconds until Bulma was squirming to be released. Hands stationed on his shoulders, she pushed him away, to his displeasure.
"You're really drunk," she exclaimed, though she was pleasantly surprised by his forwardness. The rough kiss had been the most smothering smooch he had given her in a long time. It was not unlikable; in fact she was rather favoring his spontaneity. It seemed the rum had lowered his inhibitions a great deal, and she quickly decided she wanted to take full advantage of him in this state and see what else he could do.
She wondered aloud, "If I had a mistletoe picture stamped on my underwear, would you kiss me like that down there?"
The drunken prince only glared at her. His affections going unwanted—or so he thought—he curled up on the sofa with his back to her, brooding, "Stop pestering me, wench."
Of course, the woman was far too persistent to get up and leave. But Vegeta didn't entirely mind when she curled up along him from behind.
"You did an excellent job frosting the cookies," she complimented, husking against his ear, "And thanks for putting out that small blaze in the oven… And I hope you'll be 'putting out' tonight." With that, her hand crawled its way down to his hindquarters, where it squeezed the back of his thigh.
Ignoring her vulgar remark (or possibly too drunk to have picked it up), Vegeta digressed viciously, "This planet can burn for all I care."
"Someone's in a bad mood," Bulma jeered.
Seeing as her thigh-squeeze approach had failed, she instead wound her arms around and over Vegeta's chest to hug him from behind. He didn't object, accepting the snuggle for a few minutes.
Then, slowly he turned around. Bulma spared no time to reposition her arms to hug him at this position, burying her face in his chest.
To her surprise and delight, Vegeta returned the embrace, squeezing tightly with both arms and pulling her closer into his warm chest. For a moment she felt safe and comfortable… until the squeezing intensified and the loving embrace became a crushing bear hug. His grip around her ribs increased with unintentional force.
"Ow! Vegeta, dammit, not so hard!" Bulma gasped out, writhing to be free.
The drunken Saiyan didn't relent, oblivious to the heiress' discomfort as he crushed her even closer to him. Normally, he wasn't especially partial to showing this sort of affection toward her—it wasn't that he wouldn't want to, but initiating such acts of endearment did not come easily to him. But now that he was drunk he could do such things without shame, though he was unaware that he was now nearly squeezing the life from the object of his affections.
He finally came to his senses when he felt teeth in his collarbone. He recoiled from the woman who had nipped at him with her fangs, watching her as she panted and recovered from near asphyxiation. With a small semblance of humiliation he realized his gaffe—in such an inebriated state he had forgotten he needed to limit his strength around her and had been driven to impulsively latching onto her, a bit too strongly.
Wheezing, Bulma composed herself, giving Vegeta the evil eye as she exploited more horrible holiday hymns, "Are you going to be naughty or nice? If you're not on your best behavior, you'll find coal in your stocking tomorrow!"
Vegeta slurred ill-temperedly, "Enough of your drivel." He turned his back to her once again, unable to face Bulma out of shame. He'd damn near crushed the woman in his drunken stupor. Such a careless slip was unacceptable.
Bulma overlooked his folly. She continued jabbering, "I know you don't really care about Christmas, but is there anything you would like tomorrow?"
Burying his face into the cushions, Vegeta grumbled, "Copulation. The moment I awake."
"That's not surprising… Oh, I know! Maybe I'll dress up in some Mrs. Claus themed lingerie, with red leather and white fuzzy cuffs. And it'll be a lot more fun if you dress up, too, in a fake white beard and a Santa hat, and you can talk dirty to me—'ho ho ho'—and go down my chimney!"
Vegeta turned and looked over his shoulder to stare at Bulma, wide-eyed and wordless with horror.
The thought of her in red leather, however, sounded very appealing.
He turned around fully once more, shifting his position until he was huddling over Bulma. He looked her up and down reproachfully, wondering if she was currently wearing the red lingerie she spoke of. He knew full well that her words sometimes hid clever intentions, so it would not surprise him in the least if she had planned this out ahead. It wouldn't hurt to find out…
"What are you up to now? Will you give me a present?" mewed Bulma, fluttering her eyelashes as she looked up at the imposing brute.
Vegeta scoffed, "Impatient harlot. I'll give it to you right now."
He proceeded to drunkenly fumbling with her pants, trying in vain to undo the zipper. Bulma's inebriated heart raced and she gushed, "So you are planning to give me a gift tomorrow! That's so sweet of you!"
Though he did not like his actions being referred to as 'sweet', this was one gift he wouldn't mind giving… although of course he was hoping for something in return.
Through a combined effort, the pair finally managed to yank Bulma's pants off. Another wave of the alcohol's intoxicating power washed over Vegeta. He was dazed and tired now, wanting nothing more than to hurry through his exploits.
"Wait, I want you to look at my panties!" Bulma said when he tried to yank them off.
He eyed the designated area critically, expecting to see red, but he was shocked at what he saw instead. Just as the conniving wench had hinted at earlier, there was a mistletoe decal stamped right above the crotch of her underwear. On the waistband of the panties blaring out in red and green letters was a crude statement: Kiss me under the mistletoe.
His face red and his mouth hanging open, Vegeta backed away.
"Heh, told you," Bulma said proudly, "Would you care for some 'season's eatings'? That's something I was hoping you'd give me for Christmas."
Fuming and sputtering, Vegeta vowed, "I will maul you to death the moment this dexterity-inhibiting poison wears off!"
"If by 'death' you mean 'the pinnacle of pleasure', then by all means do so," Bulma sassily countered with a knowing smirk.
Vegeta only snorted, but he did not deny her assumption. He laid himself down on the sofa, crossing his arms across his chest and shutting his eyes. What he wanted most now was to sleep off the alcohol in his system, then he would show Bulma a 'mauling' so extreme that the heiress would quiver uncontrollably and believe she was nearing death.
To Bulma, his silence spoke volumes. She marveled at his willingness to give her something non-material as a gift, though carnal as it was. The acts of endearment the normally reluctant and grumpy Saiyan extended to her were something she had once never imagined he would willingly give, not without outright demanding she give him what he wanted first.
The eggnog and rum concoction beginning to take its effect on her, Bulma fell asleep, sprawled across Vegeta's abdomen. The prince drifted into slumber, dreaming of red leather and plowing through chimneys, going from house to house to burn the cookies the inhabitants had left out for Santa.