Disclaimer: If I actually owned Dragon Ball, it would be rated 18+.
Chapter 4 – A Little Game of Cat and Mouse
A week had passed. It was morning as Bulma sauntered into the kitchen, stretching her arms high above her head as she gave an overstated yawn. Vegeta was already lodged at the table with his breakfast of natto miso soup.
"There you are Vegeta," Bulma greeted, "long time no see. You've just been sequestering yourself in the ship. Every time I go and check over there, the gravity is implemented non-stop, day and night."
During the intervening week, Bulma had had ample time to dissect that one revolutionary moment between her and Vegeta that had spontaneously created something startlingly complex from the most primitive of precursors under the most unlikely of circumstances. A genesis of friendship, succor and morale had been established between them. This new atmosphere was just percolating in a gaseous mixture that was ready to form stronger bonds and she felt like she had to be the catalyst for any further reactions. But would it be right to induce a chain of reactions with Vegeta, when his very nature was volatile and she had no way to predict what the end product would be?
Volatile? Bulma felt her lips buzz with the same pins and needles sensation as after their first kiss. It was very odd to feel that sort of analgesia in her lips be offset by something sharp, like she was just a doll being coerced by someone else's voodoo magic, and each thought of Vegeta's kiss was another pin of life in her world-weary subconscious. She felt like she was being controlled by fate. She had recapped their kiss so often that she had become an overstuffed pin cushion, but after a week of such acupuncture, she had no need for any more mental therapy. She had compiled her findings about that one rash action from herself and had come to some ground-breaking conclusions.
Yes, she really did like him.
For someone so smart maybe her feelings weren't altogether that sophisticated. Her initial realization hadn't arisen from the stress and the emotion of Vegeta's breakdown, it was truly a part of herself like some latent ability that had only now fully activated because Vegeta had needed her, had accepted her help.
Through trial and error, she could determine why she liked him, even though when she finally figured it out, she laughably had the image of Chi Chi in her mind giving her the lecture of a lifetime about her poor taste in men and poor decision making skills, which would make her reasoning slip away. Yet the words pride, ambition and most of all challenge rang across her synapses, pulsing up and down her spine until it entered her bloodstream, hit all her vital organs and settled in her marrow as something wholly hers.
She liked him.
But wasn't this the obvious outcome of her inviting him to live at her house in the first place? Wasn't this something she should have foreseen? Why were the most brilliant scientists always so blind to the answers right in front of them? Who was she to resist the stranger from the shadows, a trophy prince dangling right in front of her? This Saiyan who she had first regarded as a mortal enemy who was now teaching her the meaning of mortal longing.
She wanted him.
But what about Yamacha? Was he right about you? That you felt this way about Vegeta the entire time? Shouldn't you feel bad about replacing Yamacha with Vegeta? Her guilty conscience pipsqueaked up to her.
What about Yamacha? Her heart of sin argued back. It's been months since our break-up. Yamacha had his time in the sun, now it's time for shadow play.
Again volatile? That's what Vegeta was. And she just wanted to douse them both in petrol, light a match and set them both on fire. But she was getting ahead of herself, her spoiled heiress side getting in the way of her strategic side. She could win over Vegeta, just like he would win Super Saiyan, but she had to have the precision and patience of a surgeon performing complicated heart surgery. Would she be able to stick to that plan though?...
Bulma went to the freezer, taking a second to pause there, cool down and regroup. It had been a week since she had seen Vegeta and just one look at him and she was already this dazed? She removed some ice packs that she chucked across the table in front of him.
"Your muscles must be so sore, I doubt you've given yourself enough time to heal from your injuries. These can help, just apply them to any inflamed areas."
Bulma had the notion of taking one of the ice packs and applying it to her own flushed forehead. Vegeta disregarded them, not looking up from his food. He hadn't looked at her at all since she had entered the kitchen, and something fluttered against her heart in despair.
"So why have you been so scarce?" Bulma asked as she pulled up a chair beside him. Her elbows leaned on the table while she buttressed her chin up with the rear of her hand, looking pensive.
Bulma sensed Vegeta's remoteness, he had retracted back into his impenetrable shell. But of course he would, distance was his natural state of being, she would be unbelievably naïve to think that a kiss from her would drastically change anything within him like it had for her.
She slouched further down on the table, drumming her fingers nervously across the surface. She peered at him slantedly, wanting to push him a little, to see if he had experienced any aftereffects from their kiss or if he were really back to being immune to her.
"Don't tell me a kiss from lil' ol' me scared off the mighty and terrifying Vegeta."
Bulma had highly rated the kisses she had shared with Vegeta, she might even be scheming about how to get some more. It wasn't any hard-wrought confession for her to admit that she was attracted to him, from his muscular physique, to the strength of his feverish heart beating in his chest, even down to the cute web of veins that spun thickly over his front whenever she annoyed him, like at the present time. However, despite her attraction, she didn't want to place an onus of expectation on him, to make him believe that they had initiated something that was unwanted by him. She only desired more if that were his desire too.
But first, before she could achieve more, she had to instill some sense of normalcy back into their interactions. It could be no coincidence that they had had no encounters for the past week, he must have intentionally prevented any chance meetings between them. But what did that mean? Was he disgusted, ashamed or maybe even traumatized by their kiss?
No, he had returned her kiss.
She remembered the manner in which he had clutched her to himself, like she was the essence of life, the source of all ki herself, that he had cautiously but then greedily drunken from, like a man dying of thirst…before he spat her out again. That had to mean something. And she clung to that undefined meaning like it was a raft over a raging sea of madness and rejection that he would surely make her navigate across before she'd reach his desert island shores.
But for now, there was only one way to return to their high-octane acquaintance, and it wasn't by apologizing or spelling out what had ensued. That might just disarm him more. Rather, Bulma had to treat him like she always did, by teasing him relentlessly. Maybe he'd realize that there was nothing was amiss and would tease her back.
Vegeta put down his bowl with a loud clatter, finally ready to confront her. This was not going how he would have liked. Time had passed and the courteous thing to do would be to not dwell on a point of contention.
"I was not scared," he corrected, "I've been training."
While Bulma stared, and teased him, Vegeta had been inert as a noble gas, unreactive to everything from her. The relief that flooded through him was immense, he wasn't as sick as he had thought, he had recovered and was not at the mercy of some Earth woman.
He had not wanted to entertain any replays of their kiss, but after long days in the ship, with each strenuous day bleeding unrecognizably into the next, and with his mind on high alert to protect himself from outside forces but wandering when it came to his subconscious, there had been sudden mental whiplashes from Bulma and her kisses that would make him fall to the floor of the gravity chamber, with the outside world and his inner struggle all crashing down upon him until he ceded back control inch by inch. So he had been forced to think about her, in little headaches here and there.
What had happened between them had been an anomaly acquired from Bulma taking advantage of a moment of weakness. That day after his second near-death experience, he had hit a proverbial rock bottom in his quest to become a Super Saiyan, and it was Bulma, who had leeched onto him, looking for blood while he was in his concussive state.
But despite how she had tried to divert him from his mission and confuse him, he had over the past week, crawled his way back up from the bowels of the Earth with broken nails and bloodied hands until he was reunited with darkness. For an entire week he hadn't left the ship, training there, showering there, sleeping there, even eating from the stockpile of vacuum-sealed tins of food in the small kitchenette.
However, one night, as the ship was swathed in complete darkness, a light went off in his head. Why was he punishing himself with this self-imposed exile in the ship? Capsule Corp. may be Bulma's house, but he had full-reign over it. Was an Earthling and her feeble kisses going to scare him away from a real meal, a good night's rest and the upkeep of his unaffected demeanour? If he had avoided her company, not that he admitted he had, it had been to avoid further exploitation.
Bizarrely, after her invigorating speech and kisses, he was now more motivated to become a Super Saiyan than ever before, and he had the belief that the feat would be his, it just wasn't the season to harvest it yet. Sure, Kakarot had become a Super Saiyan, but his growth was mutated; beefed up and injected with the stress hormones of watching his friend die. That was not the right feed with which to achieve the form. He would achieve the model form under the right timing and most ideal conditions as was becoming of the prince of all Saiyans.
But he didn't like Bulma, so there was no cause for trepidation. No, if anything, he hated her even more for trying to cheat him of his pride with her kisses in a moment of weakness. A moment of weakness, that's all it was.
Suddenly, he saw her staring at him so deeply without realizing she was doing it, as she twisted the edges of the ice packs on the table, biting down on her lip, with a slight violet tinge to the red there like a digit losing circulation. And he felt possessed, wracked by disease again, for he wanted to reach across the table for her and suck on her purple-tinted lips until he was sure that all the circulation there had been cut off by his mouth alone.
That's when he started to feel reactive and could no longer ignore her in front of him, he had to eliminate her from his system and presence yet again. But why was she even in this kitchen this early? It was only 06:45, which was much too early for an Earth princess to be gallivanting about. And with a glance as hard as frost, he ended her ideas about instigating a series of reactions with his blast of cold fission.
Bulma saw him watching her with those cold eyes that would not tolerate any attempts from her to defy him or his explanations. Those eyes though were just the surface, just the tips of his iceberg, when she knew the true titanic size, that glacier of complexity of feelings and processes just underneath. Vegeta wasn't going to push her back into the freezing cold of his hostile exterior, not when she had been in the heat of his embrace and the thick of his maze. No, she knew how to break the ice.
"Riiiiight," she said, "even though you've been perfectly capable for months now of juggling training, eating, sleeping and having the tiniest social interactions with the rest of us. But this week you can only manage training? You thought that I wouldn't notice that your bed hasn't been slept in all week? It's just a kiss Vegeta, relax, it's not like I'm asking you to marry me."
Vegeta's face blanched.
"Tee-hee, wouldn't that be the worst? You should be proud, you're a pretty good kisser and your lips are remarkably soft considering all the cutting things coming out of them."
Bulma wanted to further test him, to put him under extreme conditions and to see if she was what made him tick. The first law of motion stated that an object will stay at rest unless acted upon by an external force. Thank you, elementary physics, she recalled, you've always got my back and I can count on you to never lead me astray. I'll just apply the tried and tested first law on Vegeta. Let's see if he'll swerve off the path of uniform motion and crash into my arms instead with rippling velocity.
"You know," Bulma said evocatively as she kicked her chair aside and sashayed towards him, "if you're nice to me, maybe I'll even kiss you again."
Vegeta saw her come closer dressed in microshorts and a crop top. He could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Her luscious larval lips that were layered with the pink slime that she called lipstick, smiled at him, and his body fidgeted. Why was he reacting to her?
Bulma saw his icy façade splinter. So he did want her on some level, if he didn't he wouldn't react like that to her. He just couldn't admit it to himself at the moment. "But you have been good, haven't you?" she warbled as put her hands from behind on Vegeta's shoulders, massaging them slightly.
He was suddenly grateful for the table serving as a barrier between his lower half and her. Not again, he cursed inwardly. What was going on? No reaction was quickly turning into a reaction that reached 100% completion and theoretical yield.
"You haven't ordered me around, broken the gravity chamber, or even threatened to kill anyone in over a week. That's like model citizen behaviour. I think that merits a little kiss, so come here tough guy and claim your prize."
She tried turning his rigid face towards her, but Vegeta lurched away from her.
"Who wants a kiss from the likes of you?" Vegeta retaliated anemically.
"Why, every man in existence. Oh, I get it," Bulma said conspiratorially. "You're shy, aren't you? Not many pretty eligible ladies out in deep space? I'll take it easy on you then."
Something coiled around Vegeta like chains, and he was powerless to move.
Bulma bent down and kissed his cheek with an exaggerated smack. She stood up half-way as if debating whether to kiss him again, while his head nested between her unbound breasts and her hand pet his thigh under the table, so close to his hardness.
"How's that?"
"Don't slobber on me again onna," he said, shoving her off him.
Bulma just decreased the distance between them again. The heat from Bulma's mouth torched against his skin and his balls were as heavy as stones used to drown a man.
"How about I just use my tongue instead?" She flicked her tongue at him suggestively. "You didn't really let me do that last time."
Bulma was the ball and chain locking him to the spot, and he was breathing as if
underwater, as he waited for her to do what she taunted. And he was falling, falling down, falling further down into the briny deep of her eyes, her arms were tied in a reef knot behind him like electric eels, and it was either sink or swim. He desperately wanted to swim for safety, and to breathe fresh air again on his own in contrast to the recycled air that he'd steal from her in a kiss. If he swam away, he'd leave those sea slug lips behind to shrivel from the salty sting of his rejection. But he couldn't, he had forgotten how to swim. Instead, some untamed part of him screamed for her to do it, to continue this piracy of his freewill and to bring him down to no man's land.
She was venturing into dangerous territory, it wasn't just teasing anymore, she really was going to kiss him again, even if it might be too soon and would scare him off again. This wasn't part of her delicately concocted plans. But there was a chiming ring that was the deciding factor.
Bulma pulled her phone out of her pocket with vexation. Her lips drew back from his with a disgruntled huff. She had been so close that he could taste her disappointment along with the ferrous taste of blood in his mouth as he had bitten down on his tongue as she had pulled away.
"What?" she snapped into the receiver. "A gas leak in level B-3? I'll be right there."
Bulma hauled on her clean lab coat that she had left crumpled on the countertop. "Isn't this bad timing? I'd love to continue to torment you Vegeta, but work calls. But why don't you drop by the lab later? We still need to brainstorm ideas on how to enhance your training. I said that I would help you and I meant it. Even enemies can collaborate," she winked at him. "Until next time then, bye!" She blew a kiss out to him.
As she left, Vegeta watched her lips that were curved like a cupid's bow, that were flinging little kisses like arrows at him, that were as sharp and beautiful as thorns on a rose. Vegeta reached for one of the ice packs that Bulma had left behind and covered his crotch with it, that was the only inflamed muscle he was concerned about.
When he had sufficiently recovered, Vegeta picked at his cold breakfast. A sound of destiny pealed through his ears with the beauty of a siren song.
"You will become a Super Saiyan. It's yours – I'm yours."
He pitched the bowl against the wall in anger, with the beige broth of the soup splattering across the kitchen being analogous to his own dirty thoughts. His body had responded to her again. He tried roughly calculating the statistical percentage of it happening again at random, then shook his head. If it happens twice, it's no longer an anomaly. When had she started becoming so attractive?
As he strode past the hallway mirror en route to the backyard, he did a double-take. Bulma had smeared his cheek with the seal of her lips from her lipstick. Vegeta furiously rubbed her kiss away, but he could still feel and see her lips on him, seeping into him like a port-wine stain. So Bulma thought she could tease him, that she could reap merriment from his one moment of weakness towards her? No, he had his own ace in the hole, she'd soon be paying him reparations.
Bulma had just had the most unproductive day while working in the lab, which had not been helped by her constant thoughts of almost kissing a certain Saiyan prince again. All of her new inventions were unviable. She had scoured her equations for a mistake but had found none, and she was ready to just ditch the project and redesign everything. What she needed now was to decompress. And what better way to do that than with some dessert followed by a bubble bath?
Earlier in the day, Bulma had seen her mother bring in trays piled high with manju buns. They were some of her favourite treats, and she knew they wouldn't last long with a hungry Saiyan on the loose. Bulma had taken a plastic container from the cupboard, where she had squirreled away some of the manju buns. In big block letters in both katakana and romaji, she wrote Bulma on the front before placing it back on the table. There, now she'd have some of the buns saved for later. No one would touch these. In the interim, she had scarfed down one the buns while heading back to her lab.
Bulma was back in the kitchen to fetch her snack as the water filled in her tub upstairs. Vegeta was once more installed at his seat at the kitchen table, wolfing down something or another. He didn't address her, or even lift his head at her approach, just like in the morning. But this time, Bulma wasn't up for another round of chicken, especially if it would only agitate her more and if it would only be her head on the chopping block.
Bulma scanned the table, now where had she put it? She moved a vase of flowers out of the way, but the table was empty. Who had taken her buns? They were going to pay, especially after the day she'd had and the foul mood she was in now. Bulma heard the crinkle of plastic coming from Vegeta's direction. She looked up and was livid at what she saw. Vegeta was eating the manju buns right from the container that she had labelled with her name.
"Can't you read Vegeta?"
"I'm not Kakarot," he retorted in between mouthfuls. "My literacy and numeracy weren't neglected."
"Then you must have vision problems. Otherwise you would have seen that that box has my name on it, B-U-L-M-A," she spelled out, "and do not eat," she said, tapping against the side of the container.
"I saw it."
"Why are you eating them then? They're mine, I was looking forward to having them now", she whined. "Weren't the hundred or so other buns enough for you?"
"I can eat whatever I want whenever I want, and if it's something that you were hoarding, even better," he intoned.
"You have no manners, you're such an ill-bred prince." She extended her hand to him, flapping it dramatically like pterodactyl wings. "Hand it over, there's still one left."
Vegeta appeared as if he were about to relinquish the container, but instead he smirked at her, before taking a large bite out of the last bun with relish, until there were only crumbs.
It took all her restraint to not slap the shit-eating grin from off his face. "Ughh, you are impossible. You're like a dog Vegeta, only motivated by food." Bulma went back to the cupboards and started to rifle through them. "Now I've got to find something else to munch on, jerk. Fucking fantastic, the cupboards have been ransacked, I can only assume that this is your doing."
"Your house is always lacking in provisions, you should know by now to stock up."
My mother isn't doing another grocery run until tomorrow." Bulma stretched up to the highest cupboard while on her tip-toes, "But maybe you didn't think to check here. It's not like you can reach," she gibed.
Bulma always kept an emergency stash of pocky and spicy seaweed behind the tea set. There was nothing there. Bulma even opened the top of the jade tea pot in the shape of Shenlong to confirm. Vegeta had pilfered from her rations yet again.
Bulma bashed her fist against the side of the cupboard, "I just need something sweet."
Bulma almost toppled to the floor, but managed to balance herself gawkily as she felt a warm arm snake around her waist from behind. It was Vegeta. When had he come over and why was he holding her?
Vegeta toured his nose up to her shoulder, inhaling deeply. Today Bulma smelled like cedarwood and smoky incense, they were earthy gamey scents of the hunt, compared to her usual floral notes. His nose journeyed across her shoulder blades before traipsing up the swan-like curve of her neck. His nose was rubbing against the veins of her neck, and each
vein felt as if it were going to rupture and spout out her blood.
Bulma ground her nails against the granite countertop.
"Bulma," Vegeta whispered into her ear, with his breath lingering at her neck.
Her hairs rose against her neck as soft and fragile as dandelion fluff. Vegeta blew against her neck, he blew her away with his hot breath until she was just a shuddering stem. Bulma wilted against him, she was a fawn trying to stay erect on wobbly legs. She hooked one hand onto the refrigerator handle, melting onto its solid cold door.
Vegeta pulled her hand back to the countertop, and banded her more securely against him. In a revelatory instant, he pondered over the strangeness of holding a foreign body in his hands. Bulma was not Saiyan. Her skin and muscles were not tough like freezer-burned meat. Her body was doughy and soft, not like a warrior's at all, but he wanted it nonetheless. He wanted to batter her body into a fine paste, work it into something strong, bend it back and forth, and when she was ready, frost her with his icing.
Without thinking, his hands cheekily reached for her own buns, and he began lightly kneading the dough, while she just became hot and cross. She tried to turn around and braid her legs around him, so that she could immerse herself in his delicious convective heat, but he smirked, turning her back, and leaving her for a second to cool with her front against the countertop even though she was nowhere even close to being done. Then he made his triumphant return, with his teeth pricking her neck, and a sort of whistling moan escaped her, indicating that she was at boiling point. And something from him started rising to the top against her back.
His lips were so tantalizingly close, how much better would it feel to have his lips at her neck instead? Bulma strained against him, turning her face, while Vegeta also angled his face towards her, until their noses touched. They both stared each other down, fixated on each other's lips in a silent duel. Vegeta bent closer, and his hair thistled against her skin, as he sanded down her resolve. Bulma puckered her lips and closed her eyes in eagerness.
Vegeta's hand opened her clenched ones, he noticed her knuckles had turned white from exertion. He deposited something into her hand, and Bulma squeezed it. There was a high-pitched plastic crunch.
Huh? What was that? Bulma reopened her eyes, and to her dismay, she saw Vegeta lounging collectedly in his chair, with one leg crossed over the other, back at the table. Bulma was still rocking on the balls of her feet, her head was pointed upwards, with her lips poised to kiss. She must have looked absolutely ridiculous.
Bulma's face reddened and she spun around to Vegeta, ready to peck him like a bird of prey. She was aware that she was still tightly clutching whatever he had transferred over to her hand. It was the container that she had used for her manju buns. The plastic was now contorted, with dips where the letters Land A had been, so now the word bum was spelled out instead of her name.
"What are you giving this to me for?"
"You asked for it back. What else was I going to give you? A kiss?" he mocked.
Oh, so he had just been baiting her this entire time, probably as a counterattack to her harassing him about wanting to kiss her again. You got me. You really got me good, you fiend.
"Here take this too." Vegeta threw a small package at her.
Bulma swiped at it, it was a package for one of her missing strawberry pockys. The package was already opened, and Vegeta had eaten most of them, but there was one stick of pocky remaining. Bulma smiled, she realized that Vegeta teasing her was his way of resetting everything to normal, to dispel the awkwardness. They were friends again...well, maybe not friends, but not enemies either. They were going to return to their squabbling. Game on, Bulma challenged.
Bulma took the last pocky from its wrapping. "Vegeta, do you want to play the pocky game? I know you don't know the rules, so I'll explain. We each place one end of the pocky in our mouths. Then we each take bites from our respective ends, until the pocky gets smaller and smaller, eventually our lips will kiss. You lose if you look away in embarrassment or if you let go of the stick." Bulma put the strawberry end of the pocky in her mouth, and the pink icing started to melt. She directed the other end at him, propositioning him. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"
"I'd rather share a bowl with a dog then risk swallowing any of your germs," he said repulsed.
"You're a bad sport, just try, maybe you'll win, maybe I'll let you win," Bulma offered with her eyes twinkling.
"What? Who would want to win? Losing sounds like the better option."
Vegeta swooped upon her so quickly that Bulma didn't have time to register that he had decided to play. The entire stick of pocky was plucked from her mouth intact and was being eaten by him.
"Hey," Bulma objected, "I didn't know you were playing, not fair."
"You lose. No candy for you," Vegeta taunted, tasting the end of the pocky that had been in her mouth, coated with her saliva that was sweeter than pure sugar. As Vegeta finished off the pocky, his teeth tingled with a high voltage as if he had bitten into metal instead of candy. His plan to regain the upper hand, to demonstrate to Bulma that it was really her who desired him and not the reverse, had just left him feeling more out of sorts. If he hadn't been so committed to repaying her for her perfidy, he would have kissed her. That realization did not inspire confidence. This was no longer just a game. Had he acquired some Earth-borne malady that was just setting in now? Or was Bulma with all her laboratory potions, spiking his food and drink to make him act against himself and to make her scent and neck be so mouth-watering to him? That had to be it, and to think, he had just accepted more food from straight out of the harlot's mouth. He was being stupid and careless.
Bulma's neck tingled where Vegeta's teeth had scraped against it. For the second time in less than a day they had almost kissed. Almost. She hated that word just then. Ever since their first kiss, she had looked at him differently, recognizing at last just how desirable Vegeta could be. But what to do about this undeniable attraction between them that had started immeasurably small but was now broadening uncontainably? I'll have to see how Vegeta responds as things develop, but as for me, I'm always up for an adventure. It's so difficult to be reserved though when passion expects an opposite reaction.
Bulma opened the door of the bathroom and the floor was flooded from the water overflowing from her bath. "Can't I prevent anything in my life from spilling over?" she sighed.
…
"Fix these and make them better this time." Vegeta rudely dumped the charred and unidentifiable remains of the bots right on top of the blueprints of a new hovercraft that she was poring over.
Bulma jumped up in fright, not accustomed to Vegeta intruding on her domain in the lab. A scowl superimposed over her features as the still smoking bots burned and curled the paper of her project. She staunched the barbecuing of her plans in one deft motion and looked up irritably at him. "Really, Vegeta?" She crinkled her nose at the bots and discarded them into her scrap metal receptacle. "I just repaired these for you this morning. This weaponry isn't designed to be binned after a single use only. I know you're a prince and all but there's really nothing wrong with training with something more than once or Kami forbid, training with the same bots for days in a row. I'm not some court munitions specialist that's going to outfit you in a new training ensemble every day."
"Make them more durable then," he clipped, not missing a beat, "you cut corners when you're focused on mass production of these things when you should be concentrating on making me something that's one of a kind and will last forever."
Bulma gritted her teeth, feeling a layer of enamel erode, "Everything I design is a Bulma original. What should I do to improve my inventions so that your training experience is satisfactory?" she asked sarcastically. "You must already have some ideas. Let them out, don't be coy in keeping them all to yourself. So what do you suggest? You didn't come all the way down to the lab just for repairs, otherwise you would have just left the bots all over the lawn like you usually do for me to pick up and salvage." Bulma nabbed a notepad and a pen, ready to scribble down in thick letters that would bleed through the page, whatever it was that he wanted.
Vegeta was half-turned like he was about to leave, but then the swiftness of his planned departure postponed into an unscheduled layover. Bulma furrowed her brow as she saw him almost intentionally dragging his feet, fussily readjusting his gloves and smoothing his shirt down for non-existent wrinkles. What was with all these delays? Was he stalling? But then she got the gist of his alien discourse and it was a sign language that she was becoming all too familiar with.
Their normal routine consisted of a demand for repairs, the process of rebuilding followed inevitably by more breaking. It was their classic rinse and repeat. But everything might just be a wash now. He was subjecting her to a new pre-conditioned treatment that was a little harsh at first but had some softness underneath. He was approaching her directly in her lab supposedly with another task that he was comfortable with. meaning bot repair, but by his active dawdling he was hoping that she would latch onto his subtle hint that he was granting her permission to help him in a more substantial way. She had offered to truly assist him in all his endeavours, but he was ultimately just too proud to cash in on his license of free aid from her. It wasn't in his practice to just accept handouts like that. But him standing there in front of her, right in her line of fire, meant that he was open to her charity and a makeover to their relations. And she wasn't going to shoot him down with verbiage but kill him with kindness instead.
She grinned a little sneakily as she realized that he must have destroyed those bots on purpose. "Vegeta," she said gently, with the upsell of a saleswoman's pitch, "I promised to help you and you finally came down to the labs, so just tell me what you need and it's yours." She had never volunteered to improve the bots for him before, finding it to be a mundane task that she did to the bare minimum but now she would devote herself to it if that's what he wished like it was her thesis to a grand unified theory of everything.
As the words it's yours retread from her lips, she was transported back to the dream filter of the hospital room where they had kissed under the softness of sepia tones, signing away their rights to one another and forming a binding pact of unity with their tongues as the pens and with their bodies as the parchment. Maybe Vegeta was having the same flashback for he quickly looked down to the floor with a rigidness to his jaw. After waiting a few seconds, Bulma joked, "Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue? How about I start? I am a genius but even my work could use more of a perfectionist's touch."
They negotiated together over schematics with ideas manifesting from herself like a stroke of divine inspiration, thanks to her venal muse to her left. Bulma was drafting plans for near sentient artificial intelligence that could progressively learn and adapt to Vegeta's techniques the more he trained with them. In addition, the new bots would magnify up to a thousand-fold the energy that Vegeta attacked them with by identifying the exact frequency of his ki, copying that frequency and then using resonance to amplify that power.
She was making a portfolio of sketches for his inventions, that were colour coded with felt-tipped pens and highlighters, with exclusions crossed out in thick black permanent marker. As she struck a line through a string of inoperable code, she noted that Vegeta had similarly been permanently struck out as the king that would never be with no hope of recapturing his fallen crown and that he himself was routinely running his pride through with red Xs of wounds in an unforgiving visual for having failed at becoming a Super Saiyan and for never making the grade. Vegeta had been coloured over thickly with black marker whose ink was only visible to those as criminally insane as him. She must have been able to decode his invisible ink since she painted herself with oil from remodeling the machinery of the gravity ship and glued herself crazily to the demands of his workload, just because she wanted to wipe that black mark covering him away. But this rigorous undertaking of restoring a once masterly artwork to its prime put her at ease without coating her in even a strip of grime.
Bulma was nattering away at him, her explanations about how these training gadgets would function spoken in scientific jargon that was as decipherable as tongue twisters to him. He contemplated how he had rationalized to himself how he could accept her so called no-frills attached bonus. Firstly, it wasn't begging for help on his part, no, it was more like he was accepting contraband towards something that shouldn't have been unconstitutional in the first place. Why was he prohibiting himself from profiting from all of Bulma's vast resources when she was freely giving it to him like she had it in an endless supply? Furthermore, Kakarot also had an open-door policy in this woman's life where her newest most beneficial inventions would always pass through his instant checkout first. How many times had Kakarot explicitly solicited this woman for help without a smidgen of pride to encumber him? From what Vegeta could count, Kakarot had benefited from her dragon radar, her spacecraft for Namek, a gravity ship, and who knew what else? Vegeta could do the same on a much more reduced level and the beauty of it was that he didn't even have to ask, Bulma was campaigning to do it herself. So he could be the coefficient to her variable assistance, not just an unruly overlord who only knew how to demand, but a collaborator towards his own progress.
As her pencil skated in figures over the page, her infectious enthusiasm over her work and the act of discovery, coaxed his glower into a more neighbourly look. They were co-conspirators in the bunker of her lab plotting towards his victory day and for the rest of humanity's dooms day. All these inventions that would facilitate his ascension were also dooms day devices because once he had achieved his goal, he would detonate the Earth and all her friends in a glorious fit of calamitous furore, and she had to know all this even if she had buried her good judgment six feet deep with denial, yet still she timed his bomb to self-destruct.
She was defiling all of her virtues, her loyalty towards Kakarot and the others, all of the purity of her world for him, for his sake, when it had been completely unearned by him, and that was a gift far better than his armour or bots, for he would only repay her with original sin, take away everything she had been and would be, and sentence her to hell with him. And did she deserve it? Yes, she deserved it for willingly helping him. Like Saiyan rulers past, once he had used her for all she was worth, he would kill her so that no one else would ever profit from her intelligence, and so that her help towards him would really be one of a kind. And somehow he was convinced that she had already considered all this, but was still willing to gamble her life and afterlife on a beast anyways. But why? He wasn't going to change his mind about her fate at his hand. Maybe she had deluded herself into believing that helping him was her contribution to the fight against the androids and that if she were merciful to him he would respond in kind. But that was still only a partial unsatisfactory explanation for why she was actively collaborating with his ideologies. It would have been easier for him to accept and understand if he had forced her into being a listless vessel of his needs, but no, she was in full possession of autonomy and by her autonomous rule she had chosen to help him. That was what had been so hard for him to accept and claim, the prize that she was aiding him not because he threatened her but because she truly wanted to do it.
He scrunched his eyes in confusion, suddenly feeling dizzy, as his hands gripped the back of her chair. Bulma continued to harangue him with her mathematical poesy and the pure unambiguity of her speech calmed his thoughts.
Almost accidentally, his hands drifted from her chair to the back of her head and his fingers tentatively brushed against her hair. He stroked her hair gently at first but then more fretfully, like a cat playing with string, with his fingers combing through the pin straight strands until they teased into small knots against his fingers. Her hair was luxuriously warm like sunbeams and with each curl of his hand, it was as if he could already feel gold shooting through his veins. He lowered himself and stretched like a tomcat over her, seeming as if he was going to fall into a relaxing snooze on top of her when he was actually being extremely vigilant. When he could no longer hear the scratching of her pen that sounded like rodents scuttling through the drywall nor see her drawing circular pictorials that resembled mouse droppings, his hands scampered longitudinally across her desk so that she was hemmed in her chair between his arms.
"I…I think that's enough for now," he heard Bulma exhale, as she swabbed the back of her head where his hand had been moments before.
"Make sure you give me a challenge this time, your work has been more than lacking on that front," he chastised.
Bulma tried to swivel her chair to get up and remove herself from the desk, so she could go to her work bench and begin construction, but found herself caged in by Vegeta's muscular arms. The loose-leaf papers she was holding fell clumsily to the floor along with her pen, that Vegeta could see bore fresh teeth-marks from her chewing on the tip. At his side, she looked at him from the corner of her eye, catching his profile. Her body was originally at an obtuse angle to him that became more acute until there were zero degrees of separation between her and the hexagonal solids of his ab muscles that stared at her in such fascination to measure their perfectly identical and symmetrical angles with a ruled edge. Bulma straightened from her chair, but his hands were still two metal tracks running parallel to her body like the bars in a jail cell.
She looked up bemused at her jailor. "Oh, I'll give you a challenge." She popped her collar, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse. "Let's see if you're up for my challenge."
It took Vegeta awhile to clue in to why she was staring at him so intently; it was because his arms were barring her way. His hands retired perpendicularly from her, so she could squeeze out from the desk. He was embarrassed, but to his credit she looked flustered too.
To distract from the awkward situation that he himself had instigated, he pointed towards a tangled pile of string on her desk, and asked, "What's all that string for?"
Bulma turned backwards to her desk, her hand that was midway to his chest, halted and grabbed the bundle of string. "It's just a small project I'm working on involving knot theory." She extended the string so that he could see the multitude of minor and major knots tied throughout it. "I've joined the ends of a piece of string together into countless knots that can't be easily undone. It's an intractable problem to untangle an impossible knot and to solve it, I'm required to come up with some sort of loophole or to think outside the box."
"Why don't you just cut it as a means to an end?"
"Oh no, the fun is in the process of untying and finding those ends on your own and I'd really like to make some advancements in this infant branch of mathematics."
"Yet it all amounts to the same thing whether you cut or unfasten it, so why not make it easier for yourself and just cut it?"
"Because that would be taking the easy way out and I'd rather riddle my way through this brain teaser and not break something that doesn't need to be broken. I can make this whole again and undivided, it'll just take some more unraveling." She reached into one of her desk drawers and pulled out another loop of string. "Here," she offered, "why don't you start with this one? The knots I'm detaching might be a little too advanced for you right now."
Without waiting for his approval, she infringed on his space, taking the string and passing four of his fingers through the untwisted loop before separating his hands.
"That is a lousy attempt to bind my hands if that's what you're trying to do."
"No, Vegeta," Bulma laughed, "this is a cat's cradle. It's a game." She directed his hands. "You play like this. You form various new patterns with the string until you reach a dead-end figure that can't be manipulated into anything else."
"I see no cat or a cradle," he said sulkily. All he could see were crossings of squares and triangles in the shape of Xs and Os.
"Well, you have to use your imagination," Bulma replied, her fingers smoothly weaving between his in a doublebind, and the small touch opened his mind.
He studied the string again and in the endless knot he saw the intertwining of wisdom and compassion to something weak, somewhat like complementary strands coming together that although unique on its own were now two of a kind. What was this messy cat's cradle he was getting himself into? He freed his hands from the string and her clutch, haughtily pronouncing, "I have no time for a children's game." He stepped back from her, adding, "While you're at it make me another ship too. I don't want a hand-me-down ship from Kakarot."
She placed her cat's cradle back to the disorganized clutter of her desk and chirped, "I'll add that to list. I've got to find time to make more armour for you too." She closed the distance between them and half-joking but with an undertone of seriousness, she asked, "So what about my payment?"
Vegeta glared at her. It was time to pay up of course. So much for getting a free pass with her. Everyone had their price and he would just have to see if he could afford hers. "What do you want?" he demanded brusquely.
Bulma smiled demurely at him. "Don't be all upset, you're the one who was adamant that I didn't give you anything for free." She pointed to her cheek, "So how about a kiss? Pucker up Saiyan."
"Tch," Vegeta dismissed, that was a lethal cost that he would not be paying upfront, and walked towards the exit of the lab. Bulma relaxed her lips. She would have to use a more wily method to collect her fee from him, but when it came to technological assistance, she would do that pro-boner, errr, pro-bono for him.
…
The sliding doors to the backyard opened and banged shut loudly. Bulma glanced from her stack of paperwork, and was met with the churlish face of Vegeta. "Why, isn't it Prince Charming," she gibed. "Come to take me away on your white horse?"
Vegeta didn't understand the reference as usual and didn't have time to puzzle over it. All he knew was that no one should mistake him for a charming man. "Enough of your drivel," he barked, "the gravity isn't being distributed evenly in the ship. The forcefield is condensed to only a few metres off the ground while the top of the chamber has Earth's normal gravitation."
"How peculiar," Bulma replied bored, "and what do you want me to do about it?"
"Do the only thing you're good for, fix it."
"Now that's not a very princely way of asking," she tutted as she tossed her pen onto a contract that she had been trying to decipher for the last hour. "It's your lucky day though, I'd rather be doing anything than finagling with these patent applications." She spread her arms across the kitchen table that was covered in papers and files, emphasizing her point. I'd even rather help you out. And how kind of you to only come to me for help nowadays, I like that you trust me enough to defer to my expertise, it's flattering."
Vegeta had an angry retort at the precipice of his lips, this wasn't about trust or expertise, it was a matter of convenience. She was an in and out black market that was stocked with every commodity without the lengthy wait time that accompanied shopping in her father's aisles. When he wanted something done fast and right enough, she was his go-to.
But Bulma must have noticed his rising ire and stamped it out by sighing, "Oh calm down, you grump, I'm letting you get your way without even putting up a fight, so no need to burst a blood vessel." Bulma grabbed her toolbox that she had slotted between two chairs and joined him at the door. "Lead the way, dear prince."
"Stop talking to me like that," he warned, ready to have his back darkening her sunny face, as he trudged across the lawn to the gravity chamber while Bulma followed.
They walked silently with Vegeta steadily increasing his gait to have Bulma out of his field of vision, but she would maddeningly always be stepping on his toes. Bulma didn't mind that she wasn't marching side by side with him, and at his stern, she had the enviable opportunity to admire his tight butt. It had been almost two weeks since he had courted her assistance in a new but no less humble capacity and until today he had breathed no complaints, so she revelled in the fact that her work was at another niveau of excellence.
However, although she had advanced in one respect with Vegeta she was stagnating everywhere else. Her romantic aspirations for her and Vegeta weren't even lukewarm but were at cold fish temperatures. She knew she would have to continue to be patient with him but she just wasn't sure how to proceed and even worse, she feared that things were reverting back to how they had been before in that dry and split-ended state where she would only get a blast of heat from his insults and not attraction. But they had still kissed; she knew it and she would remember it even if Vegeta was trying his best to forget and gloss over the truth. If only he were dragging her into the ship for a makeout session instead of more busy work though. She giggled at that idea while she eyefucked him, not watching her step as she entered the ship, and almost tripping on the ramp because of her daydreaming. She snickered more and Vegeta finally looked back at her exasperated.
Bulma switched back to her professional front and pushed Vegeta to the side of the ship. "You've done your part in bringing me here, you can let the pro manage this now. You just go stand pretty over there, while I fix this."
"What, stand pretty?" he sputtered outraged. "Or train, or whatever it is you do," she corrected.
Vegeta growled, but remained on the other side of the chamber as Bulma inspected the console and searched through the alarms list on the interface screen. She analyzed the source code of the gravity drive then tried to modify the program and was immediately walloped face-first onto the floor of the ship. Instead of debugging the program, Bulma had mistakenly activated the gravity, that was currently hovering around 3 gs, a level which was negligible for a Saiyan but was extremely taxing on a human such as herself. "A little help?" She grunted towards Vegeta, with no response. The gravity was bearing down on her, and from her splayed out position on the floor, her right arm wriggled up to the keyboard, where she struggled but eventually managed to delete her janky amendment.
Once the gravity had transitioned back to 1 g, she slowly got up, thoroughly inspecting the sore spots on her body, hoping that she wouldn't bruise. After confirming that she was still in mint condition, she whirled accusingly to Vegeta who predictably hadn't moved a muscle to help her. He was still on the opposite side of the chamber shadow boxing. "Hey Vegeta," she grumbled, "way to help a lady out, I thought princes were supposed to be chivalrous."
Vegeta hooked in her direction, and if she had been closer, his fist would have connected with her head. "Tch, for Saiyans, princes or not, it's everyone for themselves." She detected a smirk from beneath his hand that he had in a defensive stance against his mouth. "Didn't you tell me to let the pro handle it? I was not going to intrude on you being a professional fuckup."
Bulma was about to sucker punch him but she opted for playing the sympathy card instead. "I could have died, you know, then you would have been sorry for who would fix your precious gravity chamber?"
"Your father is still alive and well. And you didn't die, you aren't even hurt, so why are you whinging?"
"It still hurt a bit," she aggressively rebutted, "not everyone is made of steel like you. Some of us are still flesh and blood." She went back to the interface, scrolling through the errors again, until she uncovered the true cause of the disturbance. "Ahh, the gravity cable to the upper section is just disconnected. That's why you weren't noticing an increased gravity field around the ceiling. It's an easy fix, it shouldn't even take me 10 minutes."
"Then get to it," Vegeta ordered, now performing crunches on a thin gym mat on the floor of the ship, "and fix it. I haven't got all day."
"Hurry, hurry, hurry, everything's always urgent with you. Why the rush? It's not like you have a hot date to meet later tonight. You need to relax and live a little." Bulma buckled her tool-belt around her waist then approached Vegeta, who could already sense the dark energy of the favour she was about to ask him. "To restore the connection, I need to access the wiring that's contained in one of the ceiling panels. I don't have a ladder on me and even if I did, I don't want to risk falling and injuring my perfect body for the second time today."
Vegeta snorted dismissively at her vain self-assessment.
"So, you'll just have to fly me up to the ceiling," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Vegeta's exercises came to an abrupt end and he lay down on the mat unmoving. Absolutely not. The audacity of this woman, he thought. Carrying her around like he was her litter? That was a servant's job, it was definitely beneath him. And besides, he was not going to donate his time and energy for her.
Bulma came right to the foot of the mat and bent down ominously with her hands at her hips. "You want the gravity fixed or not?"
Vegeta was about to restart his crunches but he was paralyzed yet again as Bulma's hunched over pose was giving him a front row view of her enormous cleavage courtesy of her plunging keyhole dress. Vegeta kept his hands firmly crossed and behind his head for safety, yet they were trying to unfold and grab at her. He tried to regard her in coldly practical terms. They were just breasts, just gelatinous lipid stores, cumbersome and a hindrance in a fight, but on her, completely wondrous fruit ready for the picking.
"Don't be absurd," he said caving in ruefully, maybe it was best to just agree to get her chest out of his face. One day he would get her back for everything. He approached her crabbily, while Bulma readied herself right below the panel that she would need to investigate.
"Hurry up Vegeta and get over here, I haven't got all day," she said in mock imitation of his voice. "That's the spirit," she said brightly as he sidled up beside her. "Now be gentle, I'm a lady."
"You better be quick about this, or I'll drop you," he warned as he propelled them upwards.
"You wouldn't drop me," she said confidently, as he hovered them below the targeted panel. "Now shhh, I'm working."
Vegeta was indignant, she was always blathering on and now she was shushing him when he never had much to say to her? Vegeta was using the minimal hold it would require to keep her upright, which was only a few fingers scarcely around her waist.
Bulma stretched up, her head disappearing into the tangle of wires within the panel. "Aha, there's the loose cable, it's just a little out of reach."
As she did this, her dress started to hike up. The back of her thighs were right in his face, revealing a titillating hint of the spherical cheeks of her ass. And he was struck by the most insane thought, he wondered what colour her underwear was, all he had to do was lift his gaze and he would find out...his dick started to harden in anticipation. Should he look further or would he rather blind himself? He looked and he was blinded nonetheless. Her panties were flesh-coloured…but no clothing could so ravishingly imitate nudity, she was bare, on display, in the flesh. For someone whose entire family was named after underwear puns, she didn't seem partial to wearing the cursed garments much herself. His eyes shyly darted upwards to her most precious jewels, and it was beautiful treasure creating a sunken feeling of despondency in his chest. He was an undersea explorer diving towards her lovely conch with its hidden pink pearl and he saw her second set of lips sparkling luminously. He tore his eyes away from her nervously as he hardened hook line and sinker.
As a woeful distraction, his eyes travelled from her base and elevatored up her height until he was familiar with the entire clothed topology of her body from her special curvature to the flatland of her waist. The arrangement of her parts was expressed in a golden ratio of harmony and proportion for optimal irresistibility. By degrees, he had his eureka moment that Bulma was beyond three dimensions, infiltrating him in all of spacetime. He stared at the small knot holding up her dress and he was suddenly a strong advocate of her string theory. All it would take was one minor tug to undo the divide and to create an in, and her dress would separate revealing her own hidden figure that could manipulate him but could not be manipulated by anyone else. His hand shook at her neck, right at the string, but suddenly Bulma's legs kicked at him, almost as an admonishment, as she reached further into the panel.
At that unwelcome chastisement, he had the reflex to pull back, his fingers drawing away from her waist. Bulma almost slipped in his grasp but at the last second, Vegeta caught her roughly before she could plummet to the floor. Her dress floated back down like a life saving parachute to her knees. Bulma turned back sharply towards him, "Alright already, I'm going as fast as I can, no need to warn me by almost dropping me."
It took them both a second to realize the extremely incriminating position that they were in. In her near fall, Bulma had descended his body so that her ass was now at his crotch in the downward dog formation. And even worse, in comical fashion, his hands were keeping her balanced not at her waist but slapdash across her breasts. Her breasts netted in his palm were the catch of the day, and some instinct channeled through him to make it spawning time.
Bulma straightened herself back up, with her salmon dress moving upstream while his hands on her followed. She didn't flounder against him, there were no squeals about him being a pervert or any teasing about him secretly wanting her. She was as ungainly as a mermaid on land, her body was stiff and her legs were clapped together like fins. Her breaths and voice came out tinny, like she was using scuba gear and her hands were back in the panel, clutching at wires that were more like her support system instead of a problem she was trying to solve. Bulma shifted her body slightly, "You've almost got it...just a little more to the right," she sighed.
For Vegeta, it was a choice between rise over run, rise to the occasion or run away in shame? But his dick was already slanted at a steep slope against her back at an increasingly murderous incline and he decided to cliff dive into insanity. He recalled vaguely that weeks before his hands had brushed over her pert posterior in that clash over the buns so his hands were quick to immerse themselves in her heavenly harmonic solids, voyaging across the entire period of her breasts, until he settled right on the two foci of her nipples.
"Right there." Bulma buoyed him up, and he stood there lightly squeezing on the perfect spheres of her breasts morphing their shape in his hands until they looked elliptical. He felt as if he was making millions of revolutions around the sun at warp speed, which only accelerated when Bulma breathed, "You can hold me a little tighter too. I won't make you dirty."
He helped himself to her free for all. His hands swept across all her forbidden areas, crossing all her imaginary lines and hitting all her right angles. And at the end of his exploration, his hands returned to her two identical breasts that possessed the same eccentricity and as his fingers spiralled across the conic sections of her nipples, he could only remark on his own eccentric behaviour, his body full of arousal, his brain engaging in traitorous thoughts of kissing her again, of being inside her. No, no! Think of hatred, think of pride, he tried to reorient himself. It was a long minute caught in the trenches of his internal battle.
Remember to breath, Bulma reminded herself. Ever since Vegeta's hands had gone rogue, her body had entered a state of terminal desire where even her most basic functions were shutdown in place of lust. Breathe in, breathe out. Heart pump blood into the atriums and pump it out of the ventricles. Even if Vegeta's petting was occurring without his express approval and awareness, it proved that he really couldn't keep his hands off her. And it felt as if she were freewheeling between her lust and control. His sweeps through her hair had upgraded into her body being his launch pad. One one thousand, two one thousand…her breath was cut short and her heart skipped a beat, three one thousand…
Breathe in that oxygen, she repeated. Think about oxygen a molecule of life that is never found naturally as a single atom but is always covalently bonded as two atoms. But why am I thinking about oxygen again? Oh yes, as a reminder to breathe. Oxygen makes things burn. It's explosive under high pressure, like the pressure of Vegeta's hands.
Bulma had finished her task almost immediately, but she had not wanted Vegeta's groping to stop. Vegeta reached for her centre through her dress, and concentric waves of pleasure emanated from within her. She needed to come up for air. This had to end now. If he continued, she would not be able to prevent herself from jumping him. Although that was something she desperately wanted to do, her last trace of good judgment was telling her that this was not the proper time and that Vegeta was not yet ready. He had to want her enough to boldly go where no Saiyan of his rank had ever gone before. Finally, Bulma said sadly, "It's all fixed, you can put me down now Vegeta." Vegeta had them back to firm footing instantaneously, and she knew the spell was broken and he was back to basics. As a warning that she could curse him just as well as he cursed her, she slid down his body to the floor like it was the ladder to a fire escape and intentionally slipped and slid her ass against his firepole.
A five-fire alarm flashed in Vegeta's eyes as he felt her drive into his cock before he washed it away with some rapid blinks. In a masterclass of control, as she turned to face him, he vanquished his erection so that there was no physical evidence of how aroused he had been except for his watery eyes and the sunshower of sweat drenching his body.
She gave him a weird look. "Kami, what happened to you?" Bulma asked, playing dumb. Vegeta was not just going to pretend that he hadn't just been a conquistador across her entire body. "Vegeta, maybe you want to take a shower first before going back to training. You're sweating like crazy," Bulma said, covering her nose with one hand and fanning the air around her with the other. Her index finger nailed from the chandelier of muscles beneath his chest up to his chin leaving a dirty glistening trail behind it. He flinched. "Yeah, a nice cold shower is just what you need," she crooned, her gaze flickering from his torso to his shorts.
Just to be certain, Vegeta looked down to his crotch - nope, there was nothing to indicate how aroused he had just been so she had no means with which to attack him. "You could benefit from your own suggestion," he sneered, referring to the grease stains that had transferred to her hands from the wiring. The rest of his rebuttal died at the outset. Oh god, he realized, there was another blotch of grease smudged right between her breasts. The oil on her chest, akin his own black blood, was a Super Saiyan fuel that was fuelling further flirtation and desolation within him. It was the mark of the devil in disguise, looking oddly like the Saiyan crest. He had the mad urge to place his finger there and to wipe it off.
Vegeta felt himself stirring to life again. Damn, why couldn't this woman ever cover up?! "Cover up," he said scathingly.
"Why? I have the perfect body."
"A perfectly untrained body. Cover up your face too."
"With what? Makeup? Your kisses? Your cu…," she stopped herself.
"Try a burlap sack," he recommended, looking quickly at her. But it was an action he soon regretted, for he became trapped in the corners of her trapezoidal eyes. Turning rudely away from her so that he was separated from her by the most polar of coordinates, Vegeta resumed firing off punches in his training warm-up.
"Hmph, never a kind word or a thank you from you," Bulma muttered wearily, before stomping off. "Too bad you're such a jerk,"…she whispered the rest, "because you are so damn sexy." He was looking especially sexy all bathed in sweat. I wonder what it would taste like to lick off his sweat? Bulma giggled, I'll have to find out. But she could have a taste test now. She remembered that her index finger had cut through his sweat, and she popped her finger into her mouth, licking his sweat away. He tasted just like a blood orange that she promised herself she would soon juice down to the pulp.
Once she had left, he arched his head to look around to be sure that she was gone, even though he could no longer sense her weak ki signature. He wasn't taking a chance in letting the enemy detect any further weaknesses in him. There was no one else in the ship. He was alone again and there was nothing more blessed than the solitude enveloping him. Now he could punish his body and mind for their transgressions. Fifty thousand push-ups at 300 gs would be adequate rote work.
The gravity began to increase and he diligently focused on his punishment but around the 1000th push-up, as his body alternated up and down, his thoughts went on a complete tangent and he had the impressive image of her grease-stained and sweaty, pinned beneath him as pistoned in and out of her. His hard-on renewed and it lobbed against the floor of the gravity chamber as he lowered himself in the push-up. That friction projected another image of her becoming sweatier as she matched his thrusts. She would be feisty, he just knew it. In a lustful haze, he began to thrust in earnest, imagining himself on top of her as the numerator to her lowest common denominator where she would finally cancel out his constant indifference.
His reverie was disrupted by the mechanical voice of the gravity simulator, "300x gravity initiation complete," that was like a bucket of ice cold water over his head. "Argh," he cried out in frustration. He hadn't applied enough force to rid his mind of her. He marched back to the console and upped the gravity to its highest setting.
His fantasies had previously only involved battle and vengeance, and that was exactly how it should be in accordance with Saiyan norms. Never had Vegeta had a sexual fantasy; those matters were completely unworthy of his time. And to make it more discomfiting, his mind had chosen the most uncouth and common woman imaginable. This was unbecoming of a prince, a mortal strike against his pride. A Saiyan prince would never harbour such unsavoury inclinations towards a mere Earth woman, and a weak one at that. Why was this happening? How was this happening?
For the last two weeks, their interactions had slowed due to his intense training with his new toys. In that timeframe, he had fooled himself that his mind had been stripped clean of her like the removal of a scratchy label from a garment. He had separated himself from the original source of his consternation but it was too late now, and the underlying unrest that she had caused had just stayed dormant until he was back in her presence. As soon as he had been alone with her, what had he done? His hands had been all over her silky hide as if she were a large game he was preparing to skin and butcher. For completely different reasons unrelated to battle, he could no longer trust himself, he who always had known what to say to curry favour with Freeza that still left the impression of withering condescension, he who could swallow his contempt for his contemporaries just so he could live another day and play the long game. He had been outmaneuvered by a simple Earthling woman in revealing his most dangerous of desires. This was why trust didn't pay. And most depressingly of all, he could not justify to himself why he was suddenly so infatuated with her, it had just become another one of his perpetual sorrows one day without warning.
But he knew Bulma was cunning and crafty, maybe she had engineered this whole thing and most certainly could explain his sudden pathology. But no, no, this could not all be by her cruel design, she wanted him just as much, if not more, he would bet his ascension on it. When he had cupped her womanhood, he had felt a wetness through her dress that she could not fake. And he swelled with some small burst of elation, that just as soon as it began to take shape, popped like a lead balloon that left him just feeling heavy and empty and in the midst of disaster.
The maximum gravity finally took effect, with the robotic voice alerting, "Warning maximum gravity, 500 gs, proceed with extreme caution."
Vegeta was not listening, still hearing Bulma's voice echoing in his ears about where to touch her, so he took just one step and automatically nosedived into the floor of the ship with some of the tiles crumbling as a result. Vegeta struggled to move, each movement was a concentrated effort that came out sluggish. This would do though, there was nothing like struggling to stay alive to take your mind off distractions.
…
To Bulma's delight, after that rather forward act from Vegeta, instead of further isolating himself in the ship to gripe like she would have expected, he was a more active presence in the house and at meal times. Although, she could ignore that he only wore a pinched expression in her company like she was something malodorous that couldn't be eliminated from the air. Even if he had to forcibly endure her, the fact of the matter was that he was still there. Bulma played with the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table, smiling surreptitiously at the Saiyan sitting right across from her. But of course he was slowly coming into her orbit, she should have predicted as much from the universal law of gravitation. Vegeta was no longer stationary when it came to her, so the first law of motion was a fait accompli. She could move on to the second law now.
The second law stated that acceleration was produced when force was applied to an object…or in her case, subject. How much force would she need to make a stubborn Saiyan budge and to accelerate things with her? Despite Vegeta's increased visibility, there was still a level of defiance and a sense of considerable resistance associated with it. And the greater the mass of resistance from him the greater the amount of force she would have to apply in order to seduce him. That did not demotivate her for physics to the rescue again, a resultant force applied from her for a longer duration of time would generate a larger change in momentum and therefore, would create a greater impulse in Vegeta to act. So Bulma would just have to keep pushing him with mounting force if she was going to make him give into his impulses. And lunch which should have been the time to break bread and not boundaries, was just another occasion for her to push him.
Vegeta looked up apprehensively from his bento box, as Bulma blatantly stared at him to the point of discomfort. The reason that he had been more present lately was because he did not want another repeat of that scene in the gravity ship. It was apparent to him in his confused state of mind and body in toiling to become a Super Saiyan, that his odious desires just laid in wait the longer he stayed away from her and that upon their eventual reunion, they would boil over the surface in spectacularly obscene fashion. The only shield against this would be if he familiarized himself with her until the point of contempt. Thus far though, he would admit that he was failing. The more he was around her, the more he wanted her, and he could only feel the pressure build in his closed vessel. And he was close to breaking point. Maybe it would only take a few more indiscreet well-placed pushes from her to achieve it. How she had been pushing him for the past week however, had been in a manner he was more accustomed to discounting. He felt dirty even acknowledging it, but she was trying to befriend him, by initiating all sorts of conversations with him. Usually, he relegated her squawking to background noise, but today she was pushing him in a new direction with a matter that he might just have to push out of her mind.
"Vegeta, what are other Saiyans like? I can't really use Son-kun as an example since he was raised here on Earth. Are they more like you?" As Bulma asked this, she bit on her lip, holding back an excited squeal, more hunky Saiyans like Vegeta? The seduction of just one of him was more than her poor body could take, imagine a bona fide orgy of Saiyans like Vegeta that she could welcome into her bed. Maybe it was by divine intervention that the Saiyan race had dwindled to just a few for the mental preservation of all womankind.
This was the impertinent push that Vegeta would just have to respond to. He would not allow someone of her lowly stature to ask questions about the legendary Saiyan race, like it was a hot topic of gossip. The first thing he would try to do was ignore her, and hopefully that would make her go away. But since when was that an effective strategy with coping with Bulma? That had never worked even once. He got a rude reminder of that fact.
"Hello, Vegeta, I'm taaalking to yoooouuu." Bulma snapped her fingers impatiently at him like he was some dog she was insisting should obey. "You're not daydreaming about me or something are you? Because buddy, dreams can come true, I'm already right here in front of you." She pouted, with her full lips looking extremely kissable. "It's not polite to not answer a lady's questions."
"Listen onna," Vegeta shouted, irritated at her pesky intrusiveness and that he was thinking about kissing her again, "it's not polite to ask questions about something that's none of your concern."
Bulma pouted even more. "Pardon me for wanting to know more about the man who's been living in my house for over a year. For all I know you could be some unhinged weirdo, or serial killer...oops," she said awkwardly, finally covering her mouth and finally Vegeta exhaled. "Alright, so I do know some things about you. But I'm just curious. I'm a scientist, it's in my nature to be inquisitive. Answer that one question and I'll leave you alone."
"You already know the answer." Vegeta caught her gaze with cold derision. "You met Raditz, didn't you? For all his faults, I'm sure he had enough sense to want to kill you just like I do."
"Oh him," Bulma said flightily, "I almost forgot about him, what with the revolving door of enemies in the past few years. He did want to kill me along with the rest of humanity. But Raditz was related to Son-kun, and that entire family is a bunch of kooks not representative of the lot. So tell me Vegeta, she bit her lip again, were the other Saiyans like you? What does a Saiyan such as you even like?"
She wrapped her arms around herself at that loaded question and Vegeta could see the outline of her bust yet again despite her wearing a high-necked shirt. Even with her body concealed, she still somehow managed to be an exhibitionist. He looked down at his lunch, concentrating on picking up single grains of rice with his chopsticks so that he wouldn't have to look at her curves. He shovelled the rice into his mouth. "Saiyans live to fight," he replied quickly between bites. That better shut her up.
Bulma rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, I already knew that one." He heard her nails scuttling across the table as her hand inched over to his to put his chopsticks down.
Her tone became sultrier, "What do you like Vegeta?" Her eyes met his, looking like they could swallow him whole into their sapphire unknown.
A grain of rice dribbled from his mouth, down his chin and to the table. The beating of his heart was at full volume, and he was sure he could hear hers too. "I like…I like quiet," he said thunderously, as he stepped angrily out of the room, almost overturning the table and leaving behind his half-eaten meal.
Bulma sighed, defeated once again. Maybe she had come on too strong. But for someone who liked quiet, he sure was loud. "Damn, why won't he just let me push his buttons?" Bulma said to the empty room. "Oh well, I'll try again at dinner," she shrugged, helping herself to his leftover sashimi.
'Saiyans like sex,' she imagined Vegeta grunting. Bulma was in her bed, revising the conversation that had occurred earlier between her and Vegeta, and her retelling had quickly taken a raunchy course.
'Can Saiyans fuck as well as they fight?' she'd eagerly ask.
And Vegeta would be on her quick as lightning, yanking her towards him, as he purred into her ear, 'For Saiyans, you may fight without fucking, but there's no fucking without fighting.'
As Bulma shucked off her underwear, she envisioned Vegeta using his teeth to do it instead and him having her pink frilly g-string hanging from his tongue. Bulma combined three of her fingers, assessing their size and estimating in her mind how it would compare to Vegeta's dick. It would be absolutely unacceptable to minimize the experience. If she wanted to be pretend that Vegeta was there, she would have to be realistic, and he would have a stout girth that would pillage her like she was a born again virgin. She jammed her fingers inside herself as far as they would extend, roughly sawing back and forth out of herself and cutting through all her restraints. Oh yes, he would be rough, he just didn't know any other way.
'If that's true, then you must know how to fuck me to death,' she would incite. Bulma continued to finger herself, interchanging between hard jabs and stroking her walls. Vegeta would pummel into her and that would just be the opening blow.
"Right there," she groaned, imagining Vegeta balls deep inside her with his hands anchored around her breasts like they were two life preservers.
'What are you doing to me, Vegeta?'
'I'm going to make you beg me for leniency, to spare your insignificant life,' he'd smirk from behind her.'
'You want me to beg?' Bulma would ask hotly, driving her ass higher up his torso so that she could take in more of his dick. 'Your wish is my command. I beg you to fuck me back to life.'
"Vegeta. Vegeta. VEGETA."
Meanwhile, Vegeta had just finished showering, and he was tucking his towel in neatly across his midsection, when he heard his name from afar.
"Vegeta."
It was Bulma's voice, somehow he could hear her though her room was a couple doors down. That couldn't be right.
"Vegeta."
Once more, was she really appealing to him like that? Not in her usual blaring octave, but with unbridled lust? What was going on over there? Vegeta fell onto his bed with his towel loosening.
"Vegeta," she cried, this time like a benediction.
He wondered why she was chanting his name, was she damning him for something that he had done? His cock twitched at that suggestion. Shocked at that bodily twitch, he jumped from the bed like it had been covered in bedbugs that were trying to crawl all over him, with his towel flying back towards the bathroom. His forehead vein enlarged, and his back hit the wall in his search for an emergency exit but he was trapped in his body's burning building of desire.
His dick was surging with excruciating pain, but it wasn't a pain he had ever known before. It was a pain that was on the cusp of pleasure, and it was every bit as violent as the pain that had been his constant brethren in the past. He didn't know how to handle it, to make it go away. He held down his dick that was jerking in all directions across his hand like a loose cannon and almost felt the need to pray.
He recklessly glued his ear to the wall so he could eavesdrop on Bulma's chorus of lust, and every vibration of sound that came from her lips and travelled across the walls to reach his ears made his entire body vibrate with forbidding inflammatory sexuality.
Back in Bulma's room, she was living out a recurring fantasy derived from a former recurring nightmare. She would be marooned on Namek again, in that solitary ridge between the mountains, trying to conceal herself from slaughter while also guarding her team's dragon balls.
But Vegeta would stumble upon her hideout and he would be for blood. He would see her surrounded by the dragon balls he had strove so hard to collect. And there she would be the guilty party, the thief caught red-handed. Vegeta's eyes would go white with rage, he would lose his pupils, while he circled her like a vulture after carrion meat.
'Don't kill me, don't kill me,' Bulma would plead, with her hands up. 'I'll show you how to find the remaining dragon balls.'
'I told your bald friend if there was any treachery that I would kill you, but I know just what to do with you,' Vegeta would remark sinisterly.
Vegeta would raise the hem of her dress up to her waist, assessing her body's worth, 'Up against the rocks and open up wide for me,' he'd command. 'It would be a pity to kill you without enjoying you first.'
Vegeta would rub himself against her entrance, ready to impale her in a death blow, when he would comment, 'Tsk, tsk, wet for your murderer?'
And Bulma would hang her head in shame at the downpour between her legs. Then he would indiscriminately take her by force, looting every advantageous feeling from out of her insides.
Near his climax, Bulma would clamp down on him, 'I've got your cock stuck inside me. I won't let you go and I won't let you come,' she promised, 'not unless you swear on your honour as a prince to let me go and to not kill me or my friends. It's a bargain deal and you won't have to pay the full price. You'll leave here with your balls and the dragon balls both intact.'
'As if you could stop me,' Vegeta would scoff. But he would feel her constrict all around his thickness, almost as if she had a dentured vagina with teeth blocking his exit.
And to make it an even more perilous conquest, Bulma would brandish a laser gun out of her dress pocket that she would focus right on his testicles. 'You can't come if I shoot your balls off.'
Vegeta would cackle before becoming stern. 'I swear I won't kill you, and I will come amidst your ravening cunt, but I shall make you come first.'
As sand would swoosh around them, and the earth under them would splinter, they would give themselves up for the other. Afterwards, Vegeta would effortlessly sweep the gun away that Bulma had kept pointed at his manhood throughout.
'Why'd you agree not to kill me if you could do that?' Bulma would sputter.
'I agreed so you wouldn't be too scared to come for me,' he'd explain while dusting himself off. 'Don't worry, I won't kill you just yet, not until I'm done enjoying you.'
'Maybe you should make me be afraid of you again,' Bulma would whisper, and Vegeta would shove himself back into her, his cock still dripping with his and her juices like a melting creamsicle.
And it was happening, the grand finale, where her fingers were enclosed between her undulating walls and caught between her own secondary teeth, as her lust gushed out of her. "Vegetaaa," she cried disjointedly, with the most powerful of orgasms striking her down.
As she came to, with the rolling credits of her orgasm at an end, she shifted herself to the untouched side of her bed and looked back across at the dark and sweaty outline of her body greased into the sheets that resembled some predatory alien arthropod. Her entire fantasy had just been a total sci-fi B-grade movie plot, and her mind was already lining up the next trashy installment. Bulma was absolutely ashamed of herself, what would everyone think if they knew that she was fantasizing about Vegeta at his most evil? Her only defense was that it was a such turn-on to think that he would want her even at his most genocidal. Soon the protestations of her friends dimmed away without conflict like cinema lights before a show, and her fingers pressed against her clit which was the start button to her double feature with her soundtrack on a constant loop, "Right there, Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta."
With just a few walls to separate them, Vegeta was regaling in his own private fantasy. 'You want to know what Saiyans like to do? Saiyans like to punish,' he imagined himself snarling.
The setting would be when Vegeta had first come to Earth where in a reversal of fate, him and Nappa would have decimated the Z-senshi. On the side of the road, adjacent to the fight, he'd find Bulma, nude and hog-tied, with a gag in her mouth.
'She was making too much noise as we murdered her friends, I just had to cover her mouth. But you don't see many like her around,' Nappa would whistle. 'I think I'll take her for a spin,' he'd say removing the gag.
'You fucking bastard, put me down,' Bulma would yell, as she'd spit in Nappa's face.
'She was better when she was silent,' Vegeta would chuckle, before choking her on the gag again. 'As long as she doesn't talk, she's tolerable. I'll take her and punish her. You can have your turn once I'm done with her,' he would smirk wickedly back at Nappa, robbing him of his spoil of war.
He'd lead Bulma to a nearby cave where he would undo all her binds, then without any foreplay, for any woman on any planet should always be ready for their prince, he would smash into her. Soon he would see her tears. 'Why do you cry?' he'd coo in a tone that would almost be humane. Her tears would trickle down across her legs and Vegeta would understand. 'Hoho, those aren't tears of pain but pleasure. And you shall have more. I'll have you crying your heart and loins out. Now I want you to say my name.'
He would tenderly pull off her gag, his fingers tracing against her lips. 'Say my name.'
'Vegeta', she'd respire, insubordinately, excoriatingly, seethingly.
Vegeta chased away his thoughts like they were a band of ghouls. He was polluting himself, a man of his station shouldn't be partaking in such lesser pastimes. He toughened his hold on his aching member, ready to leave the room to go train and beat some sense into himself. But then he heard her again and his head strained back against the wall to get better reception.
"Vegeta," there was no mistaking it this time, she was practically calling for him to come and fuck her. There was so much longing in her voice. Vegeta maneuvered his cock, trying to quell it back to flaccid as it throbbed in his hand.
"Right there," he heard her scream.
"Vegeta!"
And he was revisited by the recent memory of her breasts plumping in his hands, as she gasped salubriously, "Right there." And he was no longer Vegeta, the prideful prince of all Saiyans, an imposter had taken over and was using his hands to uncoil his inhibitions with some hard pumps. And it felt not too soft, not too hard but just right.
"Vegeta!"
Instead of his hand, he imagined Bulma's on him in its place and a grizzly growl rumbled from deep within his chest and then something hot sprayed out onto him and even onto the carpet below. He looked down at his resinous hand, and spread over it was a rancid poison like curdled cream.
His peak had been powerful but still tapered, like there had been some sort of handicap on it serving to dilute the strength of his orgasm. Yes, it had been so very good, but it was still an incomplete combustion that was inferior compared to how fulfilling it would be to actually have Bulma service him herself with her teasing mouth or sparkling cunt.
But how could I have let matters get so out of hand like that? Vegeta asked himself. It wasn't like I was positioning my hand so it would feel like a cunt. Not at all. I was barely handling myself and yet, all it took was one thought of her and I let myself go. Why am I enlisting myself in this incessant humiliation? Only low class Saiyans had to resort to touching themselves. I'm a prince, I should have women queuing for the honour to attend to me, but here I am.
Vegeta snatched his towel from off the floor and cleaned himself off with shame. If only that were enough to sanitize Bulma from his mind as well. This was going to get worse before it got better. Maybe, maybe he would have to consummate his hateful infatuation…and then he could earn some peace. But that was a silly surrender his pride would not allow…
At the same time, Bulma was dozing serenely. She had suffered no disturbances from fantasizing about Vegeta and had even come again from him. This was just the dress rehearsal though, until the curtain rose and actual sex could take centre stage. It would just be so much better when she could have him for real. As she had gotten more settled in her bed that was now teeming with her fluids, she had promised herself, one day soon I will have him in my bed and he will like it.
…
"Vegeta, I already told you that I'd be performing the three month maintenance on the ship today. It only takes an hour to complete. So get out here right now."
Bulma knocked repeatedly at the door of the ship but Vegeta was acting like there was nobody home. It wasn't like when a stranger called, she demanded instant access or a home invasion was pending. Bulma went up to the ship windows, scanning for Vegeta under the gloom of the infrared lights. "Come out, come out wherever you are Vegeta. I know you're in there somewhere and the quicker you come out the better." Why was he ignoring her when she would just be helping him improve his training conditions? These Saiyans really didn't know that everything she did was for their own good.
Bulma finally spotted him hanging upside down on the ceiling of the ship like an overgrown black venomous spider. "There you are, you itsy bitsy Saiyan, now I just have to flush you out. You don't want to answer me, that's no deterrent, I'll just destabilize the gravity now, whether you like it or not," she hollered while walking back towards the entrance of the ship.
Bulma pulled a small remote out of the pocket of her work overalls and aimed it at the centre of the ship. This was a device that could override the gravity chamber's controls to disengage the gravity. It was a little something she had tinkered with after Vegeta's second suicide attempt under the extreme influence of gravity. Although she already had installed a manual override on the outside of the ship and she could do it remotely from her office computer as well, in an emergency, she wanted to be able to access the gravity even if she was in a far-flung location. This was the first time she was testing out her remote which could disable the particular frequency of the gravitational waves produced by the ship even at large-scale distances. And it seemed that she had another hit on her hands, as the hum of the gravity chamber quietened and was replaced by Vegeta's frustrated growls.
The door of the chamber clanged open and Bulma could see some of the metal hinges dent and start to separate from its scaffolding. "Careful Vegeta," Bulma winced," this is just going to take longer if you break the door down."
Vegeta finally emerged from the ship, and smoke from the burnt ceramics in the chamber accompanied his every angry footstep, matching the smoke coming straight from his ears. "What the hell are you on, Bulma? Why'd you turn the gravity off?"
Bulma made the longest most overdrawn sigh. "For the umpteenth time, the ship maintenance is long overdue. You've been overloading the circuitry by just either keeping the gravity program in active mode or on standby. A full shutdown and recharge process needs to be done. I'm surprised it hasn't broken down on you already, but that says more about my brilliant engineering than your abuse. I just want to ensure that everything is still functioning normally, another accident where I could potentially get injured in the crossfire is not on the agenda." Not to mention, she wasn't going to have his untimely death on her conscience either, not before she fucked him at least.
Vegeta's face grimaced at the unwelcome reminder of his accidents. "And since the dawn of humanity, I've been telling you to do it on your own time and not to interrupt my training. Do whatever preventative maintenance this is when I'm sleeping."
The gall of this monkey. Bulma felt that she might just have to bust the reinforced exterior of the ship as well. "You go to sleep long after I've fallen asleep. I'm not waiting around all night for you. Besides, I only do this boring manual labour during my working hours, nine to five. It's already the afternoon now, so you have to work around my schedule. It's not like you have a job," she exclaimed snootily.
Vegeta was on the verge of taking her over his bended knee and spanking some sense and contrition into her. Saiyans really did like to punish, and he felt himself getting charmed once again by her vexation-based hex. "My job," Vegeta shouted, his hand firing to smack her, to touch her, to have any skin contact, "is to train to defeat the androids and Kakarot. The former coincides with your interests yet you do everything to dissuade me from pursuing it". Vegeta eyed the antenna branching out of her pocket. He nicked the remote cleanly from her overalls, clucking, "So this is how you do it, this is how you've been altering the gravity without my consent."
"Give that back Vegeta."
Vegeta whacked his palm against the remote, hitting all the buttons at once, but when nothing happened, he began pressing each button individually but still the gravity did not reinitialize.
"Hohohoho," Bulma crowed triumphantly, "it doesn't work that way. The remote can disable the gravity but not enhance it."
Vegeta crushed the remote with one clench of his fist and threw it back at her. "At least you won't be able to use it again."
Bulma let her junked invention fall to the ground and then crossly kicked the scraps back at him. She sniffed with unflappable arrogance, "I can always make another. But you have to work on that temper of yours. Now beat it so I can work. Use this extra hour to beat off or something."
Vegeta felt that she had hit him now with a speaking hex, for he was mute and dumb on how to respond to such a vocal insinuation to masturbate. Little did Bulma know that despite it being purely accidental, he had already rubbed one out to her and that it had done nothing to alleviate his crisis. And although he was transmitting her harried words through his ears and skull, the contrecoup was received at the real point of injury in his hallowed organ.
"No. Restore the gravity," Vegeta demanded. Vegeta barricaded the entrance to the ship with his body in the form of a fiery X.
"I will, like I said baka, in an hour." Bulma's voice trailed off as she looked down at where X marked the spot. Burning back at her through his shorts, was Vegeta's erection, full and proud. Bulma blinked, trying to get a better visual of that jackpot. Damn those nuisance shorts, always hampering her view! What she could ascertain from her eyes's telescopic lenses, was that he was huge and thick, he had a regal cock befitting of a prince. She groaned inwardly. His cock was jutting through his shorts like the talking point of a majestic masterpiece that she would mold from her hands from out of an untouched block of solid bronze. Chosen from out of all creation, he would be the only one to feel so good inside of her. Shit, Bulma slapped herself mentally, this is not the time or place to get hot and bothered, dummy! But how could she abjure her covert operation of get in Vegeta's pants when his dick was taunting her so cruelly? Her curiosity was also aroused as she wondered if he were attracted to her or if he were only getting excited by their escalating argument? Kami knew Bulma got more than a little aroused from their verbal spars, so why not Vegeta too? Don't push your luck, she lectured herself again. He's probably just turned on by training, Saiyans are weird like that. But Kami help her, the courtliness of that bulge. Had he stuffed a few dragon balls down there? If he was going to give her a teaser trailer to the main action, she would have to tease him too.
Bulma smiled devilishly, "Not a chance. Anyways, Vegeta, you should get to it. You've got a desperate matter there to take into your own hand."
Vegeta didn't understand what she was referring to. What matter could be more desperate than his training?
"Your dick looks like it could use some maintenance too, maybe a little spring cleaning after all that winter buildup?"
"What?" There was that sexual vulgarity again, but why was she being so open about it with him of all people? Wouldn't that turtle hermit be more outgoing with such talk? His eyes followed hers and stopped in a clash royale at his raging hard-on. Fuck, no, how had this happened without him even realizing it? He was too incensed and preoccupied with their dispute to notice and counteract it. And now she had seen, and she was going to punish him for it. Humans were partial to punishing too. Human women that is. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to plead ignorance.
"I mean, I didn't know I had that effect on you Vegeta," Bulma laughed, gesturing to his erection. "I guess you're straight after all. You're not in the asexual club with Piccolo and Tienshenhan. Or maybe you were, but I have the power to turn any man to the dark side."
Bulma noticed Vegeta's entire face and even the top of his ears had turned a vivid shade of red. It was the same red that was standard after a light workout or a quickie. It was actually pretty cute and it was even more thrilling that she could make him so embarrassed.
A calculating look that reminded him very much of Freeza teased across her features. "Are you blushing? I can make the blood rush elsewhere, if you'd like."
Vegeta's blood vessels vasodilated further, his blood raced to both of his heads and his blush, red, wrathful and inflamed, spread like shingles all across the surface of his skin. A pox on her for doing this to him. "You don't affect me," Vegeta denied harshly. "What are you doing even staring there, you wanton woman?"
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me Vegeta, no one told you to wear shorts that tight." Not that I'm complaining and please don't switch to anything baggy, Bulma prayed." I wasn't expecting that thing to be poking out at me."
Vegeta had been indoctrinated in numerous forms of humiliation in the past, but this was a new low. What was he going to do to salvage his pride now? Then Bulma handed him a weapon. "What about my effect on you?" Vegeta shot back. "What about the putrid stench of your arousal?"
Bulma gawped at him. There was no conceivable way that he could know that her body was in a frenzy. "What are you talking about?"
He pointed lewdly to her crotch. "There, I can smell it."
She snapped her legs shut, trying to prevent any amorous aromas from escaping. "You Saiyans and your bloodhound noses!" Her voice was shrill and incredulous, "Are you really sniffing my snatch?" Did it smell bad or enticing to him? Suddenly, she was self-conscious about her body odor in regards to a Saiyan's acute sense of smell. How mortifying it would be if she were symptomatic of trimethylaminuria, that rotten fishy smell syndrome. But she couldn't think of herself in that offensive manner, she was more like the house special that was served saucy and with lemon zest. And Vegeta would be lucky if he caught a whiff of her.
It was now Bulma who blushed furiously. "That has nothing to do with you."
A much more ribald form of speech took over Vegeta, who was borrowing lines that Raditz had used in the past to lambast uppity women. "Doesn't it?" he smirked. "You're over there desperate like a cat in heat. I can even sense when you drip from those leaky lips of yours. Drip, drip, drop. Though you better drop it onna." Vegeta folded his arms, extravagantly shawling conceit over his humiliation.
"Worthless human," he murmured, "don't think I don't know how much you want me. Don't think you get to touch." It was a gutsy statement for Vegeta to make for he actually could not determine what Bulma's true intentions towards him were except to annoy. But it seemed correct to assume that she wanted him and wanted to touch him.
"Are you sure you don't want me to touch?" Bulma advanced and put a silencing finger to his lips. "My lips are sealed. But what about yours? And there, voilà, I touched you, you horny Saiyan." He snarled and tried to bite her finger, but she put her solemn finger back to his lips. "Shh, shh, you'll be quiet and will play nice."
Eventually, she disbanded her finger gently from him, dragging it across his upper lip. She came even closer so that the border of their lips was almost touching. How Vegeta longed right then to stuff his dick down her throat to shut her up and to keep her busy. But instead he waited to see what she would do next.
"So what are you going to do about it?" she twittered, indicating to his dick, "it looks uncomfortable." Her finger strolled from his torso to the top of his shorts and with flagrant conviction, she snapped the waistband of his shorts. Her finger kept him open as she stretched the waistband away from his body. He felt mild air wind across his dick, and the erection he had tried to temper swelled back from half mast to full. There was just a scalene vortex of black space between his shorts and his body.
Bulma had to restrain herself from looking further down, because it would be like staring directly into the sun. She would not look but she just had to touch. "And Vegeta," she said, as his ki picketed around him to keep her off his property. Keep off the grass and off his ass, she thought humorously. "There's no way I could ever want you as much as you want me."
And then she touched.
Bulma squeezed his ball sack that was like two-ton gold doubloons, and used her muscle to pull his face closer to hers. So he doesn't like to wear underwear either she remarked. Bulma looked at him expectantly, and Vegeta was about to succumb. His breath released in a groan with the sound like the creaking of the plank as his body walked over it. They both remained unmoving in a wordless duet and staring contest, almost attached at the lips but not. They were both uncertain about what they should do, but certain about what they wanted to do.
Come on, kiss me Vegeta, you can feel me up but you can't kiss me? All Bulma had to do was purse her lips slightly and she'd be kissing him.
If she kisses me, Vegeta worried, I won't be able to make it stop. I'll be man overboard again.
I can't kiss him first again, Bulma decided. I've already done that twice. Kiss me, Vegeta, kiss me, she willed.
This cutlass woman was hacking away at his pride, and he liked the feeling of being dismembered. But despite the many holes in his hull, he wouldn't just let her sink his battleship. He had to sail away from the flotsam and jetsam of her arms, and protect himself from this perfect storm and throw this attraction for her deep into the heart of his dark ocean. Vegeta reeled himself away from her with disgust, but his lust did not sink like he wanted it to, it just floated away momentarily in the current of his anger and self-ruin. "Get away from me, demon woman. One hour," he said, before stalking off, his erection still harpooning out from his shorts.
Bulma put a steadying hand on her rapidly churning heart. What a stubborn ass, that was so close, she lamented. Although, it was probably best that nothing had happened for now. Vegeta still wasn't totally ready to take her on. But he had just left her standing forlorn there with the female equivalent of blue balls. Forget it, Bulma ordered herself, let's just get this maintenance done so I can get on with my day, free of Vegeta! But once she was done, she was already planning to go to her bedroom to clean out her own gutters.
She called back at Vegeta, "Hey, badman, you might want to change those shorts of yours, they're feeling kind of wet."
…
Bulma was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cherries, and she was swinging one of the cherries by its stem as she brooded. How to solve a problem like Vegeta? Only a genius would be able to invent a solution, and luckily, she was one, but it felt like she was unnecessarily complicating matters as she had converted a singular issue into a two-body problem by involving herself. How could she chart the trajectory of two point particles like themselves who only interacted with one another yet one of them wanted to pretend as if they were only repelled? She sighed. There were only so many times that she could go back to the drawing board. And wasn't insanity defined by repeating the same thing over and over again yet expecting a different outcome? She was not about to have a makeunder into some mad scientist with Frankenstein hair and reclusive oddball qualities.
But chin up girl, she said to cheer herself up, you're not only attractive to humans but apparently to aliens too, and princes to boot. You're like a cosmological beauty queen. She imagined herself being crowned as the universal beauty queen by some globular alien and having her inaugural dance with the ultimate in Saiyan arm candy.
Suddenly, she woke up from her pageant dreams, as Vegeta and his rock candy chest burst into the room. Bulma stopped swinging the cherry stem, and stared at him hungrily while licking her lips.
The confidence that Vegeta had initially exuded upon arriving diminished as he spotted her there. He averted his eyes quickly from hers and began puttering inside the fridge so that she couldn't check out his crotch that was now hidden in sweatpants.
Bulma did nothing to conceal her laugh and was terribly amused. "So how long are we going to play at this little game of cat and mouse, Vegeta?" Vegeta's back tensed at the fridge but he did not respond and Bulma finally bit into her cherry, letting the tart juices flood her mouth.
Eventually, Vegeta had to turn around to retrieve a plate from the cupboard and started portioning out yakisoba to eat. She was in Vegeta's range of view again whether he liked it or not, and she had a wicked idea to exploit the situation. The stem of the cherry was caught between her front teeth, and with her tongue, she crossed over the stem ends into a loop. She used the tip of her tongue to shape and secure the loop.
Although he didn't want to appear as if he were watching Bulma, he most definitely was, and was very confused by the weird chewing motions she was making with her mouth as her face was set in languid concentration. What was she up to now? he wondered cautiously as he spooned sauce onto his plate.
A game of cat and mouse, his mind answered for him, so are you going to let her reduce you to a grey little lab mouse?
Vegeta put down his spoon and was about to yell at her to end her mouth's contortionist tricks, but Bulma stopped on her own.
As soon as she was certain that she had his undivided attention, she slowly and sexily extracted her tongue from her mouth, with the knotted cherry stem right at the tip.
Vegeta didn't understand the exact message she was trying to convey, but understood that it was a provocation and he was amazed. She hadn't been chewing after all, and was just trampolining once again on his inhibitions. Whatever innuendo she was trying to portray, it was working, for he wanted to take her cherry lips against his own until they were crushed into a fine confiture.
He looked down at the ledge, banging his fist into it, as a thought not his own, that couldn't possibly belong to him, invaded his head. He thought of spreading her body thickly over the countertop, while his resolve was spread thin over her, so that he could quench this unwanted side reaction once and for all. But how was she doing this to him?
If he substituted her out of the equation and replaced her with a Saiyan woman would it be the same? He would never solve that question, for there was no Saiyan woman alive to differentiate the basis of his perturbation calculations. But no, even if he couldn't plug in that Saiyan function, he could compute his true irrationality, that in the changing moeurs here on Earth, he liked her exoticness and the fighting mystique that was draped across her like a second skin. Would any Saiyan woman living or dead ever be able to compare to that?
He turned all the way towards her. "What are you trying to do to me?" he asked in a mystic meld of desire, dread and disdain.
And in that viciously velveteen manner, of his hell frozen over from her wicked frostbite, she replied, "I'm trying to pop your cherry for Earthlings." She showed off the knotted stem on her tongue again, and Vegeta grabbed his plate and bolted from the kitchen. He was in such a big rush that he had forgotten to heat up his food.
Bulma spat out the stem, picked up a new cherry, and twirled it around absentmindedly. You may think differently Vegeta, but I know that it's only a matter of time before we give in. She pouted glumly. But don't keep me waiting for too long, this cat wants her mouse and so far all the mousetraps I've set for you keep on staying empty and you're just baiting me with your catnip.
Back on the balcony, where she always seemed to rally when she was dogged by a divisive issue, Bulma was speculating on the future as she gazed into the twilight obscurity of the sky. What was going to happen after the androids were defeated? Would she get married and start a family? Would she take over as president of the company? Would her and Vegeta finally lay down arms and submit to one other? She sniggered as she drank her beer, shaking her head. It didn't take much speculation to deduce that there was more of a chance of her gaining a stupendous ki and trouncing Son-kun in a fight than there was of Vegeta making a serious move on her. How had she gone from I hate you, I'll kill you to I want to ride your dick anyways? It seemed so long ago when she had promised herself that she would put Vegeta in his grave or even have him in her bed. The war they had, once atomic, was now thawing to cold, or some sort of armistice where neither of them knew what was going to happen next or how the other would react, but they both had their fingers on the trigger - just they were both still too scared to take the first shot.
There was the sound of padded feet coming towards her, and she saw Vegeta in his pink house slippers, appearing as if he were ready for bed, staring at her through the open door. That was another sign that they had established some sort of diplomacy amongst themselves as Bulma had badgered Vegeta to quit wearing his muddy boots all over the clean floors and had thrown a pair of house slippers at him to wear instead and he had agreed to it without any dissent.
Bulma saluted him with an unopened beer, motioning for him to come over. Vegeta joined her at the ledge, snagging the beer from her hand. The beer was still cold with the glass frosted over. It bothered him that she already had a bottle of beer waiting for him, like she knew he couldn't sleep and would mosey on over to her. Vegeta propped his hand that was closest to Bulma against the balcony rail. While they drank in charged silence, the only sound was from their bottles jangling against the balustrade.
"Vegeta, what are you going to do when this is all over?"
It was a question so flippantly asked by her that was packed with purpose to him. He had been squinting in the limited scope of his myopic vision to become a Super Saiyan for so long that the prospect of a happy afterlife succeeding this purgatory here on Earth was occluded with dark turbidity. So he was startled to have to face the unforeseen future now. There was a joyous breakout of ecstasy that rushed into every hollow chamber of his heart as he considered a life unobstructed by Kakarot where he was number one. What would he do indeed? Would he take Freeza's place as the galactic chief? Let his name go down in ignominious applause? Finally close his eyes, and sleep and dare to dream? To summarize these indeterminate feelings, he simply stated, "Be legendary."
"A legend?" Bulma pronounced thoughtfully and looked towards him, "I could see that, you being the reluctant tragic hero."
"Tch," he scorned, "there would be no heroics, just pestilence, famine and desolation and the only tragedies would be reserved for my enemies."
"Oh, is that all? No death, destruction or torture? What kind of knockoff hero are you?"
"That's implied. And need I remind you, you foolish woman, I'm a villain."
"You're no villain," she said with such assertiveness that he was almost strong-armed into believing her.
"How many more billions do I have to massacre to prove to you that I am?" he shouted, also rather insulted that he hadn't committed enough crimes against the cosmos to actually be deemed a badman in her eyes.
"There's more to you than that, more than you think you are." Her voice was barely above a whisper but it was her eyes that shrieked at him with omniscient farsightedness.
"Will you still say that when the Earth is in ruins all around you, right before I erase it out of its misery?"
"You aren't going to destroy the Earth."
"What makes you so sure?"
"The Earth is just the one and only place where anyone can make a home, don't you think? Admittedly, I am not well-travelled in this galaxy, let alone others, but it only took one trip to Namek to convince me that the Earth is one of the last few strongholds against the terrorism that is just a fact of life almost everywhere else. It would be a shame to eliminate it on some whim."
Vegeta could concede that the Earth was not the worst temporary abode, it was a place where he had never felt unsafe but it was just another hidey hole where he could hide from himself until he could emerge victorious as a Super Saiyan. It was nothing special and was certainly not a home. "Bulma, there are so many other worlds than this one, each one more breathtaking than the last, yet that did not make me spare them."
Maybe she remembered who he really was, for her glow of confidence faded away from her dully with the pale blue of her eyes seeking shelter. And his heart hollowed out once more at her switch to nearsightedness when it came to him. Just tonight, he could give her his own pale shelter which was neither sturdy nor seafaring but it was all he had. His lip curled into something almost resembling a smile. "Why don't you ask me nicely? Then maybe I will consider not destroying the Earth."
And Bulma came running to his shelter, and the sudden exposure to her returning eyeshine hit him with flash blindness. "Who said that I had to ask? I can be very persuasive without saying a single word." She played with the zipper at the top of her jacket, unzipping and zipping in turns, giving him an exclusive view again of her cleavage. She took a long intake of her drink, watching him studiously.
In response, he took an equally big gulp of his beer. "As if you have any influence over me."
"Hmm, we shall see," she said cryptically, "but besides, when you become a Super Saiyan and defeat Son-kun, won't that be enough? There would be no need to take your vengeance out on the entire Earth."
When you become a Super Saiyan and defeat Son-kun, won't that be enough…it was so natural, so plausible, almost so effortless sounding when she said it and he was bolstered again by her blind faith, his heart and all his other organs flowing rich with blood. His phantom smile became real. "Perhaps defeating Kakarot would put me into such an uncharacteristically good mood that I might be persuaded to be generous, but don't forget, you know I still owe you death, right?"
"I remember, but you won't kill me."
"And why not?"
Bulma smirked up at him from beneath her dark fringe of lashes. "Because you like me."
She nudged him in the ribs with her teasing at its maximum when he didn't respond. "Oh come on, not even a little bit? But maybe I can get you to change your mind,"…she looked down to his crotch that was carefully concealed within jeans. She really didn't like this change in his wardrobe to more a conservative style.
Vegeta was fully aware of where she was looking, trying to discern the state of his arousal, but her snooping would amount to nothing, he wasn't going to let it all hang out in the open again. "I'll make sure that you're the first casualty," he said keeping the conversation light.
"That will never happen. That boy from the future said that everyone would perish in less than two years time except for yours truly. So even if the big bad Vegeta came knocking like a wolf at my door, I'd find a way to survive."
"Yes, you and the cockroaches, the only survivors of the apocalypse. I wouldn't be surprised," he said sarcastically.
"Also, how do you plan on escaping this hellhole of a planet without a spaceship, without a spaceship that only my father's company manufactures? I guess you'll need me alive unless you want to be stranded here," Bulma concluded, crossing her arms smugly.
"And why couldn't I force you to do my bidding before I wipe you out?"
"You can't get me to shut up, how do you think you're going to make me fly you to another galaxy? Although, the prospect of getting you on my back…off my back," she quickly corrected, "is tempting."
He looked like he was trying very hard not to smirk. "Maybe you'll end up dying as collateral damage instead of me directly marking you for death as thanks for annoying me."
"That sounds like some sort of macabre compliment coming from you, but I'll take it. And when the time comes, I know exactly how to put you in a good mood," she gloated, her jacket now completely unzipped. "So you're set on leaving Earth after?"
"I would have to relocate to another planet once I destroy this one, that much should be obvious," he answered dryly.
"That's too bad, things will be so boring here without you." She looked out at the weak pinpoints of light masquerading as stars. "But won't you also get bored, all alone out there in space?"
"No." His expression looked lightyears away, and his hands balled into fists. "There are many battles yet to be won."
And Bulma tried bringing him back down to Earth. "You can't leave though without first besting me in a battle. Haven't I always bested you in our verbal altercations?"
"Tch, screaming incoherently until you make my ears bleed and I leave to preserve my sanity does not equal witticisms in our battles. Though you have presented me with a different type of battle, I could end it at any time with one hit to your head. So I'm the victor by default every time."
"If that's what you want to believe," Bulma singsonged back to him.
He slammed his beer down on the rail. "Just be quiet and let me drink my beer in peace."
Bulma turned away from him and faced outwards into the night. "Only because you asked me so nicely."
Bulma stared straight ahead, as her hand inconspicuously lumbered across the rail before finally settling on top of Vegeta's. She felt his hand tense but not retract, as her hand probed his from the hard keratin of his nails, to his cuticles, down to his joints and intricate wrist bones. His hand stayed unnaturally prone with his fingers extended as she placed her hand flat across his, comparing how their fingers aligned. He was so wooden and unrelaxed. The touches that they had shared before that were so easily and aggressively given when aimed to kill, were now evasive and careful when turned to affection...or at least whatever the opposite of murderous intent was. His hands were calloused and battle-worn against her soft and delicate ones, but she knew how to not just examine him, but how to intrigue him, as her nimble digits cruised across the lines of his hand, with each line a grooved tributary that told its own tale. She didn't need to look at him, as she could demystify him with only the sense of touch.
The rest of her senses were omitted, but all of his senses flared. There was something unchaste with the searching way she explored his hand, that seemed so familiar to her even though it was untrodden land. Vegeta then remembered that she had made him defile himself in his own hand, the very hand she was prodding now. When she was done exploring, as if staking her claim, she discreetly clasped his hand, pulling him into her fold. This wasn't only the hand of a killer but a vulnerable hand that needed her helping hand. His hand that would forever be anointed with blood, that had slaughtered so many, now trembled in hers. Did that make her mightier than him?
Tears of fearful clammy sweat were running off his hand and into hers. She was reading too much into him from his hand to his entire aching body. And she was too close once again, her lips just a hairbreadth away as she whispered to him, "A legendary hero, that's what you will be."
He was felled by her friendly fire and he had to return from beyond enemy lines. Vegeta unlaced their fingers. He drew a line across her lifeline, feeling her very vitality thrum against his fingers, before tearing his hand away. His hand reached for her unfinished beer on the rail, and he downed the remains in one shot.
Finally, Bulma looked back at him, with her own hand protracted towards him. Where would her hand lead him? Nowhere that he wanted to go. Vegeta shirked past her, going back inside.
"Good night Vegeta," she murmured, watching him while his hand reached into the pocket of his jeans for protection or to stroke a concealed weapon?
…
Vegeta was returning to his room, just as he saw Bulma exiting from it.
"Hi Vegeta," Bulma said cheerfully. "I've put the refurbished armour in your closet. The bots have been completely overhauled and now have multiple new settings for power and speed. They're on your desk, along with the other weapons that I've cooked up for you. I've got the upgraded software for the gravity chamber updating now, and if the installation goes according to plan, you should be able to increase the gravity up to 1000 gs. I think I've been able to execute all the modifications that you requested."
Bulma rambled on, but Vegeta tuned her out. Vegeta examined his room and saw the evidence of her tampering, from the group of bots aggregated on his desk to his closet that she had forgotten to close all the way, where various sections of armour and training suits hanged along with an assortment of human attire, button-up shirts, polos, slacks and jeans, more so than there had been before, that Bulma must have added to the collection. Below, his boots were filed into an even horizontal line, while above, his gloves were stacked into an orderly pyramid. Furthermore, his bedsheets had been changed. They were freshly starched and ironed and were now white instead of the normal dark blue. She had even opened the windows and curtains, so that vile sunlight could now stream in. In every crevice of his room he was barraged by her presence, her interference and her flowery smell. He could picture her sprucing up his room, reorganizing not out of obligation or an obsessive-compulsive need, but from friendliness. It had to be that odious affectation that impelled her to tidy his room when hers was a disaster zone.
She was too comfortable, too familiar with him and he had accepted it, maybe even encouraged it. They jested and provoked each other, their arguments were borne more out of recreation and their own penchant for it rather than blackmail and intimidation. They consulted each other with ideas and were enlivened in each other's company, whether they realized it or not. They were attracted to each other; their chemistry was apparent to even him now. He let her touch him, and he would depress into her safekeeping, praying for yet also petitioning against her doing more. It was a casual carnage that was so insidiously progressive like tectonic plates moving forward a nail-width at a time. It was something that was at first inconsequential, but had now become monumental, a seismic upheaval, a force majeure. His environment had the same outward appearance, but it was all a mirage that continuously depleted him until he could no longer consider Capsule Corp. as a safe haven. No, the Earth was wild uncharted territory.
He regarded the messy unkempt bun on her head and her overlarge semi-sheer shirt, that reflected her pastel coloured bra to him. She wasn't dressed to stimulate him, she was dressed so casually, and he was thwarted by her just as casually. He could move her from his open doorway, to his primly made bed, shutting the door behind him and shutting the door on his diffidence. And he could take her even more casually, until their desires coalesced and broke through the faultline in their retiring surfaces.
He was reminded of an adage, learned upon Freeza's ship, that you don't have to wage a war to win a battle. Bulma had won their first battles, before he even knew that he was embroiled in a war. She had cut him from the inside out, until only his heartstrings remained, like hard wires itching for her lithe fingers to strum at them. Although it was a less physically damaging version, they were nonetheless following the step-by-step guide of Saiyan courtship. He should have known it long before. He should have known that this would be the slow but obvious culmination of all their vicious interactions. He was no longer at war with her but at war with himself, and somehow he thought that had been her original goal all along. But no more, he could banish her just as casually as he had accepted her.
"Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help you," Bulma finished.
"I never asked for your help," Vegeta jeered.
"I know you didn't, but I'll still help you anyways." She thought that they were over this. Vegeta had accepted and contributed to her assistance for awhile now. "If I waited for you to ask for help, I'd be waiting forever. I just take initiative and do what you can't ask."
"Bulma, there's something you can do to help me..." He took her hand good-naturedly and she looked keenly back at him. Vegeta bored into her eyes, and he noted her lips siphoning in a fervid breath. "Don't help me, stay out of my room, stay away from me," he commanded severely. "You've tried your best to tempt me, but that doesn't change the fact that your platitudes, your help and above all, you, whatever ghastly creature you happen to be, disgust me."
He launched her into the corner of his room. He strode in after her, mutilating the bots and delivering chunks of metal back at her feet. "This is what I think about you and your help. It's new, it's not built to last and it somehow leaves me worse off than I was before. I only seek help from myself, I am the only one strong enough to do it. The old ways are the best ways."
Bulma was petrified with her body balled up in the corner of his room, using her hands to ward off incoming metal. She stood up quivering, but controlled herself, speaking unflinchingly. "I won't help you ever again, you don't deserve it."
Yes, I don't deserve to have you here confounding me, Vegeta agreed.
She scampered over the head of a fizzing bot, quickly like the floor was made of lava that would soon overtake her. It was one of the bots she had meticulously worked on for two weeks, for him, for this ingrate who couldn't make up his mind. He'd soon learn how far he would get without her help. Bulma was distraught. She thought he liked her now, was attracted to her, but his disgust reigned supreme over all of that, obliterating it until he was the Vegeta who had first come to Earth to kill, and wasn't her slowly changing Vegeta.
Vegeta saw her face that was momentarily horror-struck and crestfallen become hardhearted as she walked away. And for the first time, he experienced guilt, guilt like an infestation overrunning his body, guilt that he had caused her harm. He had wanted her to fear him again, and now that she did, he hated himself for it. There was nothing memorable about the beaten down, tamed smell to her fear. Her revenant fear on his taste buds just made him want to gag. Had her fear always tasted like that to him? He longed to smell her resistance and best of all her desire instead. Bulma was right, he didn't deserve her. She didn't disgust him, rather it was disgusting how mesmerizing he found her.
In his volcanic outburst, he had made it clear for her to stay away, and this time he thought she'd listen. But he wanted to race after her, to tell her that his vitriol was unwarranted, to get her to smile at him in her way that had a double meaning. It would be to her benefit to never have contact with him again, but he was beginning to see, that it would be to his detriment if that were the case. He had been too hasty, too casual, and he was on his own again. So he had won a battle, but this was just a Pyrrhic victory, where he had lost maybe just as much. But now, he assuaged himself, I can find myself again, lonesome and pure.
…
It had been a couple of weeks since the breakdown in their shaky alliance, and true to her word, Bulma was treating him like he was undeserving of any reaction from her. She stubbornly refused to look at him or address him and used her family and staff as conduits to relay any messages to him.
This 180 turn-around from her was only pulling a 360 on himself, where he was making all these revolutions back to the same dismal starting point where he was gripped in the talons of an indescribable lust and unable to restore himself back to his pre-Earth self.
In the haste of his renunciation of all matters related to her, he had forgotten that he would need her help eventually in an unavoidable way. The gravity ship was broken yet again and he could not detect her father anywhere on Capsule Corp. premises so that left only her to do the necessary repairs. He had to debate himself over whether he should approach Bulma to do what he could not, but his pride had so far vetoed any such motion. To be graced by her renewed assistance, he would have to humble himself to her, maybe even grovel at her feet, and she had already been the beneficiary of enough humiliating spectacles from him. He had achieved unprecedented gains training under high gravity, and he did not want to give up his favourite training tool so maybe he would just have to substitute his pride for progress until a more tasteful solution presented itself. He had waited almost a week for her father's return and the timing of the old man's absence seemed so conveniently placed that he wondered if Bulma had a role in it. If she was trying to plot against him, she most definitely deserved some kind of punishment along with fixing everything for him without grievances.
From that train of thought, that was how he found himself in the backyard before her. Bulma was sunbathing on one of the many lawn chairs while sipping a bright pink drink from a tall glass garnished with a paper umbrella. She was paying him no mind as he stood there, watching the rays of the sun paint her in gold. And he felt the start of a gold rush within him again, but he sealed it away before the feeling could be mined, directing himself to believe that her tanned body was not from gold but from lead based paint. With his storm clouds at her horizon, he grouched, "The gravity won't start. Fix it." That was simple enough to get his instructions across.
"Hohoho", Bulma taunted, putting her drink down on the grass, "look who has come crawling back."
"I don't crawl," he said with all his princely candour.
"And I don't help ungrateful bastards," she quipped. "My parents are on a business trip for two weeks, it's been one week, so you've got seven more days to go until my father will fix it for you." She patted the seat next to her, "Better get comfortable."
"You should be the one to fix it, it's due to your faulty craftsmanship that it's broken in the first place."
He had touched a nerve, and her anger for him was at least returning with full force, as her eyes narrowed at him like ice picks. "I'll let you know, baka, that my craftsmanship is superb, if something is broken it's because of your shoddy treatment! Learn to play nice with your toys!"
"Learn to build something that lasts!"
"Apologize first and I'll consider it," she said haughtily, sliding back into her chair and picking up her drink.
"Fucking obstinate bitch!"
"That doesn't sound like I'm so very sorry, beautiful princess Bulma, smartest in all the lands. It'll never happen again."
This was too aggravating; his blood pressure was rising from rage and not exercise. "Never mind," he spat, leaving her behind. He would find another method with which to train.
The next day, Vegeta entered the gravity chamber, expecting everything to be running as per usual, but now the entire system wouldn't even start up. It was even worse than yesterday, and he was getting more and more suspicious that Bulma was responsible for the decreasing output. He went behind the ship and began light training exercises, fuming. He inspected the fine lines of muscle definition on his chest and eyeballed the size of his biceps. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but it seemed as if his muscles had minutely shrunk from his lax training regime as of late. Vegeta punched himself in the stomach, but his abdominals did not absorb the shock of the impact as much as he would have liked. He could not just let his body atrophy like this, not when it had been so robust. But what could he do besides going to train in the mountains again? That alternative seemed so so primitive compared to the technological capabilities of the gravity ship.
At lunch time, he headed back towards the house. Bulma's mother had left him hundreds of pre-prepared meals. The packages were decorated with little stickers with his name on them in pink letters followed by hearts. It was a vulgar presentation that was more fit for slop than food that was actually delicious and that he shouldn't have been embarrassed to be seen eating.
As he finished the last few bites of a sushi platter, he saw her again through the kitchen window, curled up on a lawn chair in the backyard with a fashion magazine. She was wearing very short cut-off jean shorts and a tight black tank-top. It was a very sunny day, so she also had on a floppy straw hat and pointed cat-eye sunglasses. If it wasn't for her change of clothes, Vegeta would have guessed that she had been there since yesterday. He shook his head at her sloth and ineptitude. Humans were such an aimless lazy bunch.
Once he had finished eating, he went back out in her direction, and she was still in the same position as before, only moving to flip the pages of her magazine. She was without a care in the world, as he slaved away to become a Super Saiyan. She was only lifting her fingers to turn the pages of a magazine, when she should have been lifting her fingers to repair the gravity chamber instead. The anger was riling up inside of him at her. He stopped right in front her, just like he had done on the previous day.
Bulma lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, "Vegeta, move, will you? You're blocking my sun."
"Is this all you're going to do today?" he asked outraged.
"It's a lovely day, it's much too nice to do any work," she replied contentedly, wiggling the toes of her bare feet, the nails of which were painted in a pale lilac colour.
Her pointless nail polish was making him even angrier. "Except you should be fixing the gravity chamber," he reminded her.
"Nah, that sounds boring." She put her magazine down and ruffled her hair along the back of her chair. "A nap is more my speed right now."
A nap? Hadn't she woken up only three hours earlier? What had she done to earn a nap besides frittering the day away? He wouldn't abide this disrespect. He tipped her chair over with his boot.
Bulma rolled to the ground, with her hat and sunglasses displaced from off her face. "How dare you, you little shit," she swore. "What do you think you're doing?"
Vegeta pulled her up and began frogmarching her towards the gravity chamber. Bulma tried turning back, but he held her in place. She wasn't even moving her legs, but he was dragging her along against her will. All she could do was swear some more at him. He tossed her none too gently into the ship, and she scrambled to stay upright. Vegeta found her toolbox in the bushes outside the chamber, and pitched it in beside her so cholerically that her tools tumbled out and scattered metallically across the tiles.
"Get to work," he ordered, as he watched her get back up, wrench in hand. She aimed the wrench at his head, but he dodged it easily. She moved as if to walk out, but he grabbed her by the wrists and held them above her head.
"I won't fix it, I'll just dismantle the whole thing," she threatened.
He wasn't going to tolerate another one of her tantrums, he had wasted enough time not training properly. He was going to scare her into submission. "Fix it."
Bulma shook her head childishly.
"Do as I say Bulma," he said deathly serious, "and then I won't leave a mark." He applied pressure to her wrists and minor pain coursed up through her arms, as a warning not to defy him.
Too bad she was Bulma, heiress of Capsule Corp., who never heeded such warnings. "Don't worry Vegeta, you won't, I always find a way to escape."
He tutted and gouged his fingers deeper into her wrists.
To prevail in this predicament, Bulma knew she'd have to employ low blows. If she thoroughly discombobulated him, he would hightail it to the far corners of the Earth. She knew exactly what to do, she wouldn't even need to lift a finger. And in the meantime, she would do something she wanted to do again anyways. It was a win-win. The cat was going to catch its mouse.
As his hold became more entrenched, Bulma roped herself in closer towards him. His warrior instincts were alerting him that she was getting too close, that something was wrong. Why wasn't she fighting him off with any ferocity? Why was she just grinning convivially like she knew that he was bringing a losing battle upon himself? Bulma leaned in, her pulse quickened against his brace and her lips beckoned.
"Fix it," he repeated with atypical weakness.
"How about I fix you instead?"
No, she won't, Vegeta tried convincing himself, as understanding crashed down upon him. There had been too many close calls already, and this wasn't going to be another one. But Bulma had already chosen for him, and before Vegeta could process it she was assailing his mouth with hers with all the ferocity that had been missing before.
Vegeta wanted to laugh at her ill-fated courage, thinking that her Earthling tricks could unnerve him. And then he wanted to cry, as he realized that his nervous system had dynamized into life and was conducting his body to return the kiss and to recreate the scene in the medical wing. Was it really not so long ago when he had thought that kissing was a repugnant act, that he was so far above? How could he have ever made such an egregious charge in light of being able to kiss the exhilarating and moist lair of her mouth? For the past few months, his entire being had been disturbed by the knowledge that he had enjoyed kissing her, that he craved it again and more. And here she was freely giving in to him and feeding his craving. He would allow it. He was a prince. He deserved to be adored.
Bulma felt him release her arms, and he parted his lips, bidding her to kiss him as per his royal decree. One of her freed hands scratched against his armour, pulling at its bands to bring him towards her, while the other hooked onto the most delicate part of his skull, and she kissed him fervently, finally with no reservations and finally with their tongues whipping together in the silk-lined traps of their mouths.
But it was not enough. Bulma needed more, she needed him to redirect all of his strength towards her. Their kiss never broke, as Bulma rubbed her body all over his with her stray fingers accosting the unyielding hardness of his muscles. She grinded into him, with her heated core at his hardest part, performing reconnaissance over its entire length through the abrasive texture of their clothes.
It was enough to make Vegeta's hands fly to her waist, and that's when Bulma knew that he was hers for the taking. She had almost traded in her purpose for lust, she still fully intended to, but first, she had to teach him a lesson.
Bulma abruptly tore herself away from him, with his hands akimbo as they diverged from her waist. She took a deep breath, and jaunted back towards the ship door, as Vegeta watched her agog. Over her shoulder, she called, with each word premeditated so as not to reveal the crushing density of her desire, "See? I told you that I could escape, and you didn't even leave a mark."
If he thought he could force her compliance, he would just end up compliant to her. No one had to know that she wanted to run back and kiss him again. Today was a victory for her stubborn pride but tomorrow there would be kisses galore, all on her terms of course.
Before she could leave him to his loss, Vegeta was in front of her as impassable as a titanium bastion. "We aren't done here." His voice was undisciplined and grew more imperious as it resonated off the walls of the gravity chamber. She would not be fickle with him. She was going to do what he commanded, do exactly what he wanted and she was going to like it.
Bulma did not suspect his resolution, and instead waited for his princely indignation followed by a swift exit. He was so predictable.
But just like that, Vegeta did the unthinkable. Her careless words were shots fired so he turned his safety off. He roughly clutched her hips, and pinioned her against him. Shocked, Bulma glanced at him and had the adventurous feeling of staring right down the barrel of a gun. Vegeta had always had intense eyes, but that look of intensity he was aiming at her now was one that either promised to eviscerate her or to give her pleasure beyond measure.
"So you want to see me squirm?"
Well, two can play at that game.
He kissed her with all the fury and the violence that had been pent up for months, his strength for once giving her its fierce focus. Each kiss from him was assured, demanding and infernally cocky. Bulma beat her fists theatrically across his chest, more for show than out of any real animosity. But her mouth was as good as his. Vegeta took her fisted hands and placed them over his forelimbs, so she'd have a means of support as he kissed her even more pervasively.
Bulma staggered against him, dazzled by the electric shock, so turned on by his dominant display. Her rage, her aspiring sexual ambitions for him, they had dissipated into the ether, now she just wanted to prolong this moment of passion for as long as she could.
She bit at his bottom lip, her canines were like the stab of a stiletto at every part of him that she could reach. He usurped her moves, biting her in morsels and desire was rampaging like wildfire through her. Surely, he must be feeling the same desire, the need for more, or was he just playing with her like she had tried to do with him? Let him play if its going to feel this good, she decided, as his tongue was a serrated blade against her neck.
Bulma had fought back, but she was still losing in this battle of their bodies. She was going to be bold again, her boldness had already unlocked hidden treasures from him today. She placed her hands on top of his and guided them to her breasts.
Vegeta momentarily halted his kisses, as he palmed her breasts, testing them empirically as if they were the first breasts that he had ever encountered. He really hadn't had much experience with women beyond killing them, but her breasts needed no introduction. He already knew what to do. He let her breasts fill his hands, and they were so squeamishly soft yet also so oddly powerful. How could flesh that could not be toned tame him so completely? Then her tank top and bra were vandalized into cotton strips that were littered all across the ship along with the cracked pieces of his armour. Vegeta twisted her bare nipples, watching transfixed as her nipples went from pink to purple to blue under his hard grip. Her breasts that had teased him so much were now at his mercy, and he would not be merciful. He used her chest as his playground, suckling on her both as a newborn lamb and as a starving wolf.
Bulma's head cranked back at the feeling, her hand enclosed around every part of him until she found her heart's desire. His erection could not be entirely contained by her grappling hand, and was ready to burst as she stroked him in such a manner that asked him if she could please him, pretty please?
An undignified rasp escaped his throat as his wood turned to solid iron in her hand. He caught her hand, throwing her away from himself so he could try to resume control. He had almost fallen to his knees in weakness when he had smelled the unforgiving freshness of her arousal being paired with her sensual touch. But she had beaten him to it. He had made her go down on her knees before him, and she was now pulling playfully on the pant leg of his training suit.
There had to have been a tear in the fabric of reality for their clothes to suddenly be in tatters all around them. Vegeta stared at her with such hateful anxiety that would have made anyone else flee, but Bulma knew it was also a look of silent acquiescence.
Some of that hate must have mellowed, because Bulma bowed to him. She bowed to him like he was king. She was bowing down low to that marvelous appendage that had haunted her fantasies.
Just as she had known, Vegeta was prodigiously endowed. Her fingers prowled over him, from his corona to his head, losing count of the inches of his fully-loaded length, and her insides twisted pressingly when she discovered that the tip of his head was already wet. The blood within him was so engorged that his cock looked almost purple. It was a colour reserved for royalty, speaking of a splendid isolation that had seldom been disturbed in all its reign. It was almost as if a patina of dust and not pre-cum covered him.
I must taste him. I must.
Bulma descended upon him, taking the tiger by the tail, taking him all in selfishly. And he was salty, sweet, every taste imaginable that could tickle all your taste buds but also stick to the roof of your mouth like saltwater taffy at the seashore.
Her tongue swirled around his tip, and she struggled to make him fit. Her deviant mouth was a sieve desalinating him, and Vegeta was making the same raspy noises. The only salient point was he was going to come in her mouth if this continued. But he couldn't just come so readily like a pubescent boy during his first lay. He stepped away from her and Bulma stared at him agape with such hostile defiance.
She stood up from her knees. Her body was celestial, marble, cream, it was just so unreal to him.
"Do you dare me to go further?"
If you dare, I'll wring your neck. His cock radiated pain. If you dare, I won't know what'll become of me. Here it was, truth or dare? Or was it truth and dare? The truth exposed to them both of their violent attraction to one another and of finally daring to explore it? But was this just like another one of her drinking games, where he couldn't lose by daring to pick dare? Or did it no longer matter, and he wanted to choose to lose to her?
"Dare," the word ripped from his mouth as neither a condescension or a plea.
And then Vegeta looked away almost shyly. Was this really going to happen? Was he going to surrender his control to her, of his own choosing? It was no longer for him to decide, it had always been only Bulma's choice. He had relinquished control to her from the very first moment she had chosen to oppose him. But why would she even want me…?
His doubts did not proliferate, Bulma powdered them into dust, as she hitched her legs around his waist. Vegeta responded by using his hands as a lever to lift her up and to plaster her back against the wall of the chamber. There was an edgy anticipation in the room as Bulma positioned his swollen cock at her entrance. They could not hide behind petty squabbling anymore. It was do or die.
I'm going to feel him at last, Bulma practically salivated, as she let him fill and stretch her.
Vegeta involuntarily let out a growl, she was so tight and so wet. He was overwhelmed by the incredible sensation and all he had done was enter her.
Bulma set the pace as Vegeta was lost to her sex. It was so wonderful, was this what sex was supposed to be like? It was the feeling that she was the entire universe, and that everything he had known before was just an unglorified imitation of her reality. It was just another thing he had been cheated of, this intensity. It had not taken the dragon balls but her to reanimate him back to the land of the living.
Vegeta watched as each time Bulma would plunge him into her, she'd ricochet off him, as if she couldn't handle his dark material for long. But still each time, she'd restart the process, coming back for more, whirring back and forth against him with the momentum of a spinning top, holding on longer each time as her body became adjusted to the feel of his darkness.
Vegeta listened as Bulma let out cat-like sounds that alternated from a hiss to a meow.
Above the din of their bodies, she taunted him, "Is this how Saiyans fuck, passively? Or have I already taken all of your strength?" She demonstrated her claim with authority, with her hips pulling him in right to the eye of her hurricane, and Vegeta groaned. God, was she going to make a competition even out of this? She was so infuriatingly attractive.
In one hard fluid thrust, he was inside her to his hilt. That seemed to cow her tigerish antics and she emitted an earsplitting cry not unlike someone being beaten to death.
All at once he was back in control, but he had gone too far. Her cry was a poignant reminder that his hands were only the harbingers of pain. But what had he expected? He was a Saiyan and she was a human, a stupid weak human as dainty as porcelain. He could only destroy, he was going to do it to Bulma, well, she had asked for it. She should have left him alone.
"Ahh, Vegeta," she moaned, highlighting yet again that he was just some savage beast.
"What, isn't this what you wanted?" he accused bitterly.
"Yes," she breathed, "just more please Vegeta, you feel so good." As if knowing the reason for his hesitation, she looked at him encouragingly, "I can take more of your strength."
Her words were a like a bullet to the gut. He regarded her in stunned disbelief. He wasn't hurting her, she liked it. The vulgar strumpet liked the tenderizing of her flesh. All her vulgarity transformed into an uncivilized decency to him. He smirked into her chest and he thrusted into her deeply. This was no time for niceties, he was going to be rough. Something instinctive took over and he was no different from an animal.
Try as he might to subdue her, it was her pussy that was his conqueror. Being inside her was an attack from the most unlikely of places, Bulma was no haven but another war zone, and there they would fight to the death. And no fight would ever taste as sweet or intrude on all his senses. She occupied him; and each thrust was his underground resistance along with being just another self-inflicted bayonet wound to his pride. The lines of war and peace between them were so blurred.
He experienced a type of acceptance that had not even enlightened him as he had lain stabbed in the heart by Freeza's ki, that he was going to die and that was tolerable for first she would show him how to live, even if his life would be as ephemeral as a May bug's. And today was Mayday. Help me, his pride screamed, help me, mayday, mayday, mayday and under the power of her mortality, pleasure would have its eternal longevity that would just have never been possible under the flatness of immortality.
Bulma's moans rose to a lyrical timbre, and her screaming out his name was music to his ears. He considered her face that was suffused with pleasure. It was strange, so strange, like an out of body experience. Was this him giving another being pleasure? He had never done such a thing before. He should have had mixed feelings about the act, but instead his own pleasure was heightened. He knew he wouldn't last long at this rate, and he sensed she was the same. This pleased him to no end.
But he wanted to hold out a bit longer, so he needed a break from her face. He fastened her body to his, and Bulma felt her breasts slam into the gravity console, as he took her from behind. Vegeta was becoming more animalistic since she was even tighter in that position.
Bulma urged him on mercilessly, thrusting her hips into his while her hands clawed without purpose across the synthetic frame of the console. As Vegeta burrowed into her, Bulma fit him like a sheathe for a sword, she was the only safeguard of his violence from the world.
Bang, bang, that was the sound of their bodies hitting against one another's. That was the sound and feeling of each thrust of his into her like the shooting and recoil of a gun, where there were no blanks being fired but silver bullets. This was the equal and opposite reaction, the fulfilment of the third law, which was the only law that mattered in the wild. Vegeta would shoot her down like she was a sitting duck, then pull her back up by her hair like she was a phoenix reborn.
Suddenly, he felt her tighten unbelievably against him, and she pulsated hectically against his cock.
"Vegeta! I'm going to come!"
Her wetness encircled him, and in this whirlwind of sensation, he could no longer thrust. His pleasure just expanded in an infinite series with a factorial B! Vegeta nearly died by giving her his golden shot, that surged into her with the power of a big bang attack. The feeling in his whole body multiplied from absolutely nothing into everything in the known universe as he sprinkled her insides with shot after shot of his stardust. Was this another moment of weakness or a second shot at life?
Even when it was over, he still felt an infinity of sensation, thought, and pleasure for his own pitiful finite existence. All of spacetime was encompassing this emotion, this passion that he had for her. He was just marinating in the feeling, a victim to her body and he would have thrown away the key to his freedom at that moment for more. He was still inside her and never wanted to leave.
"I still won't fix it," Bulma said raggedly.
Vegeta chuckled, and because of that small motion and because she was too warm and slippery and he had grown soft, his velvet revolver withdrew from her and fell back into the colourless world and that change of state made all the difference. The gravity of what they had just done hung over Vegeta like a malediction.
He harshly sprawled her body across the console in his haste to retreat and to cover himself with a scrap of cloth. "I expect you to have this fixed by tomorrow", he said rudely, his cold mask back in place.
He stormed out of the ship and rocketed into the sky, as far away from her as he could get.
This had all happened so fast. Bulma turned around, but Vegeta was already long gone. Did that just really happen? she wondered. Her shredded clothes, her throbbing core, his warm cum streaming down her legs were all answering her with a resounding yes.
Phew, that was a doozy of a chapter for our beloved protagonists. Those will probably be the fluffiest and most trope-filled scenarios you will find from me for B/V. Maybe you can tell, but I was heavily inspired by the science of Newton and Kepler when writing this chapter. Stay tuned for more smut!
