Chapter 7
As the last days of summer dwindle, he notes how much more frequently that the woman is not at the compound. The boy is more frequently flexing his power, throwing growing tantrums and entering into something akin to a sulk at a moments notice. The child was becoming petulant. The last string of his patience was tested when the infant clumsily lobbed a handful of meat and vegetable sauce at him.
The boy soon found himself sitting on his bottom in front of his father's crossed legs. His son's scowl mirrored his own. Vegeta was trying to decide if Trunks was going to begin wailing, and he was correct. Soon the boy's eyes became watery, and the tears began to manifest, and finally with a shriek it becomes a full-blown fit. His power fluctuates and stuffed creature the boy had brought with him levitates in the otherwise empty room. It was the room he'd occupied before he'd impregnated the woman. When the child's tantrum had raised the plush animal a few feet off the ground he responded in kind by raising his own power level to dwarf the child's and further heighten the toy.
It occurred to him that his infant heir was stronger now then his had been at this age. He reveled in the awe on the child's face he watched the plaything suspended in the air, and then the anger on his young face when he reached for, but could not grasp it.
Unsure exactly what he was doing with the boy they stared at each other after the toy fell. A stillness grew; neither looking away from the others' eyes. Trunks blinked first and yawned and Vegeta could feel the boy's energy waning. It'd spiked with anger and surprise and was now fading rapidly, with each moment he leaned further and further forwards until his head rolled to his chest, and his eyes sealed shut. He was quick enough to catch the infant before the weight of his small body pressed into the carpet.
He contemplated what to do with a sleeping boy when the infant suddenly sat himself up, hands outstretched towards him. The gesture made him feel helpless, his son is inexplicable to him still, a small version of the older boy he'd found one of his reasons in for staying. Somehow the idea of remaining to train up the child was too abstract to align with sitting here on this floor levitating objects through ki spikes and manipulation. He started again, raising his own power level until he could see his son feeling the expanding sphere of energy he exerted.
Many of his unoccupied moments in daily life were spent devising, strategizing, and observing. He'd been plotting and designing how to sculpt the power he'd created, the impediment was that he had no training with babes, and very little understanding of his own young child. The gap was nearly as significant between father and son as the one between himself and Bulma. Speaking of, his finely attuned extra perceptive senses alerted him to her pending arrival at the compound.
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He liked the way she dangled her fingers near his mouth. The pitch and cadence of her moans when he closed his lips around a digit and palpitated its length with his tongue were exquisite. Who knew that being caught training the boy would result in such a passionate response from her at only the slightest of insistences from him. However, he did feel an unexpected amount of concern over the child watching them, or even being in the same room with them while they copulated. This was why they were together in the room she always called 'theirs', and the boy was in his own area asleep, exhausted.
She had arrived in a bustle back at the compound, smiling, laughing, and generally in a good mood. Under her arm she cared large flat carved box, it was wrapped in a length of silk that served as a strap. The box was handled nearly as reverently she handled Trunks, placed on the foot of the bed. He raised a brow in her direction to indicate the displeasure with her placement of the box. While he tolerated her disorganization, he drew the line at using the bed as a storage space. He had been reading when the box landed on the bed, and now he'd lost his place on the page when he'd had to share his displeasure with Bulma.
However, she'd dissolved his dissatisfaction when she'd undone the silk strap and crawled up the bed towards him with it. On her knees she approached him saucily with the strip of fabric taut between her hands. He'd let her lean in and run her tongue over the edge of his ear, nibble at the border of his jaw, and suckle at his neck. He made no move to dissuade her from settling in his lap, or even when she carelessly plucked and tossed his book out of his hands. As soon as she'd ascertained his full attention was firmly on her, she leaned forwards and asked; "do you like me in silk?" Lack of earth relationship experience or not, he knew it was a loaded question.
The boy interrupted with cries and whimpers that spewed through the speaker of a transmitter. As soon as the woman left the room to console the child, he vacated too, although he was more in favor of ignoring the ache in his pants by replacing it with sore muscles.