Vegeta had a dream that night—but for one who seldom had any pleasant imaginings to mull over in his sleep, it might have more appropriately fallen under the term nightmare. The majority of what had taken place was forgotten by the royal. The only premise he recalled was that it was a precognition of his near-future; and more specifically of his foretold death at the hands of the mechanized harbingers of death. He had not seen their faces, nor did he know the precise circumstances surrounding how he lost his life against them, but one very significant detail stood out to him: he had not ascended to become a Super Saiyan, and yet he had still attempted to fight the androids. And he lost, and not just him, but all of the Earth's fighters, as prophesized, were also killed. Not that Vegeta cared. Their lives meant nothing to him other than serving as recurring annoyances.
One other aspect of his dream struck him. With every one of Earth's defenders deceased, deep in his subconscious he was afflicted by the knowledge that Bulma had been left to fend for herself. It would be presumed that she too would be slain. That salient inner strength she had could not serve her from a pair of cold, calculating machines.
Unlike with the rest of the Earthlings, this was one death that affected the Saiyan prince. He didn't see her die in the dream, but he knew it was irrefutable—whether his dream was an omen of his predestined future or otherwise, outside of his delirious reveries, the physically feeble woman would be shown no mercy.
It was 4am when Vegeta awoke, drenched in a cold sweat as he sat rigidly in his bed. A gut-wrenching feeling of unease occupied the prince upon waking. He was disoriented, and finding himself chagrined over the thought of his ill-fated future… and, though he would rather not admit it, he was uncomfortably disconcerted to mull over the thought of the very probable mortality of the Earthling woman he had allied himself with. He stumbled out of bed, deciding to take his mind off his perturbing thoughts through a torturous early morning training session.
It frustrated him to no end, as if fate was mocking him at every turn. Not even in his dreams could he gain the legendary status he sought. Rather, he was having nightmares about being killed off, along with being subjected to this newfound apprehension that Bulma would be left to meet a fate as grim as his.
In the short time spanning his death and hers, he wondered, would she grieve for him? The stomach-churning sensation he felt subsided, but only by a marginal amount. If—or when—he died again, he was certain that he would be missed by one person at the very least. This was not at all an unpleasant thought.
Bulma was sentimental toward him. She cared for him, annoying as it often was. But he needed that. As long as she lived, he and the memory of his fallen race would be enshrined in her memory. The Prince of all Saiyans wouldn't be remembered by anyone if she were to die. The notion made him uneasy. But it was only a dream, he reasoned. He would ascend and prove to everyone just how great the Saiyan race was when he would soon tear those second-rate puppets limb from limb.
But with this imposing dream he came to realize that he was gradually transitioning into feeling something for the heiress; a festering empathy working its way into his being. The understanding of this was half-welcomed. He was a little satisfied by the knowledge, ascertaining that he was one step closer to his goal. On the other hand he could not help but be troubled, feeling as if he was being corrupted in his quest for strength by consenting to losing a part of himself and his grasp on his Saiyan instinct to remain ruthless and cold, priding himself on holding no attachments and forging bonds with no one, especially not with those lacking in brute strength. Investing himself in a mortal being was unwise; holding onto his pride—an unyielding, limitless force—was much more familiar to him, and pride was without eliciting such shameful emotions.
And if experiencing this human compassion nonsense really was the method of gaining the legendary status he wanted, if he already felt this much for an Earth woman—just as Goku felt protective of and concerned for the well-being of his family—then why hadn't it happened yet? The Prince of Saiyans should have become a Super Saiyan by now.
Perhaps with these brewing (albeit wretched) feelings for Bulma, maybe all he needed was just a little push before it would happen, just a little more of that petty attachment. The disappointment of not achieving his goals straight away was something he knew well; he could contend with it for the time being. These feelings for this Earthling female were far more irritating, but enduring such trivial emotions would be a small price to pay if it meant he was one step closer to what he ultimately wanted. Goku and his brat son seemed to have the ability to tap into unprecedented reserves of power when their loved ones were endangered. The royal hoped to find this sort of sentimentality to his benefit. He was slowly beginning to get a grasp on what it felt like when the life of someone who was somewhat meaningful to him (other than himself) was threatened. If this was all it took to claim the legendary standing he strived for, he was certain it would not take him much longer to learn to exploit these emotions and use them to obtain his birthright.
For the entire day he holed himself up in the Gravity Capsule, feeding off his negative thoughts and more determined than ever to reach his goal.
Just as the sun was about to set behind the hills lining West City, Vegeta grudgingly limped into the infirmary, careful to avoid crossing paths with Bulma's parents; he did not care for their meddling, especially not when he was bruised and battered from yet another unsuccessful day of training, which had only encouraged his temperament and his tolerance for jesters into souring. But he did not particularly mind if he was encroached upon by Bulma. He could sense her making a path through the halls somewhere nearby, no doubt looking to pester her favorite grouch.
Some part of him would have liked if she would barge in and patch him up. It was shameful for him to admit it, but he knew he had pushed himself too far with his training today, and the result was fruitless. Once again his goal had not been met; instead he had pushed himself beyond his limit at the expense of his health. He had not allowed himself any breaks to rest, torturing his body under a constant 1,000Gs for well over fifteen hours straight. He was severely fatigued, and he now had a few dozen additional bruises and scraped-up portions of skin spanning his torso.
He dug through the drawers and cabinets of the infirmary, helping himself to medical supplies. He applied blotting pads to the scrapes on his skin to lift away the light bloodshed, then administering antiseptics to his wounds before bandaging them up. Having been more accustomed to being treated in healing tanks while he was in Frieza's army, his patch-up job using more primitive medical supplies was crude at best. Once he was finished, he set his sights on the infirmary bed. He decided it wouldn't hurt to rest here rather than making the journey through the mansion's halls to get to his room. It didn't particularly matter to him where he slept in the compound—every part of this house was his territory, as far as he was concerned.
He didn't bother getting under the blanket laid across the bed, simply kicking back along the neatly set sheets, one arm under his head, the other on his stomach—both fists clenched, of course. He would never be caught off guard, even when he was at rest.
Just as he was getting comfortable, he heard the door to the infirmary open, then shutting shortly after. His brows scrunched together, but he didn't bother opening his eyes, knowing by scent and the particular energy signal he felt that it was his harping shrewd of a servant who had intruded on him.
Thinking he was asleep, Bulma sat down in the desk chair next to the bed, pursing her lip as she looked over Vegeta's bandaged form. As she was considering whether she should tend to his wounds while he was lying there seemingly unresponsive, the prince barked out, "How long are you planning on staying here to ogle me?"
"I should've known you were awake," Bulma said, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. "I saw that you hurt yourself again when I checked your vitals a while ago. I figured if you weren't passed out or dead, you would either scurry off to hide somewhere to avoid my 'coddling', as you put it, or you would track me down and politely ask me to fix you up. But I'm surprised you came in here to address your injuries yourself… unless you were waiting here for me to do that for you."
Seeing the annoyed look gracing his features, Bulma jeered, "Did you want me to kiss your owchies, sweet prince?"
"Don't bother," he grouched, shifting over so he was lying on his side with his back turned to her. Though he had to admit the thought didn't seem too unappealing, if it meant she would lavish him with her mouth.
He felt the mattress sink down when Bulma crawled onto the bed alongside him, aligning herself in an embrace from behind so she was spooning him. He brought his shoulders up when she curled her arm over him to prod a bandage on his chest. He restrained himself from spewing protests—while he was agitated and wearied, this invasion of his personal space didn't feel too horrible.
Fingering at the bandages Vegeta had dressed his wounds with, Bulma observed, "Hey, you didn't do such a bad job patching yourself up."
"Hah, like I need your affirmation that I've done a more impressive job than you could ever hope to manage."
He scowled when he felt her pinch his shoulder.
"Don't be a jerk," Bulma remarked while her eyes roved over Vegeta's physique. She noticed an untended scratch above his shoulder blade that he must have overlooked. The skin hadn't been broken, so there was no bloodshed, to her favor. She craned her neck forward and planted a kiss on the injury. Vegeta flinched briefly, but once the heiress ran her hand up and down his arm and simultaneously pushing her pelvis against his buttocks, his annoyance was put to rest and his drive for sex immediately amplified.
"If you're such an amazing medic," Bulma prompted, whispering into his ear, "Then why don't you do something about the hickies you left all over my boobs?"
He cringed as he could feel said breasts pushing into his back, her chest which he had inflicted with nips of teeth and left bruises all across the delicate surface of her skin.
She maneuvered her hands onto his chest. He shuddered, seething with rage. She was playing the harlot and flaunting her debauchery around him, aware that he was an invalid, in pain and in need of rest. He had an assumption of what she sought from him, and just knowing of the impure intentions she wanted to act upon sent his flaccid appendage springing up, to his displeasure. He hadn't been in the mood for any sort of carnal encounters when he had strolled into the infirmary—he'd actually wanted to rest and recuperate more than anything else. But with these physical affections the woman was imposing on him, his decision was gradually waived.
The heiress continued massaging his chest with sweeping movements of her hand, unaware of the attention Vegeta was itching to receive further below. Tentatively she inched her hand down to his abdomen. He drew in a sharp breath and held it, anticipating for her to shove her hand down the front of his shorts so she would discover what he wanted from her.
To his disappointment, her hand merely strayed along his lower abdomen, and then, to his horror, she scrunched her fingers deep into his gut, sending subduing shocks throughout his torso. He recalled instantly what this oppressive assault was—she was tickling him again, some sort of sadistic assailment for her amusement.
He turned his head to glare at her over his shoulder. His horrible scowl was all it took to deter her.
"Woah. If looks could kill…" Bulma relented, putting an end to the tickling barrage. Giggling, she managed a half-hearted apology, "I'm sorry." For good measure and to cement her insincere atonement, she lowered her hand to grope at his groin, only to draw the extremity back and gasp at what she felt. "Oh, wow. I can't believe I missed that!"
It's about time, wench, Vegeta thought, gritting his teeth and hoping this self-proclaimed genius was brilliant enough to know what he wanted her to do next.
"You want me to take care of this, don't you?" Bulma issued slyly.
He scoffed, feigning mild disinterest. "Not unless you can manage to impress me."
He was fully expecting her to work him with her hand now that she had discovered the evidence of his arousal, but now both of her hands snaked their way over his abdomen. She began tickling him even harder and more furiously than before.
It was a struggle for the prince to remain rigid through the tirade. He jerked in retaliation, intensely seething and spurting hedonistic protests through his tightly grit teeth. But Bulma would not yield, pushing her body closer against her prince so the two were squashed and effectively locked together at an uncomfortably close proximity along the tiny infirmary bed.
"Look at how vulnerable you are. You can't even move, can you? Good!" the succubus taunted him, feeding him a repeat of the line he had tormented her with the day before.
Her attention was diverted from tickling him for a moment when she set her sights on his hind quarters, shoving both hands down to grope at his ass. Enraged fully, Vegeta spun around and sat up, shouting, "Stop this foolishness at once!"
The heiress sat back on her haunches, pouting as she saw the monstrous grimace her counterpart was directing at her. "Sheesh, I was only trying to lighten the mood, you perpetually uptight mister grumpy pants!" Tickling this scowling prince seemed to be an upsetting experience to him. Bulma could not help herself from finding some amusement in that. "I'm only teasing. You don't have to be such a stiff. Well, aside from that," she added, leering at his crotch and snickering, "That can remain all stiff and erect. But your attitude needs some serious work!"
He could not believe the absurdity of this creature's blatant foul moth. And aside from her senseless chattering, how the hell could she derive any enjoyment from these displeasing physical encounters with him? But he allowed himself a moment to ponder—Perhaps if he indulged in these stupid couplings, it might just help him get closer to what he yearned for. Certainly Kakarott's shrieking woman had him duped into taking part in such strange Earthling rituals. The royal wondered if this had helped lead the lesser Saiyan into gaining his power; his petty interactions with his hollering human wife. But Vegeta didn't want to dwell on such revolting thoughts, and knowing the exact details of the inferior mongrel's courting strategy didn't appeal to the prince. He would use his own methods, which weren't even remotely gentle in nature. And he'd have to give this woman a taste of her own medicine; if he was to engage in this amicable trash, he may as well gratify his taste for the malevolent at the same time.
She didn't protest, welcoming the switch of who played the dominant role when he spun her around and pushed her down into the bed. He then secured one of his hands around both of her wrists, binding them together so she could not oppose his onslaught. When he shoved his free hand under her shirt, she thought he was going to fondle her breasts, but instead he felt around deeply in her belly, curling his fingers into the unprotected flesh while callously declaring, "Don't think your misdeeds will go unpunished. Let's see how you like being subjected to such intolerable treatment!"
She tried in vain to free her hands, but to no avail. He only tightened his grip and dug his intrusive fingers into her abdomen more forcefully as punishment.
"No, stop! That tickles!" Bulma wheezed out between bouts of laughter, bucking helplessly against her captor whose fingers writhed against her helpless gut as he went on torturing his victim. He in turn gave dark chuckles at seeing how defenseless she was.
Eventually she went limp, haggard and laughing weakly with tears of forced merriment in her eyes. Frowning, Vegeta ceased his offense and pulled away in disgust. To him it seemed his fray upon her had given the woman a mini orgasm, an adverse effect he had not foreseen. He decided he didn't like dishing out this tickling shit on her. It had felt like torture when she tickled him and he had wanted to take vengeance and dish out the same treatment on her, but she seemed to like it, giggling away like a buffoon. He was certain this woman had to be a sadomasochist.
He sat back, scoffing as he looked down at the spent woman. "You can dish out this torture on me, but you can't take it yourself. Not only are you insufferable, but I'd say you've pegged yourself as a self-applauding charlatan."
"Look who's talking!" Bulma retorted, panting as she lifted herself up by her elbows. "You went down on me, but you won't let me return the favor."
"You've bitten me once before." And I do not want you sinking your teeth into me where it may actually hurt, he acknowledged internally as an afterthought, not willing to speak such self-debilitating words aloud.
"I only bit you because you were coming on to me in a creepy way," Bulma asserted, "It won't happen again, as long as you play nice. Can you trust me to do it now? I'll bet I can get you to weep from how awesome it'll be!"
He gnashed his teeth, but he offered no open grievances against her statement. Admittedly he was very curious to experience it. She had such a skilled mouth, and he could only wonder how that talent of hers would suit him where it mattered. Besides, he was sure she wouldn't dare sink her teeth into him again—not that he would tell her he trusted she wouldn't.
"I'd like to see you try," he admonished.
"I'll do it right now if you tell me you love me!"
"I won't say anything so ludicrous. I've said before, if it'll amuse you—and though it hurts my pride to conform to such a meaningless thing—I might not dispute founding a temporary coalition, one centered on these lewd engagements, at the most. But to prove your worth as a worthy courtesan, you will have to fellate me."
"Oh, I don't think I can," she averted, innocently feigning, "I don't know if I could fit every inch of you in my mouth."
He leered at her, seeing right through her folly. The woman was sly, playfully denying him with a compliment. But it was still a rejection, and she was the one who had broached the subject of sucking him off. She couldn't back down now, not after she had caught his interest.
He played against her ruse with a condescending sneer. "Did you think I wouldn't call you out on that obvious bluff? You're telling me that your foul loud mouth that lets loose a tirade of hollered obscenities can't handle me? I think it would entertain me to see if you would attempt to prove me wrong by blowing me right now, especially if it'll keep that mouth preoccupied from harping on about subjects of no importance."
Her smug features gradually morphed into a scowl. She sat up rigidly, glaring at him fiercely. "That's your mean way of saying 'please blow me, Bulma', isn't it? Alright then, let me prove to you that my bragging rights aren't undeserved when I leave you utterly speechless, and don't get bent out of shape when I harp on and say I told you so!"
Rather than getting right to it, she hopped off the bed and headed over to a cabinet at the other side of the room, opening and fumbling around with the contents of one drawer until she retrieved what she sought, holding it between the tips of her middle and index finger. She held back a snicker at the clever subterfuge she had orchestrated. With her back to Vegeta, he could only hear the crinkling sound of a wrapper being torn open—he was unaware that the heiress had preemptively hidden contraceptives in the room.
Ordinarily he would have been perceptive of her cunning, but his thoughts happened to be elsewhere. He marveled at how obstinate Bulma was, wanting to prove herself and show him not to call into question her integrity. She was just like him. If he was to invest so much into another, forge a bond with someone if it meant he would be granted the power he pursued, he had been fortunate in choosing this woman who turned out to be just as stubborn and boastful as she was. These were traits he could relate to.
Before returning to her houseguest, Bulma locked the infirmary door and flipped the light switch off, submerging the room in darkness, save for the faint dim glow from the small desk lamp next to the bed. She spun around and marched over to Vegeta, instructing in a husk, "Sit back."
He obliged, though not before a vainglorious smirk flashed across his lips. He shifted astern so his back was propped against the headboard framing the mattress, not bothering to seat himself on the comfortable silk pillow; he tossed the unwanted item across the room. He locked eyes with Bulma and folded his arms over his chest, giving a scornful grunt to convey that he wasn't willing to wait any longer.
His smirk faded and his mouth drew in a taut line when Bulma crawled onto the mattress on her hands and knees. She stopped short of his chest, hovering over him. It was a submissive stance she was in, but with her positioned above him with such an imposing look in her eyes made him feel suddenly knocked from his pedestal.
She caught sight of the brief flash of hesitation and the way he tensed. She did not bother holding back a proud grin. He may have goaded her into servicing him, but perhaps now he was beginning to realize he was surrendering himself completely to her. She would be the one in a position of power, and she reveled in knowing it. She placed one of her palms on his thigh, feeling the subsequent bracing of the muscles underneath.
He thought she would engorge herself with him straight away, but she only began sweeping the fingertips of her free hand over his lower abdomen. She looked up at him to see the agony unfold in his features as he was forced to wait for her to begin her grandiose performance. At last she lowered her hand to the waistband of his shorts, tucking her fingers in and tugging the article of clothing down to free his waiting phallus.
"Don't hold back," Vegeta demanded. "For a woman who prides herself on being excessively vulgar, you had better leave me beyond impressed."
"Go all out, eh?" The heiress yielded, "Okay. You asked for it."
She wrapped her fingers around the girth of him, prepping with painfully slow vertical strokes while wearing a pert smile on her mouth. The anticipation was too much for Vegeta to bear—the fiend was toying with him. He found he had to exercise a remarkable amount of restraint in not grabbing her by her hair and pulling her head down to engulf his entirety by her throat.
As she continued working him with her hand, she scuttled backwards before lowering her head above his lap, pressing her lips against his lower abdomen, distracting him as she covertly slipped her hidden prophylactic into her mouth. The act went unregistered by Vegeta, distracted and impatient for her to service him.
"Get on with it already!" he decreed bad-temperedly, unable to hide the strain of need in his voice.
From under a veil of her thick lashes, Bulma shot him a venomous glare, unsure if she liked the way she saw Vegeta's smile curve into a nasty (albeit devilishly provocative) smirk. His sneer was soon annulled when Bulma swiftly and roughly lowered her hand to grasp the base of his shaft, brining her head down to meet his aroused flesh. He offered no more complaints as he felt her breath fanning the crown of him—he stilled completely and watched as she delivered one experimental swipe of the tongue along the surface of his glans. He stifled a groan crawling up his throat and fought back a shudder waiting to ripple through him.
Her mouth strayed above him as she pecked at him with soft, delicate kisses and the gentlest of nibbles. She was more effectively testing his patience than anything else. Bulma was undaunted by the flexing of his forearms and his clenched fists—Man, he is utterly lacking patience, she thought. Fine, I'll show him! He'd better pay me back after this!
She wore a scowl of concentration and determination as she maneuvered her tongue, adding varying pressures and patterns as she swiveled around just the tip of him. This time the shudder was obvious in his voice when he gasped out.
What was once a symbol of death hanging ever present across his rigid form was reduced to grudging permissiveness. He was tense now, open to and awaiting the moment when she would take control over him, and he in turn would relinquish himself to her.
She glanced up at him, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, just before she slowly lowered her mouth around him, relieving him at last. He damn near came right at that moment.
He flared his nostrils suddenly then, picking up an odd odor that he was immediately repelled by. He was appalled when Bulma pulled away completely, and he could see that there was a horrible contraption smothering his length. Worse yet was the color. Pink. She had garnished him with a condom that she had hidden in her mouth.
Speechless and repulsed, Vegeta quivered with silent rage while Bulma adjusted the condom with both hands, fitting it until he was snugly sheathed.
"Why you… wretched—" Vegeta sputtered, a vein on his forehead noticeably throbbing with his fury. "Remove this atrocious device at once!"
Pinching the tip of the latex to make room for his inevitable expulsion, Bulma chuckled, "Nope, sorry." She jabbed a finger at his erection, the motion causing the phallic appendage to bob. The prince watched with abject horror at such mistreatment of his royal genitalia. As if falling for her subterfuge hadn't been mortifying enough, she had to add insult to injury!
"It's strawberry flavored. Yum," Bulma purred while Vegeta remained silent with shock. "Hey, the head of your penis looks like a strawberry. I'm gonna eat it up!"
Shaking with rage and a muscle beneath his eye in rhythmic spasm, Vegeta struggled to still his wrath. But the heiress' crude remark was forgiven when she proceeded at last, stroking him while flattening her tongue on his wet tip before taking him in her mouth, assuming a slow, gradual vertical motion of her head. Vegeta clenched down on his teeth to keep from choking out a strangled gasp at the sensation racking him in currents.
He never dared tearing his eyes from her, watching awe-stricken beneath his perpetually scowling brows as she lavished him with such exclusive attention. She seemed to know exactly what to do, and that control and confidence of hers was overwhelming.
She arched her back, raising her rear end with the intent of giving her prince a view of her ass, but his eyes were set on her mouth. She laved her tongue over him before introducing a subtle hint of teeth with minimal pressure, not enough to hurt him, merely covering her top incisors with her lip while drawing one long swipe of her tongue along the underside of his shaft. He especially liked that, quivering and spitting out a torrent of expletives through his grit teeth.
When she released him once again, he became irate and agonized at such cruelty this woman possessed. But to his amazement, she peeled the condom off, freeing him from the device. She wore a frown as she observed his engorged flesh, fussing, "Huh. Like your ego needs any more stroking, but I think it's a little too small for you."
Of course, her words served to elevate his already inflated sense of self-worth. He thought she would resign from her duty now that the contraceptive proved to be useless to her, but she resumed where she left off, to his surprise. The sensory reception was amplified without the flimsy device separating her from him; he nearly blew his load at the euphoric feeling of being in her mouth undivided by the latex barrier.
Repealed from his previous feelings of bitterness toward her for introducing the undesired condom in the first place, he watched her, astounded and taken aback. Her trust in him was moving, almost—she had mentioned before that she would not go at it without protection. He rasped out openly, losing the will to curb any obvious signs that her work could bring such powerful physical responses out of him.
Amused by her ability to get such a reaction out of him, Bulma chuckled, the sound humming in her throat—Vegeta felt her laughter reverberating against his flesh. Knowing she was deriving merriment from his plight made it difficult for him to hold back; he had to fight the urge to thrust upward. He knew if he did that, she would likely clamp down and embed her teeth into him. She was testing him, surely, forcing him to tread through such dangerous waters. She had to be intentionally playing out her own brand of cruelty, teasing him mercilessly, pulling back just as he was gracing the pinnacle of pleasure, only to show him that his patience (or what little he had of it) would be worth it. The trust she allowed him wasn't a bad addition to the bargain, either.
She picked up her pace once she felt his body tightening. Placing both hands on his thighs, she clawed into the flesh beneath her hands, deriving a snarl from her victim. It didn't take long for him to groan and shudder, spilling his release in her mouth. She stilled and stopped abruptly. When she pulled away, she had a sickened grimace on her face at holding a wad of his collected seed in her mouth. By her expression she seemed she was about to vomit.
"Imbecile. Just spit it out!" Vegeta command in a low, haggard rasp; his voice was devoid of its usual spite.
She hadn't wanted to offend him, but with his authorization she did not hesitate to reach for a box of tissues atop the bedside desk. Turning away from Vegeta, she held a tissue over her mouth and discreetly spat into it. After recovering from the unfavorable taste occupying her mouth, Bulma glanced at Vegeta, scrutinizing his expression for any sign of offense, but he didn't seem too insulted, oddly. His usual scowl resided on his face, but he did not appear especially riled. He looked complacent, almost… though she accredited her skilled mouth for that.
Bewildered, she had to say, "Wow, I totally would've thought you'd be the type of guy who'd insist I swallow."
A look of absolute disgust settled in his features at the notion. "Absurd. Is that something you Earthling trash practice regularly; ingesting one another's waste? What appalling creatures you humans are."
"It's just a kink! Besides, you and I swap spit and reproductive fluids all the time. I'm surprised you don't reel in disgust from that alone." She held a hand up to her mouth to stop from laughing wildly as she thought, There must be so many dirty kinks and fetishes he doesn't know about… I can't wait to see how he reacts when I tell him about facials and BDSM!
She was determined to broach such discussions into the bedroom in the future, gleefully imagining how flustered and embarrassed her prince would be to learn of such vile Earthling mating habits. But aside from teasing him, there were many positions she was curious to see if she could coax him into. She was glad she had bought an extensive Kama Sutra picture book long ago; perhaps now she could put it to use rather than let it continue to sit and collect dust in the corner of her closet. Though Vegeta was fairly short in stature, he was amazingly spry and nimble. She could only marvel at thinking of what he was capable of anatomically. Delving into oral sex was only treading the surface of what they had yet to do together, or she so hoped.
Exhausted after his ordeal, Vegeta lay back contentedly, his eyes closed beneath his scowling brows. Bulma could tell he had really liked her performance. And she had enjoyed it as well—it was empowering for her, watching him tremble and listening to him sigh was well worth the trade off. Yet she hoped he would return her courtesy.
"If you want me to do that again, you'll have to return the favor. Deal?"
He scowled and turned his head away. He had greatly enjoyed her service, and he expected to receive this attention from her mouth again in the near future. He might have to consider agreeing to her terms if it meant cementing fellatio as an integral part of their sexual repertoire.
"Hey," Bulma nudged Vegeta in the arm with her elbow, gaining his sparse attention. "What did you mean by a coalition? In a less cryptic definition, I mean. That's your way of passively saying you love me, I'll bet."
"Before you come to such ridiculous conclusions, get this straight. I'm not going to exercise your Earthling coupling practices. I am agreeing to a temporary truce only because I've found you beneficial to a variety of my needs."
"Temporary?"
Her question was met with a mean chuckle—the anger in her voice clearly amused him. And his mood had been elevated after her service of him. He felt he would find more merriment in antagonizing her. "Fine, I'll rephrase my terms—you will be my servant and dedicate yourself to working for my benefit, for all eternity."
"Well you know what? I've found you beneficial. Yeah, you're so sweet and kind and lovable! I just adore you."
He sneered. "I would expect as much. There is no reason you shouldn't be infatuated with me."
"Oh, of course not," Bulma quipped, rolling her eyes and throwing in a sarcastic jibe, "Can you really blame me? Just look at you. No girl could resist a mighty prince with such an endearingly large forehead."
A little ego-feeding was never unwelcomed by Vegeta, even if it was issued as a backhanded compliment. A smug smirk settled on his mouth at having his self-esteem gratified, and he said nothing more to contest her.
Her compliments weren't aimed with only flattery in mind—she had a hidden motive. "You know, doing that for you—fellating your amazingly well-endowed equipment—really turned me on," Bulma said with an impish glint to her eyes. "Hey, do you think you could maybe give me what I want now?"
"And what would that be?" Vegeta asked reproachfully, his elation quickly evaporating and souring into suspicion.
"Care to go for a muff dive?"
He cocked on eyebrow, the other remained set in a scowl. "A what?"
"Oh, honestly. You know what I mean."
He was not familiar with vulgar Earthling slang, but if he had to venture a guess, he suspected the harpy wanted him to reciprocate. "No, I think I'd rather take a nap," he cut rudely, reclining on the bed.
"Oh. You don't have the stamina to go on."
It wasn't even a question, and that infuriated him. Immediately pissed, Vegeta snarled, "I could pound you for hours on end until you took your last breath; such a prolonged pummeling to your weak body would surely kill you!"
"Is that so?" Bulma laughed haughtily, her disbelief ringing clear in her voice. "Why don't you prove it, then?"
Grimacing, Vegeta sat back up. "That's a decent attempt at a ruse, but your bluff has been called. I won't let your ploy go without due punishment, however. You will regret invoking this."
He was well aware that she was luring him; he knew this, yet he was not bothered going along with her ploy. Not after what she had done for him.
He spun her around, wrestling her against the mattress and pushing her into the sheets by the weight of his body. His roughhousing was gladly received by her. She very eagerly parted her legs for him in welcome—always ready for these lewd engagements it seemed, she wore a flimsy skirt, which he hiked up above her hips with ease. At least she was wearing a modest set of underwear this time, Vegeta noted appreciatively. He gripped the panties by the hem and freed her from the undergarment, tossing the article over his shoulder.
A series of heavy palpitations racked Bulma's chest as Vegeta loomed over her imposingly, wearing a scowl on his face that clearly said Let me prove you wrong. No matter how often they'd coupled thus far, she still hadn't gotten over that dark, animalistic nature he possessed, and his noteworthy determination to impress her and to go above and beyond her expectations (though it was mainly his ego that was responsible for his dedication more than any conscious urge to sate her).
He positioned himself between her legs, but before he could guide himself into her Bulma complained, "Hey, hold up! Don't go right at it. Shouldn't you get me worked up a little more?" Hoping to sway him in her favor, she threw in a wink and a compliment, "You are pretty good at it, you know."
"What more do you want me to do? Simply being in my presence should be enough to rouse your zeal," Vegeta affirmed arrogantly. But he could not dispute her claim that he was good at even the most menial of tasks (and, though he hated to admit to it, he liked the carnal necking that came with foreplay). Not wanting to disprove her, he decided there would be no harm in postponing his recuperation. He did not loathe obliging to her request so long as he could apply a bit of cruelty via his sadistic brand of pre-coital courting.
Leaning forward until the weight of his body was close to flattening Bulma's lungs, he kissed her roughly. She welcomed the endearment, even when he added nips and scrapes of teeth to her delicate mouth, followed by swift and almost apologetic swipes of tongue. He ventured to her next, never ceasing to add a primal hint of teeth with every kiss. He could feel the pulse in her jugular against his mouth—and it was a violent, thrumming pulse she had. "What a nuisance. I should rip that heart out," he muttered against her neck while bringing a hand up to grasp one of her breasts. The barrage of tongue and teeth charting her neck and his mean remark made her whimper.
He had largely avoided the fragile skin of her neck before now—some time ago he might have been afraid to let his instinctive yearning for the kill override his conscious reasoning, but now that urge had faded and was replaced with a brewing fear that someone else might harm her. He had learned to exercise every bit of restraint and control he could; he'd never harm her, though he preferred for her to think otherwise, as it amused him when she was wary of his intentions. Now that he was certain he wouldn't lose himself to his suppressed instinct, though, he wanted to mark this place thoroughly.
He bore down on where her jugular throbbed vulnerably beneath her skin, preparing her with one rough kiss before he sucked hard, adding just enough pressure from his teeth to frighten her, eliciting a quick gasp from Bulma. He made a path to her shoulder, while she intertwined the fingers of her hand with his. She asked him, "So, you're going to stay with me after you take out those androids, right?"
What a sly and conniving wench, interrogating him when he was in a position where he could not back away! She felt him squeeze her hand—out of irritation at her question. She mistook the action as a positive response. "You are! I'm so happy!"
Bulma's delight was repealed when her hand was constricted painfully under his hold. "Ow! Let go! Are you trying to cut off the circulation in my hand or what?!"
He released his grip, and the heiress rubbed at her hand to encourage blood flow. "Why would you submit your hand to mine if you weren't permitting me to crush it?" Vegeta derided, his scorn apparent in his tone.
"I see how it is. You muscle-headed Saiyans don't know about holding hands. You probably couldn't comprehend the meaning behind it… you're too used to being a rough-n-tumble brute, after all."
He gave a spurning chortle. "Enlighten me, then. I'll try not to laugh at how you would believe such a repugnant act of affection could hold any meaning beyond making one want to vomit."
"You seem to understand that it's an affectionate act, at least. See, you're not as clueless about romance as you make yourself out to be. You're just shy. That's really adorable, Vegeta." Her remark was followed by the most infuriating, smug smile he'd ever seen on her.
Was she dense? He wasn't shy. He was simply reserved about which physical interactions he was willing to extend to her, and he was not eager to do something for the sole purpose of being endearing. Holding hands didn't seem interesting at all. To him, physical affection had to herald some suffering on the recipient's part… otherwise why would any warrior such as himself engage in these sorts of things? The notion alone was maddening.
"Hey, I'm still waiting here," Bulma crooned, lifting her leg to caress his thigh. "Are you going to continue? Enlighten me, almighty prince."
He was not sure of how he felt about the approving use of his proper title paired with her insolence. He opted on feeling insulted, to a degree. He lifted himself away from her. Not allowing her a chance to recoup or reposition herself, he forced her shirt off over her head—a little too hastily, as the sound of ripping fabric was heard by both.
"Gee, thanks a lot…" Bulma complained, though her tone was devoid of any real concern. She had several additional pairs of the same shirt in such an event that bedroom clothes-tearing should happen.
Vegeta fumbled in vain as he attempted next to remove her bra without breaking it (just so she wouldn't offer up more complaints). While he was preoccupied, Bulma stated, "You know you're more than welcome to stay after you take out those androids. Just think about it, we can do naughty things like this every day!"
He tore the bra off, hurling the broken lingerie across the room. To hell with it—the woman probably had several hundred duplicates of the damned undergarment. The swell of her perfect breasts which he had revealed for his viewing pleasure made the bra's sacrifice well worth it. She had been right about the number of hickies he had left across her skin, he noticed. Her bruised flesh bore his marks of carnal passion and possession. He smirked at seeing what he felt was his justly charted territory.
"Ugh, talk about impatient. Anyway… you're not going to die like that fortune-telling brat from the future claimed," she rambled on, elaborating vainly, "Not with the help of that new and improved armor made by yours truly."
She was reprimanded with a punishing nip on the shoulder. He'd had enough of her drivel. The wicked harridan seemed to make sport of this profitless banter, and her endless jabbering had stalled his procession. It seemed she had ensnared him just so she could babble on about things of no importance… although he did approve of her faith in him.
She urged him on with a budge of her hips. Prepping this masochistic cretin with bites must have made her impatient. He leaned forward and tongued at one of her nipples, his eyes piercing the helpless expression on her face as he carefully watched how she reacted. He then sucked the teat into his mouth, adding a nibble of teeth, satisfied to hear the heiress whine, but to his favor she did not offer any more of her commentary.
Relieving her from his mouth, he ventured back to her neck, hovering above the area. She felt his hot breath on a portion of her neck that he had dampened with his tongue minutes before. He looked over her flushed skin, calculating and feeling the high state of tension in her quivering arms. Her need had at last reached its peak, and now he could spare himself the chore of preparing her. He separated from her, sitting on his haunches as he grabbed her from behind her knees and pulled her up by her legs until she was against him, and with one roll of his hips he plunged into her, not wasting a moment nor waiting for her to acclimate to him as he began his pummeling. Bulma twisted her body in accordance with the pace he set at this position until his angled thrusts made contact with her grafenberg. She sighed contentedly, relaxing and allowing her body to sway with the propulsion of his incoming thrusts.
Vegeta paid close attention to her every reaction, learning and memorizing. As observant as he was, he didn't fail to notice when she extended her arms, stretching them as far as they would go in an attempt to reach around to his back, presumably so she could rake her nails across his hide. He saw her curled claws—he would not have any of that, not again. The scratches her devilish manicured talons had left him with still hadn't faded.
He grasped both of her wrists and pushed her arms into the mattress above her head, not once breaking his thrusts. But as he repositioned himself to bind her hands he slipped from her sheath, his erection sliding along the curve of her.
Bulma craned her neck forward to find a reason behind the loss of heat. "Hey, what are you—oh," she fell silent as the head of his shaft repeatedly hit against her clitoris.
Vegeta was displeased to notice he had slipped out of her. He took a reprieve from his thrusting to maneuver himself back into her, but she vehemently protested, "No, do that again!"
He scoffed, and with a quick, intrusive thrust he was enveloped once more, though generously he introduced the flat of his hand, taking up a kneading motion of his palm against the nub of flesh while he resumed his pumping. His accommodation was awarded a loud cry and a wild bucking movement rolling from Bulma's torso to her hips. Her hands now freed, she clawed at the sheets at her sides, her fingers gripping so tightly the tendons rippled beneath the skin.
He recognized she was nearing her peak upon feeling her body tremble beneath his. Her release was imminent and would come expediently, which came as a pleasant surprise to him. It generally took him an all-out effort of prolonging the experience in order to bring her to her apex. He smirked, taking pride in being able to commove her to such a degree, and so quickly, too—though he would not credit his unintentional slip for this change in fortune.
He had to smother out her cries with his mouth once she spewed forth a litany of expletives, announcing her pleasure—as if he really needed the vocal confirmation that she enjoyed it, not when he was so carefully in-tune to her body's every reaction, and not when he was so sure of his copulating abilities. With his free hand he grabbed her by the hip for leverage, his occupied hand still gliding against her flesh, now with added pressure and force to punish her for her shrieking, and to expedite her release.
Upon breaking away from the kiss he locked gazes with her, determination and focus set in his scowl. He intended to stare her down both to intimidate her (he hoped, at least) and to confirm that she would be fully sated, as a little stoking of his ego and to be certain that she wouldn't come crawling back for more; he expected as much from that near-insatiable libido of hers.
She liked that he was so vigilant—receiving such attentions from her prince elicited good feelings, and he was so inclined to please her, bandaged and worn as he was. That level of dedication spoke volumes to her, a touching conveyance of what she believed was his adoration for her. Tentatively she inched her fingers up to his chest to graze the scar above where his heart resided, feeling his pulse rushing against her fingertips. It was her subtle way of affirming to him that he had been given a second chance at life, and she would be a part of it, just as he'd been integrated into hers. She was willing to accept every scar—both physical and intangible—of his past life.
Ordinarily he would have found some reason to be annoyed by her invasive fondling of his most hated scar, but he was not bothered by it. Rather, that feeling that had been festering inside him over the months now surged in his chest, prickling with such intensity that he was afflicted. He winced and shut his eyes, distractedly chewing at his bottom lip as he tried to force the repugnant feeling away—he was preoccupied, dammit, and he didn't want to dwell on that emotional infirmity she'd plagued him with. But he faltered clumsily, and the strong, consistent rhythm of his methodical thrusts was broken for a moment.
Pouting, Bulma tightened her fingers over his heart, clawing at his chest to spur him back into action. Right away he swatted her hand with a snarl. He picked up his pace again, thrusting his hand out and crushing his fingers around her breast, right above her hears, to see how she liked being pawed at. He bit back a sinister cackle, thinking he'd be punishing her for fondling at him, but he couldn't help but give a dry laugh when she writhed and moaned in pleasure, signaling him with her climax call. He should have known the pain-loving miscreant would like it. Her fingers rooted themselves into the bed sheets, curling and gripping and she fell silent, drawing in one sharp breath and holding it as the tremors of release flowed through her.
Satiated and physically spent, she slumped against the mattress. He separated from her and collapsed at her side, exhausted and at his limit and panting fervently. A sheen of perspiration coated her body, and underneath the two of them the sheets were absolutely drenched. He would not be sleeping here tonight, but for now he needed to recoup as much as she did. The mattress was small and cramped, but he didn't bother leaving or shoving her from the bed.
He was anticipating her post-sex commentary (her appraisal, specifically), but she was abnormally unresponsive. The shuddering in her arms and legs hadn't subsided. Perhaps the furious pounding he had dealt her had wrecked her fragile body. He felt a fleeting pang of guilt—but only if it meant their libidinous couplings should come to an end if it turned out his pummeling had left her crippled.
Alas it seemed this was a symptom of an extreme human orgasmic high, not the signs of her oncoming mortality. After recovering she looked over at him and just stared, speechless with wonder. Did he have to make a point of excelling at everything?
His lips threatened a vain smirk. It felt good to his pride to bring her to such a state of sheer ecstasy. Though soon her unwavering staring rattled his nerves, so he remarked, "If you've recovered from near-death, I suggest you leave."
"Oh, hush," she rasped out in a weak breath and slapped at his bicep, but that only seemed to amuse Vegeta further. He wanted to jeer at her physical plight, but he was just as exhausted as she was. He still hadn't properly rested after the day's training, and his consciousness was fading fast. He turned from her and shut his eyes, too tired to force her to leave or get up and leave himself. He didn't care all that much if she stayed here with him, anyway.
Bulma patted her skirt down and settled herself under the blanket, stretching contentedly. She would have gotten up and left the room to fetch a snack, but her shirt and bra lay shredded in a crumpled heap somewhere on the linoleum floor. She had Vegeta to thank for that, though she was not too inclined to leave her spot on the bed at his side.
To test his limits of tolerance even further, but mostly to get a rise out of him, she slid her hand down to his hindquarters, caressing his bare ass and tail stump. To her surprise he didn't threaten her this time, only grumbling something imperceptible and giving another swat of the hand to deter her.
She took in the details of his rigid form, glistening with sweat from their shared ordeal. Her hand made its way up to his shoulder, which she absently massaged as she said, "Hey, I'm sorry for teasing you earlier… but that… wow. You should be proud of yourself, you're the only guy who's ever gotten me to shake like that!"
Here it was, the praise he had felt he deserved. With his back to her, she did not see the smirk gracing his lips. He wasn't surprised by her admission. He was so certain that he was the only being who was capable of bringing that much elation out of her. While he couldn't manage getting her to shudder with fear, this was much more satisfying.
She watched him intently, hoping for a reaction as she said next with a tiny smirk on her lips, "You know I totally love you."
It sounded more like a casual jibe rather than a heartfelt proclamation, her tone carefully reserved from letting any shred of dependence show. Nevertheless he cringed.
Love, this ugly term had finally reared its deplorable head, and it was directed at him in a nonchalant manner, but it still stirred him.
It had to be a mental illness. If that were the case, it couldn't possibly be contagious… he hoped.
Bulma waited for a response, but he gave her none. Of course she hadn't been expecting him to return those three words she longed to hear, but his silence was striking all the same. He didn't openly chide her or make a mockery of her terms of endearment. That was a good sign to her. Gradually he was opening himself to her affections, though scowling through them and casting deterring remarks, he didn't refuse them.
Even he was surprised by his leniency. He would have killed anyone else for freely groping at his scars and inciting him.
He reflected on his dream, recalling how he had felt that morning upon waking—the strange feelings of how important it was to keep this woman alive, even if it meant going against his warrior's pride. To justify this attachment, he would have easily associated such feelings with his status of royalty; in that sense it would be logical that he be remotely concerned for Bulma's well-being because, as a leader, it was his obligation to look out for his subjects. He would not have assumed there may be any notions of love behind his feelings. Such a repugnant thought wouldn't have crossed his mind. It was extraordinary that he could even feel anything above pity for her. Certainly he had never valued anyone else's life above his own, and as long as it didn't interfere with his own safety he may have only briefly considered being charitable enough to lend a hand to spare her from meeting a gruesome death, should the occasion arise where an assailant might threaten her life. It would be less than ideal for him to lose this clever woman if he could avoid it.
Only there was one thing that squandered that theory—he no longer viewed her as a subject or his servant, try as he might to throw off her suspicions with insincere hostility.
He had promised himself he would never harm her… but could he go out of his way to keep her alive; to protect her? Would he save her from the androids?
He resolved that as long as it wouldn't trouble him, he would save her from death. Not by any sort of obligation to the relationship they had, but because he consciously chose to keep her alive out of necessity. Aside from his pride, she was the only one who reinforced that. And if anyone should try to take that from him, they would pay.
And he didn't want to die against the androids, as was fated. He wanted to live, and Bulma had openly offered him a place in her life. Nobody had ever welcomed him with a sincere invitation like this. Perhaps it wouldn't be such an awful thing to live here on Earth. He would decide upon that once he'd destroy those robotic puppets and restored his honor after slaying the lesser Saiyan.
A/N – Basically nonstop lemons again (lemons oh god they r so horrible and GORSS) with some character development veiled under all the smut. Also, for one of my tumblr anons I have included more tickle time, WITH A TWIST (I hope it wasn't super duper kawaii OOC for Vegeta to force the tickling bombardment on Bulma with the excuse of sadistic/revenge purposes). I also wonder if he'd ever been tickled before he lived on Earth. Maybe his mother tickled him as a babby and he got mad and gnawed one of her fingers off. New headcanon.
Oh and while on the topic of OOC, um V seems romanticized/tsundere a little. He'll revert back to his asshole behavior soon, that pricky prince we all love in the android through Cell arcs :T Obv he goes back on his little "I will save u from death onna" resolve wat a gr8 guy
