Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
A/N: A friendly reminder that this is rated M! Thanks again to all the reviewers, you make my day!
Vegeta
Year 755
Reflex has his hand rising to catch her hair in the wind, but it's the look in Bulma's eye that has him brushing the soft strands back behind her ear. There is a split second where he questions whether he misread the signs, but then she steps forward, and he knows exactly where this will lead them.
He can smell her lust.
He pulls her close and she sighs, fitting against him, all curves and smiles. His cock aches with need. He kisses her carefully, holding back lest he break her delicate body, but she opens her mouth and pushes forward with such force that he cannot help the rumbling growl that rises from his chest. She bites his lower lip and all his restraint is undone, his hands skimming down to cup her ass and lift until her legs wrap around him and he can grind against her core. He's about to take to the air, feet hovering off the ground, when she breaks their kiss to utter "The equipment."
He nips at her neck, and feels the shiver run down her spine. "Fuck the equipment," he growls, taking her earlobe between his teeth. She likes that, moaning and digging her nails into his back, and he files this piece of information away for later.
He drags his teeth along the column of her neck once more, revelling in the taste of her skin, her pulse beating heavy under his tongue. She writhes against him, even as she pushes at his shoulder. "We can't leave this here – oh! Vegeta – ah – seriously, we need to pack up. We only have one gravity belt!"
He groans in frustration, but his feet touch the ground once more, and she untangles herself from him, unsteady on her feet. She flashes him a quick smile before bending to pick up the technology that's strewn about. Now that they've gone this far, he feels no shame in staring at the curve of her ass through her coveralls. She catches him looking and raises a brow.
"You could help me here, you know?" she grins, but she's already packed everything back into the capsule box. She closes the lid and the entire thing disappears. He shakes his head, still amazed by the technology she's able to produce.
"Are we walking or flying back?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips, "Or, are we doing this out here in the open?" she adds, waggling a delicate brow at him.
"Tch!" His cheeks grow hot. "Don't be so vulgar!"
"What! It's not like there's anyone around!" The glint in her bright blue eyes spells mischief, and her lips curve in a smile.
He shakes his head, realising too late that she's teasing him. He growls, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder, wincing as she screeches in his ear. "We're going back to the ship!" he states, his cheeks still burning.
. . .
He lets her lead him back through the ship to her bedroom, a small chamber that mirrors his across the hall. The door slides closed behind them with a click, and he leans back against this, watching as she crosses the room and opens up the first drawer in her dresser. It's the only piece of furniture in here, other than the bed.
She pulls out a small box and shakes it, shrugging at him. It takes him a moment to read the old-style lettering on the front, and when he does he raises one brow in question.
"I may have bought a decent amount of these back when we did that last supply run," she explains.
"How many is a decent amount?" he dares to ask.
"Umm… a thousand?"
"You bought a thousand condoms?!" he's caught somewhere between surprise, gratefulness, and amazement. It occurs to him that they very well might be necessary; if a Koribian could bear a Saiyan child, perhaps a Human could too, and has no desire to father children. "Where are you keeping them all?" he asks.
She blushes, running a hand back though her long hair, the pink on her cheeks making her appear softer, younger. "I thought it was better to be prepared I guess? I mean, I didn't know how long we'd be staying here, so I figured go hard or go home, you know? Besides, there's twenty to a box, so it's only 50 boxes," she rambles. "Oh, they're in the capsule in here," she adds, pointing in the drawer.
"Go hard or go home?" he quotes.
"It's an Earth saying."
"I figured."
Silence falls between them, and Bulma shifts from foot to foot, the box of condoms still in her hands. He's not usually a talker, but he needs to fill the silence. "You planned on us having sex, then."
She looks him directly in the eye, shrugging again. "I figured it was likely. I mean, you're a good looking guy." She finally puts the box down, and reaches for the zipper on her coveralls, tipping her chin upwards as if girding herself for battle. "Don't just stand there, Vegeta. Come and help me undress."
He doesn't need to be told twice. Her coveralls, grey and shapeless, slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The spandex she wears beneath is much more form-fitting, and he hooks a finger under her crop top, grazing the underside of her breast as he looks to her for permission. The skin under his hand is softer than anything he's ever felt before.
"Go ahead," she whispers, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. He wastes no time in tugging her shirt up and over her head, sucking at her neck as his hands find the swell of her breasts and cup the weight of them. He's dreamt of touching her, of tasting her, many times in the past, but the reality is a thousand times better.
He shivers as she grasps at his tail, her nails running down through the fur, squeezing just enough to make him feel light-headed. Her free hand slides down his front, and when she slips this under his waistband to grab at him he feels as if he will explode.
He steps forward, pushing her until their legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back, taking him with her. He traces a trail down her body with his tongue, pulling off her remaining clothing as he goes, her toes hooking into his waistband until his own clothes are kicked away and he stands before her, naked and unguarded.
"Come here," she demands, and he acquiesces, sliding along her until he is caught in her embrace.
. . .
He wakes slowly, rising to the surface as if he has been floating underwater, knowing only that in this moment he is not alone. She sighs beside him, her breath feathering across his face, a tongue sliding along his ear even as her hand trails across his stomach and down.
Bulma. Her name floats back to him in the dark, and he turns into her as she wraps around him, rising above him in the dark, a goddess, skin as pale as the moon.
"Bulma." Gods, she is warm and soft and tight in all the right places. She's no warrior, but there's steel in her core, and when she pins his arms above his head he lets her, lets her ride him, lets her do what she must until her back arches and she cries out, and he is there to catch her.
"Bulma," he whispers, his nose buried in her hair, the smell of sex and sleep and her surrounding him. He's chasing his own release now, faster and faster, and she's a flame in his arms. She clutches at him as if she'll never let go, calling his name, spurring him on. He comes undone, and he is both full and empty at once, the sound of their ragged breaths anchoring him in the night.