Vejiita came in from his training in search of food, and what he found was something certainly edible - even if it wasn't exactly what he'd looked for.
Bulma was in the kitchen, wearing a tight little red dress, holding lipstick in one hand and reaching into the refrigerator with the other. Her hair was up, swept into a configuration that he'd never seen before, and somehow it semed to make her profile sharper, her eyes and lips more noticeable. Vejiita stopped walking and looked at her.
Whatever Bulma was reaching for clinked - the sound of glass on glass - and apparently satisfied, she straightened. Closing the refrigerator, she applied the lipstick unerringly, capped it, and only then turned to look.
It was obvious how much effort she'd put into this. He'd seen her room; he knew in what condition she normally kept her belongings, and it was safe bet that this dress had not come from there. Vejiita was mildly fascinated; her long, overly-diamonded earrings caressed her neck as she turned, and he wondered if that self-imposed touch was in hope of things to come.
"What?" she snapped at him, one hand on her curvy hip and the other tapping impatient fingers on the counter.
"Waiting for your lover?" Vejiita said without real expression, eyeing her speculatively and smiling gently as if in friendly conversation.
It was really the smile that did it. Planting her high-heeled feet as far apart as the dress would allow, Bulma narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Why are you asking?" she demanded, putting the other hand on her hip. "Did you do something to him? Or are you gonna?"
Vejiita chuckled, grinning more broadly now and looking far more interested than he had a moment ago. "Why? Would that bother you?"
Bulma's eyes narrowed to slits and she jabbed her index finger at him, giving him the chance to observe that her nail polish matched her dress exactly and that the length of said nails had suspiciously increased. He suspected fakes.
"YOU are going to leave HIM alone, and YOU are going to leave ME alone! We are going to have a WONDERFUL romantic evening, and don't you even THINK that you can mess this up for m... for us, or I swear to kami, I'll PULL OUT YOUR EYEBALLS!" And she panted, still leveling a finger at him, and sporting a lovely flush high in her cheeks.
Vejiita laughed heartily, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. "No," he said. "No, I'm not going anywhere tonight, woman. This stands to be far too amusing, and I need amusement on this pitiful mudball you call a planet."
Bulma sputtered at him, but before she could really reply, Yamucha walked in through the pantry door.
He'd been training, of course; these days he was always training, working toward the goal of saving the future, and it had taken a lot of time for Bulma to find him and insist he come back for just one night. He hadn't said a word when he left three weeks ago, and even now when coming back, he didn't seem particularly concerned about the feelings of his host. At least, he didn't until he actually saw her.
His reaction was far more pleasing than Vejiita's.
"Holy... wow!" he exclaimed, dropping the parcel he'd been carrying to the floor. "Bulma, you... you look incredible!"
Bulma recovered her poise - as much for her target as her audience. "Oh... you like this old thing?" she said coyly, sticking one hip out in that alluring position only females can do convincingly and tossing her head so her earrings caught the light. "I'm glad you like it. So are you going to kiss me or what?"
Yamucha looked like a little boy who'd been afraid Christmas would never come. "Y-you want me to?" he asked.
Bulma was definitely performing for both men now. ""Oh... I DO want you to, Yamucha," she said almost shyly, walking toward him with a slow hip-swing. "I do... and now that I've really thought about it - " she draped her arms over his shoulders - "I do... WANT you... Yamucha." And she kissed him.
And stopped almost immediately, turning away so the face she made wouldn't be obvious, but Vejiita had already seen it. She had just made the unlucky discovery that Yamucha hadn't brushed his teeth in days.
Yamucha was clueless. "Hallelujah!" he exclaimed, and yanked her against him with both arms; she "oofed" lightly. "Aw, this is gonna RO... ck..." He'd just noticed their company.
"Um... Vejiita," he said with hesitation, not seeming to notice that Bulma was trying to avoid breathing his air. "Uh... you're going away now, right?"
Vejiita could hold it in no longer; almost doubling over, he burst out laughing. Apparently unable to speak, he shook his head "no."
Yamucha looked put out. "But... look dude, this ISN'T your time."
"Ignore him," advised Bulma, and finally managed to push out of Yamucha's arms. "And while you're doing that, do you think you could ignore him in the shower? You really need to get cleaned up, bub."
Yamucha looked mildly offended. "But... aren't we gonna...."
"A-HEM," Bulma said, nodding her head in the direction of the still-laughing Vejiita.
Yamucha brightened. "Ooh, I got an idea," he said. "Why don't you join me in the shower? That's NICE and romantic, isn't babe," he soothed, pulling her back against him.
Bulma looked moderately horrified. "YA-mu-CHA," she said, indicating Vejiita again and once more trying to pull away. "Like HELL it is - you go and you get cleaned up right now or there will be NO nookie for you!"
Yamucha let go of her and pouted. "Oh fine, you just be that way," he said childishly, and stormed up the stairs.
"Argh," Bulma said quietly, wiping at the grime he'd gotten on her dress and wondering if he'd remembered that this -
"Does that idiot even know you're still a virgin?" Vejiita asked finally, smirking instead of chortling.
"WHAT?" she shouted, spinning on him in disbelief. "The HELL is that your business?!"
Vejiita shrugged. "It's obvious that you are, and just as obvious that that idiot doesn't know what to do with you. If you really want to throw it away, fine - you do that. In the shower... gods," he said, and started chuckling again.
"What's WRONG with doing it in the shower?" screeched Bulma, her face going bright red.
"What's WRONG? Gods, there's no flexibility," Vejiita said, honestly making it up as he went along but enjoying her responses too much to stop. "You can't really bend over. You can't lie down. Sitting is possible, but your knees would be up. Gods, the only thing you could do is keep your legs around his waist and hope you don't fall off!"
"Fall... OFF?!" she sputtered, and decided she'd really had enough. Bulma made a grab for her rolling pin.
Still laughing, Vejiita dodged her throw and flitted around her, moving JUST quickly enough that she could follow his movements, and then ran out the door. Of course, she ran after him, screaming. In fact, she was upset enough that she followed him all the way to the mailboxes, high heels or no high heels, and by the time they got there, Vejiita felt the need to turn for one more parting shot.
He'd been careful not to get too far ahead of her, so when he stopped and turned, she all but ran into him.
Leaning into her face, he leered. "Aw, and now you're all sweaty," he said. "Perhaps you need a shower after all!"
"GRAH!" she screamed, and swung her rolling pin, but he was already gone. "VEJIITA! YOU... STUPID... RUDE... SON OF A BITCH!!" she panted, shouting randomly at the sky and sure he could hear her. "YOU don't know anything! I'm going to do it ANYWHERE I WANT and ENJOY it, so THERE you kami-blasted MORON! ARGH!" And spinning on her heels, she stalked back into the building, not giving a damn if the neighbors had heard her or not.
Somehow, Vejiita kept from cracking up until Bulma had gone back inside the house; then, holding his sides, he collapsed back onto the roof of the Capsule Corporation and simply laughed until there were tears rolling down his cheeks.
Big stupid MORON, Bulma was thinking to herself, still red to match her dress and gripping her rolling pin so tightly that the wooden handle cracked. I'll show him. What does HE know, anyway? Probably never even had a willing woman outside a damned prostitute, she thought, and for a moment looked triumphant at the thought; then she remembered her mother's comments about Vejiita's attractiveness - and her own feelings seeing him at night, wreathed in shadow and oh-so-ominously appealing.
"Damnit," she muttered to herself, tossing the rolling pin onto the couch, and climbed the stairs to see what had become of Yamucha.
Yamucha had, fortunately, come out of the shower now; he was strutting around the room, clad in a towel, and looking considerably better for being clean. He'd even thought to brush his teeth.
"Bulma," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows, putting his hands on his hips and posing. "You like? The view's all for you, babe, and I thought - "
And he didn't get to say another word because Bulma marched right at him, grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him very hard.
"Mmph! Mm? Mmmm," Yamucha said, and closing his eyes, returned the kiss. What had spurred her into this, he wasn't sure; but at the moment, it also didn't matter. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her over to the bed and dropped her onto it.
Bulma bounced lightly, on her back, her knees bent over the edge of the matress, and had one moment of fear as Yamucha climbed over her. This wasn't exactly what she'd imagined; but... well, it was a little too late now. Wrapping her arms around him, she closed her eyes and kissed him again.
After a short while, it began to feel good; and thinking about his hands on her, thinking about how strong he was, and how handsome, it began to feel very good indeed. So good, in fact, that she almost missed it when he called her the wrong name.
He'd just barely gotten the top of her dress pulled down enough to be naughty, and she made a little squeak because he'd nipped her. And apparently, the squeak reminded him of someone else.
"Mmm... Margarite," Yamucha said, his face buried in her bosom; and Bulma froze.
"....what... did you call me?" Her voice was quiet.
"Mmm.. Ma.. Bulma," Yamucha said, possibly catching his error although his own mental state was far enough gone that this wasn't a certainty.
Bulma lay still for another few moments while he groped, no longer feeling good at all, and when she spoke again, her voice had a catch in it.
"Get off me," she said; naturally, Yamucha heard that.
"Uh... what?" he said, looking confused. Bulma tugged her dress back up, glad on some level that he hadn't yet removed her bra. "I said get off me," she repeated, shoving at him lightly. "Go find your Margarite, since she obviously means so much to you." And she was horrified to feel wetness on her cheeks. Frustrated, she wiped at them.
Yamucha didn't seem to have any idea what she was talking about. "But... why?" he said, looking hurt, and Bulma sighed and had some pity on him.
"Because you just called me by the wrong name, Yamucha," she said, sitting up. "I don't think either of us is really ready to do this."
Yamucha went very still. "I didn't mean to, Bulma," he said.
"I know," she said, and then they were silent for a time.
"I'm going," she said at last, and stood. Tugging her dress down around her hips and wiping at her cheeks again - quickly, sort of in vain hope that it wouldn't be noticed - she headed for the door, not bothering to pick up her shoes.
"Bulma," Yamucha said, still quiet, and Bulma paused just inside the door.
"Yes?"
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, and she knew he meant it; for some reason, that brought more tears.
"I... I know, Yamucha," she said, unable to keep her voice steady. "But I think that's a pretty good sign that we shouldn't do this... don't you?"
"Bulma," Yamucha said, sound frustrated; then he ran his hands into his hair and sighed. "Fine. Go. Just... just go."
Bulma hesitated for one moment, as if hoping he'd say something else; but he didn't, and in defeat, she left and closed the door behind her.
Yamucha waited a moment, then hit the pillow with his fist. "Damnit," he muttered, scowling at the door. "I was so fucking CLOSE!"
Bulma went to her room long enough to strip out of her dress and pull on some sweats; then she went back downstairs, turned the lights off, and plunked in front of the television. Twenty minutes later saw her in the same position, flipping through the stations without any interest in anything she saw.
"Hm. Showers must make things go quickly - or did he just lose control early on?" Vejiita had come in, and was honestly surprised to see her; of course, he had to poke.
Bulma didn't respond; the shopping network went by, then the gameshow network.
Well, this was interesting. Vejiita could smell hormones, but not much else - it was a safe guess Bulma had not succeeded in her plans for the evening, even though there wasn't any reason he could see why they wouldn't. Curious, he pushed more. "Or maybe you found it too painful - he didn't really seem the type to know how to properly touch a woman. You're matched well."
Still, no answer. The cartoon network, the cooking channel...
Vejiita frowned as the tv chef explaining how to cook duck was interrupted by an advertisement for cars, which was similarly interrupted by a rock concert. "Woman? Did you hear me?"
"Why don't you just go away, Vejiita?" Bulma asked tonelessly, unblinking as the channels flipped by. "Just go away and leave me alone."
Vejiita was silent for a long moment, studying her as colors and lights from the screen lit her skin. Finally, he spoke again. "You deserve better anyway," he murmured, sounding very much as if he wasn't sure why he was saying that, and turned to go.
Bulma laughed bitterly. "Why? Because I'm just as much of a scumbag?" She didn't sound like she meant it, either.
"No," Vejiita said, and turned, his skin clear and smooth in the moving lights of a children's program. "Because you're stronger than he is." And with that, he left; and Bulma was so amazed he'd said it that she stopped changing the channel.
That was not a word Vejiita used idly, she knew; but what he'd meant in context and why he'd said it now...
Now, when she was down, now, when it would have been so easy to kick her in the gut -
Bulma was amazed. Silent, she stared unseeing at the children's channel for the rest of the night and remained deep in thought.
Mr. Popo watched Dende's face, amazed at how much joy this recounting gave him - and utterly shocked that he recalled such details as the brush of Bulma's earrings against her throat or the smoothness of Vejiita's skin in the light of the television. These seemed so intimate, so personal- even edged with an awareness of the sexual, although Dende did not seem to know that. Popo wondered - not for the first time - if Dende was honestly aware of what he was saying.
Dende, for his part, really didn't seem to have a clue. He stopped to drink some water and catch his breath.
"Isn't this AMAZING?" he said, sloshing some of the water out of his glass in his enthusiasm. "I had no idea this sort of thing was so complex!"
"Complex," repeated Mr. Popo, clearing his throat as he leaned forward to adjust Dende's cushions.
"Oooh, yes, SO complicated!" Dende exclaimed. "People go back and forth and they switch from love to hate - all the while just confusing infatuation and anger for the REAL thing, which lasts even through the annoyance they THINK is hatred - it's amazing!"
Mr. Popo decided not to decode all that, but instead offered a treat. "Hot water with lemon?"
"Ooh," Dende said, eyes wide. "Mr. Popo," he said suspiciously, grinning. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
Popo smiled. "Not at all, sir," he said, pouring some of the aforementioned hot lemon water into Dende's glass. "You've been talking for a long time, and this is supposed to be good for the throat, Mr. Dende, sir."
"For the throat, huh?" Dende took a sip and closed his eyes. "Woooo-ooh," he said, running his tongue over his lips. "I don't think I can take too much of this," he said warily, and Popo chuckled.
"You'll be fine, sir," he replied. "I didn't put much in. Just sit back and enjoy, and then tell me more of this wondrous story."
And so, smiling, Dende did just that; leaning back in his sedan, he relaxed, feeling the tinge of lemon work its magic in his muscles and mind. He couldn't have lemon often - it tended to make him grouchy when overdosed - but in small amounts made for an absolutely delightful evening. He'd even heard of wild concoctions that used things like pineapple juice, but he knew he wasn't ready for that. One drink at a time was wiser.
"Are you feeling better, Mr. Dende, sir?"
"Much, Mr. Popo," Dende said, and with that, continued the story.