A/N: HA! I'll bet you were convinced I'd fallen off the face of the planet or was dead in some ditch. Pshaw, c'mon guys, when will you learn that you can't get rid of me so easily? Anyway, this story is appearing as new because it is the edited version of my original one. Basically, it's about the same thing, but with a few new additions and some much-needed revision. If you read the story way back three years ago when I first posted it, you should definitely read it again (and no, I'm not only saying this to plug myself : P). I'm 3 years older and 3 years wiser and all of my stories will be meticulously plucked apart and edited within the next few months, so look for them to suddenly 'appear' at the top of the list when you're browsing for new text! As usual, be a responsible reader and leave a review. Loved it? Hated it? I MUST KNOW!!!
Turn Me On
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
"It's over, Yamcha!" Bulma screamed, tears streaming heavily down her flushed face.
"Bulma, you're upset! Don't end what we have! Please!" he protested, grabbing her hand to thwart her intention putting him out.
"I'm serious, Yamcha! I can't bear the thought of you with another Becky or Julie or Tanya, I can't take this cheating shit anymore, leave me alone! I mean it this time, get out of my life!" she cried, dislodging herself and slamming the heavy oak door in the man's shocked face.
It's just a sense,
Really nothing clear.
Is this desire,
Or is this fear?
Bulma collapsed despondently onto the couch, burying her tear-streaked face in her arms. Her body shook with her noiseless sobs as she struggled to convince herself she was right in dropping Yamcha. But then, why did it hurt so damn much?
Vegeta entered the front room to see the blue-haired female weeping, her salty tears probably irreparably soiling one of the many pieces of furniture in the house. His eyes wavered slightly on her crumpled form, a war seeming to wage back and forth within their ebony depths. He knew why she was upset, it was the same reason she always cried about. Obviously, that human dolt had laid his boots beneath another bed the night before. Letting out an audible sigh of disgust, Vegeta rolled his eyes and silently griped about the pressures of having a conscience. He shouldn't care, and yet, strangely he did.
"He's not worth your pain," he stated bluntly, interrupting her misery.
Bulma's head jerked up to stare at him through puffy, red eyes and mussed hair. He was caught unawares by how utterly broken she appeared. The prince clenched his fists discretely; deciding that the next time he had a rage to allay, the relief would come through pummeling that scar-faced dick into the dust.
"Who?" she choked out finally, certain that the man was addressing someone else in the room. A quick sweep, however, revealed that she was still the only one there.
"You know who, that stupid human you claim to love. Yamchuck or something," answered the Saiyan, quickly redirecting his gaze to study the wall beyond her.
"Yamcha," Bulma corrected wearily.
"Whatever. I don't care what the hell his name is; I still don't think he warrants your tears."
"Why?"
"Because you deserve better, and you can do better than that two-timing scumbag."
"Why are you saying this?" she demanded, torn between defending her ex-lover and agreeing with Vegeta's cruel words.
"It's what you wish to hear, isn't it?" he rebuked, casually arching a brow in his pomp-ass manner.
"Well yes, but since when have you cared what others want?" Bulma asked curtly, standing up and heading to her room. She did not expect an answer, and even if he had offered one, she never could have believed it.
Do I let you in,
Do I shut you out -
Is this control,
Or is this doubt?
The woman stepped into her steaming shower and washed away her sorrow over Yamcha. When she clambered back out of the stall, she tied a towel around her torso and hair as she strode into her bedroom. She flopped down on her bed and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.
Bulma started awake after what seemed like only a few minutes of rest. She couldn't remember what had roused her and sat up quickly in uncertainty. With her sleep-blurred eyes, the woman glanced about her room. A panicked shock paralyzed her body when she realized that there was someone else in her quarters, masked to perfection in the shadows.
Vegeta had been cloaked in darkness, watching the woman sleep, for almost half an hour. He was considering his response to her haughty question from earlier and had just come up with a satisfactory answer when she began stirring from her slumber. Before he knew it, Bulma had shot straight up in bed and was staring directly at him.
"Damn," he cursed softly, making his way over to her bedside.
"What in Kami's name are you doing in my room at - " she stopped her angry query to glance at her bedside clock " - three in the bloody morning?!"
"You asked me something before you came up here and dozed off. I felt that you deserved an answer," he replied easily, standing in his characteristic pose; shoulders hunched and braced against the wall, face pulled into a casual scowl that could easily freeze lava.
"Since when do you care what other people deserve?" Bulma sighed tiredly, not equipped to deal with a battle of the wits this early in the morn.
"Quiet. You already asked me one impossible question that took well over five hours to come up with an answer for, the least you could do is listen to what I have to say."
"Fine, what is your response to my inquiry from earlier?" she intoned properly, proving that even her exhaustion was incapable of dimming her inbred sarcasm.
Vegeta moved away from his position, placing his hands on the bed and leaning towards Bulma. As he drew close, his ominous black eyes never once strayed from her crystal blue ones.
You move so close
That I feel your sweat -
Is it time to go,
Or not just yet?
It seemed an eternity before he spoke, and Bulma could hear the erratic beating of her heart fill the silence that stretched between them. She should not have been so anxious about the circumstances, but she had to admit that Vegeta's words made her...curious. Never once had he sought her out to finish an argument, typically waiting for another opportune (or not quite so) time to bring up the debate anew. It was uncharacteristic of him to care this much about proving a point. With his limited patience, she had been certain he'd simply grunt, glower and get over it.
"My answer is that I have never cared, Wench. The only reason I was half-way decent to you was because I could see that you were distressed, that and I couldn't stand the sound of your banshee version of crying. But I can now confidently state that you do not care for my compassion, so the next time I see you in pain, I will not go out of my way to ease it. After all, why should I bother when you'll simply crawl back to the bastard the minute he offers another quick apology?"
Bulma could only stare at him, so intrigued by what he was saying that even the insult met deaf ears. She hadn't stopped to consider that it might have been she to antagonize him and not the other way around. Now that she knew this, she felt reasonably ashamed. He had been trying to help her and she had interpreted it as taunting.
Her guilt magnified ten-fold as the Saiyan stood and turned to leave.
Here's the thing -
Is it love or hate?
Is it right or wrong?
Can we get it straight?
Can't we just...get it straight?
"Wait! Don't go, Vegeta – stay and...talk," Bulma suggested shyly, swiftly sliding under the covers when she remembered her near-nakedness.
"Why?" he demanded, pausing in the doorway. Her conscience clenched anew when he refused to even turn and look at her.
"I misunderstood you before...I don't want that to happen again," she persisted softly, eyes pleading.
When he finally did glance behind, it was this simpering, contrite face that he saw. The prince's eyes narrowed, as though testing to see if she were playing a disguised game with him. Once more, ignoring the better advice his pride was screaming at him, Vegeta gave in with an acquiescent grunt. Bulma's features immediately brightened at the conquered noise, and she moved further over to make room for him. But to her growing disappointment, he refused to seat himself, opting instead to stand ominously over her head so she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.
"You'll lock up your knees permanently if you're always standing around like that," the woman said pointedly, index finger jabbing the empty space beside her. It was clear from the steely glint in her eyes that she was not going to abandon her cause until he submitted once more. Under normal circumstances, he would have promptly snapped the neck of one so commanding of his royal blood, but in this situation he found a strange form of amusement.
"Whatever," Vegeta stated blandly, flopping onto the mattress so hard that Bulma bounced several times. "Happy, Woman? Commence your gabbing, I do have better things to do than entertain the requests of some blue-haired witch, you know."
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Bulma's cerulean eyes flashed that of an icy blue lake, cold and angry. She growled slightly and crossed her arms in a huff, issuing unto him a chilling glare that rivaled his own coal-black glower. However, hers lacked the more physically abrasive nature of his. After all, her cheeks were too rosy, lips too full and appearance altogether too feminine to ever possibly match the heat given off by his harsh, angular and undeniably masculine features.
"Vegeta, I don't know why you insist upon bashing the way I look, but you ought to have realized by now that you aren't exactly first-prize either," she ground out through clenched teeth and pursed lips.
"Woman, I am not insulting the way you look...I am insulting the way you are. And as for me, there is not one female on this planet that could or would resist my advances."
Bulma dropped her façade of anger in favor of an animated chuckle at his confident comment, but she suddenly found herself feeling slightly uncomfortable with the implication of his words.
I laugh along,
Eye the door,
Play your game,
Still there's more.
Vegeta took the silence accompanying her laughter as an unspoken challenge, lifting one brow supremely as he stared over at her.
"Do you really think that you would be able to refuse someone as perfect as I, Woman?" he demanded pompously, butting rudely into her thoughts.
"There are other fish in the sea, you know. The Saiyan Prince is not the only image of perfection on this planet," she retorted with a toss of her mane.
"True..." he purred, leaning ever-so-closely towards her, "But can you honestly say that you would choose one of them over me?"
"Y-yes, I can and would," she stuttered, eyes straying down to watch the vibration of his lips as he spoke. Her own lips suddenly felt chapped, and she tucked out her tongue briefly to assuage their dryness...disappointed when it helped in no such way.
"You don't sound too sure of yourself, Woman..." Vegeta growled, his own gaze drawn downwards as the tantalizingly pink muscle slipped momentarily from its cage within her mouth.
Bulma's azure orbs darted up once more to catch in the spotlight that was his fierce, compelling stare. After a second or two, she realized with a stiffening spine that she couldn't pull out of the darkness of his eyes. It was like she'd been hypnotized by him.
You stare so deep,
It gives me a chill.
Maybe we should -
Should wait until...
The Saiyan continued advancing on the woman, his mind no longer controlling his body. It was then that he realized he was not going to ever be able to disentangle himself from the little female after this night. He was going to make her a permanent part of his life, be it willingly or reluctantly on both of their parts.
Bulma sat perfectly still and watched as Vegeta made his way towards her. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience when she saw the Saiyan capture her lips with his and herself running her long fingers through his gravity-defying hair. But she felt the fluttering that began in the pits of her stomach, felt it rush outwards to envelop her entire body in an unfamiliar heat...as though she were boiling beneath the skin. She heard her own voice murmuring softly into his ear, felt the texture of his shirt slid beneath her hands. It was her, it was him...and then it was them.
Then it's no surprise
When I feel your weight.
I can't react,
It's up to fate.
Up to...fate.
It was 11 AM, Saturday morning, when a certain blue-haired woman woke up. She stretched her ivory colored limbs and yawned contentedly. Suddenly though, her pleased smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of sheer horror as the night's events came rushing back to her. No...she hadn't...they hadn't...
Bulma stumbled from her empty bed and darted into the bathroom, crying new tears of shame and self-loathing. She stepped into her shower and turned the water to hot, scalding. Attempting to scrub the filthy, slutty feeling off her skin, she only succeeded in changing her flesh's delicate white color to an angry red.
The human collapsed under the heated liquid and curled herself into a tight ball, weeping desperately and wanting nothing more than to take back all that had happened the night before. She had slept with the man who had killed her boyfriend, her first and only love!
"I made love to a murderer, a cold-blooded, heartless fiend!" she moaned aloud into the steam-filled cubicle, her tears flowing as freely as the water.
So caught up in her own distress, the woman did not hear the quiet click of the bathroom door as the only witness to her shame quietly left, his own countenance a fearsome glower. He should have known better.
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
During the last half of the day, Bulma tried her best to maintain a normal attitude. Yet, in spite of her brave efforts, she found herself breaking down into painful tears whenever she had time to remember the evening prior. She felt so dirty and used. It was especially hard to hide her depression from her mother, who happened to be extremely perceptive to moods. Bulma also noticed with dismay that Vegeta had not once left his gravity room in the whole of the day, even for lunch. His recluse only served to worsen the situation in her mind. They needed to talk, desperately. She wanted to confront him before it was too late...before everyone realized the awful truth.
Bulma was finishing up on the plans for mass distribution of her father's latest invention when the elusive prince stepped into her lab. He came up behind the woman and settled his hand possessively upon her upper-arm.
You touch my shoulder,
Could you be colder?
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
"Only to talk," he answered shortly.
"I have nothing to say to you," she lied, turning away.
"Too bad, because I have something to say to you," the Saiyan shot back coldly.
"Can't guarantee I'll listen."
"You will if you know what is good for you."
"Are you threatening me?!" demanded Bulma, her voice rising in her rage as she twisted back around.
"No. I would never threaten my woman."
"YOURS?!" she exploded disbelievingly. "I do NOT belong to anyone, Vegeta...least of all some self-serving, pride-ridden bastard like you!"
"You belong to me now. Last night you didn't seem to mind me calling you mine," pointed out the prince, his own voice darkening with anger.
"Last night was nothing but a huge mistake. One I wish dearly to take back," hissed the woman, her composure weakening as tears pressed out in her eyes.
"Oh shove it away, Wench! You can not say that you regret last night when you obviously enjoyed it very much!" Vegeta growled testily. His thoughts ran again through the scene he'd been witness to that morning, he heard her cruel words bark into his ears once more and felt his rage reach the boiling part. She was nothing but a hypocritical bitch! He balled his fists to keep from striking her, keeping a cold exterior that only served to worsen the woman's emotional state.
"Yes I can and I just did!" retorted Bulma, momentarily unnerved by the chill she saw in his normally-unreadable eyes.
"FINE!" the Saiyan roared, losing all hint of control and stalking to the door. "You're nothing but a little whore, Bulma Briefs! I shamed my entire race when I bedded you, but remember this...it was not Yamchuck's name that you cried out in your pleasure! You are and always will be MINE!"
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn - turn on me?
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Bulma sank down to the floor of her lab as she felt the ground begin to rumble and shake. In seconds the quaking stopped and she knew that Vegeta had left the planet, possibly for good. She was numb for several minutes, tears simply streaming down her face unimpeded as his words echoed in her mind. Whore...shame...pleasure...mine. They still resounded powerfully when her mother came in, squalling about how the Saiyan prince had just hopped into his ship and blasted off to Kami-knows-where...without even taking a coat.
The tears still poured down her cheeks three weeks later when she held a pregnancy stick bearing two plus signs between her fingers. They still cascaded from her eyes when, one lonely night several months after, she realized exactly how much she truly missed the stubborn warrior. They still drenched her shirt-collar when she caught Yamcha in bed with yet another bar-maid floozy after their engagement. And they had only begun to flow at that very moment when she understood how much she desperately loved the Saiyan...for all that he was, and knew she should have felt no humiliation in it.
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn on me?
Returning to the landing site of his space capsule, Vegeta slipped quietly back out of the atmosphere in his ship, proud, in spite of himself, of his mate and his new heir...Trunks Vegeta-Briefs. Though he would probably never freely admit his pleasure to them, they would have to just believe he still cared for them in spite of it all, and he did. He really, really did. Unconditionally.
Are you gonna turn me on,
Or are you gonna turn - turn on me?
A/N: So...better than the original? You gotta let me know!