A/N Please don't take this story too seriously. It's really just some light fun, to put a smile on the face of whoever reads this.
'I left him some old clothes of your father.' Panchy looks over her shoulder, back down the hallway she just came through. 'I doubt they'll fit him properly though, he's, how do the kids say it? Very swole?'
Bulma snorts and gives her mother a genuine smile. 'Don't say that to his face.'
'I'll finish up with dinner. Twenty minutes?'
'Sure.'
'Can you go check up on him? See if he needs help?'
Bulma really, seriously, totally doubts their new guest and doombringer will need help getting dressed, but sure. She watches the older woman leave before moving herself. The trek through the house is short. With every step Bulma's confidence slowly seeps out of her. If her mother can take the Saiyan head on, so can she. Or so the bluenette thought as she reaches the top of the stairs. The corridor is silent, the slowly setting sun is casting an ominous glow and somewhere in the distance, thunder rolls.
'Get over yourself Bulma. You are a grown woman.' She whispers and pats her face a few times with both hands, getting rid of the childish fear of the dark. She simply forces herself to keep walking. 'If he'd wanted it, we'd all be dead by now.'
That, for some bizarre reason, does not help calm her nerves. Even after staring at his door for a few seconds and taking a few deep breaths, her anxiety still keeps rising.
She remains there, just staring.
Vegeta is standing on the other side. She can feel him there, right in front of her, as if the door was never even there to separate the two of them. A thought is spared on how she managed to pick this skill up, and another on how happy she is with being able to sense him.
Not very happy, is her swift conclusion. If he decides he gets bored with them and wants to exterminate them all, at least she wants it to be over quick. She doesn't need to feel the Saiyan coming for them from a mile away. No thank you.
When she finally builds the courage to knock, the door violently swings open. So distracted with her own thoughts, it catches her off guard. She yells and jumps backwards, trips over her own feet and drops on the ground with a dull thud. She glares upwards with heat on her cheeks. 'What the Hell!?'
Her face suddenly burns brighter. She was about to say something more but the words can't form. Her mind simply...
...simply blanks.
Vegeta hasn't finished getting dressed. Although freshly showered, it looks like he is still only halfway ready with only pants barely clinging to his hips. He must still be in the process of trying on his new clothes.
His eyes narrow for a moment and a few clicks escape his lips. Of course Bulma doesn't know what he says, and she is left to stare at his retreating form when he turns away.
The door remains open in invitation.
She steps through, willing her burning cheeks to cool down. At least she can blame that on him for frightening her like that. Her blue eyes roam over Vegeta's back for a short moment, taking in his remarkable physique. The Saiyan isn't super tall. She notes that he is, in fact, slightly shorter than she is. Were it not for his hair that absolutely defies gravity. She wonders how it will be when it gets wet. Will it lower and fall around his head and face because it gets so heavy, or will it remain stubbornly aloft?
What would it look like?
She tries to picture it, what it would look like if the Saiyan's hair got wet. But then she pictures Vegeta himself wet, and with his current state of undress...
...they are not very wholesome thoughts...
Taking a deep breath, Bulma tears her eyes away from him and her thoughts from his wet, weightless hair. In an instant she spots the scouter on the desk.
Thankfully putting it on helps distract her exhausted, lonely brain from thoughts she should definitely not be thinking about this total stranger that can blow them all to pieces if his undies are in that kind of a twist.
After it bleeps and starts to display weird symbols she doesn't understand, Vegeta speaks up. 'Why are you here?' Straight to the point.
'Just checking if you need anything else. Dinner is almost ready.'
The Saiyan doesn't respond. He throws a look her way she can't place while his hands fumble with a dark red t-shirt.
Bulma is suddenly hit with the realization that this situation is utterly unfair.
Forget the fact that Vegeta can probably destroy Earth with one finger up his nose and one up his butt.
Ok yes, that is also really not cool.
But what really sucks...
What really bothers her even more than that...
...is that the Saiyan is absolutely stunning.
Even now that he is fighting to get into his shirt...
...or was, as it painfully rips when he tries to pull it down his chest. With a growl he tears it off, expertly ruining it completely. It is discarded on the slowly growing pile of torn clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed. Bulma eyes it for a moment before her blue eyes move back to the other man as he begins a new battle into a button down shirt.
'Wait, stop.' She almost flinches when his eyes shoot towards her. Braving all of that the bluenette steps forward, and, knowing full well who she's dealing with, grabs at the material around the Saiyan's neck.
And Vegeta still, somehow, for some crazy reason, allows it.
Why he hasn't thrown her through a wall yet surprises her.
'It's too small. See? This part here doesn't touch, which means the shirt wont fit.' She holds the fabric in her hands for a moment, with a finger's length of space between the button and its hole. How he has yet to rip this article is beyond her.
She absentmindedly notes that his skin is surprisingly warm to her fingers.
'Try this one.' Bulma reaches for another shirt. For a moment she wonders what Vegeta will think of the baby blue material. She is left to guess if he knows that the small, yellow print scattered all over it are in fact baby duckies.
She also wonders if wearing this will make him look less menacing.
Probably not.
She hates that she has to tear her eyes from him as he throws the offending fabric off his back and onto the pile of torn or otherwise unfit clothes. He either wont care for her wandering eyes taking in his powerful frame, or he will see it as being viewed like a piece of meat and take offense.
Bulma is unsure how having someone appreciate your looks can be considered upsetting, but she is unwilling to take the risk. Would he react harshly because his body is littered with scars? Wouldn't those be considered an honor amongst Saiyans?
She decides to save her questions for another time.
'Alright. That one actually fits better.' she notes out loud in encouragement. A smile began to form on her face, but somewhere along the way her brain malfunctions.
Time, at least for her, slows down. It's like watching a train-wreck. A terrible accident. It's like you see someone tripping and falling and you see all the details in their face as it contorts from surprise to realization and then twists in fear as they make the drop.
This isn't an accident though.
Heat starts to rise to her face.
She watches in what she can only describe as shock as Vegeta slowly buttons down his shirt. He's currently working on the third one from the top. His movements are slow, this experience clearly rarely done before by how focused he needs to be to be able to press the button through its designated hole. When the button finally slides in comfortably his hands lower to the next one. They press against his hard stomach to keep stable. Bulma can see the skin peeking out from beneath it, she can see several scars marring the creamy flesh.
Beneath his diligently working hands, maybe even beyond his focus, his jeans are slipping lower.
They drag over his milky hips. Over a rock hard tummy. If he were human, Bulma could have sworn Vegeta was flexing his muscles. But he's not. She knows he's not. It's just how he looks.
Just his hips.
His stomach.
The v-shape pointing to the middle of his belly, revealing more and more skin and leaving less to the imagination with each centimeter it slides. But then, all of a sudden...
...it stops.
Tomato colors her face.
The jeans, barely clinging to the Saiyan as is, somehow get caught and stop sliding down on something.
This...
This total jerk!
Has no business looking as good as he does!
The baby duckies on his shirt do not make him look less menacing, nor do they make him look less sexy.
Really, totally, absolutely not fair!
A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.