Concerto Twenty Three: Friday
A/N: It's summer time. This chapter has the perfect drink to beat the heat.
oooOOOooo
It started on a Friday morning.
It was the hottest day of spring so far, the weather slowly transitioning into the heat barracks of summer. The evidence of this dripped from Bulma's nose, cascading across her upper lip slowly before disregarding her body altogether to land on the smooth planes of Vegeta's chest. Her sweat bead joined his skin, begging her to place her flat palms on him and spread the soils of her hard work. She sucked in a tight breath as her hips rolled over him, unable to break her tranced stare from him, unable to stop the sensitivity inside of her that was building into something so damn good.
His hands kneaded at her side, keeping little control on the reigns that were her intricate movements, letting her star as the ringleader of their erotic circus. This was new, Bulma let her mind ponder for a second, Vegeta giving up control like this. Whether she rode him or lay underneath him, there was always this sort of need to be in charge, to make Bulma squeal into submission, to make her body writhe with waves of pleasure until she was left to dry in the sand.
But not today.
Today, Bulma discovered as she ran one of his thick hands to her breasts, silently demanding that he cup them for her increased pleasure, Vegeta had no qualms about being her subject, her experiment. From the smoldering way his eyes narrowed at her, the chocolate specks in his irises dancing around madly, he seemed to like being pushed to the background. And from the way he bit his lip, looking into her flushed face like a carnivore ready to devour his meat, she was doing it right.
"Fuck," he drew a breath and momentarily closed his eyes, taking full delight in the way Bulma rocked her hips forward, leaning against his stomach to rub the sensitive nub between her legs, "You feel so good today."
Her giggle turned into a sigh as she bent forward to kiss him, rewarding him for his gratification. It was different today, if Vegeta's admission was any proof of that, but not for the way their bodies seemed to mold a little more perfectly, if that were possible. Not for the way she easily accepted him inside, as if her body fully understood that no man fit for her other than him. Not for the way he looked at her more tenderly, more trustworthily. Touching her as if he owed everything to her existence itself.
It was different because for the first time since the start of their relationship, Bulma could honestly admit that they had fully given themselves to each other.
They hadn't talked about Vegeta's breakdown, about his truthful words as he held her in this very living space. There was no need to, she decided, because Vegeta just wasn't that type of guy. She had accepted it, understanding that far more than his words could ever provide, his actions spoke on behalf of his lips. And since that night two weeks prior, Vegeta had begun to open up a little bit more. Not verbally, but the energy he harvested seemed to always carry a plus one, like he had given Bulma an invisible keycard to all of him, and she did the same so effortlessly in return. And now the birth of their relationship plateau showed in the way their bodies flowed together, so fluid, so natural.
It made a tear fall from her eye, landing on his cheek.
She drew back from his mouth then, bending her head down as the pleasure grew, and grew, and grew. He moved a piece of blue hair from her temples, stuck to her sweaty head like feathers, and smirked out a chuckle. "Does it feel that good?" He mocked her, causing her to lift her head slowly to look at him, his canines gleaming with the early sun that beamed through the large windows. "So good that you're crying?"
She didn't really know why she was crying, but the overwhelming way he stared into her as if he was summoning her soul made her stomach flutter with butterflies. Bulma could cross several galaxies, could meet any species of male that existed beyond the planes of reality, and know in her wildest dreams that she could never find a love like this. A love like Vegeta.
And even in the midst of their storms, even in the uncertainty of this whole Frieza mess, in this moment, in this pleasurable moment, she could lose herself to him completely, could moan out his name like a prayer, her tears refusing to stop falling from her eyes.
Vegeta's hands circled around her waist, and before she could comprehend what was happening, he lay her gently on her back, his hips immediately taking over, his hand coming from underneath her to thumb away the wet trails on her cheeks.
"What's wrong?" He said, trying (and failing) to speak the words without having them cloaked in his husky voice. His face dropped to a look of concern, but the fact that he didn't stop grinding his hips made it impossible for his grunts to cease, or for his eyes to stop gobbling her up like she was the last piece of cherry pie at a barbeque. And it certainly didn't stop Bulma from squeaking out a sigh of satisfaction, her body silently thankful for the break, the fruits of his labor pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
She reached up and grabbed his face, forcing him down to her, the soft breaths of her parted lips kissing him softly. "Just," she said in between her impromptu crying, in between her moans that were becoming harder and harder to suppress, "Just make love to me, please."
She asked. He obliged.
No more talking was required from either of them as Vegeta sank home into her again and again. Perfectly hitting that spot from his angle, again and again. Making her cry harder, groan harder, ask harder, again and again.
Bulma was going to lose it.
That face, that beautiful, ruggedly handsome face that she believed had been crafted for her own benefit, washed over her like waves in a storm and she couldn't break from him. Gods be damned, Vegeta, she thought as he closed the small gap between them, capturing her lips with his, you're going to be the death of me.
It made her stomach hurt how good he was making her feel. What on earth, she wondered as the edge slipped from under her feet, made her body react to him so greedily today? To make the wetness that spilled from her eyes match the flood that poured from her legs as Vegeta took her there, took himself there, took them to a paradise that neither of them entirely prepared for. She sang of her victory through the dancing of their tongues, bathing in the warm blanket of an orgasm that felt like a first one.
Vegeta was the first to land back on the planet of reality, slowly pulling away and out of her as he repositioned their bodies back to the start, cradling her as she leaned against his chest. Her body was still convulsing, unable to fully return back home as she lazily threw an arm over his chest, lightly pecking his pectorals as a smile refused to dim itself from her radiant face. "That was something, huh?"
Vegeta grunted in reply, his arm now resting over his probably sleepy eyelids. His other hand traced small infinity symbols on her upper arm, sending tiny goosebumps on her sweat slickened skin. She chuckled and rose to look at him, resting her cheek against her hand. "Hey sleepy head, don't tell me you're checking out on me already."
"'S your fault," he mumbled out, his tone laden with grogginess. Bulma's belly flipped at how content he looked, almost like a child who ate too much of their favorite sweets. Then again, Vegeta certainly satisfied his sweet tooth this morning himself.
The thoughts of candy and other delectable treats began to manifest in her imagination, and instead of making her hungry with curiosity, it made her stomach heat up unpleasantly. She let out a groan and closed her eyes, hoping the feeling would dissipate. This forced Vegeta to peek at her from under his arm, his hand massaging her back with comfort. "Are you okay?"
She tried to nod her head, but the ache in her belly soon turned to nausea, and she found it increasingly difficult to bite down the waves that brewed. "My stomach just started to hurt, that's all."
Vegeta removed his arm from his face entirely, his features twisted with concern. "It could be the heat. You did just exercise in it, afterall."
She chuckled at that, but the glee was short lived as the nausea struck her again, slamming into her forcefully before she jumped up from him altogether, sprinting towards the bathroom with gusto. The result was immediate, as she threw up whatever was upsetting her body into the toilet, unable to stop the pain. It was hot, she'd give it that, and the way that the sweat still dripped from her forehead indicated that perhaps Bulma went a little too deep into her performance and overheated herself. In any fashion, accepting this knowledge did not cease the smooth ache of the nausea, nor did it stop her vomiting.
She felt a cold towel on the back of her neck, her shoulder length curls being swept away from her face. Vegeta bent down and seemed to assess the situation, although she wanted to shoo him away from the gross reality that slept underneath her face. But his hand that massaged her back was welcoming, and slowly Bulma started to find relief.
"Maybe you should soak in a lukewarm bath," he suggested, and Bulma peered over the bowl to look at him, noticing the concern that etched into the hairs of his eyebrows. She also noted that he brought her a bottle of water, and she glugged it down as he offered it to her, releasing her hair in the meantime.
"Maybe," she said in between gulps, the cold liquid seeming to settle her belly even more, "I think I got too carried away."
He smirked, standing up to turn the faucet on and draw her bathwater. "What am I going to do with you in this heat?" His tone may have been serious, but the teasing burst through his words like the sun after a rainstorm, "Crying during sex and now vomiting because you decided to show off?"
She felt a little silly then, albeit it in a comedic way, and flushed the evidence of her sick away from her eyes, turning her nose up as it swirled down the drain. "I'll have to do better, I suppose. You're right, a bath is probably what I need and then I'll feel better. I have to meet my parents later anyways, the last thing I need is my mom trying to make me soup in this heat." Vegeta grunted a sound quite similar to a chuckle behind her, and Bulma pretended that a full recovery was in the immediate future as the swirling in her stomach began again, trying her best to resist the urge to hurl into the toilet.
It's the heat, she coaxed herself, resting her heated forehead on her arm, It's the heat and the stress of this situation with Frieza, that's all. I've just had the best orgasm in my life and my body betrays me like this. She clenched her fist and fought down and other wave of nausea, using that determined brain of hers to will the sickness away, reminding herself how just a few moments ago she was lost in nirvana.
It's just this stupid heat.
oooOOOooo
Dr. Briefs stroked his thick moustache as he looked over a stack of papers attached to a clipboard, nodding to whatever schematics that were running through his brain. The delivery man that stood in front of him looked impatient as he balanced his weight from one foot to the other, indicating that he was ready to head back to whatever he was doing. But when Bulma walked into the laboratory, skillfully balancing a tray of three smoothies and a box of donuts, the man suddenly found a lot more interest in sticking around. He tipped his hat to her, his white teeth flashing in a flirtatious manner as his eyes gobbled her up like she was the treats that were being carried in her hand.
"Afternoon, miss. Sure is a little brighter now that you've arrived, isn't it?" he said in a southern drawl, his innocent boyish features and boring blonde hair failing in comparison to the man she just left, prompting her to chuckle and roll her eyes at his obvious flirting. She nodded at him, taking a cue from Vegeta in getting people to promptly leave her be, focusing instead on her father who wasn't paying attention to either of them.
"The name's Turbine," he persisted, stretching an arm out to Bulma as if she could actually accept his handshake, making her frown at him for his lack of courtesies. "And what might your lovely name be-"
"Uh, Dad?" Bulma ignored him, walking over towards a bench to set the items down. Dr. Briefs eyes lifted then as if Bulma had said some bibbidi-bobbidi-boo and broke his spell, the blues of his aging irises speckled with shock.
"Bulma, honey! I didn't hear you come in!" He hurriedly scribbled his signature on the sheets, carelessly handing it over to Turbine before walking towards his daughter. Turbine frowned, glancing briefly at Bulma to see if he could try his luck again, but her carefully avoided gaze at him seemed to prompt him to give up entirely, much to her delight. It amazed her still, she thought as she handed over one of the smoothies to her father, how since Vegeta had come into her life, every man she came across just felt…inferior. It was almost as if she were dating a prince; a prince who didn't need any subjects other than her, and she would happily worship him. The only other man in her life who could come remarkably close was the old coot slurping down his cherry berry smoothie like it was the first thing he'd drunken (or eaten) all day.
"Oh I thank you immensely for that. Dealing with this moving company all day to move the smart robots and other gear made me forget to eat!" At that, he opened the donut box and scarfed down a chocolate long john, staining the ends of his moustache brown. Bulma laughed and handed him a napkin, grabbing her smoothie to join him.
"Anytime, Dad. I'm surprised Mom let you go this long without eating. Speaking of, where is she?"
Dr. Briefs grumbled something and washed down his half eaten donut with more of his drink, already peeking in the box and preying on his next sugary confection. "She's been outside with them all morning, guiding them here and there to make sure everything is packed the way it needs to be. I'd say she's going above and beyond for her dear old sweetie, but something tells me that she's so enthusiastic given these young men with their strapping arms. You know how your mother can be."
Bulma snorted, nodding her head in agreement. Mrs. Briefs certainly enjoyed the company of good looking men in her presence, especially younger men with strong muscles and sharp jawlines, like the man Bulma brought to dinner on multiple occasions. She could only imagine the sort of field day her mother was currently partaking in, imagining all the 'favors' she was asking them to do. "She's quite the entertaining woman, that's for sure."
"How do you suppose she reeled me in? I can't even be upset at her. It isn't like I too haven't reaped the benefits of her friendliness. She's already gotten me two discounts on moving fees because she complimented the owner on his smile. Who am I to stand in the way of a fiscal fate?" Bulma laughed heartedly at her dad as he polished off his donut and reached for the other one he had been pining for. He passed the box to her after one was securely in his fingers, but the images from the morning flooded Bulma's mind, asking her to politely decline.
"You don't want a strawberry donut?" Dr. Briefs stilled the donut that ghosted across his lips, looking at his daughter with wide eyes. "I can barely keep a secret stash of them myself whenever you're around and you're turning one down? Are you feeling okay, dear?"
Bulma bit down on her straw, ceasing any more smoothie from entering her mouth. Even the thought of the word donut made her body heat uncomfortably, and for a brief moment she cursed herself for buying them in the first place. It sounded like a good idea when she went into the bakery, and when she stood in line her mouth practically drooled itself over at the thought of strawberry and chocolate cream coating her tongue, but now even the sight of them made her want to hurl. "I think I have a mild stomach bug or something. I was really ill earlier and I don't want to chance it again. I'm still a little nauseous."
Dr. Briefs bit into his donut and chewed over it slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. Something passed from him to her, but Bulma didn't have the energy to try and decipher what it was. "This morning?" He said, covering his mouth with his hand to shield away flying pastry crumbs. "You felt sick this morning?"
"Yeah. I think it was the heat. I umm, was working too hard and might have over exhausted myself." She touched the back of her neck and felt her cheeks heat up, convinced that her pale skin had been replaced by apples. She hoped Vegeta hadn't left any evidence of their passions on her, she was already feeling more than a little emotional about what had transpired between them. "I got a smoothie to at least put some sort of nutrient in my body, but even this is hard to swallow down."
"Hmm." Dr. Briefs drank another swallow of his smoothie, his eyes still studying his daughter in a way that Bulma couldn't put her finger on. "I'm sure you were working very hard dear, especially now that you and Vegeta are pretty much cozied up in the loft. I'm inclined to say I'd have to agree with you. I'm sure that your hard work is the reason for your stomach virus." The tips of his moustache crinkled up, and Bulma recognized that look. It usually meant he was speaking in riddles, and given the mad scientist that her father was, he was leaving it to her to figure out the equations behind his words. But the way her stomach was flipping and dancing like her body was the Olympics, she decided to pay him no mind. "In any case, why don't you have a seat? It's been busy in here all day and I'm sure the extra bodies only made it that much stuffier in here." He pulled a stool from underneath the work bench, sliding it over to her. Bulma didn't even realize how tired she felt, but sitting on the stool felt damned good, and she hoped that her parents were in no rush to kick her out anytime soon.
"It's hard to believe that the smart home is all finished. It seems like just yesterday we were still working out the prototype, and now it's ready to be debuted." She stretched her legs happily, grateful for the air conditioning that tickled her bare skin. "I'm really proud of you, Dad. I never thought you could make Capsule Corps stronger, but here you are with the invention of a lifetime."
"Well I couldn't have done it without my favorite lady -don't tell your mother I said that. As far as she knows you're second best." He chuckled and pulled a seat for himself, grabbing one more donut from the box. He broke it in two and looked at Bulma warily before passing her the other half of the plainly glazed treat.
"Dad I really can't." Bulma turned her nose up and looked away from it, shutting her eyes and pretending she didn't see the thing so up close.
"Honey I know it's not the best thing you can do for your stomach, but do your old man some justice and eat something. The last thing I need is for you to pass out from heat exhaustion and starvation." His eyes were practically pleading for her to eat it, and Bulma noticed he had given her the courtesy to pick a donut without all of the extras. It was strange, she thought as she reluctantly accepted it. Her father never tried to make her eat anything before, not even when she was a teenager and starving herself because some lump headed boy broke her heart. But here he was, asking her to eat this donut as if it was his lifeline. She broke a small piece off of it and brought it to her lips, hesitating before popping it into her mouth. It was…good, sure, but the immediate reaction of her body made her spit it out, and she reached for her smoothie as if her tongue burned.
"Well can't say I didn't try, but…" he looked at her as if she was a science experiment, and she was sure he was implanting some sort of mumbo jumbo into that brain of his. "Well I suppose if you really can't keep it down, then there's no point of forcing you to any longer. Besides, I want to make sure you're nice and well for the International Science Exposition next week. Your old man is giving a speech, you know."
Bulma nodded, grateful that the traces of donut had been overpowered by her lemon and mint smoothie, and smiled at him. "I remember you telling me! I'll be in the front row with bells on, me and Vegeta both. I can't wait to see their faces when you unveil it, Dad. You're going to blow all of those so called scientists out of the water." She pumped her fist into the air, winking at him like she was his athletic coach.
"Of course I'll make sure to tell them about my beautiful, artistic, genius of a daughter who helped me draw up the plans and execute it. There's no way I would've been able to think of keeping a generator inside to make sure the robots function at all hours of the day. I was more than ready to equip them with a cool down function. I'm sad you won't let me put your name on it, sweetie. You'd make the perfect president of Capsule Corps."
"It's alright Dad, I was just tossing out ideas to you," she shook her head, "Besides, I don't think I could love any other job as much as I do painting. It feels good to know my purpose for living, you know? Vegeta really helped me understand that." She could feel herself blushing and knew that her face was doing the warm and fuzzies by the way Dr. Briefs smiled in return. Gods, could she ever talk about him and not turn into a giddy teenager? It'd been months since they'd been together, and she still wanted to gush about him like he was the savior of the earth.
"I'm glad he'll be there, it'd be good to have the entire family present. I know I say it all the time but I'm really happy you two found each other. Not that I dislike Yamcha or anything, but there was no future with you and him. Especially with all these new and…exciting things about to happen to you." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, forcing Bulma to let out a sigh. Okay fine, if he was going to keep dangling this riddled hook over her, she may as well bite.
"Alright, Dad spit it out. What is it you're trying to say?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" He glared at her mischeviously, taking a swallow of his smoothie. "I'm only saying that it's clear you're about to start a new chapter in your life. As your father, I'm extremely thrilled that it's Vegeta I can pass the torch to. At least I know he can handle it. You're growing into quite the woman, it almost makes me weep." He feigned a cry and wiped a phantom tear from his cheek, smiling smugly at her in the process.
"Oh Dad, you're such a sap. But I am happy you and Mom like him so much, it makes me feel like I'm doing something right. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have this opportunity to have my own gallery show. Oh! How could I almost forget to tell you?" She sat her smoothie down on the bench and folded her arms gleefully, her face beaming and tongue itching to tell her good news. "I talked to Baba yesterday! A lot of buyers have been coming through the galleria in preparation for the art show and several of them have put bids for my pieces already! Baba said that people were so interested that she's considering an early retirement and wants me to take over! Said that I would have no issues bringing money into keep the galleria open!"
"Oh, honey, that's great!" Dr. Briefs rose, his arms stretched outwards as he walked to Bulma embracing her in a hug. "Forget what I said about being a president, you're a galleria owner! I'm so proud of you, Bulma!" The hairs from his moustache tickled her cheek uncomfortably, but it was his thick cologne that invaded Bulma's nostrils that made her politely withdraw from the hug, her good mood soiled by her upsetting stomach. If anything, he didn't seem to notice because his face still beamed with pride as he looked down to her. "Guess when I said you were starting a new chapter in your life, it meant in every way."
Her eyebrow rose at that and she narrowed her eyes, inspecting his face closely. Her father sure had a lot of subtle remarks this afternoon, and Bulma was confidant it wasn't just because of their shared good news. "What are you riddling about, Da—"
The door to the laboratory flung open loudly behind them, cutting Bulma off mid-sentence. A pair of wide hips, adorned with skin tight white pants, sauntered in as graceful as an ice skater during a performance. "Oh! Bulma!" Mrs. Briefs smiled widely as if she hadn't seen her daughter in years, her small eyes squinting until all that remained where fluffy lashes coated in mascara. "I didn't know you were here! Mama's been waiting for you!" She carried a box overstuffed with numerous snacks, a long cylinder containing what Bulma believed to be popcorn hanging over the top.
"What is that, Mom?" Bulma covered her nose with the back of her hand, already beginning to turn away from the sight of the salty treat.
"Oh this? Those nice handsome men gave them as a gift to me! Here I was thinking they had been overworked, you know your Mama can be really demanding, but instead they said I deserved the treat! They gave me so much dear, won't you take some home with you?"
Bulma had to shake her head at her mother's theatrics. She was like the pied piper of poor unsuspecting men, ones who probably thought more with the organ in their legs instead of the one in their skull, latching them on with her sultry walk and her honeyed words. But she was a faithful woman, Bulma certainly wouldn't take that away from her, and often left them in their wake like a puddle around her feet. Funny enough, they all seemed to still worship Mrs. Briefs, even if had to they watched an impressive physique and radiant smile throw herself on the good doctor. Snacks, Bulma thought with an acidic taste on her tongue, were the least expensive gifts her mother had been bestowed upon the years.
"No thanks, Mom," she said, although the sudden thought of popcorn made her mouth salivate with a need she didn't know she could produce.
"Not even the popcorn, sweetie?" Mrs. Briefs had to possess some sort of psychic ability, Bulma was sure of, as she sat the box down and unscrewed the lid. "Your mama had some of it outside and it's so crunchy and buttery, just like you like it with the right amount of salt. Won't you try it?"
"Dear," Dr. Briefs walked over to his wife and placed a kiss on her cheek before pouring himself a handful, tucking some behind his moustache and into his mouth, "It seems as if our daughter isn't feeling too well to eat much today. She even turned down a strawberry donut."
Mrs. Briefs eyes rose open like curtains to a window, and she shifted gaze from Bulma to Dr. Briefs in shock. "A strawberry donut? Oh my! What's wrong with you darling?"
The kernels that were being scarfed down by her father might as well have been freshly popped because Bulma could smell it from where she was sitting, and gosh, did it start to smell tasty. And unlike the donuts, Bulma's stomach growled in a good way that made her have a sudden change of mind. "Actually," she said, perching her hand out like a bird begging for seeds, "Maybe I will try some of that popcorn."
"Oh you will?" Dr. Briefs walked to her with the container and poured some in her hand, and Bulma ignored his curious stare as she threw some in her mouth, immediately relishing in the buttery taste, just like her Mama said.
Fuck, it was good. And it didn't make her want to barf. A win/win.
She almost wanted to close her eyes and stop her chewing to savor the flavor, convinced she hadn't eaten anything so tasty before. But her hands were faster than her brain and before she knew it her snack was consumed, and she was left feeling unsatisfied. "More please?" she asked in the mannerism of a child, giddy when her father refilled her palms with more goodness.
"Oh I knew you'd like it!" Mrs. Briefs cupped her hands together and displayed her signature radiant smile again. "I'm sad to think you almost turned it down!"
Bulma nodded in agreement but was too focused on eating her popcorn that she didn't even pay attention to her mother. Didn't pay attention to her father pouring more in her hands, didn't pay attention to when he left it on the bench because she had already scarfed down three handfuls in a matter of minutes. Didn't pay attention to Dr. Briefs saunter back to his wife and whisper something in her ear, causing her to look at Bulma with misty eyes and a hand covered mouth. Barely paid attention to her mother coming to her on the stool and wrapping her arms around Bulma's shoulders, dropping some of the popcorn in the process.
"Oh Bulma!" She whispered through strands of her blue hair, rubbing her cheek against her daughter's. "Have I told you how beautiful you are lately? How radiant you look? You're beaming my love!"
Bulma tried her hardest to keep the popcorn inside her cheeks, already eyeing the canister to dispense more into her hands. "Umm, thanks mom?" She awkwardly patted her mother on the back, not fully understanding what the sudden display of affection was about. Were both of her parents off today or what?
Mrs. Briefs pulled back from their hug, wiping away wet stains on her cheeks. She was crying? Over Bulma eating popcorn? "What's wrong, Mom?"
"Nothing, dear," she shook her head, sniffling and clearing her throat, "Nothing at all. I'm just so proud to be your Mama. Say, I think I need to grab some items this afternoon. Oh honey won't you come with me to the store? You and I have some special preparations to do before your Daddy's Expo next week! And don't say no, Mama is using her parental card on this one!" Not leaving any room for Bulma to object (and partly because her cheeks were still stuffed with kernels) Mrs. Briefs turned away from her, grabbing a purse that sat near her husband, the two of them exchanging glances that were tightly wrapped in a secret. Bulma was confused; her parents were delighted.
"Oh honey," Mrs. Briefs turned her head around, tossing a subtle wink to Bulma and looking perkier than ever, "Bring the popcorn container, would you? I've a feeling you'll be snacking on that for a good portion of the afternoon."
oooOOOooo
Bulma's hands were extremely sweaty.
It wasn't because of the bright lights that shone down on her, courtesy of the giant convention center that she found herself dining in. It wasn't because her father had kept his word and thanked her a million times during his unveiling speech, practically forcing her to join him on stage. It wasn't the hoarding of reporters, bloggers and columnists alike leeching off of her brain for the past two hours, bombarding her with questions about her role in the smart home. And it certainly wasn't the fact that she could barely touch her steak, and instead gulped down more water than her body could probably take.
It was because Bulma was an anxious, unprepared mess.
It started on a Friday morning, a week ago, she remembered. When things…changed.
"Are you not going to finish that?" She looked up to Vegeta, the right side of his mouth slightly droopy with his own steak, his eyebrows bundled together in confusion. "You've barely touched anything since this dinner and we're almost done." He sounded more concerned than angry, but Bulma also knew that Vegeta had been watching her eating habits closely since she had gotten sick a week ago, and the bug hadn't seemed to have left yet.
She glanced at his plate and the plates of her mother and father, surveying their last bits of steak and asparagus in comparison to her barely touched meat, potatoes and vegetables. She had been skimming through her food for the better half of dinner, unable to calm down her frenzied nerves despite the warm atmosphere in the air.
"I'm just not as hungry as I thought," she lied, forcing a smile on her face and hoping it would alleviate his nerves as well. It didn't, she noticed, from the way his eyes shifted slightly in disapproval towards her meal. To satisfy him, she took a small bite, pretending that it would actually settle in that tornado of a stomach of hers.
"Bulma," Vegeta started, polishing down his steak with some wine, "I don't think-"
"It's because it isn't as good as Mama's, isn't it dear?" Mrs. Briefs wiggled her nose at her daughter and Vegeta, slipping a piece of asparagus past her cherry red lips. "I'll admit, I would have used a little more butter to keep it tender, and the vegetables seem like they're boiled."
"I agree, hun," Dr. Briefs wiped his face with a napkin, nodding towards his wife. "I've barely been able to swallow this meal down. It's nowhere near as good as yours. I'm not surprised Bulma can't finish it in a timely manner."
Bulma wanted to hug them. Anything to help her out, it seemed.
Vegeta raised his eyebrow, looking at all three of them like they were crazy. His plate was the emptiest of them all, with barely even a crumb left behind, and she could tell that he thought the dinner was delicious. And why wouldn't it be? In honor of her father, Capsule Corps had rented this special hallway in the convention center, complete with top of the line chefs to cater to the meal. Bulma wouldn't be surprised if her father had gotten the chef to fly in from France exclusively, but still they had lied for her sake.
"Maybe you all got bad plates," Vegeta swallowed his last piece of steak and finished his third wine glass, at some point along the way drinking Bulma's also. "My steak was some of the best cut of beef I've had in a long while. If you make anything better, Mrs. Briefs, I'll have to put in a request for you to make it sometime."
"Oh aren't you just the cutest thing!" Mrs. Briefs raised her champagne flute up and rested her cheek against it, beaming at Vegeta like he was a statue she should worship. "Of course I'll make you anything you want, Veggie!"
Bulma sighed at this nickname her mother had all but forced on Vegeta. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye and saw his own eye twitch, knowing he didn't like it much either. But that was her mother and her tricks, able to get even a grouch like Vegeta to accept a name that he would curse anyone else for using. Seemed her own boyfriend wasn't exempt from her mother's spell.
Vegeta turned his attention back to her, his lips dropping down into a frown. "Bulma, I've been with you all day and you've barely put anything on your stomach other than popcorn. I can't say that's the best thing for you."
"I'm fine, I promise." She raised her hand in the air, giving him her scout's honor, her lips curving up into a gentle smile. "Tomorrow I'll make us a big breakfast and I'll eat until I'm ready to pop. I just don't have much of an appetite tonight." She reached for her glass of water and nearly dropped it, her sweaty palms acting as a lubricant for the glass to slide downwards. Luckily she managed to keep herself together, forcing the water past her lips to swallow down any words she didn't want to say.
Vegeta pressed his stare into hers for some time, clearly not buying what she was trying to sell, and let out something between a grunt and a sigh that acknowledged his defeat. He held out his champagne flute as a waiter walked past them, almost finishing his wine the second it was refilled. Bulma sure hoped he didn't get too wasted. Not for what she had to do, that is.
As dinner began to die down, and as Bulma's nerves began to rise up, music began to spill through the speakers in the hall. She wasn't sure if it was the open bar or the excitement of the employees of their company doing so well in the expo, but several attendees began to take their dates to the dancefloor, shamelessly dancing to some doo wop rock n' roll.
"Oh my, I remember this song!" Mrs. Briefs began to snap her fingers and wiggle her hips in her seat, stealing a glance at her husband. "My mother used to play this on the weekends when she cleaned the house. Sometimes I'd catch her and my father dancing along in the basement like no one else was in the house." She chuckled lightly, grabbing Dr. Brief's hand in hers.
"You should go up there and dance, Mom," Bulma suggested, seeing the young, vibrant spirit of her mother rise out of her like a phoenix.
"I'm afraid it's almost over," she exclaimed with a pout, "And I can't say that I want to dance to every song they play. Besides, I'm really waiting on the slower stuff. Your Daddy here deserves a romantic dance for all his achievements, isn't that right dear?"
Her father blushed under his thick rimmed glasses and mumbled something incoherent, and Bulma knew that was the cue that they were going to be lost in their own world. They did that sometimes, getting so wrapped up in each other that nothing existed outside of the realm of them. She used to not understand that feeling, even on a good day with Yamcha, but now her prior jealousy had turned into agreement, and she turned to face her version of the happiness her parent's shared.
Except his face was a cloudy storm of trouble, and from the way his onyx eyes ate her up, she knew that it was about her.
"Bulma," he said quietly, obviously trying not to invite her parent's input, "I'm worried about you. You've been quiet during dinner and you haven't eaten much, despite saying your stomach feels better. Are you..." he quickly glanced towards her parents, and seeing how they were still lost in the company of each other, continued. "Are you stressed about Frieza? I thought we agreed we'd give our brain's a rest tonight."
"No," she shook her head, feeling embarrassed that she had made him jump to that conclusion, "No it isn't that. I just…Well the thing is..."
The transition into the next song started, a familiar swoon of notes dancing in her ears. Vegeta heard it too, if the way his face smoothened out for a moment had anything to say about it. They were both hit by a wave of nostalgia, taken back to months ago when they were two people still figuring it out, still learning each other, just realizing that it was maybe something more than a fling with good conversation.
Wise men say…
Bulma giggled, reaching under the table cloth to grab Vegeta's hand before standing. His serene facial expression changed to a confused one, his lips parting to ask her what they were doing. Before he could spit the words out, she bent down to press her cheek to his, whispering in his ear:
"This is our song."
She pulled away from him, watching as the realization (mixed with a little apprehension; Vegeta certainly wasn't the type to dance in public) painted over his face. He made no effort to stop her from pulling him out of his seat, leading him to walk in front of her. He didn't remove his hand from hers, and Bulma knew in her heart of hearts that this was the perfect time. There was no way that coincidence was a factor in this song playing -of all the Elvis Presley songs to be played. She turned back to her parents, who much to her surprise had taken their attention off of each other to give to her, and nodded, signaling them in on her intention. Mrs. Briefs clasped her hand over her heart, her face looking like it was going to give way to her emotions. Dr. Briefs himself appeared to be incredibly happy, his eyes hopeful as he tilted his wineglass in her direction.
Now was the time.
Vegeta led her to the makeshift dancefloor where the other attendees were swaying, not bothering to take them any closer than the outer perimeter for privacy. Not that she minded, given that despite how perfect the moment aligned itself for her, she was still a frenzied mess on the inside. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his arms finding solace around her waist, and had to chuckle at the déjà vu of the moment.
"Look how far we've come, Vegeta," she smiled at him, cocking her head to the side. "I remember the first time we danced to this song when you didn't know how. Now you're moving like a professional."
"Hmph," he blew out, trying to appear annoyed but Bulma could tell he was just as affected by the romance of the moment as she was, "Well you aren't a terrible teacher." The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, making her smile even wider.
"I hope I'm not a terrible anything, considering how long it's been since that day." She paused for a stint to look at him -really look at him- and lose herself in the man that was Vegeta N'Ouija. She really hoped he wouldn't be angry…or worse…that he'd suggest….
"Did you ever think we'd be here?" She said, choosing not to marinate over the what ifs her anxiety ridden brain was slamming her with. "Back then when we first danced to this, did you ever think you'd be with me here?"
He looked away from her for a second, appearing to mull over the right words to give her. It was one of the things she loved about him, she thought, that he wouldn't say just anything that came to his mind. The words had to be honest, had to be pure, had to be right. She had a mountain of patience for words like that.
He brought his head back to her, his eyes naked and giving and ready. Licking his lips, he said, "In all honesty, no."
Well, ouch. She didn't want to appear offended, hoping that he would elaborate, but her facial expression couldn't stop itself from twisting into just that. In either case it worked, because he shook his head to continue.
"I don't mean it like that. I meant…I meant that I wasn't sure if you would even want to be bothered with me this long. Especially after finding out about my past." Something similar to shame swam across his eyes, only briefly, but enough that the damage was done. Bulma's heart broke into small pieces to think that he could doubt that she wouldn't -couldn't- leave him. "I'm not the easiest man to get close to, and I don't really like to let people in. I didn't think someone as pure and good as you would want to taint your hands with me."
"Don't speak about yourself that way," she cuffed her hands tighter around his neck, pulling her body even closer to his, the tip of her nose ghosting his own. "You talk about yourself like you're some anomaly. If there's anyone surprised here, it's me. I didn't think you'd ever let me in, the wash up of an artist who didn't respect herself to want better. Relationship or otherwise."
"And look at you now," he smirked teasingly, "Completely upgraded in every area of your life. Relationship and otherwise. I guess I would've been unkind to have left you to your own devices." He hummed along with Elvis as he crooned, nestling into Bulma's forehead.
"Well haha, asshole. Please, no need to be so modest." He chuckled huskily at that, the velvet of his tone making her chest bloom with flowers.
"I'm happy you chose to see what others didn't," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to, especially after the way I used to treat you, but you did. I could never thank you enough for that."
"If someone were to tell me last year that Vegeta N'Ouija would be slow dancing with me to Elvis Presley and speaking sweet nothings in my ear, I'd punch them in the face for lying."
"Do you want me to stop then?" He searched her face seriously, as if this was a question he needed to ask.
She shook her head, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face. Do it Bulma!
She swallowed a rock of air in her throat, her conscious echoing through her mind. That's right…it had to be now. She was getting lost in the haze of him per usual, but there were more important seeds to be sewn. "Vegeta," she started, her tone shaky with apprehension, "I don't want you to be off put by my next question, but I really want to know the answer." She bit down on her lip as he studied her face, the last remnants of the song dying out in their ears. "Where…where do you see us going in the future? I'm not trying to pressure you…I just…want to know."
Vegeta seemed to ponder the question, and she hoped she hadn't upset him by asking. Bulma had never cornered him with plans and talks of the future, especially with all the circus involving his family life, but…but things were changing around them and for them, and a part of her wanted to make sure she was walking on stable ground.
Vegeta closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Her stomach turned with butterflies, her palms dampening with sweat all over again. Finally he opened them, his mask of uncertainty nowhere present on his face. "I…I don't think I ever want to be without you. I'm not sure what the future holds, and with Frieza being stirred in this pot…I'm not sure. But I do know that no matter what happens, I want you there."
Bulma's eyes misted at his admission. He…he was serious about them being together for a while, wasn't he? It's not like she didn't know that, especially after what he told her in the loft a few weeks prior when he held onto her waist, but considering they never talked about something like this…it still felt nice to know. "No matter what?" She responded, feeling the tears build up in her throat. Why was this so hard to just come out and say, she wondered? She knew Vegeta, knew what kind of man he was, knew that despite all of the adversities he faced in his life that he loved her, and yet Bulma was still afraid. Afraid for her. Afraid for him. Afraid that this wasn't the right time, with Frieza and all, that this wasn't the right time, that this wasn't the right time.
That this wasn't the right ti-
"No matter what." He spoke the words with finality, as if he knew what she wanted to say. "I feel like…with you by me…I can…" Being emotionally open was something new for him, she understood that, and telling her parts of himself that he had closed off for so long couldn't be easy. But it always made her proud that he tried. "I feel like I can make it through anything. We can make it through anything." She watched him swallow hard and try to collect his brain, his eyes demanding her full attention. "If…if we make it through this shitstorm unscathed, Bulma, I…I want to…"
"You want to what, Vegeta?"
He went quiet for a moment, and his face seemed to mirror the nerves that she felt, as if he was afraid of her reaction to what he wanted to say too. But unlike her, he didn't spend a long time speculating and marinating. Instead he took a deep breath and said:
"When this is all over, I want to marry you."
Bulma's heart nearly exploded into fireworks, her eyes going wide.
She wasn't expecting that. But it was everything she needed to hear.
It started on a Friday morning.
How perfect, her brain thought, that in exactly a week's time, her life had flourished like this? That in the span of two Fridays, Bulma had gotten exactly what she had wanted, everything she never knew she wanted, and with the man she never expected to want.
She brought one hand to the side of his face, unable to stop the tears of happiness that pierced her eyes. "Vegeta…nothing would make me happier than that. I…I think I've wanted to marry you the day I laid eyes on you. And I've never wanted it more than I do now." She let her arm trail down his body, reaching behind her to grab his hand and squeeze it lightly before bringing it back to her front and placing their hands palm down on her stomach. He looked confused, at first, his eyes searching hers for what that meant, even though he knew. And then it started to settle over him. The realization of what it all meant. The sickness. The inability to eat a lot of food. The emotions…
And if he needed any more clarity, Bulma would be there to give it to him. Speak the words, Bulma. Confirm it.
It started on a Friday morning, and it blossomed on a Friday night.
"I'm pregnant."
oooOOOooo
A/N: Wow, bet you didn't see that one coming, right? (sarcasm of course lol)
Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It meant so much to me to know people still cared about this story. I hope this chapter was okay for you, I'm very sorry if it isn't (as always and probably like most writers/artists, I'm not 100% sure if I like it.) I thought it'd be good to step away from the Frieza stuff for some fluff and lemon, because after this it's game time with the final 3 or 4 chapters. (which includes an epilogue). So please please please leave a review! They make me so happy and I seriously stop what I'm doing to read them. Feed your author and your author will feed you back.
Until next time friendos!
