5 - GUILTY PLEASURE

The cool, night breeze ruffled the coarse spikes of Vegeta's hair, banishing any remaining dampness from his unruly mane. Dressed comfortably for the evening in grey track pants and a blue Capsule Corp t-shirt, his muscles limber from an almost scalding hot shower, and his belly full to Saiyan standards, he was damned near content. The full moon hung heavily in the sky, and though it no longer held any sway over him, the moonlight still sang to something primal in his blood. He gripped the iron railing of his balcony, staring up at the constellations and knowing, deep down, that the answer to his transformation into the Legendary was somewhere out there among the stars, not here on Earth.

Despite his daily frustrations of not attaining the golden aura, he was reluctant to leave. Partly it was because he was becoming accustomed to this way of life; relative safety, ample food, shelter, freedom, and just about any resource he might require at his disposal. He also wanted to keep tabs on Kakarot and his progression now and again, at a distance, of course.

Then there was her. Bulma. The woman haunted his thoughts no matter how he tried to push her out of his mind.

Even now, he could sense that she was not in her lab tying up the days loose ends as she would usually be at this hour, but in the gravity room. That piqued his interest. He hadn't requested any repairs or additions, so what was she up to? Past experience from his old life made him immediately suspect sabotage, but he dismissed it almost as quickly. She had done nothing since he had arrived that held even a whisper of betrayal.

Giving in to his curiosity, he cleared the balcony railing, landing barefoot onto the plush turf below. A tendril of anxiety twisted through his gut as he neared the domed structure. It would seem that the idea of confronting Bulma alone in a space so personal to him made him nervous, but in a benign sort of way that was new to him.

The memory of kissing her hit him full force, as it had from time to time over the past few weeks. A simple act that had changed nothing and everything at once. Their daily routines had continued, separate but intersecting periodically, as always, but there was an additional layer of intensity between their interactions. Apparently kissing initiated courtship between human couples, and he struggled internally with what that meant for him. At times he was disgusted at his own weakness and felt that she had tricked him into it, while at others he wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of her body against his and to sink into the comforting presence of her ki.

In a sense, he had been traveling down this road regardless, but so fractionally that it had taken her kissing him to make him realize it. He cared for her, and not just as a means to an ends, but as a person, and had for quite some time. There was no use denying it to himself after he had felt so compelled to help her when that idiot human tried to force himself on her at the party. Just the thought of it stirred up a protective and possessive resolve within him, and that was really the crux of his inner strife.

Saiyans did not have a strong protective instinct outside of their own immediate families, and even then it was limited. Working class Saiyans tended to raise all offspring until they were old enough to train, while the warrior class didn't usually acknowledge their own bloodlines until those children showed enough promise to be elevated into the warrior caste themselves. Only then would they begin to nurture and bond with their kids, and teach them the unique attacks passed on within their family line. Among life mates, a telepathic pair-bond often developed that allowed the couple to stay in tune with one another through the long absences typical of the Saiyan lifestyle. Sensing the distress of their mate or offspring could trigger a protective response, or even a berserker rage, but beyond that, the Saiyan edict was that the strong survived and the weak were either banished outright or perished.

True pair-bonding between mates had been highly discouraged among the fighters under Frieza's rule, and in hindsight, Vegeta could see how Frieza had turned the Saiyan's own culture against them to make it seem shameful for a warrior to have an intimate metaphysical bond with another. In reality, Frieza had just needed ruthless soldiers that were unquestioningly loyal to him and only him. He'd already been afraid of the physical strength that the Saiyans might achieve, so hearing of possible telepathic abilities between his subjects would have no doubt infuriated him and left him paranoid. Worst of all, Vegeta's people had fallen for it and perpetuated it. He had perpetuated it, despite having been briefly part of the relatively tight-knit royal family.

It had been so ingrained in him that emotional ties were made to be crushed, to be used against lesser beings to inflict trauma and seize control. It was impossible to count how many times he had seen that heart wrenching scenario play out, and his stomach knotted itself almost painfully. He couldn't imagine purposefully putting himself in that position, yet here he was. What the fuck was he doing, leaning against the door of his gravity chamber and having some kind of emotional crisis over an Earth woman?

Anger rolled through him like the rumble in his chest, squashing his nerves. Anger was familiar and easy for him to command, so he clung to it like a shield and pushed the door open. Inside, he was greeted by the utter chaos that Bulma had his main training area in. Metal panels were off of walls, exposing their innards, tools were strewn all over the floor along with rotor blades, fan belts, electrical cords, welding materials, laptops and all manner of debris he couldn't place in the confusion. The central energy core of the control panel was exposed and emitting a startling amount of heat, it's soft red glow the only light source.

A pair of work boots and the legs of thick canvas pants protruded from under the control panel. She was lying on her back, everything from her knees up consumed beneath the red heart of the machine. He reached his boiling point, surveying the disaster that was his usual sanctum. He demanded to know what she thought she was doing ripping apart half the room without any warning, and ranted about the time he would lose training while she put it back together again for good measure.

The electrical hum of the core was his only reply.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Vegeta spat, stomping over to her feet.

"Woman?"

Not only was there no response, what he could see of her hadn't moved a muscle, either. He crouched down to look under the gap, concern seeping in around the edges of his anger when he saw her still and prone. The full canvas jumpsuit and face guard made it impossible for him to tell if she was injured, but she did not appear to be crushed or trapped in any way.

"Bulma?"

He tapped her shin lightly, making her body jerk. The small spotlight by her head swiveled towards him, and she gave him a thumbs up. He stood quickly, crossing his arms and pointedly ignoring the relief he felt. A few moments later she rolled out from under the central control and removed the mask. One cheek and her nose was smudged with black, her hair framed her face in total disarray, and sweat plastered her bangs along her forehead at odd angles.

"Hey," she greeted. "Sorry if you were calling me, the hum is really loud under there. This was supposed to be a surprise, but I'm actually really glad you're here," she said with a broad smile. "I don't think I could have kept this to myself for very long."

"Good, I hate surprises," he replied, keeping an edge to his voice.

She beamed with pride and wiped her brow with an oversized sleeve. "I figured out a way to push this thing to 500GR without it imploding."

A feral grin spread across Vegeta's lips, his earlier outburst of anger dissolving. The extra weight of another 50GR would prove a worthy challenge. As it was, the chamber could barely handle 450GR and only for short periods of time. "Impressive," he admitted, watching her preen under his praise. "But how long will it be out of commission?"

She considered as she ran her fingers through her wet hair and confined it to a haphazard bun. "I plan on working through the night, so it should be ready for you by morning. I have the clean up crew on standby," she said, gesturing with a nod to a row of cleaning droids waiting to be activated. "They'll speed everything up."

Bulma's thick, leather work gloves flopped down to the floor and she looked him dead in the eye as she began to unzip her shapeless jumper. "There is something I need some help with, though, if you are up to it."

All rational thought left him as she uttered the double entendre, and he followed the descent of those tiny metal teeth as they separated, exposing her slender torso from where her chest was bound in a black sports bra all the way down to her bare navel. Slinging it off of her shoulders and freeing her arms with a sigh, she kicked off her boots.

"So, to be on the safe side," she went on casually, "I was hoping you could do some training over the next few days at 450GR, for however long you like, and I'll double check my numbers against the performance reports. If I'm right, and I usually am," she said, letting the heavy jumpsuit fall completely to her ankles and revealing matching bike shorts, "the upgraded power core and new ventilation system I'm installing will handle the 500GR with no problem."

"Anything else I should know?" Vegeta asked, composing himself and hating the way she could twist his mood so easily.

"Nothing major. I fixed that horrible static noise on the intercom and Camera Three wasn't transmitting to the monitor in my lab, it needed some new wiring. I swear you fry them on purpose so I can't check on you."

"Tch. There is no need to spy on me, you shouldn't have even wasted your time with that."

"How else would I be able to yell at you and know when to bring you a Senzu bean?" she teased. "Actually, come to think of it, you nearly kill yourself at least once every time I increase the capacity in here, so now I'll have to take even more time out of my busy schedule to make sure that you're still alive."

Her skin was slick with sweat and the power core illuminated her in crimson, contrasting the stark, long shadows surrounding her. She looked surreal, like the vision of a blood goddess after vanquishing her enemies, and his fingers twitched at his side with the urge to touch her.

"You make it sound like a chore," he said, voice low. "Watching me…"

Bulma smiled coyly. "Well, I wouldn't say it's the worst part of my day, unless I actually do find you half dead."

He took a step towards her, his nostrils flaring slightly as he took in her scent and stared in open appreciation of her figure.

She noticed, and glanced down at her herself in horror, crossing one arm awkwardly over her tightly bound breasts. "Oh, Kami, I'm a mess! I wasn't exactly expecting company," she babbled. "I'm done with the core, so I can get the fans going and turn the generator back on, and I have a change of clothes around here somewhere…"

She looked at the bedlam around her helplessly and grabbed the canvas jumper at her feet to hide behind, and Vegeta felt it was ironic that her skimpy state of dress was actually appropriate to the situation for once, but it was now that she chose to be inexplicably modest. Before she could blink Vegeta closed the distance between them. Grasping her wrist, he held it out to the side so that the jumper hung suspended from her hand and away from them like an insult. She squirmed uncomfortably, trying to back away but unable to budge.

"What game are you playing at with me?" Vegeta demanded. "You parade yourself around in just as much regularly, flirt with me, put your hands on me, kiss me even, and suddenly you are shy and trying to get away?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you finally come to your senses, then?"

"What?" she responded, genuinely confused. "No, I haven't changed my mind if that's what you're asking, I just feel gross. I'm covered in sweat and grime, my hair is disgusting, what I'm wearing is not flattering at all, and I can only imagine how awful I must smell to your nose…" she rambled, clearly mortified.

So she was still crazy enough to want him, but assumed he would be unimpressed by her in this state. "Do you really think I'm so delicate that I would pay any mind to that? And your scent has never offended me. Your mouth on the other hand…" he drawled, using his thumb to wipe away the smudge of grease from her cheek.

She let the canvas jumper fall to the floor. He smirked and let go of her wrist, but her hand sought his and she carefully wove her fingers between his. They watched their hands gradually interlock, palm to palm. In a way, it was more intimate than a kiss, as palms were a major conduit for gathering and expelling ki. It was a direct line to each others energy, the connection instant, invigorating as it thrummed through Vegeta's veins. Bulma could not sense ki, but she seemed affected as well nonetheless. Her body relaxed, her embarrassment evaporated, and a smile lit up her face.

"How about you?" Bulma whispered. "Have you come to your senses?"

"I don't know," he answered, his gaze going from their hands to her eyes. "I might not have any sense left to speak of."

"I've been wanting to kiss you again so badly since the party," she said breathlessly.

"So why didn't you?" he asked, his face dipping closer to hers magnetically.

"You are a hard man to read," she answered, her free hand trailing up his bicep. "Always trying to be so stoic. I had to be sure it's what you wanted, so I've been waiting for you to come to me."

She tilted her head and parted her pink lips, accepting his kiss the same way she accepted everything else about him, boldly and without hesitation. She unclasped her hand from his so she could loop her arms loosely over his shoulders, clutching the back of his neck with one hand and twining the other through his hair. This time he felt more prepared for the press of her body against his, and didn't flinch at the first contact of her fingers across his bare flesh. Cautiously, half-convinced he was going to crush her, he folded his arms around her in a snug embrace. She hummed happily and smiled against his lips before pulling away to take a breath and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Feel free to do as you please," she purred, her mouth suddenly by his ear. He felt her tongue dart over the lobe, followed playfully by her teeth.

As his resistance slowly melted away, he felt almost guilty for wasting his energy and time in this way, in pursuit of some unknown pleasure instead of his ultimate goal. Yet his body was betraying him as much as his weakened will, if not more so. His heart was pounding as if he was going into battle, but he had instinctively powered down to the lowest level possible for her protection. She was so lithe and toned to the touch, and his hands seemed to wander her curves of their own accord, over silken skin and the soft cotton of her shorts.

When she started to kiss his throat, he tightened the hold he had on her ass involuntarily. He checked himself an instant later, but she protested his relaxing grip by squeezing him to her more aggressively and nipping at his neck. He growled and clutched her even harder than before, hoisting her up and relishing how her legs wrapped automatically around his waist. She left her own throat exposed to him, her pulse strong beneath his lips and tongue as he tasted her salty skin. She tangled her hands roughly through his hair and arched back, giving him access to the top of her chest and moaning as his kisses trailed down obligingly.

Vegeta sank gingerly to the floor, laying her out and supporting most his weight along his left forearm and elbow. This excited her even more, and she clawed at his shirt almost frantically in an attempt to pull it off. He reared up to a kneeling position, unable to keep the smirk off his face as her legs tightened around his back and refused to release him. Her pupils dilated hungrily when he removed his shirt and tossed it aside, eagerly peeling out of her black sports bra and welcoming him back to her as he lowered himself again.

Her hands reached up to caress his face and guide it to hers, and he was feeling savvy enough with all of this kissing business by now to take control and crush his lips against hers, ravishing them possessively. Then her mouth opened slightly and the tip of her tongue brushed his, and he discovered that there was a whole other type of kissing to learn about. Allowing her in a little more, literally and figuratively, he let Bulma take the lead and mimicked the wanton movements of her tongue.

Soft and supple, her breast fit perfectly in his hand, and he let her reactions guide him as he squeezed and caressed. She writhed beneath him sweetly, her palms sliding down the expanse of his scarred back, heels nudging his thighs encouragingly for him to press his rock hard length along the clothed cleft of her sex. His loosely fitted track pants felt unbearably restrictive as she rolled her hips and initiated a slow grind between them that shot a current of pleasure up his spine and through his groin. He groaned into the crook of her neck, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation.

Between the dizzying heat and her intoxicating scent, his thoughts had become muddied and single-minded in nature – to sate the lust this Earth woman had awakened in him. His woman.

Vegeta's eyes snapped open at the thought, sobering to the reality of the boundaries they had just crossed, and suddenly it was too much, all so contrary to any experience he'd had with another being that he froze up. Gently, but insistently, he extricated himself from her. He sat by her legs, already missing the feel of them around his waist, one arm slung over his knee. Bulma drew herself up on her elbows, still reclined on her back, her expression half concern and half pouting child.

"What's wrong?" she panted.

He looked at her incredulously. "Do you even have to ask? Everything about this is wrong."

"I don't know, it felt pretty right to me." She tilted her head and regarded him shamelessly, a sly grin on her face.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes as if staving off a migraine.

"Vegeta?"

She only said his name in that tone when she was going to ask him something that would potentially set off his temper, and usually she was right. He clenched his jaw and refused to look at her, suddenly wishing she would decide to be modest again and cover herself up with that canvas monstrosity.

"Don't be offended by my asking, but, are you a virgin?"

"What the hell is that?" he snapped.

"Someone who has never had sex before," she said delicately.

"Tch, you have a word for that here?" he scoffed. Of all the things for her to tiptoe around, this one seemed truly ridiculous. "Why would I be offended by that?"

She seemed reassured by his nonchalant attitude on the subject and shrugged. "Most men don't like to admit it, especially once they are a little older."

That comment, on the other hand, plucked an unpleasant cord with him, and he looked over at her in a huff. "Older? I haven't even grown a beard."

"Wait, how old are you?" Bulma asked, alarmed.

"By your time, about thirty," he grumbled.

"Oh, good," she said, relieved.

His body was wound like a spring and practically screaming at him for any kind of release, and she wanted to ask inane questions. He had to get out of there, away from the heat and her inviting scent. He stood and scooped up his t-shirt from the floor, feeling more awkward by the second. He was in a most unacceptable state – fully aroused, flustered, blushing, sweaty, and in definite need of a second shower.

"Hey, it's okay," Bulma said, standing.

He kept his back turned to her as she approached him, but when he felt her fingertips brush unexpectedly just above his elbow, he tensed visibly.

"You aren't even used to being touched, are you?" she asked softly. "I take it for granted so much that I never really thought of that before. I'm sorry. We can take it slow if you want."

"Don't you get it?" Vegeta hissed, spinning on her. "There is no 'it'. There is no 'us'. There is no time for any of this self-indulgent nonsense, or have you forgotten that your planet is on borrowed time?"

"There will always be some crisis looming," she said calmly, unfazed, "and my friends and I will always be on the front lines to avert it. I accepted that long ago, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop living my life to the fullest."

Begrudgingly, he respected her point of view, but it changed nothing. "You know as well as I do that this can only end in disaster," he said, trying to appeal to her practicality.

"Everything ends eventually," she answered, chewing at her bottom lip and running a finger up his chest. "But think of how much fun we could have between now and then…"