Hot water washed over Vegeta's eyelids as the Saiyan turned his face to the showerhead. He opened his mouth and let water dribble between his teeth and kiss his tongue. Torrid vapor weighed the air down, and Vegeta felt his sweat mingle with it.
When he turned around, facing his back to the showerhead, and opened his eyes, he glanced at his forearms. The scars that covered them seemed to stand out from his olive skin with a deeper contrast than he remembered. The sun had darkened his complexion, he realized, and his scars had bronzed unevenly. While the oldest scars resembled charcoal smudges, the newest ones retained a lighter, rosy tone. An image of Bulma's soft, ivory body flashed before his mind's eye. As far as he could recall, she bore no obvious scars. In the bright daylight, her skin had seemed to glow with a white aura, emanating brightness as does fogged glass when light shines behind it. The surface of her flesh must have felt warm—searing, even. He imagined brushing it with his fingertips, tracing a line down her arm, her heat pulsing into his core through his hand.
Vegeta put his hand to the shower wall to prop himself up. He felt lightheaded and not fully conscious. His mind seemed as hazy as the small, steam-saturated room. Without thinking, he had begun stroking himself idly, unable to remember when or how he had started. Simultaneously, he felt heavy-laden and feather-light. He seemed to hover above himself, disembodied, but at the same time, an incredible weight had descended upon his shoulders; his muscles tensed, and his weakened knees trembled. He cried out quietly beneath the strain, and he pressed his hand against the tiled wall with more and more force. Yet it was not enough.
His chest heaving, Vegeta panted between gritted teeth. He shut his eyes so tightly that a red light flashed before them. He shuddered. His arm fell to his side, and he stood still, letting the water wash away his effort. Although drowsiness set in like a powerful drug, his mind gradually began to clear. He shut the shower off, and he grabbed a towel after allowing excess water to run off his body and into the floor.
A full realization of what he had done hit Vegeta only after he had dressed himself and sat down on his bed. He had pleasured himself with the thought of a human female—an alien, a non-Saiyan, an animal, an other. Somehow, his father's scowl pierced his heart and chastised him. How could he, the Prince of All Saiyans, lose himself and pollute his noble blood with such a disgraceful contaminant as that? Now, his perversion screamed at him, and he knew he deserved no more honor than the likes of Raditz.
Beyond the window lay the jade face of Lake Turkana. The instant Vegeta's brain processed the landscape, something occurred to him. Something snapped. It had lain there beneath the surface for weeks already.
He need not feel so ashamed of himself. If his flesh responded to human beauty, then his flesh behaved according to its design. Not for nothing had he marked the resemblance between Saiyan and human beings; not by chance or mistake had he seen ghosts of the Saiyan noblewoman haunting Bulma in her satin nightgown. The human creatures had seemed so familiar from the very beginning, and now Vegeta knew that his species and the human one shared ancestry. In some sense, they were not two races, but one. A Saiyan woman would exhibit beauty in the same way a human woman would; he simply knew this to be true intuitively. Not only this, but the humans on Earth had no scars from Frieza's people carved into their DNA. Humans possessed a purity that a Saiyan never would. When human beauty had captivated him, that which made Saiyans beautiful captivated him, and it captivated him in a way that perhaps even unadulterated Saiyan beauty could not have done.
He was no pervert. He didn't care if his reasoning would seem like a hastily-constructed justification to others. He knew he was right. He knew it helped. The Prince of All Saiyans was disciplined, and his desires well-trained. On this planet and among its people, Vegeta was no alien. His blood marked him a creature of Earth, and everything was natural.
He heard a loud rapping against the hatch of his ship. Bulma had arrived to take her shower, just as she had said earlier that afternoon. The Saiyan felt anxious shivers run from the top of his neck to the base of his spine. He did not want to look at the woman right now. However well he had justified his latest realization, the complexity of his feelings on the matter had not simplified or subsided to a comfortable degree. He paced in a circle for a moment before he went to open the hatch. He swore he could hear the woman's muffled shouts of annoyance at the delay.
Bulma's smiling face greeted him. She had slung a bag over her back, and she held one of its straps in her hand. "Shower time!" she said, cheerfully. She put one foot forward, expecting Vegeta to stand aside, but he remained motionless. "What's the hold up? And look at your face! So adorably grumpy. You gonna let me in?"
Tersely, he muttered, "Do not test my patience." He turned his back to her and headed toward the ship's kitchen, proceeding to bury his nose in the refrigerator.
Passing him on her way to the bathroom, she said, "I'll be quick. I brought a change of clothes and my own towel." She reached into her bag and pulled something out. "But before I get in, could you put these in the fridge to stay cold? It's beer. It's only good if it stays nice and cold. You'll like it. You haven't had it before, right?"
"I don't care."
"Ugh. Just move!" She shoved his shoulder with one hand to gain access to the refrigerator. Naturally, her shove did not move him in the slightest, but she had wedged herself in nonetheless. "Jerk."
"Get out of my sight." He had spoken the words from the back of his throat, giving them a feral rasp.
"I don't know what got you so sulky all of a sudden. Chill out!" She did not wait for a response, and she shut the bathroom door.
Vegeta sighed with something like relief. He forced a large sandwich down before leaving the kitchen. As he decided what to do with his time, he paced. Ultimately, he figured he would feel more at peace outside of the capsule ship than inside of it. He exited, then crouched in the dust beneath the hull.
Minute after minute passed, and he watched the sun set behind the lake. Some might call it beautiful, he thought, but he had had enough of the dreadful place. He would return to Capsule Corp. the next day; he wanted nothing more than the comfort of his strict daily routine. This desert land did not have enough safe, closed spaces—no secluded, shadowed corners, nowhere to perch and keep watch over all below. Only his ship provided an enclosed space small enough for him to know every bolt and wire. The chill of a cold wall resting against the shoulders came with the assurance that none could stalk up behind and force a dagger between them. Vegeta liked walls.
He leaned his back against one of the capsule ship's legs. He hoped the woman in the shower would simply leave him alone and return to her tent once she had finished. The Saiyan knew that she would find him only if she went looking. In spite of everything, however, he guessed intuitively that she would go looking. She had not brought along drinks for nothing; she had every intention of bribing and prying again. Before he could scan his surroundings for a better escape, though, he already heard the snap of the ship's hatch striking the earth.
"Vegeta! Where are you?"
The Saiyan watched her feet stride around the ship.
"Hey! There you are. Here—try this." Bulma had popped the cap off a bottle of beer, and extended it toward Vegeta's hand.
Thoughts whizzed around wildly in his head. He snatched Bulma's offering, then drained it within a few seconds. Perhaps she would not stay if he had no drink to share with her. Once he felt the aftertaste of his beverage, though, his eyes widened. "This drink is alcoholic!"
"You had alcohol in space?" Bulma asked, curious.
"You are trying to drug me! " Vegeta snarled angrily. "You will fail. This is hardly enough of the substance. I'm surprised I even tasted it. The Saiyan metabolism withstands such poison quite effectively. What are you planning, you traitorous harlot?"
"You've got to be kidding me! I wasn't trying to get you drunk. Hell no! I knew there was no way that would do anything to you. Talk about biting the hand that feeds—Goddamn! Seriously—I just thought you might like it. Now apologize."
Vegeta laughed ironically.
"What the fuck? Are you crazy? What could I possibly do to a Saiyan anyway? They're like indestructible or something. And we kind of need you to save the world from those stupid androids, you know. Maybe I just wanted to enjoy my vacation by sitting and having a drink with a friend. Is that so weird? I came all the way to fucking Africa, and I'm going to have a good time!" Bulma sat down beside the Saiyan rebelliously.
With a nearly pure hatred, Vegeta glared at her. He admitted to himself that, unless the woman were exceptionally unintelligent (and he knew she wasn't), she would not have intended to drug him. He had no idea as to her true intentions apart from what she had said, however. Vegeta did not feel in control, and that made him fume. He couldn't stand to look at the woman; she wore revealing clothing, and he wanted nothing less at this particular moment than to notice.
Bulma had begun giggling.
"Do you have a death wish, woman?"
"It's just... your face. I didn't know a person could look that mad."
"Would you laugh at my fury if it descended upon you?" Vegeta's right hand sparked with energy.
Bulma seemed unafraid. "Everything's okay, Vegeta. Don't lose your head." She spoke softly.
He released the ball of energy he had formed into the distance. A small explosion echoed in the atmosphere a few seconds later. Freeing his body of that energy, at least, had calmed his tension somewhat.
"Really. I wasn't trying to do anything funny."
The Saiyan let a moment pass.
"I'll remember that alcohol is a no-go for you—don't worry." Pausing for a moment, she watched Vegeta, seemingly assuring herself that he posed no immediate threat. "Wanna hear something interesting? Listen. I had my first suspicions about Saiyans sharing a common ancestor when I saw the facial expressions you made. I don't count Goku because he grew up on Earth and all, but I thought it was weird that a Saiyan like you smiled and made angry eyes the same way a human would. Babies smile and stuff too; facial expressions are part of our genetic programming. Weird, isn't it? I could tell what you were feeling by the faces you made. The emotions seemed so familiar, and I was like, 'There's gotta be something going on here!' What do you think about that? You ever noticed anything different about humans?"
The thought had never occurred to Vegeta. He had taken the familiarity of human emotional expression for granted. "Humans are a bunch of wide-grinning idiots," the Saiyan said, finally, eying Bulma's disarming smile.
"Do Saiyans kiss each other? Or is that just a human thing?"
Vegeta glanced at her shapely red lips. He felt the loss of his mind was immanent. Someone else had taken hold of his consciousness, and he did not belong to himself. "Bulma. Do you not see that I want to be left alone? I want no more of your insolent prying."
"I bet they do. It would be weird if they didn't, actually."
He lost control. In less than an instant, his hand circled Bulma's throat. She screamed piercingly.
"Let go! Please—don't hurt me!"
Vegeta forced his mouth onto hers. Immediately, Bulma stopped struggling, and she froze. Her lips hung partially open, and Vegeta pressed his tongue between them.
"Vegeta!" she murmured. She clawed at the hand that gripped her neck.
Her taste drove him even more wild, as if the light of a thousand moons pierced his skin and enflamed his blood with their radiation. He thought nothing; his mind had left him. Anything he would have identified as Vegeta had disappeared, and he had become one with the sensation of Bulma's lips brushing his.
"Vegeta!" she shrieked the second he left her mouth to inhale deeply. "Please—this is really sudden!"
He silenced her, simultaneously tightening his grip around her throat and burying his teeth into her lower lip. Beneath his palm, he could feel Bulma fight to draw in enough air, and the sting of her nails in his flesh intensified. Too distracted to sense it, she had lifted one hand away from her neck. With this free hand, she extended two fingers and shoved them into one of his eyes with as much strength as she could muster. Vegeta grunted in response to the pain and surprise, jerking backward and hiding his injured eye behind his elbow.
The ache reminded him of where and who he was. Needles of ice seemed to puncture his gut.
"What in the world was that?" Bulma rasped.
"Leave me! I am not myself! I am not myself!"
She did not argue, and she fled.
Before he could think, Vegeta had entered the ship and initiated the launch sequence.