WARNING: This chapter contains mature content of a sexual nature. A conscious effort to avoid excess lewdness was made, but reader discretion is nevertheless advised.
At precisely five o'clock, Vegeta appeared in the kitchen after exchanging his soiled training clothes for clean, casual ones. A strange, pungent scent hung the air, no doubt coming from the boxes of food stacked on the table. Bulma was in the process of opening them when Vegeta sat down, examining both her and the strong-smelling entree she placed in front of him.
Bulma must have seen the wariness present in his expression, for she began with an explanation instead of a greeting. "It's coconut curry. It's a special seasoning, and it's very good. Well, at least I think so! I ordered it from one of my favorite places downtown." She took a chair beside him.
Vegeta had eaten far stranger things; it did not concern him too much. He gave more attention to the woman's liberally low-cut sweater than he did the flavor of his food.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
He merely continued eating, reaching for one box after another.
"I guess that's a 'yes.'" She smiled and elbowed him in the arm. "You feeling better than you did yesterday? What was up with that, by the way? You never did say."
Vegeta did not respond. He had kept his eyes on the woman's neckline, and his thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
Bulma let out an exasperated sigh. "As nice as they are, stop staring. It's not polite, Vegeta."
Annoyed, he glared at her. She had pervaded his fantasies of late so insidiously that he had trouble shifting his focus to anything other than her physical form. The anticipation of what might take place after dinner alone threatened whatever powers of self-control he had left.
"I asked you a question," she continued. "What got you so down yesterday?"
He supposed he could tolerate her questions if answering them meant encouraging desirable behavior from her. "Nothing," he asserted. "Taking time to gather my thoughts is a common occurrence. Do not pester me."
"Just because it happens a lot doesn't mean that it's normal or good."
"It doesn't matter."
"I think it does."
The Saiyan dismissed her comment with a contemptuous grunt.
Bulma rolled her eyes. "I bet part of it was because you were lonely. You hadn't talked to literally anyone for weeks. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure I'm right."
"Do you think of nothing but my alleged 'feelings?' Is it some obsession of yours?" he muttered irritably between mouthfuls. "It is tiresome to me. If I attended to every one of my emotional affectations, I could control nothing, I could do nothing, and I would render myself useless. And yet you seem to have the time not only to attend to yours, but also to whatever you falsely attribute to me."
Setting down her utensils, she pondered what he had said for a moment. Vegeta took advantage of her inattentiveness, using it as an opportunity to appreciate her voluptuous anatomy undetected. "Hm," she mused, "that actually lets me in on more than you think it does. It makes sense, really. You've had to deal with a lot of shit in your life, and if you thought about it all the time, you'd be so wrecked you couldn't function. Kind of makes me wonder, but I know that that sort of stuff is stuff you would need to talk about on your own terms."
Vegeta sat back in his chair, his hunger satisfied. Hoping to alleviate some of the dull discomfort of his arousal, he shifted his legs restlessly. The woman could go on about whatever she liked; he couldn't care less.
"Are you done?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered concisely.
"Damn. You had, like, ten times more than me, and you still finished before me." Flirtatiously, she twisted a finger in her hair. "You in a rush or something?"
With a sigh of impatience, he crossed one knee over the other. "This was a time for eating, not talking, but you insisted on the latter."
"Well, I still have to finish, so why don't you talk a little bit? Because awkward silences aren't fun, and it's not like I'm just going to let you sit there and ogle me without giving me anything in return."
"I will not be manipulated. Finish quickly, or do not finish at all."
"So you are in a rush!" She grinned maliciously. "Anxious to do something else?"
He smirked, then shrugged his shoulders. "I knew from the beginning that this whole ordeal was a disguised invitation to your bed. If it were not, I would not have agreed to it. Earthling social practices are not so subtle or devious as you believe."
Bulma covered her mouth, swallowed hurriedly, then laughed. "Yeah, Vegeta. You figured it all out. You're way too clever for us!"
Vegeta growled curses under his breath.
"I'm not shy when it comes to sex, Vegeta, if you didn't know that already," she went on after a long sigh. "If I wanted that, I would've just asked. What if I invited you to have dinner with me because I wanted to talk to you?"
His eyes narrowed, and his scowl soured frighteningly.
She laughed again.
"You think it wise to play games with me, woman?"
"Oh, don't worry, Vegeta. We can go upstairs soon. I figured you'd be expecting that. I don't know how it was for you Saiyans, but here on Earth, most people like to get to know each other before they have sex, even if it's just a little bit. That means talking, learning things about each other, building a connection, getting outside of yourself."
"Ridiculous," Vegeta interjected.
Bulma ignored him and went on. "In fact, I think one of the reasons you're interested in me at all is because we've spent some time talking to each other. Strangely enough, I don't think you're the type of guy who's interested in completely casual sex. You've implied that Raditz was in to that sort of thing, and you look down on him. So I'm doing you a courtesy by getting to know you, because I know that's really what you want even if you don't admit it."
"Arrogant, presumptuous," the Saiyan murmured. Testily, he dug his nails into his arms. "I thought I told you to finish, but you have only continued your chattering."
"I'm done now," she chortled as she hastily downed her last bites.
The instant the words had left her mouth, Vegeta had stood up and taken hold of the sleeve of Bulma's sweater.
In response, she jostled her arm. "Grabbing isn't sexy, remember?" she teased.
"I don't give a fuck," he deadpanned.
She got up and made way for the stairs. "You'd better give a fuck this time. You'll never get another chance to give one if you don't, I swear to God."
"What do you mean by that, insolent woman?"
They stopped in front of her bedroom. "I mean that you need to listen to me instead of tell me to shut up, like you did last time." She opened the door. "I really hope you weren't bluffing when you said you knew what to do."
He balked at the open doorway. "You doubt me?"
"Prove me wrong!" she challenged. When he did not move, however, she crossed her arms and beamed a quizzical look at him. "Is there a problem?"
"Your room is filthy," he sputtered.
"Oh my fucking God. Seriously? How about your room, then?"
"Absolutely not."
Bulma's eyes darted across the hallway. "Holy shit are you neurotic. Okay, fine. There's an empty guestroom down the hall. Follow me."
He did. He had already taken off his shirt by the time Bulma had closed and locked the door behind them. When she turned to face him, he was in the process of folding it and laying it atop a dresser. She smiled at him, amused. "You've had a raging hard-on for the past fifteen minutes and you still feel the need to fold your clothes? You can just rip them off, you know. See?" In one fluid motion, she stripped herself of her sweater and the bra underneath it, then tossed them to the floor.
"I require no instructions for undressing myself," Vegeta snarled. It surprised him how much he could tolerate from her when she stood naked in front of him. Out of sheer defiance, he folded his pants and undergarments as well once he had removed them, setting them beside his shirt. No doubt in attempt to distract him, Bulma had crept up from behind, wrapped one arm around his waist, and begun stroking him with her free hand. He clenched his jaw shut, already fighting to control himself.
"Stop that," he ordered, turning to face her once she had released her grip. Before he touched her, he took a fleeting moment to survey her raw beauty; it still seemed absurd for such a stunning creature to exist. He took her in his arms, kissed her, and let his hands trace her curved contours, pausing at her breasts. She was warm, she was alive, she was there; it was surreal. It reminded him that he too was alive, but that fact precisely made it so surreal; he had been dead, and now he was alive. It was a transient realization, but a powerful one, made concrete and tangible by action and sense perception. He felt a pleasing tightness in his chest and a burning flare in his cheeks—these sensations he could appropriate and understand; none of the woman's abstract names for emotions could make sense of them. If not for his own impatience, he would have liked to have spent more time simply enjoying her, adoring her, making her part of himself. He pushed her backward onto the bed.
Mischievously, she drew her lips away from his and rolled onto her stomach. "You really like kissing," she lilted. "It's cute. I like it too."
He lay down beside her, pulling her up close to him so that her back rested against his stomach. "Commentary is"—he kissed her neck, right below her ear—"superfluous." After slipping his left arm under her head, he reached around to caress her silken breast.
"You'd better not be telling me to be quiet," she purred. "Especially if this is going to be good, because I'm not going to be quiet." Brazenly, she thrust her backside into his hips.
He bucked involuntarily. The friction against her lower back had suited him all too well. "I won't tolerate excessive noise," he threatened. With his right hand, he petted her flat stomach, stroking downward, following the rise of her hip, and halting between her legs.
"I think you'd tolerate just about anything right now," she taunted. Her voice had assumed that breathy, labored tone that he remembered hearing before. She took his hand in hers, guiding it. "Like this," she panted.
"Don't tell me what to do!" In spite of his objection, however, his fingers quickly noted her suggestion. She rewarded him with a pleased hum, and threw one ankle behind his knees, bracing herself. When she began to move in rhythm with his delicate attentions, he asked with a mocking rasp, "Doubt me now?"
She answered him only with an inarticulate cry and a tighter grip on the coverlet beneath them. He nibbled her neck, teething the tender flesh just enough to smart, but not enough to cause any real pain. She was such a fragile creature, and she was either exceptionally foolish or courageous for living with as much abandon as she did. Vegeta could not comprehend it. It contradicted everything about how he had chosen to construct his own way of life. While he deliberately silenced himself, she seemed to have a vocal or physical response to each of his actions. It perturbed him, striking him as disingenuous because he lacked understanding. He might have demanded that she contain herself if not for his fear of losing control the moment he tried.
The grinding of her bare skin against his hips had become unbearable, and he had begun thrusting into her lower back. Suddenly, he remembered that she had begged him to enter her; he must not have had the presence of mind to listen to her then. Overwhelmed, he had resorted to automated movements while his thoughts fought to remain detached. Presently, though, she clawed his forearm, her body rigid and trembling, and moaned a feral litany of curses, calling him back from inside himself. It drove him crazy. He lasted only as long as she did, and he relaxed only after she had pleaded him to.
"Stop! Just give me a minute!"
Together, they lay still, both catching their breath. Vegeta stared toward the window blankly, absentmindedly observing that it had begun to snow again.
"That was really good, Vegeta," she sighed, finally. She glanced over her shoulder to smile at him with her glazed eyes. "I'm ready now. You can put it in if you want."
A silent second passed before he scowled and answered flatly, "No."
"Come on! Are you being weird again?" She reached over her hips to take matters into her own hands. She quickly realized what had happened. "Oh."
Vegeta did not react.
"That's okay." Lazily, she sought out the hand that still rested on her stomach. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I think it's actually kind of sexy."
"Woman," Vegeta snarled almost inaudibly, "silence." Desiring no eye-contact, he kept his vision focused on the frosted windowpane. He wished he were alone in his own room, not in this unfamiliar place with his arms around another person.
Bulma leaned over the bed and picked her sweater up off the floor. Vegeta grimaced when she swept it across her back. Disgusted, he withdrew his hand from her waist and turned aside lethargically. If not for his acute weariness, he would have left for the shower by now.