Vegeta rested his forehead on Bulma's bedroom door. He did not know what to expect when he made his presence known. His last exchange with the woman had not gone as he had anticipated.

He sought out her energy once he'd changed out of his training clothes. He knew he would find her somewhere on the Capsule Corp. campus; she usually stayed home Sundays, and from what he could tell, she was in the library, and she was alone. Although he guessed that his confrontation with Yamcha had irked her, Vegeta guessed also that Bulma would remember that he had done as she'd desired and made an appearance. With perfect clarity could Vegeta still picture the way her eyes had smiled when she realized that he had come and planned to remain with her and her family at least for a while.

Bulma sat in front of the fireplace, her feet extended toward the flames and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She held a glass of a probably alcoholic drink in front of her mouth, and as she sipped it, dancing red light played across the glossy surfaces of her eyes and the ice in her glass. Her cellphone rested beside her. Its screen lit up when it buzzed, and when Bulma turned to glance at it, she caught sight of the Saiyan watching her from across the room.

She drained her drink, then set it down on a nearby coffee table. "Come sit with me, Vegeta," she said, seeming neither surprised nor strongly moved, whether positively or negatively, by his presence.

Vegeta did as Bulma had told him. He studied her, calculating his next move. The alcohol had brought a glowing rosiness to her lip and cheek. Vegeta wanted very much to kiss her, but hesitated. She had not greeted him with the same delight as before; she might not give in to him so easily this time. Her expression almost blank, she looked lost in thought, and she subjected him to silence for a good moment or two. Vegeta did not know what to make of it.

At last, Bulma turned to look at him directly. "How do you feel about me, Vegeta?" she asked.

"How do you feel about me?"—such a strange, vague, and nonspecific question; it did not have an obvious answer. It did not have a clear motive driving it, either. It had certainly caught Vegeta off-guard.

He frowned. "That question does not mean anything to me. Why ask it?"

"It's a basic question. Just answer it, whatever you think it means," Bulma replied almost crossly. "How do you feel about me? I want to know."

Vegeta's grip dug into his biceps as he raced to guess her purpose and what response she might want. "This is a mind game," he concluded aloud. "You are asking me this for a reason. You want something from me."

"You're being difficult."

"You're not being straightforward."

"I don't know, Vegeta. I thought my question was pretty damn straightforward. I'd even say it was blunt. Do you really not understand?"

Vegeta would not admit to not having understood. He figured the woman would explain herself in due time. She could not stand silence; the longer he drew it out, the more urgently she would hasten to end it.

She did. "It's just that I don't know what's really going on with you. Maybe I was wrong to think I ever did." She paused to pull her blanket more tightly around her body. "I'm confused. I mean—one moment you're looking at me like you've never been happier in your life, like I'm the only woman in the world, but the next moment, you're talking shit about me behind my back. You came to dinner like I'd asked, but then you ruined it. I talked to Yamcha earlier today, and I asked him why you guys went for each other's throats all of a sudden. He told me what you said."

"He was a fool for thinking he had any right to speak to me."

Bulma sighed loudly. "This isn't about him or whether he should have talked to you or not. This is about what you said. It was pretty disrespectful. Why did you say it? Is that how you really feel about me? That I'm obnoxious and slutty? That I'm just a sex toy to you, and that you only put up with me so you can keep getting off?" She took a deep breath, then continued, this time more vitriolically. "I understand that our relationship isn't serious. We're hardly more than friends who have sex. I'm okay with that. It's what I want. But I'd rather be thought of as a person instead of a thing. If all you want is a thing, then you don't need me. Your hand works just as well, I'm sure."

"What a vulgar thing to—"

A short, bitter laugh interrupted him. "Don't even complain about vulgarity. You're the one in trouble for it this time. Talk about a double standard."

Vegeta felt frustration tense his jaw. He had sought the woman out for the happiness and pleasure she offered him, not her ire and blame. Her coldness upset him; he preferred the warmth and openness that he'd come to crave even against his better judgment. He did not want to see her unhappy.

"What, Vegeta? What's wrong? Does it bother you that I'm not going to just let you have your way all of the time? Tell me if I'm wrong."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Saiyan struggled to contain his temper. An outburst would only make her more unhappy."I said what I said to shut him up. I preyed upon his sensitivities. I might have thought of something better to say. Do you really think I wanted anyone to have any knowledge of my personal affairs?"

"Well, at least you regret it," Bulma huffed. "But that doesn't tell me whether you meant what you said or not, or how you really feel about me. I honestly can't tell anymore." She took a moment to glare at him quietly. The longer she read him, the more her blatant anger melted away. "What's with that dejected look? It's almost like you're actually sorry."

Vegeta said nothing.

"I can't read your mind. I don't know if I can trust your body language. I don't know what you do on purpose or by accident. That's why I asked you how you felt about me—because I'm getting mixed signals. You seem practically desperate sometimes, like you do right now, but then you go and disrespect me. What am I supposed to think? I don't know what triggers all of your moods because you won't talk. You just get scary and quiet and closed off."

How Vegeta answered her would not come without consequence, he realized.

"It's almost like you have no idea how other people might interpret your actions, like it doesn't occur to you that people might see things differently than you. Maybe you just don't care. Or maybe you keep me in the dark on purpose." She rambled resignedly as if to herself. At least she did not seem as offended as she had a few moments ago.

Her eyes wandered from watching him to idly following the flickering light of the flames, then back again. When not piercing him with that skeptical gaze of hers, she did not seem so distant or resentful. Washed in heated tones, she instead seemed picturesque and lovely, so much so that Vegeta feared his heart might melt out of his chest. Then, when her hurt uncertainty returned to fall on him, it struck him out of his fantasy like a biting slap to the face, disrupting the rhythm of his breathing.

"Well?" Bulma demanded.

"I can't make sense of your question. I will tell you why. Listen well." Vegeta's words nearly burst from his mouth; agitation brought down the walls that dammed them and controlled their pacing.

Bulma's eyes widened. Seeing that did not soothe the Saiyan in the slightest.

"For as long as I can remember, I've desired one thing—to feel nothing, to be empty and pure, as the legends prescribe. So when you ask such questions, you inquire after something I have excised."

"Legends? Like Saiyan legend? The Super Saiyan legend—or at least how you interpret it? Sounds kind of religious, now that I—"

"Do not interrupt me! I am not so frivolous with words as you are. I will not repeat myself." If he had meant to gain anything with the answer that he had begun, he had forgotten what. His thoughts materialized on his lips the moment they rose to his consciousness. "I have pursued this one thing with singleness of heart and purpose, and I will achieve my end. This end has always been mine, and I will take it for my own and no other's. Failure is more than death; death is preferable to a failed, meaningless life."

"Slow down! What the hell are you talking—"

"But lately I have found myself divided. Distracted. You and your planet have moved me to distraction. I sacrifice so many hours to you. I know I shouldn't, but I do. I've faced many temptations, but only this one has pressed me to such a degree of sin. I've had distractions now and again, and they've kept me from my end thus far, but this distraction I revel in. I hate that I don't hate it. I hardly know who I am anymore. I'm losing control; I'm growing soft. I have half a mind to just give in. Why else would I be here now?" Vegeta raised his palm to his face. "That is my answer to your question."

Mirroring him, Bulma raised her palm to her face, then inhaled deeply. Vegeta tried to read her expression in the minute of silence that followed, but her hand shielded her face. "Holy fuck—what am I even supposed to make of that?" she sighed.

He inched closer to her, testing her reaction, and her hand disappeared inside her blanket. Her lip hinted at a smile, but something like confusion contracted her brow. Vegeta cursed inwardly; he'd spoken recklessly, and only now did his self-consciousness catch up to him and send his heart racing once again. He'd given her the truth, and he could not predict whether the truth put him at an advantage or not; his desires had become so muddled that benefit had mixed itself up with detriment. Studying her—she'd blushed a bit, perhaps, but the dim light made it difficult to discern—only inspired the hope that she wouldn't push him away.

She kept still, giving no sign of outright discouragement. "Since I think you were honest with me—I appreciate that, by the way—I'll be honest with you, Vegeta, and tell you that I think you have some things backwards."

"Don't I, though?" He leaned in to kiss her, but her hand caught his chin before he could reach her, barring him.

"It's not wrong to have feelings for somebody."

"You don't understand."

"You said that you think you're making a mistake with me, even though you like it. It goes against your values. You're worried it'll keep you from becoming a Super Saiyan or something. That's the impression I got."

Her fingers still cradled his jaw. He turned, dragging her touch along his cheek. Her hand was soft like cashmere, distractingly so.

"Damn, the look on your face right now," she mused quietly.

He scowled, then took hold of her wrist.

"I think you spend too much time alone in your own head, Vegeta. You really should talk more. Other people can help you sort through things—give you perspective. Ever heard the expression 'two heads are better than one'? It also helps others understand you."

Vegeta used his grip on Bulma's wrist to urge her toward him. "Now that I've spoken with you, come upstairs with me."

With her cheek, she caught the kiss intended for her mouth, then backed away. "Hey! That's not how it works." The indignation from before had returned. "I appreciate you opening up to me, but it doesn't entitle you to sex. You don't get off the hook for a couple of sad looks and a melodramatic confession."

"Do not belittle me. You know the terms of our agreement. You proposed them yourself."

"It's a relationship, not just an agreement, Vegeta. And yes, there's a difference. Plus, how am I supposed to feel about spending time with you after all the things you said? Because you basically implied that you don't like how you feel about me. You wish I were just a thing to you. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Does it matter? We have an agreement."

"Yes, it does matter, oh my God. We don't have an agreement anymore if you're going to treat me with that kind of disregard."

"I have treated you fairly—liberally, even." He snaked one arm around her waist. "I will make it worth your while."

She clawed at his forearm with her futile strength until he withdrew of his own accord. "You're so fucking deluded. You insulted me, you humiliated and hurt one of my best friends, and you're self-righteous about it. Do you understand why I might not want to have sex with you right now? I'm not even feeling so great right now—not that you even thought to ask how I was."

Vegeta stood up, readying himself to leave. She spoke so icily; she would not willingly indulge him tonight. Though perhaps that was for the best—it would not do to reward himself for so carelessly bringing as much of himself out into the open as he had—still a keen disappointment crept in like a chilling draft. Her beauty in the firelight had possessed him with a cutting lust that, for a moment, sheared away division from his desires. He wanted her. That desire compelled him to glance back at her one more time before he left the library.

With a shrug, Bulma groaned yieldingly. "Look, Vegeta, thanks for talking. I feel like I understand you a bit better now. But I'd appreciate it if you'd take me more into consideration in the future."

He paused, nodded, then disappeared.

She'd been angry, but she hadn't rejected him permanently. She might greet him happily this time; fate would decide. At the very least, he would see her again. A shameful addiction, but he hardly cared anymore. Vegeta opened the door.

Bulma started, but relaxed once she recognized her visitor. "You can come in. It's okay. Should've knocked, though."

Scanning her room, Vegeta hesitated. Since he had last entered it, she'd kept it clean relative to the time he'd first seen it; only her bed, upon which she sat cross-legged, betrayed her normal slovenliness, its sheets and blankets in an unsolvable tangle. The pillow in front of her served as a platform for her laptop. The mess did not offend him enough to deny her offer, so the Saiyan closed the door behind him.

"Come here. I want to show you something." Scooting over, she patted the edge of her mattress. She was smiling mischievously; either she'd planned some trick or she simply had lewd intentions.

Hoping for the latter, Vegeta took his place beside her.

Bulma pointed at her laptop's screen. "Look at this. Do you know what it is?"

Vegeta scrutinized the series of diagrams. "A blueprint for some sort of gravity device."

"It is that, sure." She grinned triumphantly. "But it's also a time machine. I'm about ninety percent certain it'll work. My dad and I are going to start building a prototype tomorrow. Then we'll run some tests."

The Saiyan examined the diagrams more closely. To his annoyance, he found no obvious flaw in her designs. "That's impossible," he grunted. "Your species achieved interstellar travel only years ago."

"I am a genius, you know," she remarked smugly. She sneaked her arm under his, weaving their fingers together. "You're impressed. Admit it."

He chuffed dismissively.

"You totally are." She kissed his cheek.

The tender burn against his skin revealed fate's favor. Wanting had thawed her rage, and it didn't matter why; Vegeta could smell it kindling on her. If he kissed her, she would receive him self-indulgently, and imagining her greedy pleading set his blood simmering. He almost envied her shamelessness; her lip would let him taste it. He took his opportunity.

The decadent twining of their tongues left Bulma panting when they parted. Sloppily, she closed her laptop, then set it on the floor beside her bed, Vegeta's arm not leaving her waist. When she fought him to loosen his hold, it bewildered him, but with her fevered breathing, he trusted her, and set her free.

She slid off the bed, knelt at its edge, then reached to caress his thigh encouragingly. "Take off your pants," she purred, "and sit here in front of me."

Vegeta watched her strip slowly as he undressed. She wore nothing beneath her fleece pajamas. His stance threatening to buckle beneath him at the inflaming sight, he returned to the bed thankfully. Teasing him, she petted his stomach appreciatively, gliding downward. Not once did her eyes shift from his, her expression devious. Perhaps she had some trick planned after all.

"You'll—you'll derive no pleasure from this," he stated leerily. He'd had to fight to deliver his sentence levelly. Her first few strokes promised a terrible ecstasy; anticipation provoked an involuntary twitch from his hips.

As if amused, Bulma laughed. "Don't worry about it. Just enjoy." And she tempted him to do just that, lavishing with licks and kisses.

Air hissed through his teeth on a sharp intake when her mouth closed over him. This arrangement suited him a little too well. Unless she expected him to reciprocate somehow—and she didn't seem to—he wouldn't have to give her anything. She most certainly had some scheme in mind, but right now, with her rhythm hastening, he took it as an act of mercy. Not much longer now—his grip on the sheets tightened, restraining himself; he could make it without handing any more of himself over to her and her impurity.

Abruptly, she stopped.

His eyes snapped open. A shrill gasp betrayed his surprise and indignation; she was looking straight at him, smoldering.

"You're so quiet," she mock-whined. "I want to hear how much you like it." Never breaking their eye-contact, at once tender and penetrating, she tormented him with the same light caresses she'd begun with.

This was not merciful; it was by design. An agonized sigh melted out of his throat along with his resolve. He tangled his fingers in her silky loose curls, his palm seared against her flushed cheek; she truly was breathtaking, heartrendingly real. That look of hers alone—and she just kept on looking—had nearly sent him over the edge.

She dared to stop again. "Fuck, it's like you're in—"

"Bulma, finish it," he begged, bucking desperately. Vegeta was at her mercy. He couldn't take it anymore.

Eagerly, she accepted him fully into herself, not relenting until he shuddered and failed to strangle his whimpering. He opened his eyes again once he caught his breath.

She swallowed, swept her tongue over her lips, then smiled at Vegeta's bewildered fascination. "Damn," she swore. With one hand, she toyed with him inattentively; she'd nestled her other hand between her legs. "Feels great to let go, doesn't it? So fucking hot."

Dazed, he merely watched her touch herself. She'd gotten some sort of satisfaction from it all; her scent smothered, stirred with his, and her fingers glistened.

"Been thinking about some things." As she spoke, her hand left him to tease her breast. "You said you were basically putting all your goals on the line." She chuckled. "And, you know, one part of me just thinks that you've got some weird, grandiose ideas about yourself..."

Her touch's absence left an emptiness that, in spite of everything, refused to subside and ached for fulfillment. Instinctively, Vegeta's hand had gone to soothe it.

"...but another part of me realizes that that's just how bad you want me—enough to question everything. For better or worse, I mean a lot to you, and that means something to me. Do you know how refreshing and vindicating that is for me?" Her eyes following the motion of his wrist, she smirked. "Mm, haven't had enough yet?"

Vegeta sighed, whether out of frustration or relief he couldn't guess, when Bulma climbed up from her knees into his lap. They appraised one another for a moment, their labored breath mingling.

"You're afraid of falling in love—that's how you feel about me."

She felt hot and slick where she hovered above him. "You planned this, you wicked woman," he accused, and although conviction lay behind his accusation, he couldn't coat it with bitterness. He'd lain back, pulling her down with him and onto him, and soaked in sweetness, bitterness eluded him.

"Planned what? You falling for me—or me riding your cock?" she snickered between pants.

Vegeta growled.

Moaning choked Bulma's laughter; she pursued her pleasure with abandon, subjecting him to an onslaught that he simply couldn't match, even now still reeling and recovering from his hopeless loss of himself to her. She ran her tongue along her reddened lips just as she had before, thirsty for anything he surrendered; fervid focus contorted her features as she savored him. Even while tensed with desire, her flesh yielded softly to Vegeta's dazzled touches. She sank into them, groaning and swearing responsively. It moved him. He'd give her anything with the naked sublimity of the way she pleaded—just so long as he could witness her.

Bulma trembled in his arms. How could he have dreaded this? She slowed to a near halt and beamed at him, heaving open-mouthed.

"You should see your face right now, damn. Almost as good as when you come—so hot," she mused. "I'm kind of proud of myself."

Vegeta rolled them over; he'd almost forgotten his own need, but it now ached intrusively in protest of the lost momentum.

"I think you're happy. Does it make you happy that I am too?" She guided his hands to her breasts, and he obliged, offering his kisses as well.

Her heart raced beneath his lips, and her ribs vibrated with the throaty cry he shook from her with ambitious thrusts. She had to have planned this; she thwarted his expectations yet again. Rocking her hips counter to his and pressing back against caresses that turned progressively sloppier, she tore him to shreds, in tatters with his composure. Bulma gasped, and Vegeta couldn't keep from gasping with her. Unwilling to let it go, they stoked a cooling burn for a few more moments, then stilled, and thoroughly overcome, Vegeta collapsed over her.

"Judging by that"—she shifted out from under him as he grumbled—"it does."

"What?"

"It makes you happy—to care and be cared for. If that's a bad thing, then you have to have misinterpreted something somewhere."

He fell asleep.

Author's Note: I have a DBZ-themed Tumblr blog if you'd like to follow me! I dedicate my posts to DBZ character analysis, and I also reblog insightful things I pick up from my friends in the DBZ fandom. In a lot of ways, my posts can serve as commentary to this story, in fact. Find me at flamingpoetica dot tumblr dot com.