02 - Heated Glances

Vegeta trained and trained and trained, as much for self-improvement as for sanctuary.

From her.

If she had evoked unsettling emotions in him before, he was not prepared for the onslaught of feelings that now awoke inside him every time their eyes met. Some switch in his brain had been turned on against his will, and where before carnal interests had been low — if not nonexistent — on his list of priorities, now they waged war for first place with his need to surpass Kakarot.

In some regard, Vegeta was relieved to know she desired him. Her motivations were now clear. She helped him out of lust.

Vulgar woman.

Not that he could blame her. Clearly, she was starved for worthy male attention. If the Clown, Scar-face, Three-eyes, the Fat one, and the Midget were the best that Earth could offer, it was little wonder Bulma was turning to a genocidal alpha-male alien that only months ago had tried to blow up her planet with everyone on it. Vegeta could understand her plight. He recognized an alpha female when he saw one. Bulma was gorgeous, smart, and feisty. Were she a Saiyan, she would have had her pick of suitors. She may even have been worthy of a prince's time.

But this prince did not trust her, and he had more important things to do than whet his appetite between a pair of pale thighs.

He intensified his training, doing his best to avoid her while hoping that physical exertion would sate his desires, or at least exhaust him too much to have any. Yet the more he trained and pushed his limits, the more he risked injury. It wasn't long before he found himself back in the goddamn recovery room. And the clever wench must have placed some kind of surveillance on him because she was there to meet him.

Vegeta sat stiffly on the table in only his training shorts and shoes, still covered in sweat and now wet with blood that ran down the right side of his face, dripping on his chest from a cut above his brow.

Bulma grimaced as she examined the wound. She stood face to face with him, today her curls tamed back into a haphazard bun. Her lab coat hung open, underneath a red dress hugged her figure in a way that put his own battle suit to shame. When she spoke, his eyes darted up to her face and he chastised himself for letting them wander.

"Jeez, Vegeta. I can see bone," she tutted, her latex-gloved hands gently prodding at his wound. Well, of course she could see bone, he wouldn't have come here just for a tiny scratch would he? In fact, he wouldn't have come here at all except the wound was bleeding like a stuck Namekian and his vision was impaired because of it.

"This is going to need stitches," she mused aloud.

"That will take too long," he said curtly, scowling with disapproval. "Just stop the bleeding so I can get back to training."

She stepped away, placing a fist on her her hip and pinning him with a stern look. "And how do you expect me to stop the bleeding without stitches? This will scar if I don't. I think you have enough of those." A teasing smile spread over her cherry lips. "Besides, it would be a shame to mar this handsome face of yours."

He clenched his jaw but it was no use. Her compliment seeped under his skin and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Goddamn her. She was shameless. Why wasn't she the flustered one? She was the one who made a fool of herself at their last encounter but if she felt any shame, she didn't show it.

"Just… do what you must and hurry it up," he snapped, looking off to the side, needing to get this whole thing over with quickly so that he could return to the seclusion of the gravity room.

"Okay, okay, keep your shorts on. Or don't. You won't hear me complaining."

He grit his teeth against her crude innuendo but thankfully her attention turned elsewhere as she set up a tray with a curved needle and thread. The needle was placed in a small dish of liquid that smelled unpleasantly astringent.

"What's that," he asked with suspicion.

"Antiseptic."

He glared at it with distrust.

Bulma sighed. "I am not trying to poison you. Scout's honor," she said, holding up two fingers in a strange salute.

He frowned. "Who is Scout?"

Bulma lowered her hand. "…Never mind." She pointed at the liquid. "Look, it's so you don't get an infection," she explained as if to a child.

"Don't be ridiculous. Saiyans don't get sick."

"That you know of," she countered. "Earth has a lot of nasty bugs."

"I can crush a bug as easily as I could crush you."

"That's not the kind of bug… You know what? Let's move on." She picked up a bottle of something. "Stay still. I need to irrigate your wound."

"With that stuff?"

"Antiseptic? Yes."

"No."

"Vegeta! We just went over this."

"And I told you that it was unnecessary."

Bulma slammed the bottle of liquid down on the tray. "Fine! See if I care when your head swells up. Not that it could get any bigger with that ego of yours already inflating it to capacity."

"Tch. Look who's talking."

"You are such an ass," she grumbled, picking up a cotton ball to angrily dab at his bleeding wound.

He refused to wince though the wound stung. It was becoming clear to him that she was right about needing stitches. It wouldn't stop bleeding, causing him to blink blood from his eye every few seconds. It was growing tiresome.

"Are you done yet?" he groused, his mood souring by the second.

"I would be halfway finished if you didn't question every little thing I did," she replied huffily.

He grunted but had no further come-back.

After she calmed down, Bulma put the blood-soaked cotton ball aside and took up her needle and thread. "Alright, ready? Try not to move. This is going to hurt. But I suppose you're used to that."

He contemplated for a moment arguing with her more and demanding that she replace the needle with one that hadn't been soaked in god-knew-what, but he decided against it. It would only prolong their encounter, and as she had mentioned before there were better ways that she could poison him if she chose. So Vegeta chose the path of least resistance and set his jaw, staying still for her lest she jab him in the eye.

The needle bit into his flesh. He didn't flinch and to her credit, neither did she, her hand remaining smooth and steady as she sewed him up.

"Try not to frown so much, would you?" she asked. "I mean… if you can. Can you? Goku smiles, so I assume Saiyans are capable."

He glowered at her with one eye, his other squeezed shut against the blood sluicing down his face. She tried — and failed — to stifle a smile. Did she really plan on making fun of him the whole time?

"I smiled at the death of your friends," he growled.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "That's charming. You know, your face will stay like that if the wind changes."

…What?

His puzzlement must have shown, for she laughed. "Don't think about it too hard, Vegeta. It's an expression we tell children when they make rude or grumpy faces."

"You lie to your offspring?"

Bulma paused, thinking for a second before going back to her work. "When you put it like that, yes, I suppose we do."

Vegeta was secretly impressed that humans would be so underhanded with their spawn. "We don't lie to ours," he boasted.

"Why am I not surprised?" Bulma replied, almost sounding amused. "I guess you Saiyans take a more direct approach to teaching the ways of the world?"

"Yes," he stated. "We don't need to spin false tales to get our children to behave. They learn young that the world is cruel and fearful."

"Lovely," she drawled.

He frowned. "It's not supposed to be."

"I… Yes, I know. It's called sarcasm."

Oh.

She continued sewing his wound in silence, and Vegeta wasn't in a hurry to strike up more conversation. But the lack of dialogue meant he had nothing to distract himself from her. Her face was only inches from his own, her expression set in a look of concentration. She was infuriatingly beautiful: skin more pale than bone dust and just as powdery soft in appearance. Her eyes were so big and blue that he felt himself drown in them each time. Hell, even her goddamn nose was delicate and endearing. She was distracting, the pull she had on him: terrifying. Desires he never knew he had swelled and raged inside at being so close and alone with her. It was unsettling to think that there were parts of himself he was unfamiliar with, parts of himself that would betray him.

Vegeta squeezed his eyes closed, clenching his fists on his knees to try and regain some modicum of control. He endured the rest of Bulma's stitches in meditative silence until she cut the thread, announcing, "All done."

Vegeta opened his left eye (his right still stuck with blood) and instantly regretted doing so, falling head first into her blue gaze. She was staring right at him. He drowned in her scrutiny.

What he would give for Kakarot's ability to instant transmission right now.

"You look frightful," she commented, however her tone didn't express fear but amusement. Warily, Vegeta watched as Bulma picked up a damp cloth and began tenderly wiping the blood from his right eye. The gesture was far more intimate than he was prepared for. Grooming in Saiyan culture was reserved for close family.

"Vegeta?" she asked, her voice soft as she caressed his face.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "What?"

She leaned in closer, crossing all lines of personal space. It took everything he had not to lean away.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" she asked coyly.

Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum! His heart beat wildly as if preparing him for battle.

"…What?" he choked.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" she repeated, brushing the cloth against his cheek one last time before letting her hand drop away to stare intently, expectantly, into both of his eyes.

He struggled to think of a response. "What kind of ridiculous—"

Her gentle touch on his arm cut his denial short. They both looked down to his lap where his fists were clenched so tightly they trembled, his knuckles as white as her complexion. Goddamn her. Vegeta forced his hands to loosen, thinning his lips in humiliation as he looked askance.

Thankfully she backed off, rinsing out the bloody cloth. His reprieve, however, was short lived. The cool kiss of the cloth returned when she began wiping the blood from his torso. He watched her from the corner of his eyes. His skin prickled at the water, his nipples tightening painfully.

"Are you uncomfortable because I'm attracted to you?" she asked, her tone soothing as if speaking to a wild animal.

Goddamn it, why wouldn't she let the matter go?

"Woman," he snarled in warning. Alarm bells rang in his head: danger, danger, danger.

The cool cloth drifted lower, rubbing circles over his belly. Droplets of water trickled underneath the waistband of his shorts, catching in the hair at the base of his swelling cock. His pulse quickened. This was getting out of control. He grabbed her wrist to still her hand.

Her eyes met his. Her lips parted, her heated glance burned him to the spot.

"Or is it because you are attracted to me?" she husked.

The truth of her accusation pierced him, more devastating than Frieza's shot to the heart had been. He couldn't respond, debilitated by her words.

She tilted her head to the side, hovering her mouth tantalizing close to his own. "How long has it been since you were with a woman?" she asked, syrupy-sweet.

He wanted to die. That at least had not been this humiliating or soul-baring.

She slid her hand down his abdominals towards his shorts, and for some reason he let her, his grip on her wrist merely clinging for support.

A slow Cheshire smile broke over her lips as her hand snuck under his waist band. He sucked in a sharp breath, the cool cloth touching something hot and aching he hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

"Shh, I've got you," she reassured him, pressing her nose affectionately to his cheek, nuzzling his face. "I'm very good with my hands."

~xox~

AN: thanks for all the lovely comments and feedback guys. It means the world to me 3