Happy update, everyone! Thanks to those of you who nominated and then voted this story to 1st place in 'Best Bulma' in the We're Just Saiyan fan fiction awards! Hopefully there's a 'Best Humor' category next time so this one can compete. DBZ goobers 4 Lyfe.
For now, have some shenanigans.
Goku was miserable.
All he wanted in life, he could count on one hand.
Food. A comfy place to sleep. A friendly competition. Chi Chi.
At the moment, he wasn't getting any of it.
He dug his palms into his eyes and groaned. "Raditz, will you make me some pizza rolls? I'm hungry."
Raditz lifted the pillow he'd smashed into his own face up to peer at him. Raditz shook his head with disdain. He dropped the pillow back onto his face. "No," came his muffled reply.
Goku was a little embarrassed by the sound that escaped from his throat.
He didn't know exactly what the problem was, but whatever he'd done, it had been bad.
He'd come home Tuesday night from work with only one thing on his mind: dinner. It had been a long, long day. His father had grilled him on the firm's clients all day, and he'd filled out so much paperwork he was sure he'd be dreaming of signing his name all night.
It had gone well the first few minutes. He'd walked in, set his suit jacket over the chair and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. He'd moseyed up to the stove and peeked under the lid of the dutch oven, inhaling the aroma of stew with boyish delight. He'd felt Chi Chi sidle up beside him. She'd asked him how his day went. And then he said it: that which should never be said to one's pregnant lady, ever.
"Wow, this smells good! Nothing is better than stew after a long day at work."
nothing is better than stew
nothing is better than stew
nothing is better than stew
Chi Chi had immediately dissolved into tears, told him she couldn't stand to look at him anymore and informed him that he could come back when he figured out his ass from his head. She'd pushed him back out the front door before he'd realized what was going on and thrown his suit jacket in his face.
Goku had been left standing outside the door in complete bewilderment.
He'd knocked a few times, apologizing through the door, and received no response. He'd even come back later that night in hopes she'd cooled off. She'd locked it, but he'd left his house keys on the table, and he didn't want to chance getting the cops called on him for sleeping in the hallway of their apartment building.
Now he was stuck sleeping at Raditz' and Nappa's until…until what? He'd already messaged her, assuring her that of course he didn't hold stew in higher regard than his girlfriend. That had just earned him a slap on the head from Raditz, who she'd politely asked in a text to hit him.
Goku was miserable, and he was grasping at straws trying to figure out what Chi Chi wanted from him in apology.
After all, he wouldn't be eating real food until he did, or snuggling up to her. Sometimes she did this thing where she twirled his hair around her fingers and scratched his scalp until he fell asleep. He needed that back.
Goku made another sad sigh and stared up at the ceiling, tummy rumbling.
"You're an idiot, you know."
Goku turned towards Raditz, who hadn't moved from under the pillow but so far failed to suffocate.
Goku went back to sulking at the ceiling. "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all."
"Is there a reason you've been avoiding popping the question?" Raditz asked with incredulity, question muffled from under the pillow. "Are you too afraid to commit, are you waiting for another woman to come along? What is it?"
Goku startled. "No," he issued defensively. "Not at all. Why?"
Slowly, Raditz turned his head toward Goku, prying the pillow from his face just enough to shoot his brother a dirty look. "Then why not just seal the deal? I mean, it's a nice trade off: Chi Chi's hot, she cooks for you and cleans up after you, she makes good money. I like my women with a little less cahones, you know what I'm sayin', but I don't shoot for the stars. I go for the gals whose life goal is to become a stripper and maybe get a boob job, and that's right where I wanna be." Raditz paused. "And, frankly," he added wistfully, "I'm just not the marryin' type."
Raditz waited for Goku to agree.
But Goku just stared at him with confusion.
"Didn't Bulma just talk to you about this? What's so hard to understand?" Raditz dropped the pillow onto his face again. "Jeez, you're as dense as a sponge sometimes."
"Sponges aren't dense, they're porous."
"What are you, an expert in sponges? What—did you go to oceanography school in the last five minutes?"
Goku sighed, absently rubbing his stomach. "Chi Chi wouldn't be so angry with me just because she wanted to get married. That's an awfully big step. I don't know why you and Bulma keep bringing it up. I mean, it's not a big deal to her. She's barely talked about it."
"Do I need to call Nappa in to sock you in the stomach? I think you need to be socked in the stomach. Helps clear the mind. Like ginseng."
"I just don't see what all the fuss is about it!" Goku raised his voice, but his hunger made it much more petulant than he'd have liked. "She's just…having a hard time at work or something. Cheech always gets a little overreactive when she's stressed at work. This isn't about her and I. Life's problems aren't just solved by getting married, you know. And what's the rush, anyway?" Goku buried his hand in his hair in mounting exasperation. "She wouldn't want to just get married all the sudden without talking to me about it. That's the last thing on both our minds right now. I barely have any time to even breathe since the promotion, and she's been busy with…other things," Goku lectured his brother. "Plus, Chi Chi would never blackmail me into proposing to her. She's above all that. She'd never kick me out just to get something she wanted. She would never force me to do something so significant and meaningful ooOooOohhhhhh."
"Do you get it now? You haven't given her many options, here."
They stared up at the ceiling for a moment in silence.
Goku picked through the catalog of her actions in the last few months in his mind. "What if that's not it? What if she's just hangry?"
"Hangry?"
"When you're so hungry you get angry and blow your top at every little thing."
"Tch. Goku!"
"What if she says no?" Goku's voice was suddenly strained.
"NAPPA!"
"No! No! Fine! I'll go look at rings right now, if that's all it is." Goku stood and braced himself as Nappa's steps shook the house.
Nappa barreled into the living room. "What?"
"Oh, god, Nappa." Raditz squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head into his pillow with force. "Put some clothes on."
Goku covered his eyes and grabbed blindly for his suit jacket. "I've never wanted to see Chi Chi so badly in my life." Goku threw his suit jacket over his head and felt for the front door.
Raditz palmed his eyes. "Her beautiful, angry face would surely erase this horrifying image I have every time I shut my eyes."
"What?" Nappa asked, throwing his arms up in a gesture of confusion, making his naked parts jiggle with the effort.
"Jeez, you're as dense as a sponge sometimes," Raditz mumbled.
"That doesn't even make sense," Goku yelled as he gave Nappa a wide berth on his rush out the door.
"You know what doesn't make sense? Why you don't just pop the question to a woman you wanna marry anyway!"
The door slammed behind him.
"So did Goku finally get it?" Nappa's deep, rough voice asked with a touch of excitement. "Is he going to pop the question? I love weddings."
"Yeah, finally." Raditz gestured with his arms dramatically from under the pillow. "I've read enough En Touché Magazine," Raditz pried the pillow from his face, "and West City Cosmopolitan to know when a lady is sending those signals OH GOD NAPPA." Raditz smashed the pillow into his face with enough force to wrap it around his ears. "Put some clothes on. By Kami I'm too hungover for this."
Nappa turned and grumbled his way back into his room, butt cheeks jiggling with every heavy step.
Bulma sighed into her ledger, rubbed her temples, and closed it as the bell to the front door rang. She glanced up, tossing the book under the cash register.
"Something I can help you with?"
The boy looked around the shop nervously. He smiled at her—grimaced more like it, in his nervousness—and wrung his hat in his hands.
"Uh, hi there. I was just wondering if you were hiring?"
Bulma stared at him.
She'd never had anyone ask for a job before.
"Well, there," she began, smiling cheekily, making him squirm. "Maybe I am. Things are pretty crazy around here, and they don't seem to be slowing down." She sighed. "Do you have a resume? Do you come recommended?"
She wasn't expecting much, but the boy pulled out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, handing it to her carefully. She unfolded it, lips thin with concentration, and scanned it. Her eyes widened a bit. "Woo, doggy. This much under your belt already?"
"Just a few years at Bob's VWs," he dismissed. "I'm just their shop bitch." His eyes widened. "Excuse my language, ma'am."
She snorted, looking down again at his resume. "Hey, kid, I curse like a sailor. Just so long as you can sling a wrench occasionally and write 'yes' and 'no' legibly on paperwork. You know what, cross that. You don't need to write legibly. My father writes in hieroglyphs, I swear. I can probably decipher it." She handed him back his resume, smiling up at him. "You're lucky I'm in a position to you help out. Can you tell me why you'd leave a dealership to work at this hole in the wall, though?"
He shrugged, hesitant to meet her eyes. "There's not a lot of room to grow there. I just, I'm not in this for the money, and that's all it is to them dealership guys. I was hoping a smaller shop would be more interesting." He looked at his feet. "Plus, everyone who's anyone knows your shop is where it's at."
Bulma could have flew out of her seat with joy.
"Show me that you're reliable by showing up tomorrow at eight and I'll let you go by noon. A week of that, and if you seem solid, I'll hire you on full time. How's that sound?"
The boy's face brightened and he straightened. "Great! That's great!"
"Awesome! Come back tomorrow and show me what you got, um…" She glanced at the piece of paper. "Peasuke?"
"Suke. My friends call me Suke, ma'am."
Bulma smiled warmly at him. "Show me what you got tomorrow."
"Radical. Radical." The kid walked backwards out of the shop. "Thank you so much. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Eight o'clock."
"Eight o'clock."
As he opened the door, he stumbled over something behind him and was met with a growl. The boy startled and scuffled backwards, apologizing. Vegeta glowered and shut the door abruptly behind him.
Bulma smiled at him and picked up the black phone beside her register. "That kid is my new shop help. Don't be too scary, okay?"
Vegeta's eyebrow rose. "You hired that kid? Is he even out of diapers?"
"I need all the help I can get around here, and he comes quite qualified for an errand boy and for only being nineteen. He's won all sorts of awards. Yeah, hi there, Randy? Hey there. I need you to do something for me. I need two carburetors for a '69 Bug and I need them by tomorrow afternoon. Is that something you can swing?" She felt Vegeta tug her shirt up and yank her bra down, freeing her breasts, and she readjusted the phone to give him access. "Yes. Yep. Two carbs. The carbs your guy brought over Tuesday are the wrong size. Mmhmm. Yep. Alright." She squirmed as Vegeta squeezed them together and nuzzled her neck. "Yeah," she started to reply weakly. "See you tomorrow then. Vegeta," she scolded before she'd even hung up.
"Mmm," he said against her ear, taking selfish pleasure in how hard he'd made her nipples, how heavy and round her breasts were in his hands. "Are you done yet?" He complained.
"Alllllmost," she sang, shuffling papers by the register and stacking them on the side. "I just have to clean up and then I can lock up."
He twisted her around on the stool and put himself between her legs, rocking his hips against her. Her eyes widened. "Why clean up when you're just going to get dirty again?" He purred.
"Very funny, buddy," she chided. "Except I don't want to be here anymore. My head is spinning from all this work." She pushed against his chest gently, and he straightened with a sigh.
She strode across the shop to her garage, bending to pick up any extra tools and bolts—the biggest ones, anyway, as the small ones were a war she'd never win—and threw them onto the counters and tool boxes that lined the shop walls. When she'd used the shop broom to sweep out any lingering disintegrated gaskets and the layers of dirt that accumulated on cars over the years, she shut the garage door and shoved the lock in.
"Any luck finding a receptionist?" She grabbed her backpack from her office and threw on a jacket over her 'B's Dubs' shirt, following Vegeta as he led the way out of the shop.
He growled. "No," he sighed, massaging his temples, fighting the headache that had persisted for a week now. "None of them are what I'm looking for."
Bulma cocked an eyebrow at him as she locked the door. "Are they under qualified, or are you scaring them before they can even get out a hello?" Vegeta snarled under his breath. "I thought so." She shoved her hand between his arm and his side, squeezing his bicep, and walked beside him quietly.
"Miss Bulma."
Bulma peered around Vegeta and saw her neighbor waving at her, his dog jumping into the back of his pick up as he opened the drivers side door. She waved back. "How are you doing tonight?"
"Ah, well, I'm doing good. You?" He inclined his hat guardedly. "Mr. no'Ouji."
Vegeta nodded back respectfully.
"I'm great! Goodnight! Give your wife a squeeze for me!"
"'Night, Miss Briefs."
Her neighbor's truck pulled out of his parking lot with the grumble of gravel, and a smile curled on Bulma's face. "Tell me," she said, putting herself in front of Vegeta as they reached his Ghia, leaning against his fender. "Are you a betting kind of man?"
Vegeta looked taken aback. His thick eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"
"I saidddd," Bulma drawled, pulling him in by his belt loops, "are you a gambling man, Mr. no'Ouji?"
Vegeta smirk grew sinisterly. "Just what are we betting on?"
Bulma's eyes rolled up playfully. "Just how good at Yahtzee are you?"
His face fell. "Yahtzee," he deadpanned.
"Strip yahtzee," she cooed into his mouth.
"That sounds more appetizing." He looked down at his watch. "There's some work I need to do after we get done."
Bulma's face fell. "Always with the work, huh."
Vegeta didn't blink. "Yes," he answered, automatically.
She sighed. "Why don't you get your ass in the car, pal, and we'll play truth or dare until we get to your place, hm? See if you can get all my clothes off before we get there, hm?" She winked, and he opened the car door for her, letting her slide in.
"What do you want, Fasha," Raditz growled, walking down the street with one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a coffee.
"What, we can't catch up for old times sake?" She huffed beside him as she tried to match his pace.
"I have nothing I want to say to you." Raditz continued walking with his eyes forward.
"Look, I know there's hard feelings between us with Melanie—"
He laughed harshly. "Yeah, there is." Raditz tried to curb the anger in his voice. He didn't want to seem vulnerable in front of Fasha, so he kept walking. His stride was long because he was tall, but she, unfortunately, kept up.
"I'm sorry it all happened, Raditz. We were different people back then—"
"Yeah, I still had a heart, but you were the same psycho bitch. You still got that goin' for ya, don't you?" He could hardly bear to look at her. "Don't think Vegeta didn't tell me about the shit you pulled with Bulma. Bulma's my friend, too, you know," he snapped, looking at her with disgust. "Vegeta made sure to warn me you were up to trouble. Don't think I don't know you're up to your old shit."
"Oh, come on, Raditz," she cajoled. "I was just seeing what the girl was made of."
"She's made of screwdrivers and uppercuts and a helluva lot more heart than you." He chewed the straw of his iced latte angrily.
"Maybe she'd be willing to share," Fasha joked. "I wish you guys would just give me a chance."
Raditz stopped abruptly. "Is there some reason you're still here?" He looked down at her with very limited patience.
"I, I just wanted to see what you were up to—"
"Getting along fine without you. Picking up the pieces of my life." Raditz moved to walk off, but pivoted. "No. You know what? Tell me, how good did it feel when you dumped Melanie like a sack of potatoes? After filling her head up with all that shit about how I was cheating on her and playing her knight in shining armor?" Fasha's eyes widened. "And then, a few days later, what do I see but a phone call from you, letting me know that I could have your sloppy seconds? Was that your crowning fucking achievement? To get back at me just because I turned you down one night?"
They stared at one another as people walked around them on the sidewalk. It was late evening in the city square, couples holding hands giving the arguing pair wide berth, but Raditz ignored them.
"But I never got a chance, did I? Melanie got in the car wreck that weekend. I never even got a fucking chance."
"Raditz, I'm sorry. But that was a very long time ago," she amended, shaking her head. "We were young, and dumb."
She still had the same infuriating habit of lying through her teeth. He was glad Vegeta had cut her loose from the firm. He knew Vegeta thought he could keep her under control, but as soon as she'd proven him wrong, despite losing face, he'd cut her loose. If even Vegeta could see that the means didn't justify the ends, she had no power over them anymore. Not Vegeta, and not him.
"Fasha, I don't give a shit whether you live or you die, although I'd prefer it if you were dead," Raditz reassured her bitingly. " Just so long as you are far, far away from me and my friends."
He glared down at her until she turned, face ashen, and walked away with her lips pressed together. Raditz didn't move, just watched her go with no emotion but an old emptiness twisting in his gut.
It wasn't until someone bumped into him and insulted his intelligence that he came to. He sighed and pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, taking in the buildings around him as he waited for the phone on the other end to pick up.
The call went to voicemail. "We're going to start to go to singles meet ups," he yelled abruptly into Nappa's voicemail. "Fuck this strippers noise. We need real girlfriends."
Raditz stomped up the nearest steps, pocketing his phone, and spilled inside without awareness, thoughts overlaid with confusion like the static on an old television.
He bumped into something in his blind rush and righted it automatically.
It was soft.
"Sorry," he muttered, before his eyes widened.
It was a woman.
She smiled at him shyly.
Raditz noisily sipped the remainder of his iced latte through his straw before smiling rakishly.
Bulma was taking a quick shower when she heard the noise. She stilled, listening over the water. Instinctually, she shut it off, and craned her neck to hear. She grabbed for her toothbrush distractedly, squeezing toothpaste out haphazardly over the bristles. There it was again.
She padded out of Vegeta's bathroom quietly, grabbing for the closest thing in sight, his discarded work shirt, and slipping her arms in the sleeves. She shoved the long sleeves up to her elbows and cocked her head. It was coming from the other side of the condo. Buttoning a couple of the buttons at the bust impatiently, she slid through the dark of Vegeta's room to reach into her backpack, crouching and leaning up against his dresser. Her hand found the handgun without much trouble, and she slid the magazine into the butt decisively.
She crept along the hall, and that's when she heard it—a definitive crack, and then glass shattering.
Bulma crouched at the doorway where Vegeta's hallway met the living area. It was coming from the room Vegeta used as a gym, just down the hall.
She strode down the hall.
Just as boots scuffled on the windowsill, she flipped the light on in the room and fired.
The gun discharging made her ears ring and the fire from the barrel caused her to squint; but the intruder was blinded enough when she'd turned the light on that he'd lost his balance and fallen backwards—
just enough for the bullet to miss him. She recocked with her palm swiftly and fired again before falling to the floor and rolling toward the window, crouching defensively below it. After a moment, she peeked her head over the windowsill.
Just a long, bare stretch of lawn, and glass shards catching the light of the moon.
"What the fuckkk," she whispered, crawling out of the room on her hands and knees—just to be safe—and made her way quickly to her cell phone. It didn't take her but a second to call the police and a handful more for them to arrive.
By the time Vegeta walked in the door, the cops were just finishing up with their notes.
No one noticed Vegeta standing in the doorway, eyes wide with astonishment.
His front door was ajar, all his lights were on, and there stood Bulma, clad only in his white button down, much smaller than the two cops she was speaking to. He contained a supremely irritated growl. All she had to do was bend over and she'd be exposed.
Vegeta dropped his suitcase and strode over. She turned his way, smiling wanly, and he noticed her knees and hands were bleeding.
Vegeta couldn't form thoughts. He looked around his house sharply. Something was growing in the pit of his belly.
"Mr. no'Ouji?" The two cops looked expectantly at him. One chewed his gum loudly. "You had a break in while you were away."
Vegeta turned his rage onto Bulma, who shot him a reassuring smile. He opened his mouth to say something. It took a few tries.
"Are you okay?" He managed roughly.
"Your wife—"
"Girlfriend," Bulma corrected the officer nonchalantly.
"Girlfriend, here, heard some noises from the front of the place and went to check it out."
Vegeta didn't realize he was gripping her arm, pinning her against his side, until he heard her squeak. For the first time, he noticed a handgun lying on his kitchen table.
His fists twitched. "Did they shoot at you?" He chomped out.
She shrugged. "I shot at them, actually. I don't know whether they were armed."
"Ms. Briefs, we've had your license to carry and gun registration checked out and you're good—"
"Of course," she said with some impatience.
"So the only thing we can do at this point is take the information you gave us, ma'am, and file a report. The fire department should be on their way to board up your window, Mr. no'Ouji, until you can have it replaced."
"Thank you gentleman." Bulma shook both of their hands in place of Vegeta, who busy with looking as if his head would explode with outrage any second now.
Only when the door closed behind them did he release his panicked fury on Bulma. His fists curled at his hips. "What the hell happened while I was gone!?"
Bulma stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Well, little miss sunshine. I got out of the shower, and I heard something while I was brushing my teeth. Like a knocking. You know. Breaking in sounds."
He was tense, muscles straining. She flicked her hair out of her face. Her curly mane had air dried, and had become a frizzy mass invading her face. "I grabbed my gun from my bag," she gestured at the gun lying harmlessly on the kitchen table, "and confronted them at the window."
"You what?" Vegeta's head was about to spin off into space.
She frowned. "Vegeta, let's get this out of the way, shall we?" She placed her hand on her chest. "I was raised shooting. I got an Annie Oakley award when I was nine years old. I'm no stranger to a home invasion scenario. I was never in any danger."
He was about to tear his hair out.
He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her. Lightly. But frantically. "You crazy woman, you could have been hurt!"
"Well, I wasn't. I mean, I guess I was a little. Once he fell out of the window and ran off, I low crawled out of the room just to be safe, since the light was on, and got a little scratched up on all the broken glass." She held her hands out, palms up. Vegeta's vision turned red. "But no big deal. I called the cops, they filed a report, made sure I carried legally, and that's it."
He stared at her through a field of red. "That's it," he repeated.
"Yep."
He snarled and strode away, leaving her in the kitchen, the fan spinning innocuously above her.
She frowned and followed him. He hadn't acted so stuffy and weird since they were just...well, uh, banging.
"Are you angry with me about something?" She asked, more than a little bewildered.
Vegeta ripped his shirt off, winging it into the hamper by the closet door. She couldn't help the little wave of pleasure she got from watching him walk toward her without it, all muscle, his pants sitting on the top of his defined hips.
Was she drooling? She wanted to demand that all of his pants sit as low from this point forward. She thought about it but figured, with much sadness, that now wasn't the time.
"I'm very angry." His nostrils flared.
"What on earth did I do!?" Her voice raised in defense.
"You are an idiot," he said through his teeth. He stared down at her with intensity, before turning to kick off his shoes and loosen his belt. "An idiot!"
"Excuse me?!" She startled, brows clashing together.
"What woman goes charging in to confront someone breaking into their home!"
"So, you're upset with me…and insulting my intelligence…because someone broke into your home." She looked at him like he was most definitely lacking anything upstairs.
"Yes!" He shouted.
"But I was carrying." She gestured to the heavy duty book bag she used in lieu of a purse. "No harm done."
His hands stilled on his belt. "Are you a maniac, woman!" He hollered.
"Are you?" She shouted back.
He snarled and walked out of the room.
She stared after him, perplexed.
"Vegeta." He didn't respond. Her face crumpled with concern. "Vegeta!"
She strode into the kitchen, where he was pouring himself a whiskey, neat, into a glass tumbler.
She grit her teeth in frustration. Was she that hard to deal with? "What would you have had me do different? It's not my fault someone tried to break into your home. I just did what I could to minimize the damage." She placed her hand on her chest passionately. "I am fully trained in home defense."
Vegeta's throat bobbed as he knocked back the whiskey in one full gulp, the liquor a smoky amber in the light over the oven. He poured himself another.
"This shouldn't have happened."
She gawked. "These things happen. All the time. You don't just, just plan a home invasion, or a car accident." She watched him carefully. "You can't control everything, Vegeta."
"Like hell I can't."
"You can't. In life, you just, roll with the punches," she argued, looking at him pleadingly. "I just don't understand. Would you have rather me wait on the bed until he walked in? Said 'howdy-do?' Gave him a little wave as he robbed you blind or—"
Vegeta's face tightened.
She threw her hands up in the air dramatically. "Why are you so upset?"
"Because you could have been hurt!" He hollered, slamming his fist on the counter, causing her to jump. "This is my safe place, and it failed you. You could have been hurt. You were." He snatched up her wrists, eyes burning.
"Hey, big guy," she began, reaching out to touch him. Instead she placed her hands on the counter to avoid looking as if she were pitying and making light of his feelings. "I did what I could. No harm done, except the trouble of having a new window installed. I'm fine."
He leaned on his elbows over his glass, staring at the black marble countertop, before downing it again and placing it in the sink angrily.
"Vegeta," she called, placing her hand on his bare back. He didn't respond. "Vegeta," she said sharply. He looked at her. She didn't see a man seeking to punish her for a break in, only a man who cared deeply but had no inkling how to show it without feeling foolish.
"I'm sorry." She exhaled through her nose.
She was surrendering, but not quite. Her eyes were dark blue in the warm light of the recessed kitchen lights. She searched his own, waiting for his response.
He understood she wasn't apologizing for defending herself. She was saying sorry because she felt bad that he was upset. It was probably all he'd get, but it was more than he expected, and he didn't know what he wanted from her anyway. He was a tangle of feelings and convictions and doubts, and it was making him insane, like loosing his footing and knowing in the few seconds of limbo that what awaited him was falling.
They both jumped when their was a knock on the door. She moved to answer it but he looked like he might implode if she did. "Stay here," he ground out as he went to answer it.
She let him have that.
Opening the door just revealed the firefighters, who informed him that it would only take a few minutes to board up his window from the outside.
Vegeta was already slamming the door closed, prowling around the house and inspecting each room carefully before checking each lock on the window. He then strode into his bedroom, leaving her to follow.
She entered his bedroom uncertainly.
He sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes, peeling off his pants. His movements were jerky with anger.
Her voice came soft. "Would you like me to leave?" It quivered with touch of distress.
His head snapped up. She leaned against the doorjamb uneasily, a waif in his too large shirt.
What did he want from her? He couldn't say.
He rose from the bed and stalked towards her. He pulled her by the hand back to the bed, rolling her onto it with him so that she straddled atop him. She let out an "ooph" and held herself steady with a palm on his chest.
He swiftly undid the few buttons of her shirt in the dark and flicked it to the side so that he could view her in the moonlight. He ran his hands down her sides. Down her ribs, where her waist cinched, and then down the slope of her hips, where he gripped her possessively.
"Mine," he growled.
"Mine," she countered sensibly, grabbing at his half formed erection.
His eyes narrowed and glinted, the shrewdness of Vegeta deliberating.
There was something awfully sexy about his menacing visage below her, and his bare, smooth chest, a delicious shade of palest bronze in the moonlight. The shadows falling over his chiseled face, the corded muscles in his neck leading her gaze to the dips of his collar bone, begging for attention.
"What are you smiling about?" He complained gruffly.
She smiled wider and slid her palms over his pecs, groping him for a second and earning a little annoyed huff. She snickered softly and ran her palms up over his shoulders, wide and hard, and over his biceps, rounded and unforgiving.
"You're making me feel like a piece of meat," he griped beneath her, turning his head away. She giggled and leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest as she kissed his brow, furrowed as ever with impatience, and his nose, straight and narrow, and his unforgiving jawline, which she bit lightly.
She kissed his impudent mouth and felt him begin to harden between her legs.
"Bulma," he rumbled, and she paused, her name on his lips sweet and unexpected. His muscles were still tight with anxiety. "Don't do that again."
She snorted. "Kiss you?" She kissed him again.
He growled impatiently. "Don't get into trouble unless I'm with you." He felt silly once he'd said it, and colored a little.
"Sorry, buddy. I'm a free spirit." She ran her tongue over his lips. "You can't tie me down. So does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
He flipped her onto her back, solid between her legs. His mouth found her breasts, the bare skin of his sides sliding against the soft flesh of her thighs. She grinned into the moonlight.
"I can certainly tie you to my bed frame to keep you out of trouble. And without complaint from you, I'm sure."
"For a time." She nipped his earlobe and heard an agreeing rumble in his throat. Like a big, wild cat that acted out just because he wanted to be petted.
"If you won't agree to captivity then this is just where I'll stay."
She snickered. "Eventually, you'll wear out too, buster. I know you like to think of yourself as a machine, infinitely powered, gorgeously rendered…." She could see his eyebrows rise in the dark. "But this is all flesh and blood." She poked his chest, fingernail pricking his bare skin.
She gasped as he ran his fingertips up her labia in the sweetest revenge. She was already extremely sensitive, already open for him. He didn't have to do much to drive her crazy with over-the-moon, lecherous desire. She didn't remember ever having this kind of sex drive with Yamcha. Just quiet, serious Vegeta, with his sharp tongue. Sometimes so curt no one could believe there'd be anything inside him worth caring for, but she swooned over it all: the way he poured his coffee, his corded forearm tightening deliciously; the way he was so polite with her older neighbors and her mother; the way he deferred to her knowledge about his car; the effort he put into being the best he could be.
"You have no faith in me," he scorned, shoving his hands beneath her back to lift her closer to him, his hot mouth moving against her sternum. She stretched her back, angling her breasts into his mouth, her belly brushing his.
He slid his hands out from under her back, kissing her deeply to distract her as he dipped one finger into her unexpectedly—not much, but just enough for her teeth to clench. She hissed with the shock of the sensation, of being filled, but not filled enough.
His other hand grabbed her face and held her still, and her eyes widened with anticipation. He kissed her hard and deep, and when he finally pulled away, he ran his thumb tenderly over her mouth. His breath was warm against her cheek and she smelled herself on him. Without thinking, she turned her head and sucked his finger into her mouth, opening her eyes for a moment to look at him as the taste of her core invaded her mouth. His mouth had parted above her, and to her delight, he smiled, a sadistic thing. It sent the butterflies in her belly into a panic.
He flipped her onto her belly without warning and bat her knees apart, and suddenly she felt him at her entrance, the solid, unyielding head of him, and she inhaled sharply into his pillow.
"Bulma," he teased her, a warning on his lips, and his hand stretched across her wrists above her head and held her there. "I'm going to show you exactly how angry you made me tonight."
She breathed hard into his sheets helplessly. Even knowing the battle had been lost, she got in one more shot. "Can't wait," she bit out, and when he thrust himself into her, they both cried out in surrender.
Chi Chi was looking at her with supreme skepticism.
"So you went after the guy with a gun," she drew out slowly, bringing her tea cup to her lips gracefully, "and then Vegeta came home and yelled at you." She sipped delicately. "And that's why you're covered in hickies like a teenager."
"Wellll," Bulma's head angled thoughtfully, "mostly. Yes. I would say that sums it up."
"And so you're wearing a scarf—which looks great on you by the way—to hide that madness, and that's why your hands are all bandaged up."
"Don't want to get grease in the cuts, you know."
"Yes. Well. So why were you late to work again?" Chi Chi squinted, head angling.
"Oh. Yes. Well, Vegeta got up for work early, because he's a workaholic, you know, and I got up because I had to be at the shop at six thirty, but I accidentally stumbled in on him working out, and then I inadvertently wound up on top of him—"
"That sounds logical, go on."
"And, while we're talking about it, does Goku wear those tight little spandex shorts to work out in? You know, if he doesn't, I'm going to go ahead and recommend them to you for Goku. Very…agreeable."
Chi Chi nodded, eyes half closed.
"Well, then he said, in the heat of the moment, 'I've had clients beg for mercy with more passion than you,' to which I said, 'If you truly feel that way, maybe you'll feel differently when I do this,' and that's how I wound up with this bruise on my back, cuz he lost his footing and the squat rack has a thing that sticks out, you know. Anyway," Bulma said, waving her hand in the air dismissively, "that's why I need you to do me this favor. I have to attend this car show tonight to debut my custom bike and my eleven second Beetle—"
"I have no idea what that means."
"It means it goes really fast. And he'd already left for work before I remembered to give it to him and I wasn't able to pick it up and run it by before work this morning because I was late due to my previous…engagements."
"Uh huh."
"Engagements with his dick, just so we're clear."
"Got it."
"Yeah. Sooo," Bulma shrugged. "Can I count on you?" She smiled broadly, wiggling her eyebrows.
"I can't imagine that prick wants anything to do with me right now." Chi Chi's nose scrunched up. "Ew. I should not have used the word 'prick' after that story."
Bulma's face fell. "Cheech, he's not upset with you."
"Yeah, it's just Goku, only the love of my life, my…baby's daddy." She grimaced. She put her head in her hands. "Don't tell me you haven't picked sides!" Chi Chi raised her voice.
"I love you all," she whined.
Chi Chi's eyes ripped upwards to Bulma. "Excuse me? Did you just say you loved…us all?"
"What?" Understanding dawned on her. "Oh. No! No, I didn't!"
"Yes you did!" Chi Chi sat her tea cup down on the table and leaned forward. "Do you love him?" She hissed, staring at her intensely.
"No! I don't know! No! It's too early for that." Bulma gestured dismissively, her voice uneven and frantic. "No. We're just enjoying each other's company is all. One day at a time. Slowly. Sometimes quickly. As in, a quickie in my office." Bulma's eyes drifted upwards in remembrance.
"Bulma Briefs," Chi Chi chomped, "you guys have been a thing for how long and you're getting ready to move in with him! How did that even happen? Are you sure this is really a thing? I didn't think Vegeta had feelings. He's like, that guy from the Terminator movie, incapable of anything but insults and machismo and death and terror, and his greatest success is mouthing off to the square root of the most irritating degree."
Bulma watched her friend with a pout. "I don't know. I don't have any answers. We just…do what feels natural."
"And fucking in your Bus before work feels natural."
Bulma looked on with wide, open eyes, and shrugged one small, round shoulder. "Yep," she finally answered. "Besides, it was after work. Before work was in his gym."
Chi Chi leaned forward, pitching her voice delicately. "Are you sure this isn't just a thing where you guys just have really great sex and that's it? Are you sure you're not jumping the gun a little bit? Are you sure…he's not just…" She looked at her friend with concern, thinking over her words. "That he's not just using you?"
"You tell me." Bulma looked at her cooly over her coffee cup. "He's the one who begged me to move in with him."
"…Begged?" Chi Chi asked with disbelief.
Bulma smiled with conceit and shrugged.
Chi Chi's head fell into her arms. "Well." She sat up and patted her hair back into place. "I don't know what to say to you right now. You're obviously out of your mind."
Bulma grinned. "Does that mean you'll do it?"
Chi Chi rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yes. But you owe me."
"Yay!" Bulma waved her arms in the air.
"This isn't going to happen all the time, is it?"
"No, no," Bulma reassured her.
Chi Chi stood, kissing Bulma's cheek before smoothing her skirt down. She'd taken a long lunch so she could have it with Bulma at her shop. She might just have to swing home though and take a shower before going back to work. Bulma kept a tidy enough workplace, but there was nothing like sitting around a bunch of old cars to make Chi Chi feel all itchy.
"You mean until the next time you're humping like rabbits," she complained. "Just the thought of it makes me throw up a little in my mouth." Chi Chi made a face.
"Good thing I got you that anti-nausea medicine." Bulma smiled brightly up at her.
Chi Chi pinned her with a look. "I'm going to go give him this. And I'm not promising I'm going to say squat to him. We're enemies, you know, on principle. Blood enemies."
"Yeah, yeah. I don't care if you throw it on the floor and stomp out of there, it's just important that it gets to him immediately." Bulma's eyes were bright with excitement.
"Whatever, homegirl."
Chi Chi made her way to the door, heels clacking on the cement.
Bulma's newest assistant lumbered out from behind a car. "Uh, Ms. Briefs? I think I figured out the wiring problem on this Thing."
"I'll be there in a jiffy." Bulma gulped down her coffee and threw the remains of her lunch in the trash, thought better of it, and went ahead and tugged off her scarf and threw it in the trash, too. "Bye, Cheech." Chi Chi turned around and waved affectionately before the door shut behind her.
As Bulma's boots rang on the cement, her newest addition popped his head from under the Type 181.
"Here you go." He handed her a mass of tangled wires.
Bulma growled, snatching them up. "It never fails. If I had a dime for every car with electrical issues that rolled in here with a batch of soldered-together wires that led to nowhere.…"
"So what car are you going to take to the show tonight?"
Bulma tossed the wires into the big trash can, doe eyes wide with anticipation, hands waving with excitement. "A Westfalia camper I've been restoring for awhile, because that's always impressive. My Beetle, the '67, you know, the one with the turbo. I have a friend, Launch, who races it sometimes, and it's officially an eleven second car. Annnnd…" She smiled brightly. "Something else I've been working on for a short while. It's kind of a gift for someone tonight. I'm gonna surprise them." She blushed prettily. "Hopefully the judges think it's as cool as I do."
"I'm sure they will. Your shop is only the coolest little shop in West City." The boy reassured her passionately.
"Yeah? You think so?" Bulma looked upwards, smile benevolent. "I guess I'm pretty cool." She winked at him, and he had the audacity to blush.
"Yep," she said to herself, setting a crow bar in between the dash and the frame before slamming her boot on it, thinking of a particular man who liked her—liked her. "I'm prettttttttty cool." She smiled day dreamily into the rust of the day's project.
"There's nothing to say."
"Oh, I think there is," Raditz argued, leaning forward in the office chair. "So, what, you're living together now?" Raditz through his hands up in exaggeration. "Who is this Vegeta? I don't even know you anymore."
Nappa chuckled.
Vegeta sent him a dark look and continued signing the forms.
"Look, we're going to go to church tomorrow night—"
Vegeta nearly choked.
"—to pick up chicks, and we'd like to invite you along."
"Can't, I'm meeting Bulma's parents for dinner."
Raditz made a whole host of indignant noises. "Wha—who—what—you're meeting her parents? Meeting her parents! What is this world coming to."
Vegeta growled deep in his throat but otherwise ignored him.
"I thought you were just fucking her—"
"Don't." Vegeta's head whipped up and he stared darkly at Raditz. "Don't."
"Wow." Nappa sighed dreamily at all the romance. "You're into her."
"Who gave you two losers the permission to comment on what I do in my personal life?"
"Well," Raditz began playfully, counting on his fingers, "first you started sneaking around with her, then you decked her ex-boyfriend, then you gave up the Freeman trial, then you let her work on your car—was that before or after you bumped uglies with her on your favorite car?—and then you asked her to move in with you—"
"You're very close to being in a coma," Vegeta rumbled into his paperwork.
"I like Bulma," Raditz protested. "In fact, I like Bulma a lot. Would you be willing to lend her out? I really should have hit that before you came in the picture." At Vegeta's very black look, Raditz shut his mouth. But not before opening it again. "I'm happy for you, pal, I'm just surprised, is all."
"Yeah," Nappa agreed.
"I didn't think you had it in you. You know. This commitment stuff."
"Yeah," intoned Nappa.
"I mean, this time next year, you'll be having babies and settling in the suburbs—"
"Yeah, the 'burbs," reiterated Nappa.
"—and celebrating your anniversary with a trip to Applebee's—"
"Yeah, Applebee's."
"I am so close to strangling both of you."
The door to the new office opened, and all three men looked up in surprise.
Chi Chi held the front door open, lips drawn and brows knit with unease. Her hair was in a high bun and she wore a purple skirt and blazer, looking for all intents and purposes like she'd gone to work and forgot which way that was.
"Yessss?" Raditz began first.
"Oh, can it, Raditz," bit Chi Chi.
Vegeta snorted quietly.
"Look, I know when I'm not welcome somewhere. Unfortunately, I was put up to this by my very good friend who just happens to be…'dating'…you," she said to Vegeta, "and I couldn't say no." She walked forward with her head held high and tossed an envelope onto Vegeta's desk.
Vegeta looked at it, grabbed it, and waved it at her. "What's this?"
Chi Chi looked at him steely. "What, you can't read?"
Vegeta glared at her.
He drew his finger under the envelope.
"The scarf is working wonders for her, by the way," Chi Chi drawled. "After ten minutes, she threw it into the trash in impatience and is now greeting customers with her sins for all to see. I'm pretty sure her new assistant has the hots for her and cried in the bathroom when he saw the mess you'd made of her neck."
Vegeta smiled with sinister satisfaction and drew the thick card stock out of the envelope.
He scanned it.
"This is tonight?" He looked up at Chi Chi incredulously.
"What, you want me to reschedule?" She asked wryly.
Vegeta growled. "I have work to do." He folded his arms on the desk, contemplating. "Fine. I'll be there. You can show yourself out."
"Real gentlemanly," Chi Chi sneered. She turned, but then thought better of it, and walked forward until she was leaning over his desk. Raditz and Nappa's eyes bulged at each other over the curve of her rear end.
"Listen, I'm just going to say this once, because I have the feeling you're smarter than you let on. I've known Bulma a lot longer than you, and as such, am very much qualified to say that you better not be fucking with her feelings. You got that? Because the moment you break her heart because, well, you're a self-adoring playboy and we all know you are, I will be on you like white on rice. Goku might be afraid to hurt your feelings," she cooed in his face, "but I am relishing the thought of it."
"What makes you think you can come into my business and start making threats?" Vegeta leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. "If you think I could be scared of a scrawny, pregnant, overbearing nag with one of the most passive aggressive excuses for a man I know, then it would be my pleasure to surprise you. Go ahead. Sell tickets, even. I'm getting excited just thinking about it." He smiled cruelly.
Raditz and Nappa's mouths parted in surprise.
Chi Chi straightened and scowled. "Okay, yes. Yes! I'm pregnant!" She gestured to her belly dramatically, addressing them all. "Yep! The secret's out. Cat's out of the bag. I'm knocked up. Now let me tell you why you don't want to fuck with me." She slammed her hands on Vegeta's desk and exhaled sharply through her nose. "Because you don't want to try my left hook and these hormones. Got it?"
She stood, glaring down her nose. Vegeta met her gaze.
Chi Chi turned to go, but thought better of it and turned back around to swat his pencil holder off his desk, scattering pencils.
"What the hell?"
"That's from Bulma," Chi Chi explained with narrowed eyes. "Because she really wouldn't have liked the way you just talked to me."
Vegeta sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"I'll take it."
"Hmph." Chi Chi scowled before turning away and walking out the door, giving him one last intimidating look before walking down the sidewalk and merging with the afternoon shoppers.
Raditz and Nappa stared at Vegeta dumbly.
"What the hell was that all about?" Raditz cried out.
Vegeta tossed the card stock towards them, where it landed on the other side of his desk, and Raditz picked it up.
"There's a car show tonight, and I have to go." Vegeta put his arms behind his head and stared out the wall of windows with agitation. "Bulma's competing." He'd had no idea. She'd never said anything. How much else was he missing, buried in all this work? How much else was he missing just by virtue of who he was?
"Whipped," Raditz trilled, high-fiving Nappa.
Vegeta launched across his desk and grabbed for Raditz' shirt collar, only narrowly missing when Raditz squealed and fell backwards in his chair.