Welcome to the jungle, folks. I have returned your lemon to you, at the beginning of an additional, new chapter. Let me know what you think, if it's fluid, etc. ;T.T Long sexy scenes are nerve-wracking.
Hookups now boasts its very own cover art, thanks to a fantastic fan!
Thanks for following, everyone!
Bulma's wayward curls were tossed around lightly by the cool breeze which ribboned across a balcony that overlooked West City.
She turned her eyes on him, and the lights of her very favorite city gleamed in them. "It's beautiful!"
Vegeta and Bulma watched the horizon together, listening to traffic, the cars inching below their feet, and surveyed the cityscape, buildings reaching for the sky alight around them.
Bulma shivered but continued to peer over the edge. "It's getting cooler. Summer's ending." She sighed. "Soon it will be snowing." She startled as she felt something brush her back. Vegeta had placed his suit jacket over her shoulders and was peering out over the world as if nothing had happened.
She grabbed the lapels and drew them close.
"So your first week of work went off without a hitch?" She turned toward him, leaning her back against the rail, palms on the cool metal.
"I think I've slept only a few hours all week." He regarded her then with tired eyes. "But the staff has gotten into the swing of things, and we already have a few cases."
Her eyebrow rose. "People waiting in the wings for you?" With Vegeta's work pace? Color her unsurprised.
"It would seem like it." He gazed at the landscape measuredly. "Two of them were clients of my father's who jumped ship."
"That must feel good."
"It won't feel good until he's ruined."
She watched him, the breeze ruffling his hair as he scrutinized the horizon for answers. She understood that Vejeta Senior deserved no good will, but her eyebrows furrowed, concern for what was festering inside Vegeta, fueling his already relentless work pace.
"Let's go inside," she suggested, walking through the threshold of the opened sliding glass door.
She stepped through the room, eyeing it with wonder all over again. It was a very beautiful penthouse, spacious, gleaming with wood floors and boasting an immense bed on a deep oak frame. Her heels clacked as she closed in on the bathroom, spying both a hot tub and a shower, the familiar marks of excess in suites like these.
"It's a shame this is temporary; I could live like this on the daily. You really outdid yourself," she said, turning back to him with a grin.
And startled when he was right behind her.
His lips found hers without preamble, sweet with champagne, but light and chaste—a punches-pulled type of kiss that Vegeta didn't give out often. Quick, and innocent, but heavy with depth unvoiced.
"Thank you for coming," he murmured, his shadowed eyes finding hers. He hadn't yet closed the balcony door, and outside idled the sounds of the night, the breeze soughing through the doorway.
"I understood why you asked me to come," she admitted, meeting his eyes. "I was happy to help."
With arms crossed, she shyly toed the carpet. Vegeta must have felt it, too, the way the playing field had shifted, and so he stood with his hands in his pants pockets, his jaw taut, and she watched him as he struggled to say something.
"I didn't ask you to come for the benefit of others," he finally admitted, scowling with the need to confess and the frustration of not wanting to appear foolish by admitting...you know, feelings. "I wanted you there because I'm selfish. Not for them," he asserted roughly. "For me."
Her finger curled and brushed against his smooth cheek, and he startled. He had such a beautiful face, and despite all his posturing when they first met she didn't think he was really aware of it. Though its bone structure was wholly masculine, jutting cheekbones above a strong jaw, five-o-clock shadow just easing in, his long, full lashes and honeyed skin were at odds with his cold sensibility. The contradictions of a man written plainly on his face.
Her arms snaked up around his neck, and she gently pressed herself into him, resting her cheek on his chest and stilling. She just breathed him in. His scent comforted her, underlying a strength and a masculinity that were his and his alone. She let out a breath, rubbing her cheek lightly against his shirt, silken against her face. After a moment, Vegeta's own hands lifted from his pockets and found purchase around her waist, drawing her in closer, resting his chin on the top of her head.
Had she ever been this fully content without him? This full of, of…of deep tenderness for someone? Though she thought she'd been happy enough as a single lady, she'd never felt this sense of completion before, the way a circle must feel when it completes its cycle and begins again on the well loved, familiar tracks of its body. Though she'd had an intimate relationship before, and though she'd cared for him as much as any green, wide-eyed girl does for her first boyfriend, she'd never felt this fulfillment before, this sense of exchange met. In Vegeta's arms, she felt safe and accepted. Was this love? Was it this profound, quiet satisfaction, this visceral understanding?
Softly, his hands moved from her waist, upwards, until they were rounding her shoulders and pushing off his jacket with it. The suit jacket fell to the carpet softly, and he gripped her shoulders finally, round and warm and smooth in his rough palms.
Her head turned up slightly, just enough for her to inhale him there at the sharp underside of his jaw. Her mouth parted to breathe him deep into her belly, to taste the salt and truth of him.
He allowed her tongue to graze his skin, trail softly up his jawline. Without thinking, she bit the tender skin there softly, and he tightened his hold on her.
Vegeta just held held her close, rubbing her neck absently and dragging his face against her hair before his lips settled against her temple. His chest rose and fell against her face, passing the time tranquilly, until his fingers punctured the lull, reaching out to her, turning her head to the side with his thumb and forefinger under her chin to place a kiss on the apple of her cheek. And then one at the curl of her ear, open mouthed. His hot breath hit her ear and her skin prickled involuntarily.
His hands dipped into the hair at her neck, expertly unpinning the coif at her nape and tossing the bobby pins devil-knew-where, sinking his hand into the mass of loose curls with a sigh.
She ran her hands up his arms, thick and corded under crisp cotton. Bulma smiled up at him, eyes twinkling. "So I guess your plan is to make out in a hotel room like a couple of kids on prom night, huh?" Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, quickly and adeptly drawing them through the buttonholes, beginning at the very top of his neck and assuredly plummeting down.
"Maybe I'll even get to second base tonight." His voice was low, teasing, and he sent her a dark look from under his eyelashes that sent her belly flopping. A slow laugh tumbled out of her nervously.
With a mind of its own, her other hand skimmed up his smooth chest and toyed with the hair at the back of his neck as she worked the last of the buttons through their holes.
There was something she couldn't quite put her finger on about Vegeta tonight. Was it rare tenderness, an acceptance, even, of his feelings for her? His hands reached up to grip her face, his thumbs rubbing at her temples with nervous energy, until they slipped into her hair, his nails dragging lazily across her scalp. She inhaled sharply through her nose. Her fingers had finished freeing the last button and she tugged his shirt tail out from his pants, because all she knew for certain in that moment was that she needed to be skin to skin with this man, to feel his bare chest press against her own, hot and smooth and wide.
He combed his fingers through the curls tumbling at her shoulders before capturing them whole and tugging her head back to, inescapably, run his teeth over her neck.
But still her hands were tugging at his shirt hem rebelliously, and it didn't take but a second for her to palm his compact stomach over his undershirt, skimming her hands up the ridges of his abs and out toward his shoulders, where they knocked his shirt off his wide shoulders and drag it the rest of the way off him, nails scraping his skin.
But Vegeta took a step back. Watching her, he grabbed at his t-shirt collar at the back of his neck, pulling the undershirt up his back and over his head. Bulma watched with a skipping pulse. He was all silky skin and rippling muscles as he threw the undershirt to the floor, the arch of his hair righting itself as he turned to meet her eyes again, tauntingly.
She was used to the explosive lust they shared between them, of being pinned to her desk after hours or thrown onto her back against a car, the crotch of her underwear ripped to the side as his fingers worked between her legs. She couldn't really explain what was between them, only that it was, and that it never stopped throbbing.
What neither of them had been expecting was this something more, this more that made the thing between them tonight heavier and more electric.
"Stop it," he commanded.
Her brow arched. "Stop what exactly?"
"Thinking. Not tonight," he complained, and grabbed her wrist to yank her close. She caught herself against silky skin, sliding her palms on hard chest. With a mind of their own, her fingertips trailed down his tight stomach, palms flared out to run along hard hips, thickly muscled.
"I should call for dinner," she interrupted with regret, the words forming against his mouth as he dipped his head to kiss her.
She wasn't stalling, she told herself a little too enthusiastically, though Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.
"Call them," he replied softly, retracting his hands from her.
Bulma made her way self-consciously to the desk in the corner of the room, a small lamp glowing beside the phone. She raised her foot behind her and worked her heel off with her fingertips as she picked the phone up from its cradle, searching for the number to the kitchen. A staff member answered genially as she toed the other one off. Steak or grilled salmon, basmati rice or buttered noodles, and as she confirmed all of it, she felt a presence descend over her. The back of her dress was suddenly tighter as she felt Vegeta's fingers pluck the head of the zipper and begin to pull down slowly. She was agreeing to a bottle of wine by the time the zipper hit the small of her back, and she managed to choke out "cheesecake" and hurry the phone back into its cradle as Vegeta tilted her head from behind with his long fingers, placing his lips against her neck, thoughtfully, one after the other.
"I almost hate to take it off," he admitted in her ear, easing his fingertips between the dress bust and her skin, working it off her breasts with absorption.
It slid with some protest over her chest, and Vegeta must have been watching, anticipating it, because she heard his sharp inhalation as her breasts bounced free of the blue satin. She was a woman who slung wrenches all day, and it wasn't the kind of lifestyle that encouraged beautiful undergarments or manicures. Poor guy never gets any lingerie-action. Except tonight. The dress slid down her waist to rest at her hips, revealing the delicate lace push-up bra beneath. The cups were shallow enough that the scalloped edge stopped right under the tops of her pink nipples, and Vegeta carefully, oh so carefully, slid his hands over them, biting his teeth at the contrary feel against his palms of lace leaving soft, warm skin.
There was a knock at the door, and a snarl was ripped from Vegeta's throat. He quickly fixed her dress, zipping her adeptly in a matter of seconds before heading toward the door and leaving her dazed.
The door opened to a cart loaded full of food, and she took a few shaky steps forward as the server unloaded their dishes onto a table. When the door shut behind the man, Bulma's stomach complained. Loudly.
"Would you like to eat now?" Vegeta growled, though he didn't sound like he'd take very kindly to one answer specifically.
She sniggered. "I told you, I haven't eaten all evening. Don't care to wait?"
"Not particularly, no." His eyes dipped down her form, raking her legs and the juncture between them on their way back up, and she blushed.
He settled himself on the bed with a sigh then, sitting with his feet flat on the floor, glancing at the food before making up his mind and gesturing to her. "Come here," he ordered.
She padded slowly to him. Elbows on his knees, bare stomach and the ridges of his sides cast in shadows, he watched her with his chin resting on his knuckles.
He reached out for her as she neared, gripping her hips solidly before trailing his hands upward, dipping in at the small of her waist and widening back out at her bust as though tracing her silhouette. This time, he didn't take his time with the zipper. He watched her, daring her to object, and there was nothing smooth about his gaze, barbed and smoky and barely restrained.
But once the zipper hit its end, Bulma took a risk and stepped back, and then another step, just out of reach, so that his hands fell from her sides to dangle between his legs. Her mouth slanted wryly at Vegeta as he frowned in disapproval.
Okay, here goes my strip tease. She tucked her thumbs into the sides of the garment and pushed it slowly off her body. It took just a bit of wiggling to get it off her hips, but it was worth it, feeling the weight of Vegeta's gaze on her, riveted as if he would miss it all if he even blinked. Once the dress began sliding off her hips, she hesitantly bent to push it past her knees, where it pooled at her feet. Vegeta watched the swell of her breasts as she bent forward, and then, as she straightened, they fastened on the scrap of lace that her stylist assured her were panties. She didn't miss the shaky, forceful breath he emitted as he reached out for her, and she let him grab her hips and draw her close.
He put his parted lips to her soft belly, one small kiss warm in the cool night. And another, at her ribs, and another at the center of her where her breasts met. That's when she felt his fingernails drag across her hips and hook under the lacy panty, gripping it in both fists. He looked up at her, his eyes molten mahogany, his hair almost chestnut in the soft light. He buried his nose into her belly without breaking eye contact, and she didn't have much room to think as he slowly, gracefully, slid from the bed onto his knees, dragging his mouth down her stomach along with him.
The shock of his hot mouth as his tongue leapt out, dragging across the string of her panties, tracing the slight marks it had left in her skin. And then he grabbed it delicately with his teeth, pulled back, and let go. The elastic snapped back against her skin, a soft bite, and she let out a gush of air between her lips.
His hands retreated from her hips and found purchase on her thighs, above the knees, shapely and solid from the constant lifting required of her profession. His thumbs slicked their way up and found the plush swell of her inner thighs. And then taste-tested her there, his hot tongue roaming upwards experimentally.
She sucked in breath, her belly clenching as she watched him. He was all broad shoulders, divots where the round cuff of his shoulder met his neck. His back was wide and rippling with muscle under his skin like a wild cat, the muscles that stretched down the length of his back to his rear flexing and uncoiling each time his lips found their home on her thighs. She combed her fingers through his hair, and a sigh escaped from her throat.
They had done this many, many times, and yet Bulma felt like it was their first time. Not the awkward performance that sex was the very first time, but the first bolt of honest-to-goodness desire that a person comfortably feels with another. Their intimacy was usually fast-paced and uncontrolled, she was embarrassed to admit, although she might argue that Vegeta had, at least, a tenuous hold on his shred of humanity in the bedroom, clinging desperately onto his control if only to use it to tease and taunt her. But there were no rules here in this moment; everything was happening as slow, unconfined, and as compelling as if they were under water.
Vegeta's hands slid around to her backside, a caress, before his hands filled up with her ass, kissing her open-mouthed one last time at the innermost part of her thigh—causing her to tighten with anticipation—and then slowly, deliberately, traced his tongue up her lips through the scrap of lace that separated the two of them.
She choked, her body curling in to him for a moment as she stood on weakening knees. Vegeta stood to lay her on the bed and she barely noticed, instead reaching for him, coveting him, wanting to feel that solid, flushed, heavy strength pressing into her.
The room, the world, ran down and away like rain on a windowpane. No thought given to who they were today, to tomorrow, to the hum of people going about their business nine stories below them. She couldn't even tell if they were necessarily two distinct people—only two mouths, four hands, the heartbeat racing inside and against their chest.
She buried her fingers in his thick hair as his mouth found her slender neck again, but this time, it wasn't so constrained. His mouth was scorching against her skin, open wide now and tasting her, and she arched involuntarily into it, her body coiling like a spring with each kiss, until he'd worked himself down to her chest, to the creamy expanse under her collar.
She could see him watch her chest heave, her breasts tight against the black lace, and he closed the distance leisurely, until his teeth closed around the tip of her peaked nipple through the lace and she sucked in air. He shifted his body without releasing the flesh he'd captured in his mouth, gently nudged her legs apart with his hand. A sound escaped her, and as if he were waiting for just the right moment to act, his fingers glided under the slip of her underwear, sliding down the front scrap with the backs of his knuckles until they met her soft, damp lips.
"Vegeta," she cried brokenly, and he stiffened, trying to keep it all together.
He straightened above her then, watching her writhe on the bed below him. She was creamy and pale in the subdued light, black lace both exposing and withholding from him her most private parts, hair splayed out behind her as she watched him with parted, kiss-swollen lips and wild eyes. Her thighs, milky and pliant, scissored together with need.
He had never felt so grateful to be so out of control.
"Get back over here, jerk," she croaked, taut like a plucked string yearning for more of the music his fingers played of her body. She propped herself up on her palms, watching him with smoky, heavy-lidded eyes, her cheekbones harsh in the half light.
He smoothly slid the belt from his belt loops, and something about the way he adeptly used his fingers to do it caused her knees to squeeze together. He yanked the button free, and they came unfastened, sagging to the sides as he deftly, but slowly, unzipped his trousers. They slid down softly, the pants loosely gathering on his hips, and then he put his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed.
Bulma lost her breath as he straightened, delicately licking her lips as his member, hard and thick, sprang free.
He crawled to her, tugging her panties down in one swift movement with his fist to discard them halfway down her thighs. Smoothly, he slid his shoulder under the backside of her knees and pushed, angling her hips and what lay between her legs up towards the heavens. He only wanted to taste it for a minute, only for a minute, only just for a minute as he put his lips around her and sucked lightly, earning a strangled gasp from him or her he couldn't tell. He reached with one hand and grasped the panties that held her legs together, sliding them the rest of the way down her calves to fall to the floor silently. Parting her knees wide, then, just to see her thighs open for him, soft and supple and quivering under his mouth. Her hips writhed on the sheets, and he thrust his arms under her thighs, pressing his fingertips mercilessly into them from above, his biceps flexing under her. He licked languidly up the cleft of her, drawing out a gasp, but she thrust up into his mouth anyway. He buried his face into her then, violently inhaling the scent of her, rubbing his nose against the soft, damp folds and dragging his teeth tenderly over the flesh there.
In the blink of an eye he was leaning his weight onto his palm above her, dragging his knuckles up the slick core of her as he did it with a hiss as his reward. Vegeta tucked his hands under her head, taming the wild tendrils clinging to her damp skin with his palms, and kissed her, finally, truly kissed her, opening her mouth and seeking to know her taste, her tongue and teeth, her secrets.
As he sucked on her lower lip until it was fat with need, her errant hands, which had settled so far for grasping the sheets around her, finally braced his head, pressing his mouth harder into hers. He slid his hands underneath her shoulders to unhook her bra, and he tugged it out from underneath her, chucking it with only one desire.
His body cut smoothly between her legs, parting her, and their mouth found the other's once again, hands tangled in the other's hair, until Bulma let out a soft cry as she felt the hot, velvety tip of his member drag against her.
He didn't force himself in just yet: just nudging her softly at her entrance, encouraging her to open. Her mouth roamed over his with abandon, and just as her fingertips slid down his broad, flat neck to trail across his back, her opening stretched to accommodate him, and he sunk slowly, deeply, into her.
They caught their breaths as he sank in fully, paralyzed by the pressure and the heat of the other. She panted shallowly into his mouth for a timeless moment, content to just be connected, at the hips, at their lips, as their chests heaved against the others.
Finally, Vegeta shifted his hips back, earning a hiss from them both, so he plunged back in to compensate. Bulma impatiently clapped her hands over Vegeta's cheeks and guided him back inside her with her hips, and he was quick to please. He fell onto his elbows, hitching her hips off the bed, and then devoured her mouth.
He began pumping his hips in earnest, then, experimenting to find exactly at what angle she wanted it until he could oblige her, rolling his hips into hers until she was crying out through her teeth. Her knees braced his sides, the insides of her legs silky against his hips. Her hands fell heavily to the sides of her head to tangle in her own hair. She was so hot, goddamnet, so sopping fucking wet, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck as he thrust in to her to pull almost all the way out, and again, until she was snarling, grabbing his hips and yanking him into her.
He clutched her tight and rolled them onto his back, but she didn't even blink. The second they'd stopped turning she was rolling her hips against his, grinding into him, and he was the one to cry out this time. She caught herself on her palms as she fell forward, her fingers gripping his biceps as she worked him, churning her hips, the hair at the juncture of their hips grating against the others. Their skin gleamed in the half light, slick with sweat, and his hands gathered up her curls and flipped them over her shoulder before sliding his palms across her damp temples reverently.
Her lips parted, quirked at the corner as she watched him. It twisted her face into something sinister, and there was something about watching those lips crook with wretched delight, her skin luminous with perspiration and the oh so tight fucking slit he was now driving into that had him feeling like he was falling forward, arms wide as he embraced the descent. He bucked into her, driving her hips down into his with a hard grip, watching her breasts rebound, her mouth open in sweet anguish. She was beginning to tremor around him, her elbows weakening with the weight of holding herself up as it rocked her, and he drove into her faster, harder, grabbing out for her and clutching her to his chest to feel her slick skin and her ragged breath on him, as her husky voice cried out into his ear and he fought to keep a steady pace but failed, hammering into her without restraint until he was both spilling into her and crushing his lips to hers.
And then he was melting into the sheets, limbs pooling out beneath him with exhaustion. She had already sagged against him, burrowing into his chest. He watched the ceiling without awareness.
"I don't want this night to end," he heard her murmur from his armpit.
"You don't have to let it," he promised, clutching her. "Even if we have nothing else," he whispered against her hair. "This is ours."
"…Well, that, and we still haven't eaten dinner."
"That, too."
"And then, when I woke up, he was gone."
Bulma's head sank into her limply folded arms on the dining room table. Chi Chi slid the potatoes with a spatula onto Bulma's plate, watching her friend with a troubled frown.
"I just don't understand," Chi Chi mused, holding the cast iron skillet with a moue. "What kind of man fucks you like that and then ditches you at the hotel?"
"Mine," came her friend's muffled voice forlornly.
"Well…." Chi Chi started garnishing the cheeseburgers (including the extra onions) she'd made Bulma for dinner. "I guess he'll call you when he can."
Bulma scowled, straightening and kicking the leg of the chair next to her. "Shyeah," she snorted. "Whenever he 'gets' time. That could be from here to next month!"
Chi Chi placed the burger in front of Bulma and sighed, watching Bulma angrily squirt ketchup all over it and impale her potatoes on her fork. "I'm so mad I don't even know if I'll bother picking up the phone when he does call." Bulma knocked back her chocolate milk and glared at her plate.
Chi Chi couldn't blame her.
She'd received a phone call earlier that day from her dearest friend, who was…
Sniffling.
"Cheech," Bulma had said shakily. "Can I come over later?"
Chi Chi's hands had stilled over the keyboard, and she pressed the phone harder to her ear.
"Bulma, what's wrong?" She asked with deadly focus.
"Um, I need to talk."
Throughout Chi Chi's office, alarms might as well have began their blaring, emergency lights wheeling and bathing her office in red.
"What. Happened." She bit out.
And Chi Chi had both expected and still been stunned to hear Bulma's small voice answer: "It's about Vegeta."
Chi Chi could plainly see that her friend had, for better or worse, fallen in love. She'd counted on Bulma responding to something like this by just getting angry, really, really angry, or blowing it off when Vegeta had left her at a hotel room with only a handwritten note to make up for his absence. Bulma was pretty relaxed and understanding with Chi Chi and the rest of the gang. Even Goku, who loved everybody wholly and equally, was still going on about how great Bulma was since she had fixed the very extensive laundry list of problems his Ford Escort was having and only charged him for parts.
Except, as Chi Chi would soon discover, Vegeta's unfortunate gesture was after a very romantic night, and the note itself had been the equivalent to a "brb in a few weeks."
Bulma had been moping since she'd woken up to a cold bed on Sunday, crying into her rubber mallet and needle nose pliers all Monday as she tried to piece together a transmission with shaky hands. She'd hung up the 'Closed' sign promptly at 4 and arrived at Chi Chi's with twin track marks made by her tears on her greasy face before collapsing face down into Chi Chi's couch with a sob.
She'd only gotten the story once she'd pried the note from Bulma's fingers.
Chi Chi cleared her throat as she watched Bulma rip her hamburger into little shreds, occasionally popping one into her mouth and chewing angrily. Talking it out had at least taken Bulma from wreck-levels-of-dejection to fuming wrath.
"So," Chi Chi said firmly. "Vegeta had an unexpected and urgent work trip. He will call you soon." She paused for effect. "…You'll survive."
Chi Chi could admit she was coming off a little callous. But she'd been suspicious of Vegeta's motives, or at least his commitment, since the beginning, and she wasn't afraid to tell anyone that. It was hard to sympathize with Bulma when the man she'd chosen was a first class bastard. He'd made an enemy out of Chi Chi when he'd threatened her Goku, and now, as far as Chi Chi was concerned, she and Vegeta had been elevated to arch enemies.
But Chi Chi was hoping that her aloof approach would strengthen Bulma and make her practical and self-reliant friend perk up in no time. Chi Chi was furious—the guy had basically done a dine-and-dash on her friend—but she was concerned most with protecting Bulma. And that meant getting her over it. Now.
"You don't get it!" Bulma yelled into her plate. "He never told me, never indicated he had somewhere else to be. He just left. The tab had been paid, a note was left—"
I'll be traveling the next few weeks for work. Will call or text when I can. Use your key. Vegeta
"— with no apology or consideration for how I might feel about waking up alone. We've been through this," she muttered indignantly under her breath, "last time we talked about the 'boyfriend' word. I thought he was working on being more considering of my feelings. What the fuck." Bulma's head fell hard into her palm, and she fixed the note in her lap—now becoming well-worn, imprinted with greasy fingerprints—with a look of burning hatred.
"Okay. So worst case scenario," Chi Chi began, trying to keep her voice smooth, "Vegeta bailed on you."
A muffled sob escaped from under the wild blue curls across the table.
"Did he realize halfway into, into making love to me, that I wasn't good in bed or something?" Bulma squeaked. "I thought," she choked, "that we were past this."
Chi Chi hurried to turn the mood. "But that's a slim possibility, right? You've had no other indication that Vegeta wanted to break things off. So we can only assume Vegeta, in true Vegeta fashion," Chi Chi said sarcastically, "was just insensitive and didn't realize that human beings normally tell each other these kinds of things in advance. He'll eventually call, and everything will be howdy-do, and then you just wait for the dumb ass to get home so you can set him straight. Right?"
Bulma didn't budge. Chi Chi stood, sighing, leaning over to refill Bulma's glass of chocolate milk and pat her back supportively.
"I think that's likely what happened," she assured Bulma one more time.
"It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't make me question what I did wrong, I guess," Bulma admitted with some weariness. "It makes me feel inadequate, or taken advantage of. I just wouldn't have ever expected this behavior after the night we had. It was the most romantic night of my life," she admitted roughly. "He gave me goo-goo eyes all night. I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world! And then after we, you know, we ate a delicious dinner, and we tried out the hot tub, and well, you know, and—" her voice broke, and Chi Chi struggled not to roll her eyes with impatience—"and after we shared a bottle of wine and watched tv, I fell asleep wrapped in his arms. And he told me, he told me that he looked forward to doing this again—" Bulma startled Chi Chi by rapping her fist on the table. "I mean, the man rented a penthouse and I didn't even get the chance to jump on the bed!"
Chi Chi's mouth slanted wryly.
The girls turned when there was a sound at the door. There was the sound of a key in the lock, the knob turned, and then Goku's face was smiling back at them.
"Hey, you two!" He shut the door behind him, setting his brief case happily on the table inside the door. His face fell with concern. "Is something wrong?"
"Goku," Bulma inquired, eyes red with two days of misery, though her eyebrows were starting to draw angrily down around them. "I need to ask you a personal question."
Goku immediately looked uncomfortable, approaching the women cautiously. "Uh, okay."
"If you and Chi Chi rented a hotel room and had a night of, well, you know." She looked at Chi Chi for help. "A real sexy, wonderful night. A night of debauchery."
"Like when we went to North City that weekend," Chi Chi offered.
Goku's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."
"Yeah. Say you had to leave the next day to go on a business trip. Would you have left the next morning without telling Chi Chi? Just, not discussed it with her? Not even told her goodbye?"
"No, of course not. Chi Chi would kill me."
Chi Chi nodded in agreement while Bulma's scowl deepened. She turned to Chi Chi. "I think I need to make Vegeta more afraid of me," she snarled.
Chi Chi hoped she'd get the chance.
She scooted a cheeseburger toward Goku, who slipped into the seat across from her and immediately began putting it in his mouth. Once he'd gulped down half the cheeseburger, he looked back up between the women. "Isn't this Bulma's favorite dinner? I mean, tied with waffles."
The two women shared a look.
"Chi Chi made me dinner because I had kind of a bad day," Bulma explained tentatively. "Goku," she interjected, suddenly fierce, "has Vegeta ever had a romantic relationship before?"
Goku's eyes widened. "Uh." He squirmed. Both women were staring at him with scary attentiveness as they puzzled something out, waiting on his answer before drawing their conclusion. "I've been working there about four years now, and I don't think I've ever seen him with another woman that wasn't a client or an employee. He's usually, you know, just interested in being by himself…" He watched the women, hoping that had been the right answer.
The women shared another conspiratorial look.
Bulma leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Do you think he's capable of having a romantic relationship?"
Goku choked on his burger.
"Based on how the man interacts with everyone at work," Chi Chi added supportively, "or what you've seen of him when he's out and about with the Two Stooges."
Bulma watched him with predatory attention.
Goku could have sworn he felt a trickle of sweat begin its descent down his temple.
"Well, he doesn't really seem like much of a people person," he managed, "and I've never seen him with any girlfriends or anything. He might have flirted with someone when we were at Czar Bar once—"
The way Bulma looked like she was about to erupt into flames told him that was the wrong answer.
He laughed nervously. "I mean, I doubt anything came of it. And that was a couple years ago. He just doesn't have much patience at work with anyone. He doesn't share his life with us or anything." He looked back and forth between them. "Is that the right answer?"
Bulma sighed, leaning back into her chair, looking collected for the first time since she'd arrived. "Goku, look. Vegeta and I had a really lovely Saturday night at a beautiful hotel. If you know what I mean." She peered at him uncertainly. Goku nodded innocently. Sometimes she didn't know how sex between Goku and Cheech worked sometimes. He was just such a friendly, guileless guy that it didn't seem possible he could have ardor and passions. …Did Chi Chi have to drug him to get him to participate? "Then, when I woke up in the morning, he was gone, and he'd left a note saying he had a business trip and he'd talk to me soon," she explained straightforwardly. "What do you make of that?"
Goku's eyes widened. "He didn't tell you in advance he was leaving?"
"No!" Bulma hollered, her boots hitting the kitchen floor loudly as she straightened and leaned forward murderously. "No indication he had plans. He was gone before I woke up."
Goku frowned, biting the last of his cheeseburger and chewing thoughtfully. "You know," Goku supplied finally, "I think Vegeta really likes you. He's not interested in being with any of us the way he is you." Bulma's eyes widened with the admission as Goku continued to puzzle it out. "I think, most likely, he didn't think it was that big of a deal. He did leave you a note. I wouldn't have gotten a note. I doubt he thought you'd react this way. You're pretty level-headed, he probably thought you'd be understanding. And the trip was probably something important. Vegeta has a habit of getting blinders on when it's something work related." Goku sucked the grease off his fingers and then wiped them on his cloth napkin. "I wouldn't worry about it."
Bulma stared at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.
"You know what," she finally said, mostly to herself. "I think you're probably right. He didn't mean to hurt my feelings. He just had work to do. That seems very appropriately Vegeta."
Bulma sent Chi Chi one last glance and then speared her potatoes.
"Well, I guess all you can do is wait for him to call," Chi Chi submitted uncertainly.
"Oh, no," Bulma said through a mouth full of cheeseburger. "Oh, ho ho ho ho," she laughed low and maniacally. "That man doesn't get to talk to me until he comes back. And then I'll be the one 'talking' to him."
Chi Chi met Goku's wide eyes with apprehension.
Vegeta allowed himself to look up at the front of the brick apartment complex for only a moment before dashing up the front steps. The bottom of his coat flicked around his knees in the cool, dry evening, autumn already spreading over North City.
This was his last lead, and if it was a dead end like the others, he'd return to his hotel for the day and go ahead and give Bulma a call to let her know he'd arrived safely. Which was probably belated, as it was Friday, and he had yet to get in touch with her. For whatever reason, he didn't want to report back to Bulma without a solid yes or no answer. But this was one of many attempts this week to get what he'd come for, and he was beginning to lose his original motivation.
Vegeta took the elevator impatiently, and the doors opened with painful slowness at the sixth floor. He strode down the hall, clutching a small paper with the number '623' scrawled on it.
The door seemed to appear out of nowhere as he passed it, and he came to a sharp halt. Though his hand stuttered as he went to rap on the door with his knuckles, he fortified himself, knocking firmly.
He waited, unable to hear anything from behind the door, the corner of his mouth dipping south at the prolonged silence. He considered calling the whole debacle quits when there were hurried steps from inside and all the sounds of someone fumbling with a lock.
The door finally opened upon a short, willowy man in a button-up plaid shirt. "Hello? What can I do for you?" A woman's homely face peered over the man's shoulder quizzically.
"Tarble?" Vegeta asked uncertainly.