Oh God! I am so sorry for this inexcusable posting delay! I had a hard time writing this one, bit by bit each evening after work and after the children's bedtime routine to finally erase everything and start all over again :'(
I'm publishing it today even though I'm not completely satisfied with how it turned out, because if I don't do it right away, it'll end up driving me crazy! Maybe I'll edit it later... just to satisfy the perfectionist in me!
I hope you like it, and above all, don't hesitate to leave comments (good or bad, I take them all 😀)
Enjoy xx
Chapter 14 – Bulma
Bulma's heart was beating furiously in her chest and right now, it was impossible for her to know what the reason was. Anger? Impatience? Fear? Or was it the mere fact of his presence?
It was hard to say.
The monkey-tailed man had been staring at her for a long time. Standing with her hand outstretched in front of her, the young woman could feel that unpleasant feeling of rejection sticking to her skin as it became more and more obvious that the handshake she offered would be ignored. He looked at her, completely impassive, letting her gradually sink into an uneasiness growing with each passing second.
The events of the last few days had given Bulma many reasons to hate this man whose name was still unknown. Besides, the simple sight of his face and the condescending look he constantly displayed was enough to make her furious. She officially held him responsible for her recent misfortunes and judged that he did not deserve all the attention she had given him the day before. Despite this, Bulma, driven by this strange call that he inspired in her, had found the strength to provide him with the care he required. And that morning, after finding him recklessly trying to get up, the same feeling had arisen. It was the same curiosity, the same inexplicable desire that had made her turn to reach out, hoping to learn a little more about him.
A desire he apparently did not share.
"How long are you going to stay there?" he asked, openly mocking her.
The shadow of a smirk quietly formed on the Saiyan's mouth and Bulma felt her cheeks burn. She took a step forward to get closer, making sure to keep her hand outstretched in his direction.
"When someone offer you their hand like that, you're supposed to shake it." she said. "Just so we get to know each other. It's a simple rule of politeness for us, Humans. Since you did not abide, I conclude that you are ignorant of our customs. Or... I don't know... maybe you're just rude."
She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
"I guess the first option is the right one." she concluded, hoping that he would finally agree to introduce himself to her.
The man raised an eyebrow and glanced at her hand. Then he brought his dark eyes back into hers.
"I propose a third option." he said in a low voice.
His half-smile stretched, and Bulma felt her heart speed up in her chest.
"I just don't want to meet you, women. Now change these bandages and get this over with."
And with these words being said, he laid down on the examination table, adjusted the positioning of the backrest and made himself comfortable, taking good care to ignore her and her hand vainly outstretched in the air.
Bulma opened her mouth in shock. She was unable to utter a single word, the soldier's rude attitude having shut her up. What a fucking idiot! Not only had he just rejected her, but he also ordered her to change his bandages, all that with the most obnoxious casualness possible. What did he think she was? A servant? A slave? After everything she had endured in the past days, because of him, and after everything she had done for him, how dared he disrespect her like he just did?
Dismayed, the young woman abruptly withdrew her hand and clenched her fists at her sides, trying very hard not to succumb the urge to give him a good slap on the back of the head. She raised her chin proudly to reply.
"I was just trying to be NICE to you, but apparently, it's wasted effort since this word isn't part of your vocabulary." she said before turning on her heels.
She furiously headed towards the back of the room to gather some medical equipment, trying to calm down. She then returned to his bedside and abruptly placed the tray of clean dressings next to him. Lips pursed in displeasure, she disposed of her materials, and paused before starting to work.
She looked up at him and saw that he was scrutinizing her in a funny way. His eyebrows were knitted and thankfully, the smirk was gone. He looked perplexed.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" she spat, furious.
"You really have a bad temper." he announced flatly.
"Hmph! And you, your temper, do you want to talk about it?" she said stubbornly. "You could at least say please."
He arched one of his eyebrows.
"Why?"
"Because I am not your servant, and I deserve to be treated with politeness."
He blew air through his nostrils, apparently amused by her combative attitude.
"You'll have to get used to it, woman. Because that's not how these things work here."
"My name is Bulma." she repeated, crossing her arms firmly under her chest.
The man remained silent for a few seconds, but as she refused to move, he finally spoke after taking a long breath through his nose.
"Bulma." he breathed without taking care of hiding his impatience. "I think you have to be reminded of a thing or two. You live here now, on the Imperial ship. You must do the work assigned to you. And I guess there's no point in informing you that we have very little tolerance for recalcitrance Me, in particular. So, you better get on with it, because I have better things to do than small talk with a weak Human like you."
"Do my job without complaining, eh?" she replied immediately.
She locked his eyes with him and leaned down to make sure he'd understand she would not be intimidated by his threats. She was so close to him now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and her heart rate increased another notch.
"Who are you going to complain to if I don't obey as you wish? To the one who did this to you?" she asked, pointing to his wounds with a sharp movement of her head.
Hearing her last sentence, the Saiyan's pupils contracted. She had certainly struck a chord by reminding him that the rules he was advocating came from the same person who had broken his bones. And as if to confirm her doubts, the man clenched his jaw before grunting and abruptly breaking eye contact. He took the tray of dressings she had brought and grabbed the scissors. A grimace distorted his face as he struggled to lift the white t-shirt he was wearing to gain better access to the bloodstained bandage covering his torso. He began clumsily cutting it to remove it. Bulma watched him do it for a few seconds, stunned. He was so stubborn about not giving her what she wanted, he was willing to do the work himself.
What a mule headed bastard!
"Stop being such an idiot." she spat, snatching the scissors from his hands.
She sighed as theatrically as possible to display her annoyance, then put on clean gloves before cutting the bandage herself. He stiffened as she brought her hands closer, but he let her. He observed her for a moment with that perplexed look he had displayed earlier. He was suspicious, no doubt, but also confused by her changing attitude. Bulma was too, because even after this disastrous exchange they shared, she couldn't shake this strange interest which prevented her from abandoning him to his fate.
So, in complete silence, she began to remove the bandage that covered his damaged skin. The Saiyan simply held his t-shirt up to allow her working freely. After a moment, his muscles relaxed, he closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and let his head fall heavily onto the back of the medical bed.
"How are you this morning?" Bulma asked, trying to keep her voice soft as she tossed the soiled bandage into the trash. "You were in a pretty bad shape yesterday."
She had to be lenient. He was probably still very unwell.
"Leave me alone." he growled, his eyes still closed.
The young woman gritted her teeth and swallowed the scathing retort burning her lips. She preferred to set her sights on her work and began to analyze the enormous wound that crossed the man's torso. The laceration was deep, but the sutures she had made with the help of Idris held together. The blood was still oozing a little, without flowing freely as it had the day before. She could already see that the healing process had begun in certain places. Clearly, this man was not Human, because if that had been the case, he would never have repaired so quickly.
The young woman continued her examination and observed the other injuries. Like a professional taking her work very seriously, she tried not to linger on the contemplation of the soldier's impressive musculature.
But damn… this exercise was a hard one!
Bulging pectorals. Perfectly ripped abs. The indecent trajectory of this characteristic V which led directly under the training shorts…
All of this demanded anything but being ignored!
And it was equally hard not to notice that skin, smooth, warm and magnificently coppery, which only awaited to be caressed. Bulma might be a hardened professional, but she wasn't made of stone. Many times, she was tempted to subtly slide her fingertips over this hypnotizing epidermis and had to bite the inside of her cheek to repress this inappropriate urge.
But that skin beneath her gloved fingers wasn't only a synonym of temptation. Everywhere on the exposed parts of this divine body she wanted to cover with lust, the young woman could also see countless marks of war; scars. Lots of scars. Sometimes old, sometimes more recent, they streaked the surface of his skin, witnessing the hostile past of the soldier who was lying before her.
Contemplating her patient's body with fascination, Bulma understood why the latter was so resistant to pain.
This torture session was definitely not his first.
Troubled, the young woman stopped working for a moment to look at the Saiyan's face. She found him staring at her, his black pupils observing her intently. Bulma recognized that look right away. It was the same one he had placed on her for hours the day before. Although a little less marked by suffering this time, she once again perceived the same intensity which had embarrassed her then. Quickly, an intimacy that was difficult to ignore settled between them and Bulma felt her insides twist in a wonderful way.
"Frieza did this to you." she declared in a neutral tone, trying to ease the tension that was inevitably creeping into her.
He said nothing, staring at her even longer to silently approve her accusation. She turned to her dressing tray and picked up a bottle of saline water.
"How long have you been working for someone who pays you with broken bones?" she asked point blank.
The Saiyan clicked his tongue to show his annoyance.
"Don't ask questions about things you don't understand." he said.
She glanced sideways at him and saw that he still hadn't stopped looking at her.
"And you, don't underestimate people you don't know." she replied.
An arrogant smile appeared once again on the man's thin lips. She managed to ignore him and began to delicately clean the wounds. She had given up hope of establishing a conversation with him when he finally answered.
"I don't work for Frieza. No one forces me to do what I do." he declared proudly.
"Nobody forces you to attack, kill and kidnap the inhabitants of a planet to steal it from them? Hey! You're becoming even more charming than I thought!" she said on a falsely impressed note.
"I didn't think you were so perceptive, Human." he agreed grimly.
It was Bulma's turn to blow air through her nose. He had just piqued her own pride. If only he knew who he was talking to! She might not look like it at the moment, but he had before him the wealthy heiress of Capsule Corp, the most prolific tech company on Earth. With all her qualifications, academic degrees, and prowess in aerospace mechanics, many called her a genius. In general, people tended to admire her, not mock her! The young woman burned with the desire to show off her talents and make him swallow his last words. This man was so arrogant, so sure of himself, that she was tempted to boast about some of her accomplishments to shut him up, even if it put her identity and safety at risk.
Luckily for her, he raised his head to look at her better, and he was the one who spoke first.
"That's what we Saiyans do."
This time, curiosity won out over her desire for vanity. Hearing him mention his people, Bulma forgot about bragging and immediately started thinking about Goku. Questions swirled through her mind. She desperately wanted to know more about these monkey-tailed aliens that she now associated with her best friend. And the pride radiating in the man's voice indicated her the presence of a chink in his impenetrable armor.
It would be easy to exploit his arrogance to get him to talk.
"What do you mean?" she asked in a falsely disinterested tone.
Without surprise, the stingy with words man became talkative.
"Saiyans are very powerful." he revealed. "We seek out valuable planets, and with our natural fighting skills, we take possession of them to sell them at a high price. That's just how we work, and also how we became the most feared warriors in the entire Milky Way."
Bulma, attentive, absorbed every word like a sponge. Already, terms such as "natural fighting talents" explained a lot about Goku.
"You are natural invaders then. And thieves too. Frieza must be happy to have you in his army."
"I prefer referring to my people as conquerors." he defended himself mockingly.
Bulma pursed her lips to contain her disapproval. She decided to change the subject to avoid opposing to him just as he was starting to let his guard down. Naturally, her gaze drifted to the hairy appendage resting on the examining table, right next to the most muscular thigh she had ever seen.
"Idris told me all Saiyans have a monkey tail. Is it useful for anything in particular?" she asked.
The man's gaze darkened. He narrowed his eyes and began to whip the air angrily with said organ.
"It's not a monkey tail." he hissed through his teeth, insulted. "It's a Saiyan tail, or as we say in our language, Ozaruu."
He pronounced the word in a strange way, the syllables rolling differently on his tongue. Bulma felt a shiver run down the back of her neck, his deep, guttural voice calling out to something visceral within her. Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, she turned to look at his face. She desperately wanted to hear more and listen to him speak in his native language to let his words make her shiver again. Briefly, she even imagined what it would be like to feel the low tones of his voice vibrating in the crook of her neck.
And this is how, with a single word spoken in a foreign language, Bulma felt herself losing control again.
Hands hovering above this magnificent body, her heart suddenly beating erratically, she began to think about how this Saiyan would go about courting and conquering her.
She imagined the feeling of his rough hands on her skin. She imagined the warmth of his lips on hers. She thought of his sharp teeth digging into her thigh, and the softness of the fur on his tail against her stomach. And, completely overwhelmed by the perverse ideas that were crossing her mind, she unconsciously bit her lower lip.
The Saiyan, at first insensitive to the obvious desire shining in her blue eyes, noticed this small yet very subtle detail. It was only when he saw her teeth sink into that luscious flesh that his discipline was shaken, and he was betrayed by his black pupils darting furtively towards the woman's half-open mouth.
And suddenly, the atmosphere tensed.
The conversation aiming to extract information from him. His wounds she had to dress. All other caregivers working on the other side of the curtain. Bulma forgot everything. Everything, except this strange connection that had been established at the very beginning, when they first met at the nightclub. A connection that transcended everything, growing even more powerful from one time to the next, betraying the mutual, uncontrollable, inevitable desire existing between them. The situation didn't matter. Their differences didn't matter. Physical temptation always found a way to take over their respective explosive temperaments. The attraction was there, powerful, irrepressible, authentic.
It didn't even need to be named. It was palpable.
Bulma could feel it in her gut thinking about how it would feel to dig her hand into his thick jet black hair. She could feel it on her electrified skin just by imagining the sensation of his hot breath brushing the back of her neck. She could see it in the man's dark eyes and on the tensed muscles of his jaw, a sign that he was suppressing an unwelcomed, but irrepressible feeling. She could even hear it, the sound of their longing breaths breaking the heavy silence that reigned in the room after he said the word in his native tongue.
Bulma couldn't tell how much time they spent looking at each other, both lost in this deep, uncontrollable attraction.
It was Idris's voice that pulled her out of her perverse reveries.
"Everything's fine here?" she asked behind the curtain. "You need any help?"
The young woman jumped as if she had just been caught red-handed.
"Yes!" she replied, her voice a little too loud. "I mean... no! I do not need help."
Idris walked away quickly, and Bulma turned to her medical equipment, clearing her throat loudly. Aware that the Saiyan was still looking at her, she asked the first question crossing her mind. She really had to lighten the atmosphere up and take the conversation to a place where she wouldn't lose her mind.
"What about women?" she asked promptly. "Are they equally strong to the men? Are they fighters?"
The man didn't respond right away, plunging them into a slightly awkward silence Bulma would have preferred to avoid. He then turned his head to look absently at the ceiling, and she was relieved to hear him speak again.
"All Saiyans were warriors, whether they were men or women." he revealed in his deep voice.
He took a deep breath and his muscles relaxed. Bulma forced herself to focus on her hands to avoid being distracted again.
"Even the children had their own missions." he continued. "They were often sent to scout distant planets, with the objective of gathering information about desired locations."
Bulma bristled at this information. Exploiting children to carry out war was revolting. But, on the other hand, even if this practice did not fit with the Human values of education, it certainly explained Goku's arrival on Earth several years ago. This is why she once again curbed her reproachful responses to question him about a detail that had not escaped her.
"Why do you speak in the past tense?" she asked.
"My planet was hit by an asteroid." he replied flatly.
Bulma stopped in her tracks to observe him. She arched an eyebrow to show her astonishment. He had delivered the information with such disinterest that she could hardly believe what he had just said.
"My people were practically annihilated in the process. Me, Nappa and Raditz are the last representatives still alive. I was still a child, away on a mission when it happened. It was only several years later that I learned about it, from an imbecile I killed because I thought he was lying to me."
He gave her an evil smile. Bulma was distracted by his perfectly white teeth, much sharper than those of a Human. She couldn't figure out what was bothering her the most; the fact that the people to which Goku belonged were practically decimated, or the fact that the man she fantasized about had just openly confessed to the murder of an innocent man. Smiling.
"It's awful." she breathed softly, her comment applying to both situations.
The Saiyan didn't respond, unsure of what she called awful exactly. He ended up shrugging, seemingly unconcerned in either case. Bulma observed him for a moment before forcing herself to continue the conversation to avoid getting lost again.
"Were you assigned on a scouting mission when it happened?" she added.
"Not exactly." he replied, narrowing his eyelids and frowning.
His dark gaze lit up with pride as he raised his chin high to look at her.
"Another purpose was assigned to me." he concluded.
"Oh?" Bulma said, suddenly curious. "What kind of purpose?"
"Enough." he cut in firmly.
Bulma jumped when she heard him speak so forcefully. His gaze, which had somewhat softened during the last few minutes, became of stone and ice.
"I've had enough of your questions now." he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "You should work in silence, you are giving me a headache."
It didn't take much to ignite Bulma Brief's legendary temper. And anyone who ventured to give her orders in such an ungraceful way was playing with fire. As soon as he spoke, she felt her cheeks burn. She quickly took off her gloves and threw them across the man's abdomen.
"What the fuck is your problem?" she said in a loud voice.
Bulma was fuming now. She briefly wondered how she could feel so much desire for someone so unbearable. His haughty and arrogant attitude was repulsive, and the young woman seriously needed to question her own judgment. Also, she needed to put as much distance as possible between them to prevent the flame that had just fanned from causing an explosion.
"You ungrateful soldier! You refuse to politely introduce yourself to me AND you dare give me orders on top of that? After all the time I spent caring for you, you owe me gratitude! I am not your servant! If you're not satisfied, you'll just have to take care of yourself!" she exclaimed angrily, turning away from him with the firm intention to leave his bedside.
She unfortunately had no time to get away. She got stopped dead in her tracks by a burning hand gripping her wrist. She was jerked back toward the bed. The movement had been so fast that Bulma lost all her bearings. Several blinks later, she saw the Saiyan, who had sat up on his mattress. He was dangerously close to her now, his bruised body leaning forward to face her.
He was furious, too.
"Insolent woman." he growled in a somber way, increasing the pressure on her wrist. "How dare you give me politeness lessons? You should be more careful with your words, especially when you address me, the prin..."
But he didn't finish his sentence, his tirade being interrupted by Bulma who started to struggle in all directions to free herself from his grip. A task which, she quickly realized, was quite impossible.
The bastard was fucking strong!
"Get your hands off me!" she thundered with conviction, in no way impressed by the bulging biceps against which she was fighting in vain.
Bulma growled when she saw that the Saiyan was not complying. On the opposite, he moved a little closer to her, a malicious glint shining in his dark eyes.
"Do you really think you can give me orders, when you don't even tolerate mine?" he asked in a threatening whisper.
A half-smile appeared on his thin lips, and Bulma, who had froze upon realizing the uselessness of her gesticulations, pursed her lips, planting her blue eyes resolutely onto his.
They clashed silently, a hostile fight between two particularly untimely characters. Inwardly, Bulma swore to herself she wouldn't let him win. Even though she knew she was facing a tenacious opponent, and that he was decidedly physically stronger, she was far too stubborn to let him win this round.
But what neither she nor he had anticipated was that a much more powerful opponent would get involved in this fight. And that the proximity imposed by their altercation would cause the inevitable.
His hand on her skin.
His dark eyes scrutinizing her mouth.
His incredibly strong body tilted towards her, drawn by an irrepressible force. Approaching. Closer and closer.
So close, that Bulma could feel his warm breath on the skin of her neck.
And finally, his voice, a tenor that resonated in the back of her nape when he spoke.
"Vegeta." he whispered softly in her ear.
Bulma stopped breathing. Her heart beating wildly in her chest, she felt a shiver run through her from head to toe. The Saiyan pulled away a little, his cheek almost brushing hers as he slowly raised his head so that they could face each other.
The man looked into her eyes, and she felt herself melting on the spot.
He inhaled gently, longly, as if tasting the intertwined scent of their skin.
His chest expanded to let air into his lungs, his powerful muscles brushing against her chest.
Absently, he stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb.
And he released her, finally granting her victory.
But Bulma didn't move away. She swallowed hard, unsure of what would come next, unsure of whether she would be able to move away from him, as she had wanted to do just seconds ago.
She wasn't victorious either.
Seeing that she had not shied away, the Saiyan brought his face even closer, testing the limits of attraction to the extreme. Bulma responded to his gesture by imperceptibly raising her chin, and their mouths brushed.
He parted his lips and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"That's my name." he said. "My name is Vegeta."
"It's nice to finally meet you, Vegeta." she whispered.
They had both lost this fight.