Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Decoding the Saiyan ❯ Lover ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: This was written with the prompt 'lover' in mind, from the Intimacy Challenge.

Lover

They became lovers.

It wasn't something that she had ever intended. Having been with Yamcha since she was sixteen, she was used to being in a relationship. This, on the other hand, was entirely different.

She supposed it was more akin to having an affair than anything else, though there were no other parties involved. But there was no talk of the future, no hey babe, how was your day?, and there was certainly no romance.

There was, however, passion- and plenty of it.

They did it everywhere; the labs, the gravity room, their bedrooms, the bathroom, the shower, and even the kitchen were all, at some point or another, used as rendezvous points. She felt like a giddy teenager again, fuelled by hormones and crazed by lust. One look from Vegeta was enough to make her heart beat faster, and within minutes they would be naked- on the floor, on the couch, even once on the roof- writhing in ecstasy.

As exciting as it was- as much as it made her feel alive, and beautiful, and sexy- it was also a strange and nerve-wracking time. Though she tried to push the thought away, it was always in the back of her mind that Vegeta's presence on Earth was far from permanent, and that he might up and leave, as he had done so before, at any given moment.

Despite her worry, things grew to be more at ease between them. Slowly, he seemed to let his guard down around her. He no longer scowled quite as much, no longer sneered at her when he found her watching him. Once, she had wandered onto the living room balcony to find him there, staring up at the stars. Instead of leaving, as he had always done before, he had remained beside her, accepting her presence and allowing her to examine his handsome face. Perhaps it had just been that he wanted sex- they had ended up on top of the coffee table, that time- but something told her otherwise. She knew that on those nights spent together he found comfort in her arms, and part of her hoped that she was easing the loneliness inside of him, just as he eased the loneliness that burned like acid within her.

And so, somehow, her life began to centre itself around Vegeta. She put more effort into designing him equipment, more time into upgrading the gravity machine and analysing its performance. More often than not she found herself standing outside the gravity room, wrapped up against the harsh winter cold, watching as he pushed his body to the limit.

It seemed to her that he too was more aware of her presence. If he noticed her watching his training- and he always notices- he would finish early, and she would enter the capsule ship that smelled of blood and sweat, and warm her cold hands on his skin.

“Foolish Human,” he would whisper to her in the dark, holding her small wrists with hands stronger than any manacles. Those few words were always infused with something she couldn't quite work out. Was it amazement or confusion, she wondered, that he felt when he held her against him?

She never denied that he was a dangerous man, and yet when she traced the contours of his body with her fingertips, and felt his lips upon her skin, she knew that she had nothing to fear from him. It was easy, in that sense, to look past all that he had done under Frieza. To her, he was no longer The Saiyan. He was Vegeta, the man, and he ignited a fire within her.

Thinking back, she could not pinpoint an exact moment where she came undone. There was no single look, no particular touch or moment that had caused it, but lying in the dark, Vegeta's breath still panting in her ear, it occurred to Bulma that for her this was more than just sex- that to her they were more than just lovers- and that terrified her completely.