Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Girl Next Door ❯ 99? Ink ( Chapter 22 )

NB: Based on the “Girl Next Door” (aka FriendsAU) comic by stupidoomdoodles. Idea of Bulma drawing over Vegeta by Nofcksgiven. ;)

Girl Next Door

- 99?- (pre-epilogue?)

Ink

They lay curled up on the bed, tangled together along with the sheets, sweaty and panting and utterly spent. Vegeta felt her squeeze his hand, her fingers pushed through his, and in a moment of rare affection he squeezed back. He pulled her soft, lithe form against him, spooning her to his front, wrapping himself up in her for as long as he could, eeking out the pleasure of the morning. She happily melded into him, always complaint in that regard if not in others. It made his heart skip a beat, and his groin ached to fill her again, to claim what she so willingly offered.

But for now he was satisfied just to hold her, the edges of a post-coital sleep creeping up on the fringes of his consciousness, the soft light of morning warming his limbs and helping him drift off…

He was disturbed by her getting up. He frowned, unhappy that she was leaving when he was so comfortable, but his displeasure lasted for only a moment because trying to control Bulma was like trying to cling to gas, she simply couldn't be contained, flying about of her own free will, needing only a spark before BOOM, instant devastation. So he let her go.

She left, and he closed his eyes but continued to track the soft pat of her feet as she moved about the apartment. She returned a few moments later, and he grunted in irritation as she straddled the backs of his thighs, crushing him into the mattress. Only she could get away with such a gesture.

He smelt something astringent and then a very fine, delicate touch on his shoulder blade. What the hell was she up to now?

“What. Are you doing?” he asked, trying to sound threatening but with his face smooshed into the mattress and still being half asleep, his words came out more exasperated than anything.

“This is bugging me,” she said. The gentle, concentrated touch continued to trail over his shoulder, moving back and forth with light strokes. The furrow on his brow deepened, his fingers curling in the sheets as the alcoholic smell grew stronger. “Bulma?”

“Mmm?”

“… Are you drawing on me?”

“…Yes?”

Vegeta sighed, not nearly awake enough for this. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then finally forced one eye open to glare up at her. “I'm going to regret asking this, but, why?”

“I don't like your tattoo,” she said, the faintest hint of a frown marring her perfect face, her mouth set with determination as she continued to draw on him in marker. “You don't belong to them any more.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Her frown deepened. “Yes.”

She wouldn't look at him, focused on her drawing but he was starting to grow astute as to when she purposefully avoided his gaze. He sighed and let his eye fall shut. What the fuck did it matter; if she wanted to draw on him, so be it. He could give her that, he'd given her everything else, why not that too?

She continued decorating his skin, and he had to admit that it wasn't unpleasant having her focused on him, her hand working reverently over his body, tracing his shoulder and muscles with the tender care of a sculptor. The slats of light that spilt in from the window grew warmer, stretched longer as the morning lazily progressed. He drifted in and out of sleep, half dozing as she used him as her personal canvas.

He woke up to the smell of coffee. He rubbed a hand over his face, unaware that he'd fallen asleep and that she'd left to make breakfast. He looked down at his side, feeling his eyebrows rise when he saw the damage.

As usual, Bulma hadn't half-assed her assignment, throwing herself into her project with her over-exuberant, over-achieving enthusiasm. He could see maker all down his side.

Butterflies. Butterflies for fucking days.

She came back into the room, carrying two steaming mugs, wearing his hoodie as a over-sized dress. He sat up, pulling the sheets over his lap as she handed him a mug.

“Do you like it?” she asked, sitting down on the bed next to him, smiling over her coffee.

He glowered at her. “Butterflies?” is all he asked. It's all he needed to ask. What the fuck, Bulma.

“It's symbolic,” she explained, her eyes twinkling. Oh, she'd known he wouldn't be happy and she'd done it anyway.

“Of how much I tolerate your shit?” he growled.

Her smile widened. “Of your growth.”

“… What?”

“Butterflies represent a lot of things, Vegeta. Endurance. Change. Freedom… Resurrection.”

He scowled and looked away, staring out the window, suddenly uncomfortable. His fingers tightened on the mug as his stomach tightened with anxiety, trying not to think about… that, or the events leading up to it and the goddamn dragon balls.

She leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “Can I finish?”

“What?” He asked sullenly.

“The ink.”

He looked down at her `work', his eyes going wide. “It's not done?”

“I couldn't reach your front while you were asleep,” she pouted.

He felt himself getting agitated, but one look at her hopeful expression stopped his anger from mounting, and he swallowed it back down. “Fine,” he huffed. “But don't take all fucking morning.”

She grinned and put their cups aside. She pushed him back, a simple press of her fingers to his chest, and reluctantly he lay back against the headboard. She pulled out the marker and continued her work, drawing more butterflies and swirls down his side, the `tattoo' creeping over his stomach, his hip, and down the flat of his belly. He noticed her inching the pen towards his lower pelvis where the sheets were bunched in an attempt at covering himself up.

“Bulma,” he said, his tone a warning growl.

“Yes?” she purred, her voice dripping innocence as she tugged down the sheets.

“How far do you plan on taking this?”

“Shhh, don't question art, Vegeta.”

He could feel a familiar scowl pulling down his brow, but he stayed his tongue, watching as she drew her hundredth-something butterfly above the base of his cock. She was lying between his legs at this point, the hem of the hoodie creeping up and revealing the hint of her soft bottom underneath. She hadn't put on any panties. Her mouth hovered over the sheets that barely covered his cock which was now half hard with renewed interest.

He folded his arms and his scowl deepened as she drew a little vine near his cock. He felt himself twitch, growing swollen. He grabbed her wrist. “Enough,” he growled, his voice gravelly with annoyance and lust.

She looked up at him, her eyes alight with interest, a mischievous smirk on her rose petal lips. “No, there's one more.” She sat up, slipping into his lap before he could stop her. He tried to sit up but she pushed him back down, wriggling in his lap to get comfortable, the length of him pressed snuggly between her ass and he gripped her hips to keep her from grinding further against him.

With a smirk she raised the marker and drew one final butterfly, bigger than the others, over his heart. He watched her trace two capital Bs back-to-back, then added in some antenna and details to the wings. “There,” she declared, giving it a final poke with her finger. “B B. Bulma Briefs. Now you belong to me.”

Oh.

Hers. He swallowed, nervous. He should have been annoyed that someone was trying to lay claim to him so shortly after his liberation from Frieza's crew. Couldn't he enjoy his freedom for five goddamn minutes before some asshole came along and tried to order him around? But then again, she wasn't some asshole was she? She was Bulma, his Bulma, and she was claiming him. He didn't feel annoyed. He felt…

“Okay?” she asked, leaning in, her lips ghosting against his.

His eyes narrowed, watching her return his gaze with wicked, sparkling blue eyes. His fingers tightened on her hips, tugging her in. “Yeah,” he admitted against her lips just before her claimed her in a kiss.

She sighed happily against him.

His fingers dipped down, cupping her bare ass beneath his sweater, and he pulled her apart, spreading her open to easily slip inside. She was still sticky from their earlier encounter and the thought of her having spent the morning with his mark all over her, all inside her, only ignited his lust. He rode her hard in his lap, dragging her down over him again and again with mounting desperation, striving to hear her break, hear her moan and whisper sweet pleas and vulgar encouragements. He regretted not being able to see her breasts, so he ripped the hoodie off her, revealing her supple frame and marveled at her body as she arched and shivered and bounced against his cock.

She threw her head back and wailed his name, coming on him with trembling need, and he pressed his brow to her breasts and followed her, swearing and groaning and perhaps letting her name slip as he spilt himself inside her again oh oh god he'd never grow tired of this. Fuck he wanted this to last forever…

He collapsed back against the headboard and she lay sprawled on his chest, curled up like a contented cat. His fingers idly brushed her back as hers traced the lines of the marker on his skin that covered his side like some wanna-be yakuza.

He looked down, watching her touch a butterfly. “Surprised it didn't sweat off,” he commented.

She tensed.

His brow rose. “What's wrong?”

She sat up, giving him a sheepish, guilty smile. “Uh, nothing.” She glanced to the nightstand where the marker lay.

His brow pulled down. She reached for it.

He was faster.

He snatched it away and she started protesting but he ignored her, pushing her back with a hand to her face and she spluttered indignantly but he used the chance to bring the marker up for inspection.

“…Bulma.”

“Vegeta?”

“This says it's permanent.”

“…. Uh. It might. Yes.”

He glared at her, feeling his temper rise. “How long am I going to have to wear fucking butterflies, Bulma?” he asked, his tone dangerously quiet.

“Err….”

“I've literally killed people for less.”

“I… love you?”

“You bitch.”

~~ox0xo~~

AN: This is thanks to Nofcksgiven who always writes the most amazingly in-depth reviews to my fics, and who also put this goddamn idea into my head, that crafty wench.

And of course, as always, I write this AU with the strongest and most utmost respect and adoration for Stupidoomdoodles; her ideas, characters, art and AU are forever burned into my very soul. I am forever her literary slave.

Rutbisbe drew the most amazing fanart for `03 - Denial', so you HAVE to check it out, HOMG, it's seriously killer.

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama. This AU is stupidoomdoodle's idea. I'm just playing in their sandboxes, very graciously by Dooms too I might add. Stupidoomdoodles and LadyVegeets can be found on twitter, tubmlr and p atreon. Girl Next Door comic can also be found on smackjeeves. Read it, love it, be haunted by it, like I am.