Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Hookups And Hangups ❯ Chapter 5
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: springandbysummerfall 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.01.2015 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 319 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.01.2015 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 319 | Status: Work In Progress
Bulma had tried her damnedest to make it to Goku's game on time, really she had. But it was a Friday night, and it seemed she was so very vulnerable to Murphy's Law.
One guy came in at 4:30, plumes of smoke billowing from under his hood, yelling about forgetting to change the oil…for the last few years. And then Frank, her least favorite tow truck guy, came in honking at a quarter to five with an old Rabbit that had definitely seen better days. She'd barely had time to wash her hands before she'd slid into the cracked leather seats of her VW Bus, ripped open a box of Cheez-Its and urged her beloved toaster of an automobile to 55mph in an effort to make it to Goku's game at least fashionably late.
She carefully parked the box on wheels at the farthest reaches of the parking lot of the sprawling community center, jerking the wheel with all her strength as the old power steering fought her.
Putting the bus into neutral and cranking the emergency brake, Bulma spared a glance in the cracked, grimy sun visor mirror to make sure she looked alright.
Her hair was out of her face, thanks to a ratty red handkerchief, at least. The thin white tank she wore under her sherpa-lined leather jacket and her stained, torn work jeans were just gonna have to do. At least Chi Chi wasn't trying to set her up again, so she had no one to look put together for. She could just relax in the bleachers with some snack food and a beer and watch good looking men throw a ball around.
To her delight, after jogging through the parking lot and up the stairs into the huge building, she spotted a food stand, and she went ahead and ordered a cheese dog and a beer before making her way with hurried strides to the baseball section of the public sports complex, chowing down as she went.
Crossing into the huge auditorium that held the pristine baseball field, its astroturf a vivid green against the crisp white baseball triangle and baseball players milling around doing…baseball things, Bulma worried her lip, wondering how in the heck she was going to find Chi Chi in the crowd.
To her relief and surprise, she spotted Launch and Juuhachigou. She felt a surge of nostalgia. She and Chi Chi had affectionately nicknamed Juu 'Eighteen' after an overly attached friend-with-benefits had lost his temper with her in front of them one night, accusing Juu of being an "unfeeling robot." Bulma had burst into hacking laughter, spraying the man in the face with beer as she giggled uncontrollably, causing Chi Chi and Eighteen to scream with laughter as the jilted man slunk out of the bar, his shoulders stiff around his ears.
That was back when she and the girls shared a townhouse, when every Friday night was girl's night, and she was the only one who had a significant other. Now it seemed all her girlfriends had meaningful relationships except Bulma, causing Bulma to feel a little left behind.
The pair stood loitering in the aisle a few dozen feet ahead, showing every sign of being apathetic to the game behind them, their chic, brightly colored outfits clashing with their boredom as she made her way down to them.
The women spotted her. "Long time no see," Launch's rough voice called out, and the two women shared a hug, Eighteen bending to kiss Bulma's cheek cooly. "Here for Chi Chi and Goku?"
"Yep," Bulma agreed, chomping down on the last chunk of her cheese dog. "Do you know where she is?” She asked with her mouth full.
Without uncrossing her arms, Juu pointed a slender finger toward the dugout, and Bulma peered past her to see Chi Chi in the front row, sitting with her legs crossed in her tailored pants and heels, her heel tapping, looking very much out of place.
Bulma smirked at the women. "She certainly looks excited to be here!"
They all shared an understanding chuckle.
She threw her empty hot dog wrapper in the nearby trashcan and looked at the two women in front of her curiously. "Sorry gals, I've barely ate all day. So what are you ladies doing here? I haven't seen you in over a year, Launch! Not since last year's Christmas party."
Eighteen broke out into a snicker.
"In fact," Bulma continued, smiling deviously, "it was when you were being dragged out by Tien after decking Roshi for trying to take an upskirt photo. How is Tien? How's the bounty hunting business?"
Tossing her thick, wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, Launch crossed her arms over her chest. Oblivious as usual to their teasing about her relationship and her career path, Launch shrugged. "We're good." Then she grinned evilly and elbowed Eighteen in the ribs, which earned her an icy glare. "We're here because we're watching Eighteen's boyfriend play."
"Boyfriend?" Bulma squealed. She turned to Eighteen in shock. "Since when did you date?"
To her amazement, Eighteen blushed lightly, her cornflower blue eyes sliding to the ground self consciously, her pale blonde hair swinging to obscure her delicate face as she turned away to hide her embarrassment.
And then turned back to the women stiffly. "Yeah, well, don't be so smug about it. Yamcha's here, too." She jut her thumb over her shoulder.
"What?!" Bulma yelped. "Oh, oh noooo." Bulma looked at them pleadingly. "That's not possible. It's been..."
"Almost three years?" Launch offered, smirking. "Go down and say hi, B, he was asking about you."
"Oh god." Bulma felt her grip tighten on her beer and she stared at them with wide eyes. "That's just...that's just dandy."
Abruptly swigging the rest of her beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trash with a delicate burp, she muttered, "I'm going to need more of these."
Launch laughed throatily. "Is he really that bad, Bulma? You guys seemed so happy together. Tien still talks to him every now and then."
"Krillin is good friends with him," Eighteen added indifferently.
The scruffy, blue-haired woman glared at them. "Go nose for gossip somewhere else, gals." She blew the wayward strands of hair out of her face, casting her eyes to the sky, and sighed. "Well, I'll be hiding under the bleachers behind the dugout if you need me."
"I have no doubt I could find you," Launch promised, and Bulma snorted at her old friend's obnoxious confidence as she stepped down the stairs, waving over her shoulder, her boots hitting the cement with solid thunks.
It'd been a few years since she and Launch had really talked, but it was clear she hadn't changed a bit. Bulma felt a little relieved by the fact. Launch had dropped out of grad school early on to join a small bounty hunting business, which suited her much, much more than academia did. Bulma and Chi Chi suspected she'd only signed up for school in her dogged pursuit of some guy from East City that everyone laughingly agreed wasn't even into her gender. Launch had always been impulsive, but without the common sense that Bulma had not to chase after a man who clearly swung the other way.
Well, not that sleeping with a man that was cold, abrasive, cocksure, and for the most part entirely uninterested in being friendly was limited to Launch, Bulma reminded herself. But, well, as much as Bulma wanted to psychoanalyze, dissect, and take apart her and Vegeta's...relationship...she just couldn't make heads or tails of it. She wasn't even sure where to start. His body just kind of, well, sang a song that only she could hear.
That was probably where she and Launch differed. Launch lacked even the curiosity to be self-reflective. She just went charging straight ahead toward what she wanted, which was fine. Different strokes for different folks.
Bulma, on the other hand, had spent years lacking self-esteem and letting self-doubt encroach on every facet of her young adult life. She had used it conveniently to stay in a field she didn't care for one bit, and to shield herself from the growing, heavy dissatisfaction with her relationship with Yamcha. Bulma had decided to turn a new leaf after their breakup and focus on her own needs.
She had developed a routine to keep from having to be pensive anymore: work, work, sleep, work, and microwavable and/or pre-packaged food that didn't require much pomp and circumstance. Aaaand…work. No more making sure dinner was on the table for a man promptly at five.
There was a difference between she and Launch, Bulma assured herself.
Which is why, when she sat down next to Chi Chi, startling the woman and who returned the favor by lightly punching Bulma's shoulder, Bulma gave her a big squeeze. Despite the way time seemed to pull everyone in different directions, despite their hangups, she could still count on Chi Chi to be there for her.
Chi Chi's dark eyes widened. "Where have you been?" Chi Chi glanced at her watch. "You're forty seven minutes late!"
"I know," Bulma admitted, sighing. "I'm sorry. Things got busy at work last minute. You know how it goes."
Chi Chi snorted delicately. "Uh huh. Well, you've totally missed this most riveting first few innings." She gestured lamely at the game.
"Uh huh." She unzipped her jacket and tossed it on the empty chair beside her. "So I ran into Launch and Eighteen on my way down here-"
Chi Chi turned to her excitedly. "YES! Okay, do you see that player in the red jersey near the middle base, whatever it is?”
"Second?"
"Yes. Number seven? Do you see him?" Chi Chi could barely contain her glee.
She pointed towards the field, where a short, well-built man with a shaved head hovered, watching the pitcher wind up with firm concentration.
"Uh, Cheech….That's Krillin." Bulma stared at her friend as if she were dense.
"Krillin is Eighteen's new beau."
"What?" Bulma crowed, looking at Chi Chi incredulously. "But, he's so nice. She grinds nice guys under her heels!"
"I know! But apparently, for some reason or other, she likes this one! And he's, like, a whole foot shorter than her," Chi Chi whispered to her conspiratorially, before leaning back and smoothing her pant legs. "They're actually really adorable together," she amended. "They have this funny chemistry." She smiled out at the field before them. "And Launch, ohmygoodness...She told me earlier that Tien's 'friend,' Chiaotzu or whatever, is living with them."
Bulma gasped. "Like, a love triangle? Is it polyamory when your lovers despise each other?"
The women shared a few giggles.
"They told me Yamcha is here somewhere," Bulma griped, folding her arms and slouching against the metal seat.
Chi Chi looked out of the corner of her eye at her friend. "Oh yeah? That's weird."
"Hopefully we won't cross paths."
"Why not? He's a nice guy. It might be good for you guys to reconnect," Chi Chi suggested neutrally.
Bulma guffawed loudly. "Yeah, right."
Chi Chi frowned, before a devious smiled played on her lips. "I've never known Bulma Briefs to be afraid of saying hello to someone," she teased.
"I'm not," she protested, taking the bait and earning a little sly smile from Chi Chi in the process.
"I think you should at least say hi. Otherwise he's going to think you're afraid of him." Chi Chi poked Bulma in the ribs and then watched her friend's expression go from frustrated refusal to reproachful but begrudging acceptance.
Bulma sat up. "Look, I'm going to go get another beer. Do you want one?"
"Gross. No thanks," she sniffed.
"Your loss, princess," Bulma called on her way up the stairs, and Chi Chi finally noticed that she was still in her dirty work clothes and repressed a growl. How was she going to woo Yamcha back dressed like that? She needed to have another talk with Bunny.
Chi Chi let out a small huff and turned back to the game, trying not to sulk.
/ /
Vegeta stared at the baseball game, oozing boredom, slouching in his seat with his arms crossed. Pouting like a teenager, his menacing scowl was still a fair warning to anyone who came within twenty feet of him.
Some loser threw a ball at another loser and he rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he'd accepted Goku's overture to come watch this 'game,' nor Nappa's ludicrous idea to cap the night off at the swanky 'gentleman's club' he'd so far been successful avoiding all these years. It all sounded pretty beneath him, but he'd needed something, anything, to distract him. There was a particular blue haired woman that was pulling his thoughts every which way, at work, at the gym, at the loneliest hours of the night.
He'd so far been successful having little to no interest in keeping a woman around for more than a night. But now his conviction that women were only good for one thing was trembling and fraying at the seams. He didn't like change, he didn't want change. He liked being in control; and at work, at the gym, in his refusal to go through the motions of a relationship with some woman, he was in control of his life.
Why go through all the empty gestures and trivialities of dating? For what? What was the payout? Being tamed? Unfulfilled? Controlled? Bored? Vegeta liked life just the way it was, a life where he was at the top. Not some woman.
And yet, she pulled at the edges of his every thought, hemmed the corners of every decision he made, hummed through the signatures he put to paper and thrummed though his body as he was soaping up in the shower. Sex was not worth becoming enslaved for—oh yes, enslaved and indebted for—and he reminded his body of this as he tried to ignore the rigid erection heavy between his legs, and as he scrubbed at his hair with frustration.
But she was not any other woman.
So he'd accepted the idiots' invitation to go out, because it would prevent him from driving over to her shop, tossing her over the car she was working on, and sinking himself into her, prevent him from watching her mouth part and her vividly blue eyes gaze up at him with half-lidded approval and thrwart his own grating pleasure from it. Coming here to stare unseeing at the game would prevent him from spending four nights with her this week, which was intolerable! and outrageous!, given he'd met her such a short time ago. It was not something he wanted to admit to anyone, especially himself. Especially because he'd had an ulterior motive to get her to talk on the case which was becoming obscured by feelings.
He heard the guys share a bawdy joke, their guffaws erupting around him, distantly heard them take shots at one another with barely registered contempt for them. What was she doing right now? Was she curled up underneath the chassis of a car, her small hands working a wrench, biting the corner of her lower lip as a million thoughts swirled in that head of hers? He could see her generous lips parting as she turned towards him, skin bright with a sheen of sweat from the heat of her desire for him, her hips peaking from her low rise jeans invitingly...
"Vegeta," she'd moan.
"Vegeta," Raditz called flatly. "Earth to Vegeta. Where are you tonight?"
Vegeta growled and looked the other way.
"Aw, c'mon Vegeta, we're going to Brassieres soon. Cheer up," Nappa cajoled, his big voice projecting around them, flustering Vegeta.
"Lower your voice. You look like an idiot and you're making me look like one, too," Vegeta snarled.
Raditz smirked. "We're going to grab a beer. Come on, old man. Just chill for once."
Vegeta fixed them both with a scathing look before hopping off the bleachers and heading up the stairs. "Fine."
The men made their way up the stairs and to the bar across from the entrance of the field, and as the two idiots chattered on about loose women, Vegeta stuck his hands in his pants pockets and considered escaping.
Maybe she'd be at the shop? It was likely she was spending another long evening there.
And he ran his fingers over his face and sighed.
"Bulma," he heard Raditz call, like he had plucked the thought of her right out of his head, and Vegeta's head whipped around.
And there she was, her back turned to him, at the head of the line, collecting two beers in each hand after handing the cashier a ten. Her dirty shirt rode up around her jeans, the creamy skin of her hips peering out beneath it, and she turned to the men with a sharp glance that had his gut churning. She raised a pretty little eyebrow at the men in front of him, and he realized she didn't know he was there. He could see a smear of grease on her earlobe that he had the strangest urge to lick.
"Raditz," she greeted snidely, and the sound of her voice made his breath catch. She was full of piss and vinegar, spleen and bile. It should infuriate him, and instead it just piqued a curiosity and lust for life in him long thought dead. She was just a mechanic, he grumbled. What did she have to be so proud about?
"Why on Kami's green earth are you here? Don't you have a Playgirl calendar photo shoot to attend?"
"Is all that booze for you?" Nappa asked her playfully, and Raditz smirked snootily.
"Someone's got a problem."
She rolled her eyes, and he watched from behind Nappa, his fists clenched in his pockets, trying to appear disinterested but trying not to be noticed as he listened in.
"Oh, please, Nappa. You go through ten times this amount of booze before breakfast. I just don't want to have to get up for another beer once I sit down."
"He takes that much cock before breakfast," Raditz joked dreadfully, and Nappa elbowed him in the ribs.
"Oh, is that what you've been using in your hair, Raditz?" Bulma asked innocently. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have much more important things to do, like drink myself into a stupor and hope it makes seeing my ex more bearable. Which sounds infinitely more enjoyable than sticking around for your cum jokes, boys. Cheers," she smiled, before beginning to walk away.
Bulma nearly stumbled as she made eye contact with Vegeta. Her smile vanished, replaced by, of all things...a blush.
It was as if time slowed, and predatory, wanton instincts emerged to the surface of the man. He smiled, a slow, sincere, dastardly smile that increased in size with the color in her cheeks.
She made her way quickly down the stairs.
"What a bitch."
"Tell me about it."
"I'd hit it though." Nappa popped a nacho chip into his mouth.
Vegeta turned to the men waiting on their drinks with a new, roiling emotion.
"I'd say she's still mad at you Vegeta," Raditz chuckled. "She didn't even say hello."
Vegeta settled for a compromise between his anger and his desire to repress it; he grabbed the frosty mugs from the counter as soon as the cashier set them down and kicked both Raditz and Nappa in the back of the knees, sending each careening to the ground in varying degrees of grace and curses.
"Neither of you get to hit that," he dictated, before walking smoothly after her.
/ /
Bulma plopped down beside Chi Chi with a sigh. "Cheech, I need to ask you something."
"What," Chi Chi replied boredly as she watched the baseball game with infinite disinterest.
"This is real talk. And you can't judge me. Don't judge me!" Bulma's voice rose as she set her beers beside her.
Chi Chi raised an eyebrow at their number and then looked up at Bulma. "Okay. Shoot." She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.
Bulma buried her head in her hands. "Okay. I really don't know who else to talk about this with, so here goes…." Bulma peeked between her fingers at her friend, whose perfectly straight, silky hair lay around her clear, narrow face, her coral blouse matching her lip stain perfectly as Bulma gazed at her friend's modest, prettily lined eyes. Ugh, why was Chi Chi so perfect?
"Cheech...I need to know..." She lowered her wavering voice, and glanced around. "What is a one night stand supposed to be like?"
"What?" Chi Chi exclaimed.
Bulma shoved her fingers to her friend's lips and glanced around nervously. "Shut. Up!"
"Okay, okay," Chi Chi whined, swatting her hand away. "But why are you asking me this? Didn't you just have one?"
Bulma looked away with embarrassment. "I guess so."
"So...what exactly are you asking me?"
"I just…." Bulma threw her hands up and then laid them in her lap forlornly. "I'm just...worried I'm not doing it right."
"What do you mean? Wait, like present tense, 'doing?' Bulma, has there been more than one time?"
Bulma hid her mortification behind her beer bottle.
"You slut!" Chi Chi playfully punched her in the shoulder. "Like, with a different guy, or the same one?"
"The same one," came Bulma's muffled, weak reply behind the sweating bottle.
"Why are you so hung up about this?" Chi Chi asked suspiciously. "It's not like you to be worried about what other people think."
"It's just, I'm new to this, alright?!" Bulma shoved the beer into her lap with frustration. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act around him, or feel about it…."
"Has Yamcha really been the only one you’ve—you know," Chi Chi whispered.
"Yes." Bulma's tone was defensive.
"So this guy's your second?"
"Yes."
"Holy shit, Bulma Briefs, it's like he took your second virginity! Did you bleed? Did he rebreak your hymen?"
"Shut up!" Bulma stomped on Chi Chi's foot.
"You're going to scuff my heels!" Chi Chi whined, but giggled. "Sometimes you're so precious, Bulma."
"I knew I shouldn't have talked to you about this," Bulma complained, rising and grabbing for her jacket.
"Bulma, don't go," Chi Chi cried, pulling her back down. "I'm sorry."
Bulma grumbled under her breath and sat back down even as she threaded her arms through her jacket.
"Look, having a casual relationship...it has its advantages. When dating, you spend all this time pretending to be someone else," Chi Chi remarked wryly. "With hookups, you get straight to the good part." She shrugged and looked at Bulma with barely contained mirth. "You're such a day dreamer. Don't make more to this than there is. Just enjoy it."
Bulma looked at her friend disbelievingly and then picked her longnecks up from the ground.
"This night has been a clusterfuck and it just started. I'm going home and watching all one million seasons of the Flintstones." Bulma rose. "Thanks for the talk," she remarked caustically. "Now I know how you really feel about me."
Chi Chi looked at her go worriedly. "See you later tonight, I guess."
Bulma heard Chi Chi say something under her breath as she marched her way up the stairs, bristling, and chose to ignore it. What a waste of time. What did she mean don't make more to this than there is? This was the woman who made it her life's work trying to find her a suitable husband. Like Bulma was a naive teenager or something.
And then it happened.
"Hey, B."
Bulma's head snapped up.
Yamcha stood in front of her at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail, smiling quietly.
Bulma's heart dropped.
The collar of his pale yellow jersey lay open against his thick, tan neck, the thin line of a long, forgotten scar that jut across one eye almost charming. He was taller and broader than she remembered, his biceps bulging as he uncrossed his arms to adjust his baseball cap, smiling handsomely.
"Hey," she struggled to say.
"Hey! It's been awhile." He regarded her intently, his cheerful, light brown eyes dispelling any awkwardness between them.
"Yep."
"How have you been? I heard you've opened up a car repair shop. I wouldn't have guessed you'd quit law to work on cars, but I guess you were always complaining about how bored you were with it." I guess you never knew me very well, she thought darkly.
But he regarded her warmly. "Look at you." Yamcha gestured at her, and Bulma looked down at herself. "You look well. You look great. You look really great."
"How's Puar?" She asked, tongue thick, mouth dried up.
"Puar's fine. She's great, actually. Just got her a new cat jungle gym, you know, the carpeted tunnels. They go all over my living room. It's pretty cool, actually."
Bulma smiled weakly. She felt weirdly out of body. She should not be smiling! Back straight, Bulma Briefs! Guns ready! Hello? Bulma? "Those are the best. Wish they made them for people."
"That would be wild. Something to cross off my bucket list."
They shared an odd laugh.
"Well, I'm just getting out of here...maybe I'll see you around," she finished lamely.
"Yeah. Maybe I'll drop by the shop sometime?"
Bulma swallowed this weird emotion swirling up her gut.
"Sure."
Yamcha moved to the side, allowing her to pass.
"It was good seeing you, B."
Bulma walked forward stiffly, feeling like she was walking past a ghost. The ghost of a man she had once been terribly in love with, a ghost trying to convince her that he was alive again, past the gravestone of her innocent adoration.
"See you around, Yamcha."
She took a deep breath, and then let it escape through her lips.
It wasn't ten feet before she ran right into Vegeta, who stood with his hands in his pants pockets, glowering down at her.
"I swear to Kami," she began, before Vegeta plucked a beer out of her grip, "what is going on tonight?"
And then to her befuddlement, right in front of the entrance to the baseball field, Vegeta yanked her to his chest and set his hungry lips against hers.
She stared up at him with surprise.
He pulled away as quickly as it began, but not without leading her forward at the small of her back and flicking off the beer bottle cap. "Come on, short stack." His hand drifted down her back before he walked off, apparently expecting her to follow.
Bulma just stood there, staring with amazement. They'd never been...publicly affectionate before. "What the hell is going on tonight?"
He turned to smirk over his shoulder at her, leaving her with a few goofy butterflies. "You better get your ass in gear or I'm leaving without you."
She hustled up to his side, making a face.
Vegeta opened the entrance door for her, and Bulma missed his paranoid glancing back and forth over her head.
"What the hell is going on between us?" She asked him, nearly hysterical with bewilderment.
He strode towards the parking lot with self-assured steps, leaving her behind.
"I'm so confused!" She wailed.
Vegeta whipped around, clearly agitated. "Are you coming?"
"Yes," she griped, and picked up her feet.
"You sure you don't want to hang out with your ex-boyfriend?" He sneered.
Her eyes widened. He'd seen them talking. How did he know? Wait.
"Are you jealous?" She smiled smugly.
"Hmph. Have you seen what he drives?"
Bulma burst out laughing and squeezed his bicep. "Indeed I have. Where are we going?"
"Your place."
"My place? Why specifically my place?" She matched his stride, and they made their way toward her bus, brushing shoulders.
"Because," he replied silkily, giving her a smoky once over. "There's a theory I want to test. Something I've wanted to do since you invited me in the first time."
“Oh, really?" Her eyebrow rose. "And just what is that?"
"Make you cook for me."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, no. I told you. I don't cook."
His toothy grin grew wider as they neared her bus.
"I think you can. And I'm going to watch you do it. While I undress you."
Bulma had a hard time swallowing.
"Slowly."
His mouth got closer to her ear as he pulled her to his side, running his fingers through her hair and tangling it.
"But I really just want to go home and watch the Flintstones," she protested.
"That's too bad, because I'm what's happening tonight."
In the thick dusk of the cool spring night, he held her against his side as he opened her door for her.
"Get in the bus and take us to your place."
"I'm not kicking Scratch out of bed for you," she breathed weakly as his fingers toyed with the top of her jeans, sliding the button out of its hole smoothly and hooking his thumbs in the waist of her underwear.
"What? The cat?" Vegeta asked quizzically, before a smile spread across his face. "Then I'm not apologizing for insisting there only be one man in your bed at a time.”
/ /
Bulma lay with her head buried in Vegeta's chest, dozing. Barney Rubble yammered on in the quiet of the night as her foot tingled, numb from Scratch's weight.
Once they'd arrive, he'd made her do exactly as he said he would.
At first he'd only slouched in the chair, watching her at the stove and sipping on a dry martini. It was only after she'd had a tantrum of frustration at her predicament, and received only a string of chuckles at her expense, that she'd sobered as he stood and made his way toward her, his dark gaze never leaving hers. He'd peeled off her jacket as his teeth pulled gently at her bottom lip. He'd unbuckled her belt and followed her pants descent with his mouth. She had stood in the middle of the kitchen in just her underwear and bitched weakly about the state of the sushi she was trying unsuccessfully to roll for him, and he'd responded by sucking at her clit with abandon while she leaned back brainlessly against the stove, her bare leg lazing on his shoulder.
After her knees had buckled, he finished working her into a froth in her bedroom, grinding against her with infuriating slow strokes, grinning daringly as he gripped her thighs. He'd pulled out of her slowly, earning a disappointed whine, leaned in close to put his searing mouth against her supple thighs. He nipped and licked his way up her ribs, causing her to twitch and laugh, which only incited him to brace his hands in her sheets and bury his head in her neck and thrust with exacting, demanding urgency.
Bulma had been too exhausted to question it when, instead of leaving, Vegeta had laid down beside her and pressed himself against her back, her eyelids already fluttering heavily. But, perhaps sensing something wasn't right, Bulma had woken up awhile later, Scratch trying to reclaim the bed and her Flintstones DVD on repeat, and Vegeta was still right there, breathing deeply, his head on her red flannel Scooby Doo pillow, his intimidating features softened by sleep.
And she wondered again, this time with as much giddy pleasure as anxiety, just what was going on between them.
Slowly she reached out to finger his hair, catching her breath as she ran her fingertips over the top of his coarse tresses. She watched his chest rise and fall, his corded throat expand and relax with his deep, consistent breaths, and she ran her thumb down his shoulder, round and firm, a boxer's shoulder.
His lips parted with the force of his discomposure, and she bent down and kissed his open mouth, tasting his lower lip lightly before drawing back to gaze at him. He lay as quiet as ever. Giggling softly, she leaned forward on her elbows and placed her palms against his cheeks, and with a growing smile, smushed his cheeks together, forcing his mouth to pout and his eyebrows to furrow. She giggled uncontrollably now, kissed the tip of his nose in apology, and lay her head against his chest, his heartbeat beneath her head. Mesmerized, she pressed her ear closer to his skin and wiggled to get comfortable.
Listening to his heart thump in his chest, one persistent, strong beat after the other, gradually led her to yawn, and then to drift to sleep.
One guy came in at 4:30, plumes of smoke billowing from under his hood, yelling about forgetting to change the oil…for the last few years. And then Frank, her least favorite tow truck guy, came in honking at a quarter to five with an old Rabbit that had definitely seen better days. She'd barely had time to wash her hands before she'd slid into the cracked leather seats of her VW Bus, ripped open a box of Cheez-Its and urged her beloved toaster of an automobile to 55mph in an effort to make it to Goku's game at least fashionably late.
She carefully parked the box on wheels at the farthest reaches of the parking lot of the sprawling community center, jerking the wheel with all her strength as the old power steering fought her.
Putting the bus into neutral and cranking the emergency brake, Bulma spared a glance in the cracked, grimy sun visor mirror to make sure she looked alright.
Her hair was out of her face, thanks to a ratty red handkerchief, at least. The thin white tank she wore under her sherpa-lined leather jacket and her stained, torn work jeans were just gonna have to do. At least Chi Chi wasn't trying to set her up again, so she had no one to look put together for. She could just relax in the bleachers with some snack food and a beer and watch good looking men throw a ball around.
To her delight, after jogging through the parking lot and up the stairs into the huge building, she spotted a food stand, and she went ahead and ordered a cheese dog and a beer before making her way with hurried strides to the baseball section of the public sports complex, chowing down as she went.
Crossing into the huge auditorium that held the pristine baseball field, its astroturf a vivid green against the crisp white baseball triangle and baseball players milling around doing…baseball things, Bulma worried her lip, wondering how in the heck she was going to find Chi Chi in the crowd.
To her relief and surprise, she spotted Launch and Juuhachigou. She felt a surge of nostalgia. She and Chi Chi had affectionately nicknamed Juu 'Eighteen' after an overly attached friend-with-benefits had lost his temper with her in front of them one night, accusing Juu of being an "unfeeling robot." Bulma had burst into hacking laughter, spraying the man in the face with beer as she giggled uncontrollably, causing Chi Chi and Eighteen to scream with laughter as the jilted man slunk out of the bar, his shoulders stiff around his ears.
That was back when she and the girls shared a townhouse, when every Friday night was girl's night, and she was the only one who had a significant other. Now it seemed all her girlfriends had meaningful relationships except Bulma, causing Bulma to feel a little left behind.
The pair stood loitering in the aisle a few dozen feet ahead, showing every sign of being apathetic to the game behind them, their chic, brightly colored outfits clashing with their boredom as she made her way down to them.
The women spotted her. "Long time no see," Launch's rough voice called out, and the two women shared a hug, Eighteen bending to kiss Bulma's cheek cooly. "Here for Chi Chi and Goku?"
"Yep," Bulma agreed, chomping down on the last chunk of her cheese dog. "Do you know where she is?” She asked with her mouth full.
Without uncrossing her arms, Juu pointed a slender finger toward the dugout, and Bulma peered past her to see Chi Chi in the front row, sitting with her legs crossed in her tailored pants and heels, her heel tapping, looking very much out of place.
Bulma smirked at the women. "She certainly looks excited to be here!"
They all shared an understanding chuckle.
She threw her empty hot dog wrapper in the nearby trashcan and looked at the two women in front of her curiously. "Sorry gals, I've barely ate all day. So what are you ladies doing here? I haven't seen you in over a year, Launch! Not since last year's Christmas party."
Eighteen broke out into a snicker.
"In fact," Bulma continued, smiling deviously, "it was when you were being dragged out by Tien after decking Roshi for trying to take an upskirt photo. How is Tien? How's the bounty hunting business?"
Tossing her thick, wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, Launch crossed her arms over her chest. Oblivious as usual to their teasing about her relationship and her career path, Launch shrugged. "We're good." Then she grinned evilly and elbowed Eighteen in the ribs, which earned her an icy glare. "We're here because we're watching Eighteen's boyfriend play."
"Boyfriend?" Bulma squealed. She turned to Eighteen in shock. "Since when did you date?"
To her amazement, Eighteen blushed lightly, her cornflower blue eyes sliding to the ground self consciously, her pale blonde hair swinging to obscure her delicate face as she turned away to hide her embarrassment.
And then turned back to the women stiffly. "Yeah, well, don't be so smug about it. Yamcha's here, too." She jut her thumb over her shoulder.
"What?!" Bulma yelped. "Oh, oh noooo." Bulma looked at them pleadingly. "That's not possible. It's been..."
"Almost three years?" Launch offered, smirking. "Go down and say hi, B, he was asking about you."
"Oh god." Bulma felt her grip tighten on her beer and she stared at them with wide eyes. "That's just...that's just dandy."
Abruptly swigging the rest of her beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trash with a delicate burp, she muttered, "I'm going to need more of these."
Launch laughed throatily. "Is he really that bad, Bulma? You guys seemed so happy together. Tien still talks to him every now and then."
"Krillin is good friends with him," Eighteen added indifferently.
The scruffy, blue-haired woman glared at them. "Go nose for gossip somewhere else, gals." She blew the wayward strands of hair out of her face, casting her eyes to the sky, and sighed. "Well, I'll be hiding under the bleachers behind the dugout if you need me."
"I have no doubt I could find you," Launch promised, and Bulma snorted at her old friend's obnoxious confidence as she stepped down the stairs, waving over her shoulder, her boots hitting the cement with solid thunks.
It'd been a few years since she and Launch had really talked, but it was clear she hadn't changed a bit. Bulma felt a little relieved by the fact. Launch had dropped out of grad school early on to join a small bounty hunting business, which suited her much, much more than academia did. Bulma and Chi Chi suspected she'd only signed up for school in her dogged pursuit of some guy from East City that everyone laughingly agreed wasn't even into her gender. Launch had always been impulsive, but without the common sense that Bulma had not to chase after a man who clearly swung the other way.
Well, not that sleeping with a man that was cold, abrasive, cocksure, and for the most part entirely uninterested in being friendly was limited to Launch, Bulma reminded herself. But, well, as much as Bulma wanted to psychoanalyze, dissect, and take apart her and Vegeta's...relationship...she just couldn't make heads or tails of it. She wasn't even sure where to start. His body just kind of, well, sang a song that only she could hear.
That was probably where she and Launch differed. Launch lacked even the curiosity to be self-reflective. She just went charging straight ahead toward what she wanted, which was fine. Different strokes for different folks.
Bulma, on the other hand, had spent years lacking self-esteem and letting self-doubt encroach on every facet of her young adult life. She had used it conveniently to stay in a field she didn't care for one bit, and to shield herself from the growing, heavy dissatisfaction with her relationship with Yamcha. Bulma had decided to turn a new leaf after their breakup and focus on her own needs.
She had developed a routine to keep from having to be pensive anymore: work, work, sleep, work, and microwavable and/or pre-packaged food that didn't require much pomp and circumstance. Aaaand…work. No more making sure dinner was on the table for a man promptly at five.
There was a difference between she and Launch, Bulma assured herself.
Which is why, when she sat down next to Chi Chi, startling the woman and who returned the favor by lightly punching Bulma's shoulder, Bulma gave her a big squeeze. Despite the way time seemed to pull everyone in different directions, despite their hangups, she could still count on Chi Chi to be there for her.
Chi Chi's dark eyes widened. "Where have you been?" Chi Chi glanced at her watch. "You're forty seven minutes late!"
"I know," Bulma admitted, sighing. "I'm sorry. Things got busy at work last minute. You know how it goes."
Chi Chi snorted delicately. "Uh huh. Well, you've totally missed this most riveting first few innings." She gestured lamely at the game.
"Uh huh." She unzipped her jacket and tossed it on the empty chair beside her. "So I ran into Launch and Eighteen on my way down here-"
Chi Chi turned to her excitedly. "YES! Okay, do you see that player in the red jersey near the middle base, whatever it is?”
"Second?"
"Yes. Number seven? Do you see him?" Chi Chi could barely contain her glee.
She pointed towards the field, where a short, well-built man with a shaved head hovered, watching the pitcher wind up with firm concentration.
"Uh, Cheech….That's Krillin." Bulma stared at her friend as if she were dense.
"Krillin is Eighteen's new beau."
"What?" Bulma crowed, looking at Chi Chi incredulously. "But, he's so nice. She grinds nice guys under her heels!"
"I know! But apparently, for some reason or other, she likes this one! And he's, like, a whole foot shorter than her," Chi Chi whispered to her conspiratorially, before leaning back and smoothing her pant legs. "They're actually really adorable together," she amended. "They have this funny chemistry." She smiled out at the field before them. "And Launch, ohmygoodness...She told me earlier that Tien's 'friend,' Chiaotzu or whatever, is living with them."
Bulma gasped. "Like, a love triangle? Is it polyamory when your lovers despise each other?"
The women shared a few giggles.
"They told me Yamcha is here somewhere," Bulma griped, folding her arms and slouching against the metal seat.
Chi Chi looked out of the corner of her eye at her friend. "Oh yeah? That's weird."
"Hopefully we won't cross paths."
"Why not? He's a nice guy. It might be good for you guys to reconnect," Chi Chi suggested neutrally.
Bulma guffawed loudly. "Yeah, right."
Chi Chi frowned, before a devious smiled played on her lips. "I've never known Bulma Briefs to be afraid of saying hello to someone," she teased.
"I'm not," she protested, taking the bait and earning a little sly smile from Chi Chi in the process.
"I think you should at least say hi. Otherwise he's going to think you're afraid of him." Chi Chi poked Bulma in the ribs and then watched her friend's expression go from frustrated refusal to reproachful but begrudging acceptance.
Bulma sat up. "Look, I'm going to go get another beer. Do you want one?"
"Gross. No thanks," she sniffed.
"Your loss, princess," Bulma called on her way up the stairs, and Chi Chi finally noticed that she was still in her dirty work clothes and repressed a growl. How was she going to woo Yamcha back dressed like that? She needed to have another talk with Bunny.
Chi Chi let out a small huff and turned back to the game, trying not to sulk.
/ /
Vegeta stared at the baseball game, oozing boredom, slouching in his seat with his arms crossed. Pouting like a teenager, his menacing scowl was still a fair warning to anyone who came within twenty feet of him.
Some loser threw a ball at another loser and he rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he'd accepted Goku's overture to come watch this 'game,' nor Nappa's ludicrous idea to cap the night off at the swanky 'gentleman's club' he'd so far been successful avoiding all these years. It all sounded pretty beneath him, but he'd needed something, anything, to distract him. There was a particular blue haired woman that was pulling his thoughts every which way, at work, at the gym, at the loneliest hours of the night.
He'd so far been successful having little to no interest in keeping a woman around for more than a night. But now his conviction that women were only good for one thing was trembling and fraying at the seams. He didn't like change, he didn't want change. He liked being in control; and at work, at the gym, in his refusal to go through the motions of a relationship with some woman, he was in control of his life.
Why go through all the empty gestures and trivialities of dating? For what? What was the payout? Being tamed? Unfulfilled? Controlled? Bored? Vegeta liked life just the way it was, a life where he was at the top. Not some woman.
And yet, she pulled at the edges of his every thought, hemmed the corners of every decision he made, hummed through the signatures he put to paper and thrummed though his body as he was soaping up in the shower. Sex was not worth becoming enslaved for—oh yes, enslaved and indebted for—and he reminded his body of this as he tried to ignore the rigid erection heavy between his legs, and as he scrubbed at his hair with frustration.
But she was not any other woman.
So he'd accepted the idiots' invitation to go out, because it would prevent him from driving over to her shop, tossing her over the car she was working on, and sinking himself into her, prevent him from watching her mouth part and her vividly blue eyes gaze up at him with half-lidded approval and thrwart his own grating pleasure from it. Coming here to stare unseeing at the game would prevent him from spending four nights with her this week, which was intolerable! and outrageous!, given he'd met her such a short time ago. It was not something he wanted to admit to anyone, especially himself. Especially because he'd had an ulterior motive to get her to talk on the case which was becoming obscured by feelings.
He heard the guys share a bawdy joke, their guffaws erupting around him, distantly heard them take shots at one another with barely registered contempt for them. What was she doing right now? Was she curled up underneath the chassis of a car, her small hands working a wrench, biting the corner of her lower lip as a million thoughts swirled in that head of hers? He could see her generous lips parting as she turned towards him, skin bright with a sheen of sweat from the heat of her desire for him, her hips peaking from her low rise jeans invitingly...
"Vegeta," she'd moan.
"Vegeta," Raditz called flatly. "Earth to Vegeta. Where are you tonight?"
Vegeta growled and looked the other way.
"Aw, c'mon Vegeta, we're going to Brassieres soon. Cheer up," Nappa cajoled, his big voice projecting around them, flustering Vegeta.
"Lower your voice. You look like an idiot and you're making me look like one, too," Vegeta snarled.
Raditz smirked. "We're going to grab a beer. Come on, old man. Just chill for once."
Vegeta fixed them both with a scathing look before hopping off the bleachers and heading up the stairs. "Fine."
The men made their way up the stairs and to the bar across from the entrance of the field, and as the two idiots chattered on about loose women, Vegeta stuck his hands in his pants pockets and considered escaping.
Maybe she'd be at the shop? It was likely she was spending another long evening there.
And he ran his fingers over his face and sighed.
"Bulma," he heard Raditz call, like he had plucked the thought of her right out of his head, and Vegeta's head whipped around.
And there she was, her back turned to him, at the head of the line, collecting two beers in each hand after handing the cashier a ten. Her dirty shirt rode up around her jeans, the creamy skin of her hips peering out beneath it, and she turned to the men with a sharp glance that had his gut churning. She raised a pretty little eyebrow at the men in front of him, and he realized she didn't know he was there. He could see a smear of grease on her earlobe that he had the strangest urge to lick.
"Raditz," she greeted snidely, and the sound of her voice made his breath catch. She was full of piss and vinegar, spleen and bile. It should infuriate him, and instead it just piqued a curiosity and lust for life in him long thought dead. She was just a mechanic, he grumbled. What did she have to be so proud about?
"Why on Kami's green earth are you here? Don't you have a Playgirl calendar photo shoot to attend?"
"Is all that booze for you?" Nappa asked her playfully, and Raditz smirked snootily.
"Someone's got a problem."
She rolled her eyes, and he watched from behind Nappa, his fists clenched in his pockets, trying to appear disinterested but trying not to be noticed as he listened in.
"Oh, please, Nappa. You go through ten times this amount of booze before breakfast. I just don't want to have to get up for another beer once I sit down."
"He takes that much cock before breakfast," Raditz joked dreadfully, and Nappa elbowed him in the ribs.
"Oh, is that what you've been using in your hair, Raditz?" Bulma asked innocently. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have much more important things to do, like drink myself into a stupor and hope it makes seeing my ex more bearable. Which sounds infinitely more enjoyable than sticking around for your cum jokes, boys. Cheers," she smiled, before beginning to walk away.
Bulma nearly stumbled as she made eye contact with Vegeta. Her smile vanished, replaced by, of all things...a blush.
It was as if time slowed, and predatory, wanton instincts emerged to the surface of the man. He smiled, a slow, sincere, dastardly smile that increased in size with the color in her cheeks.
She made her way quickly down the stairs.
"What a bitch."
"Tell me about it."
"I'd hit it though." Nappa popped a nacho chip into his mouth.
Vegeta turned to the men waiting on their drinks with a new, roiling emotion.
"I'd say she's still mad at you Vegeta," Raditz chuckled. "She didn't even say hello."
Vegeta settled for a compromise between his anger and his desire to repress it; he grabbed the frosty mugs from the counter as soon as the cashier set them down and kicked both Raditz and Nappa in the back of the knees, sending each careening to the ground in varying degrees of grace and curses.
"Neither of you get to hit that," he dictated, before walking smoothly after her.
/ /
Bulma plopped down beside Chi Chi with a sigh. "Cheech, I need to ask you something."
"What," Chi Chi replied boredly as she watched the baseball game with infinite disinterest.
"This is real talk. And you can't judge me. Don't judge me!" Bulma's voice rose as she set her beers beside her.
Chi Chi raised an eyebrow at their number and then looked up at Bulma. "Okay. Shoot." She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.
Bulma buried her head in her hands. "Okay. I really don't know who else to talk about this with, so here goes…." Bulma peeked between her fingers at her friend, whose perfectly straight, silky hair lay around her clear, narrow face, her coral blouse matching her lip stain perfectly as Bulma gazed at her friend's modest, prettily lined eyes. Ugh, why was Chi Chi so perfect?
"Cheech...I need to know..." She lowered her wavering voice, and glanced around. "What is a one night stand supposed to be like?"
"What?" Chi Chi exclaimed.
Bulma shoved her fingers to her friend's lips and glanced around nervously. "Shut. Up!"
"Okay, okay," Chi Chi whined, swatting her hand away. "But why are you asking me this? Didn't you just have one?"
Bulma looked away with embarrassment. "I guess so."
"So...what exactly are you asking me?"
"I just…." Bulma threw her hands up and then laid them in her lap forlornly. "I'm just...worried I'm not doing it right."
"What do you mean? Wait, like present tense, 'doing?' Bulma, has there been more than one time?"
Bulma hid her mortification behind her beer bottle.
"You slut!" Chi Chi playfully punched her in the shoulder. "Like, with a different guy, or the same one?"
"The same one," came Bulma's muffled, weak reply behind the sweating bottle.
"Why are you so hung up about this?" Chi Chi asked suspiciously. "It's not like you to be worried about what other people think."
"It's just, I'm new to this, alright?!" Bulma shoved the beer into her lap with frustration. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act around him, or feel about it…."
"Has Yamcha really been the only one you’ve—you know," Chi Chi whispered.
"Yes." Bulma's tone was defensive.
"So this guy's your second?"
"Yes."
"Holy shit, Bulma Briefs, it's like he took your second virginity! Did you bleed? Did he rebreak your hymen?"
"Shut up!" Bulma stomped on Chi Chi's foot.
"You're going to scuff my heels!" Chi Chi whined, but giggled. "Sometimes you're so precious, Bulma."
"I knew I shouldn't have talked to you about this," Bulma complained, rising and grabbing for her jacket.
"Bulma, don't go," Chi Chi cried, pulling her back down. "I'm sorry."
Bulma grumbled under her breath and sat back down even as she threaded her arms through her jacket.
"Look, having a casual relationship...it has its advantages. When dating, you spend all this time pretending to be someone else," Chi Chi remarked wryly. "With hookups, you get straight to the good part." She shrugged and looked at Bulma with barely contained mirth. "You're such a day dreamer. Don't make more to this than there is. Just enjoy it."
Bulma looked at her friend disbelievingly and then picked her longnecks up from the ground.
"This night has been a clusterfuck and it just started. I'm going home and watching all one million seasons of the Flintstones." Bulma rose. "Thanks for the talk," she remarked caustically. "Now I know how you really feel about me."
Chi Chi looked at her go worriedly. "See you later tonight, I guess."
Bulma heard Chi Chi say something under her breath as she marched her way up the stairs, bristling, and chose to ignore it. What a waste of time. What did she mean don't make more to this than there is? This was the woman who made it her life's work trying to find her a suitable husband. Like Bulma was a naive teenager or something.
And then it happened.
"Hey, B."
Bulma's head snapped up.
Yamcha stood in front of her at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail, smiling quietly.
Bulma's heart dropped.
The collar of his pale yellow jersey lay open against his thick, tan neck, the thin line of a long, forgotten scar that jut across one eye almost charming. He was taller and broader than she remembered, his biceps bulging as he uncrossed his arms to adjust his baseball cap, smiling handsomely.
"Hey," she struggled to say.
"Hey! It's been awhile." He regarded her intently, his cheerful, light brown eyes dispelling any awkwardness between them.
"Yep."
"How have you been? I heard you've opened up a car repair shop. I wouldn't have guessed you'd quit law to work on cars, but I guess you were always complaining about how bored you were with it." I guess you never knew me very well, she thought darkly.
But he regarded her warmly. "Look at you." Yamcha gestured at her, and Bulma looked down at herself. "You look well. You look great. You look really great."
"How's Puar?" She asked, tongue thick, mouth dried up.
"Puar's fine. She's great, actually. Just got her a new cat jungle gym, you know, the carpeted tunnels. They go all over my living room. It's pretty cool, actually."
Bulma smiled weakly. She felt weirdly out of body. She should not be smiling! Back straight, Bulma Briefs! Guns ready! Hello? Bulma? "Those are the best. Wish they made them for people."
"That would be wild. Something to cross off my bucket list."
They shared an odd laugh.
"Well, I'm just getting out of here...maybe I'll see you around," she finished lamely.
"Yeah. Maybe I'll drop by the shop sometime?"
Bulma swallowed this weird emotion swirling up her gut.
"Sure."
Yamcha moved to the side, allowing her to pass.
"It was good seeing you, B."
Bulma walked forward stiffly, feeling like she was walking past a ghost. The ghost of a man she had once been terribly in love with, a ghost trying to convince her that he was alive again, past the gravestone of her innocent adoration.
"See you around, Yamcha."
She took a deep breath, and then let it escape through her lips.
It wasn't ten feet before she ran right into Vegeta, who stood with his hands in his pants pockets, glowering down at her.
"I swear to Kami," she began, before Vegeta plucked a beer out of her grip, "what is going on tonight?"
And then to her befuddlement, right in front of the entrance to the baseball field, Vegeta yanked her to his chest and set his hungry lips against hers.
She stared up at him with surprise.
He pulled away as quickly as it began, but not without leading her forward at the small of her back and flicking off the beer bottle cap. "Come on, short stack." His hand drifted down her back before he walked off, apparently expecting her to follow.
Bulma just stood there, staring with amazement. They'd never been...publicly affectionate before. "What the hell is going on tonight?"
He turned to smirk over his shoulder at her, leaving her with a few goofy butterflies. "You better get your ass in gear or I'm leaving without you."
She hustled up to his side, making a face.
Vegeta opened the entrance door for her, and Bulma missed his paranoid glancing back and forth over her head.
"What the hell is going on between us?" She asked him, nearly hysterical with bewilderment.
He strode towards the parking lot with self-assured steps, leaving her behind.
"I'm so confused!" She wailed.
Vegeta whipped around, clearly agitated. "Are you coming?"
"Yes," she griped, and picked up her feet.
"You sure you don't want to hang out with your ex-boyfriend?" He sneered.
Her eyes widened. He'd seen them talking. How did he know? Wait.
"Are you jealous?" She smiled smugly.
"Hmph. Have you seen what he drives?"
Bulma burst out laughing and squeezed his bicep. "Indeed I have. Where are we going?"
"Your place."
"My place? Why specifically my place?" She matched his stride, and they made their way toward her bus, brushing shoulders.
"Because," he replied silkily, giving her a smoky once over. "There's a theory I want to test. Something I've wanted to do since you invited me in the first time."
“Oh, really?" Her eyebrow rose. "And just what is that?"
"Make you cook for me."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, no. I told you. I don't cook."
His toothy grin grew wider as they neared her bus.
"I think you can. And I'm going to watch you do it. While I undress you."
Bulma had a hard time swallowing.
"Slowly."
His mouth got closer to her ear as he pulled her to his side, running his fingers through her hair and tangling it.
"But I really just want to go home and watch the Flintstones," she protested.
"That's too bad, because I'm what's happening tonight."
In the thick dusk of the cool spring night, he held her against his side as he opened her door for her.
"Get in the bus and take us to your place."
"I'm not kicking Scratch out of bed for you," she breathed weakly as his fingers toyed with the top of her jeans, sliding the button out of its hole smoothly and hooking his thumbs in the waist of her underwear.
"What? The cat?" Vegeta asked quizzically, before a smile spread across his face. "Then I'm not apologizing for insisting there only be one man in your bed at a time.”
/ /
Bulma lay with her head buried in Vegeta's chest, dozing. Barney Rubble yammered on in the quiet of the night as her foot tingled, numb from Scratch's weight.
Once they'd arrive, he'd made her do exactly as he said he would.
At first he'd only slouched in the chair, watching her at the stove and sipping on a dry martini. It was only after she'd had a tantrum of frustration at her predicament, and received only a string of chuckles at her expense, that she'd sobered as he stood and made his way toward her, his dark gaze never leaving hers. He'd peeled off her jacket as his teeth pulled gently at her bottom lip. He'd unbuckled her belt and followed her pants descent with his mouth. She had stood in the middle of the kitchen in just her underwear and bitched weakly about the state of the sushi she was trying unsuccessfully to roll for him, and he'd responded by sucking at her clit with abandon while she leaned back brainlessly against the stove, her bare leg lazing on his shoulder.
After her knees had buckled, he finished working her into a froth in her bedroom, grinding against her with infuriating slow strokes, grinning daringly as he gripped her thighs. He'd pulled out of her slowly, earning a disappointed whine, leaned in close to put his searing mouth against her supple thighs. He nipped and licked his way up her ribs, causing her to twitch and laugh, which only incited him to brace his hands in her sheets and bury his head in her neck and thrust with exacting, demanding urgency.
Bulma had been too exhausted to question it when, instead of leaving, Vegeta had laid down beside her and pressed himself against her back, her eyelids already fluttering heavily. But, perhaps sensing something wasn't right, Bulma had woken up awhile later, Scratch trying to reclaim the bed and her Flintstones DVD on repeat, and Vegeta was still right there, breathing deeply, his head on her red flannel Scooby Doo pillow, his intimidating features softened by sleep.
And she wondered again, this time with as much giddy pleasure as anxiety, just what was going on between them.
Slowly she reached out to finger his hair, catching her breath as she ran her fingertips over the top of his coarse tresses. She watched his chest rise and fall, his corded throat expand and relax with his deep, consistent breaths, and she ran her thumb down his shoulder, round and firm, a boxer's shoulder.
His lips parted with the force of his discomposure, and she bent down and kissed his open mouth, tasting his lower lip lightly before drawing back to gaze at him. He lay as quiet as ever. Giggling softly, she leaned forward on her elbows and placed her palms against his cheeks, and with a growing smile, smushed his cheeks together, forcing his mouth to pout and his eyebrows to furrow. She giggled uncontrollably now, kissed the tip of his nose in apology, and lay her head against his chest, his heartbeat beneath her head. Mesmerized, she pressed her ear closer to his skin and wiggled to get comfortable.
Listening to his heart thump in his chest, one persistent, strong beat after the other, gradually led her to yawn, and then to drift to sleep.