Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ On Set ❯ 06 - Reassurance ( Chapter 6 )

On Set

-06 Reassurance-

Vegeta glared at everything with murderous intent. He was not in a good mood. He hadn't slept well. He had barely eaten. It was cold as ever-loving-fuck outside. And he was not happy about being back at the last place he wanted to be.

Kame Studios.

Fuck this fucking place. Fuck Nappa for ever having mentioned it. Fuck himself for having listened to that juiced-up gym rat. Fuck that Eighteen woman for putting this porn business into Bulma's pretty, stupid head. And fuck this whole industry, all the way to hell. Vegeta was so pissed he had half a mind to punch the first dumb schmuck that got in his way.

“Hi, I'm Goku!” someone cheerily announced, interrupting Vegeta's train of thought. A friendly hand thrust towards him.

Vegeta looked at the large, calloused palm as he leaned against a wall, arms crossed. The hand was attached to a tall, muscular young man, beaming at him with the most insufferably handsome smile. Vegeta couldn't place it, but something about the young man reminded him of Raditz. Maybe it was the combination of wild hair and goofy grin.

…Fuck Raditz too, just for good measure.

Vegeta scowled, refusing to unfold his arms to shake the man's hand. “The fuck is a `Goku'?”

The young man laughed, taking back his arm and rubbing his head sheepishly. “Ahaha, well, it's me. That's what everyone calls me, anyhow. I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm going to be working with your girlfriend today.”

Vegeta felt the floor drop out from under him. A horrible, sinking feeling of despair twisted at his gut. He looked Goku over again with dismay. This was the guy Bulma was going to do porn with? This tall, good looking, friendly young man? This was the guy who was going to undress her, pin her down, finger her, fuck her?!

“The hell you are,” Vegeta snarled before he could stop the words from coming. Goku's brows rose. Vegeta shut his mouth and glanced away, his hands fisting with annoyance at himself. “…She's not my girlfriend,” he gritted out, trying to cover up his lapse of control.

“Oh?”

Vegeta glanced back at Goku. The young man had an amused, curious smile on his face. Before Vegeta could ask what the fuck his deal was, Bulma came out of the director's room.

“Vegeta, I- Oh, hi,” she said, seeing Vegeta wasn't alone.

“Hello. I'm Goku,” Goku greeted, holding out his hand towards her.

Bulma's eyes widened in recognition of his name. She took his hand, shaking it. “Goku? As in, Milkman Goku?”

Goku laughed. “Yep! I'm your co-star today. Nice to finally meet you. It's Bulma, right?”

“Right,” Bulma said, blushing, struggling to drink in the sight of Goku, all six-foot-something of him. And if her growing smile was anything to go by, she liked what she saw.

Vegeta watched, seething with a bristling, black rage that built each second they eyed each other over. “What took you so fucking long?” he snapped, anxious to have Bulma's attention off Goku and back on him. Why were the two of them still holding hands?

Finally, the handshake ended, and Bulma tore her gaze away from Goku to look back at him. “Oh, I had to finish signing some documents for Roshi,” she said. “Have you seen Eighteen?”

Before Vegeta could scathingly tell her that no, he hadn't seen the she-devil because he had been waiting for her here all this time, Goku replied.

“Eighteen? Yeah, I just saw her come in. Let me chase her down for you,” Goku offered, and he hurried off before either of them could say otherwise. He jogged away with the easy gait of an athlete, all long limbs and fluid movements.

Goku probably fucked liked an athlete too.

Vegeta's hands fisted tightly.

“He seems nice,” Bulma commented, sounding far too pleased.

“Tch. He smiles too much,” Vegeta spat, feeling surly.

“What? What's wrong with smiling?”

Vegeta struggled to think of an adequate reason. “Looks like an idiot,” he finally replied, scowling.

“Don't say that,” she laughed, nudging his side. “I have to fuck the guy.”

“Well you certainly don't seem to mind that idea as much as you did this morning,” Vegeta shot back, bursting with a hostility he could no longer control. It was sparking off him like electricity, wild and uncontainable.

“Well, why would I?” Bulma replied, her tone hesitant, giving Vegeta an uncertain look. “I was worried I was going to be paired up with someone old, or ugly. But that's not the case, is it? Guess I lucked out.”

Vegeta's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He knew she was trying to make herself feel better; she had been a mess of nerves all morning. In their apartment, she mistakenly poured cream into the coffee pot, and coffee grounds into her mug. She misplaced her purse three times, and after making them breakfast, had barely touched her food. Thankfully, she was too nervous to notice that he hardly ate his either. The whole bus ride over had been filled with long stretches of silence, broken only by her blurting out odd questions: Did her hair look alright? Did she smell nice? Did he lock the door? Would he help her run away if her co-star was a weirdo, haha just kidding… She had babbled incessantly, unaware that her flimsy smile couldn't hide her insecurities from showing. Vegeta saw right through it. She was terrified. He felt guilty too, because she was so caught up in being nervous that it didn't leave them any space to feel awkward about what happened in her bedroom last night, and Vegeta was glad for that small mercy.

When Bulma had taken his hand as they got off the bus, he didn't shake her off, pretending not to notice how her fingers trembled.

So it shouldn't have surprised him that Bulma felt relieved with her co-star's appearance. If he were a good person, Vegeta would congratulate her, help build up her confidence and reassure her for her shoot.

Vegeta wasn't a good person.

“Are you sure he wasn't dropped on his head?” he asked her scathingly. “He didn't seem all there. You might be fucking a retard. Aren't there laws against that?”

Bulma gave him an open-mouth look of horror.

It made him look away, actually feeling a little bad. “…What?”

“You are such an asshole!” she blurted furiously.

“And?”

“I can't believe you don't get punched in the face more.”

Vegeta scoffed. “Like anyone could.”

“That doesn't make it okay to be a jerk, you know.”

“So what's your excuse?”

“Excuse me?!” Bulma hissed, sucking in air to let loose on him, but then Goku and Eighteen came down the hallway. Bulma expelled an angry breath and turned to face them.

“Look, I found her!” Goku announced rather unnecessarily.

Vegeta raised a brow at Bulma, silently indicating See? Dropped on the head.

Bulma gave him a baleful look before turning back to Goku and Eighteen. “You did! Thank you.”

Eighteen glanced coldly at Vegeta, then at Bulma, her eyes softening. “How are you feeling, hon?”

“Who, me? Excited, of course! Haha, why wouldn't I be?”

“Mm. Let's get you into a changing room,” Eighteen suggested, and she took Bulma's elbow.

Vegeta pushed off from the wall and started to follow. He was stopped when Eighteen placed two delicate fingers in the center of his chest. Her cold, ice-blue eyes met his without falter.

“Girls only. Boys stay out here.”

Vegeta sneered at her. “Then why do you get to go in?”

“Vegeta!” Bulma gasped. But he couldn't help himself. He hadn't felt this contentious since his latter gang days, caged and frustrated, on the verge of open rebellion against Frieza. It's one reason why he left, before he pushed someone over the edge of good tolerance, and wound up dead.

However, Eighteen didn't seem offended. In fact, she arched a brow, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. She turned, walking Bulma away. “Don't worry. I'll get her nice and ready for Goku.”

Her words were a sharp slap to the face. Vegeta fought back a wave of nausea at her implication, watching as she took Bulma into a side room. When the door clicked shut, it felt like it cut of his oxygen with it. The corridor felt cramped, stuffy. He couldn't breathe here. He needed to get out…

“Don't sweat it, buddy, she's in good hands with Eighteen,” Goku offered cheerily, patting him on the shoulder. It made Vegeta jump — he had forgotten the tall porn star was still there.

Vegeta yanked his shoulder out of Goku's hand. “Did I fucking ask?” He glanced away, mumbling under his breath. “You're worse than Raditz.”

“Raditz?”

Well, apparently his hearing was good. “Never mind. Just another idiot I know that won't shut up.”

“No, I mean, I know Raditz. Big guy? Lots of hair?” Goku asked excitedly.

Vegeta side-eyed him. How the hell did this country-bumpkin know Raditz? “Perhaps,” he said cautiously.

Goku laughed. “He's my brother!”

Vegeta balked. Suddenly all the pieces he had been ignoring fell into place. “Wait. You're `Kakarot'?” This was Raditz's brother, the little brother that Raditz wouldn't ever shut up about, a so-called actor?

…Of course it fucking was. No wonder Vegeta didn't like the guy. Just wait until he talked to Raditz again and gave him shit about this-

Wait.

Raditz's little brother was going to fuck his Bulma?

No…

Vegeta felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, his stomach rolling over. He thought he was going to throw up. Wincing, he put a hand to his brow, trying to fight back a headache. This, this was not happening…

“Oh, hey, you okay?” Goku asked, leaning forward.

“I'm fine. Get out of my face,” Vegeta snapped, shoving Goku away.

“Okay, alright, just concerned… It was Vegeta, right? We've got aspirin this way,” Goku offered, indicating down the corridor, away from where Bulma was.

Vegeta refused to budge. “I said I was fine!” he snarled, gripping his head in both hands now.

“Okay, your call,” Goku replied in what he must have thought was a soothing voice.

For a moment, there was silence. Vegeta held his head and prayed that Goku would just leave.

“Well, I should go get ready too,” Goku said.

Thank fuck. Vegeta felt his shoulders ease. “Good. You do that.”

There was another pause, but Vegeta heard no footfalls.

“So… Roshi says this is Bulma's first time on camera?” Goku asked.

Oh no, no he wasn't asking him this… Vegeta's fingers curled, ready to ball into fists and punch someone's face. He looked up, glaring at Goku vehemently. “What's it to you?”

Goku shrugged. “Well, it's just… The first time can be pretty intimidating, you know? Perhaps you have some advice you can give me, to help ease her in?”

Vegeta couldn't believe his ears. This guy had to be joking, right? Give him advice?! Vegeta would rather eat undercooked chicken again than help Goku fuck Bulma. It was bad enough this was happening at all, he didn't also need to know that he had helped Goku pleasure her… In fact, if Goku wanted advice, then Vegeta was fucking going to give it to him.

“Sure. Say something about her tits,” Vegeta said, folding his arms over his chest and looking away. “Especially that you like how they're asymmetrical.”

“Asymmetrical?”

“Yeah. She gets off on that,” Vegeta drawled. “Oh, and don't touch her clit. She hates that. Too sensitive.”

“Right…” Goku said, sounding unsure.

Vegeta glanced at him and shrugged. “You fucking asked for my advice. Take it or leave it, makes no difference to me.”

“Oh, no, thanks! I appreciate it,” Goku said. “Well, I'm off now. Catch you at the shoot, Vegeta!” He waved and jogged off down the hallway. Vegeta watched him go, feeling a smug little smile form at his own craftiness. Let's see how lucky Bulma was feeling once Mr Tall, Buff and Stupid insulted her breasts and did a poor job at stimulating her.

Vegeta pulled out his crummy cell phone and texted Bulma.

What's taking so long? I feel like an idiot standing out here.

It didn't take long for her to reply.

Probably because you are an idiot.

Oh ha ha. You better be decent. I'm coming in.

As if. You and your pissy attitude can stay out there.

Vegeta scowled.

Why are you being such a cunt? You were the one who begged me to come here in the first place, and now you're making me wait around like a fucking lackey?

I didn't beg you, Vegeta. And if I had known you would be such a dick to everyone, I wouldn't have asked you to come at all.

Fine. Sorry to bother you. Enjoy getting fucked.

Vegeta sent the last message with a vindictive jab of the send button. He shoved his phone in his pocket right as it buzzed but he didn't bother checking it. It buzzed again. And again. His jaw worked. He glared at the opposite wall.

The door down the hall sprang open. Bulma stepped out, her eyes wide, her hand clutching tightly at a white robe she wore. She relaxed when she spotted him, but only for a moment. Her eyes quickly narrowed, and she marched over.

“What is wrong with you!” she hissed.

Vegeta only deigned to look at her from the corner of his eye. Her hair was pinned back, her face half made up. Her eyes were huge, eyeliner and shadow applied far more thickly than Bulma normally wore. It was so different from how she usually looked. It threw Vegeta off, made him feel uncomfortable. This wasn't his Bulma. They were changing her, taking her away from him, making her theirs. He glanced away, back at the wall, trying to appear indifferent, but only able to do so because she was there, a soothing balm against his roiling emotions.

“Nothing. What's wrong with you? Worried I would run away and leave you here?”

“Yes, you goddamn jerk,” she said, surprising him. She punched him in the arm.

Or tried to. If you could call that a punch.

“Ow,” she said, rubbing her hand and pouting. Her eyes shone, but from anger, tears? Vegeta couldn't discern.

“That's the most pathetic right hook I've ever taken,” he said, taking her hand in his and examining her fingers. She didn't scream when he pressed on them.

“Could you just… not be an asshole for five seconds, please?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He glanced at her, then back down at their hands. “You do know who you're talking to, right?”

She didn't respond at first. He finished checking her hand, but nothing seemed broken or dislocated. “You're fine. Ready to milk the Milkman,” he tried to joke, lamely.

Bulma smiled. Barely. She looked at him with her impossibly big eyes, the make-up only accenting how captivating her gaze really was. He was lost in her eyes. Raising a hand to cup her chin, Vegeta turned her head gently to either side to admire the work. “Eighteen did this?” he asked.

Bulma nodded in his palm, her cheeks turning pink.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. He remembered doing the same last night, wiping away her tears after she came on his hand. Vegeta let her go, uncomfortable with the reawakened memory. “Looks good on you,” he told her gruffly, but truthfully. If her eyes were done up this way while going down on him, he would probably lose his load in three seconds flat.

And to think it would be wasted on Goku instead.

Life was just really fucking unfair sometimes.

“Really?” she asked, giving him a warmer smile.

“Nn,” he said, looking away before she could see the embarrassment in his eyes.

“I don't look like a clown?”

“Tch. The only clown I saw was that idiot, Kakarot.”

“Who?”

“Your milkman.”

“Oh… why `Kakarot'?”

“Long story.”

“Okay… Anyway, I should go back. Finish getting ready.” She started to turn away, then paused, looking at him with her big, smoky eyes. “You're going to stay, right?”

He pressed his lips in a tight line, and recrossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just hurry the fuck up. If I have to exchange small talk with any more of your goddamn co-workers, I'm going to smash my head through a wall.”

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Try not to. I'm nervous enough as it is, I don't need to be worrying about you too.”

Her warm hand on his bicep burned, and left him feeling turned inside out. Her words weighed on his shoulders like a lead cloak, a heavy responsibility to bear.

“Worry about your own stupid self,” he said, his voice soft, gruff. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know, big guy,” she said, squeezing his bicep. Then her fingers slipped away, and she walked back to her room.

Vegeta let his head thunk solidly back against the wall when she was out of sight. He pulled out his phone to check the time, wondering how much longer until the shoot started.

Her unread messages flashed on his screen.

What's that supposed to mean?

Vegeta, don't ignore me, you insufferable ass!!!

Please don't go. I can't do this without you.

Vegeta sighed, letting his hand drop to his side as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like shit. All she wanted was his goddamn support, but he was making the whole ordeal more miserable for her than it needed to be. Throwing a fit like a toddler, being unnecessarily antagonistic…

And giving Goku bad advice.

Oh fuck.

Vegeta made an agitated sound and pushed off from the wall, heading the way he had seen Goku go earlier. He needed to hunt down the tall clown before the man actually took his advice, and shattered whatever confidence Bulma was struggling to cling on to.

Vegeta walked around several intersecting hallways, but none of the doors had nameplates, just numbers. He found his way to the set, set up to look like the inside of a living room where Bulma would be receiving her `milk delivery'. Vegeta sneered and found someone working on the lighting.

“Hey you. Where's Kakarot?”

“Who?”

“Goku,” Vegeta growled with distaste.

“Probably room 4.”

Vegeta hunted out the room. It wasn't far, nor hard to find, the door decorated with an orange number 4 with four little red stars. Vegeta knocked, and when he heard a cheery voice tell him to come in, he did just that.

And saw Goku.

All of Goku. All six-foot-something of him, totally, fucking, naked.

“Argh, the FUCK!” Vegeta snarled, covering his eyes with his hands, staggering back as if someone had thrown acid at his face.

“Vegeta?” Goku asked.

Vegeta choked on outrage and disgust. “Just… forget everything I said to you before!” he strangled out, and stumbled away down the hall, still trying to cover his eyes, the unfortunate image of Goku's body burned into his retinas.

Pressing the heels of his palms into his sockets, Vegeta felt his way back to Bulma's changing room and banged on the door. “I'M COMING IN AND I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU'RE DECENT OR NOT.”

He opened the door and squinted into the room. Bulma was in a chair, Eighteen standing over her, holding a make-up brush to Bulma's face. Eighteen glared at Vegeta's dramatic entrance.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Bulma asked, startled by his entrance.

“No! I'm fucking not okay!” Vegeta roared. He held the door open, and indicated for Eighteen to leave. “You. Go now. Roommate emergency.”

Eighteen rolled her eyes and glanced at Bulma. When Bulma gave her a nod, Eighteen sighed and put her things down before leaving, but not before giving Vegeta a rather scathing once over. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” she remarked cooly. Something sparkled in her eye, and she suddenly smirked. “Or the competition.”

“OUT!” Vegeta shouted, shoving her the rest of the way, shutting the door after her.

“You have about fifteen minutes!” Eighteen called from the other side of the door. Vegeta listened for the blonde's footsteps to retreat before finally turning around to face Bulma.

He wanted to grab her and take her out of there. To get her away from this place and from Goku's enormous cock. He wanted to punch Goku in the stomach, throw a molotov through Kame Studios' window, and never, ever have to think about this place, or Bulma being here, again. But the deluge of words he wanted to blurt at her caught in his throat when he at last got a good look at her.

She was both gorgeous yet totally foreign in her embellished make-up. Her cheeks glowed. Her lips glistened like juicy, over-ripe strawberries. Her white, fluffy robe hung open, revealing the soft curve of her décolletage, her skin sparkling from some kind of lotion or powder. She was naked underneath the robe. All it would take was one little tug and he would see everything. But most of all her eyes struck him. They were so huge, unguarded, and shimmering with concern.

“Vegeta, what is it?” she asked, standing up to meet him.

And it became so clear. He had the power to break her. For all her inner strength and bravado, Vegeta knew he could easily shatter her, destroy her belief that she could, or should, do this. A few snide remarks, some cutting words, and it would be game over. She would hate him, and worse, herself, but she would leave.

He couldn't bring himself to do it. He had done many awful things in his life, but this, annihilate her self-esteem entirely, he couldn't do. She had saved him, taken him in, kept him when she didn't have to. He didn't have it in him to destroy her.

“…Nothing. I was just done with waiting out there.”

“Seriously, that's all?” Bulma asked, incredulous, but her shoulders relaxed. “Why did you kick Eighteen out?”

“Don't trust her,” Vegeta snapped. “Besides, you look…” he waved a hand in her direction. “Finished.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly, turning to examine herself in the mirror.

“…Did you still need her?” he reluctantly asked.

Bulma gave a forced laugh. “No, no, I'm fine. Just… trying not to forget my lines! Ha ha…”

Vegeta looked away, looking at anything but her. A slip of paper on the vanity caught his attention. He picked it up. “What's this?”

“Oh!” Bulma said, happy for the distraction. “It's my pay check.”

Vegeta's brow furrowed as he stared at the amount, a sour taste forming in his mouth. “…Is this right?” he asked. How could it be? It was so small… This is all they thought she was worth? It wouldn't even cover a month's rent. This is what it all amounted to? It all felt so hollow, so cheap. It didn't seem fucking worth it at all.

“What? Yes, it's right,” Bulma said, coming to look over his shoulder.

“I thought you said we could make rent with this,” Vegeta said, still feeling nauseous.

“Oh, no, well… that was if we were both participating.”

Vegeta felt his stomach drop. She was right, he was an asshole, lower than the dirt he stepped on. Here Bulma was, earning them money to fucking survive, and what was he fucking contributing? All he could do was think about himself. About how he didn't want her to get fucked. Perhaps if he had tried harder to find work, she wouldn't be here now. If he hadn't used up so much electricity, or demanded bottled water, or had done more chores so that she didn't have to and could have used that time to look for a better job, they might not be here now. Maybe if he had been nicer, actually complimented her once in a while, she wouldn't feel the need to validate herself with this goddamn porno.

But it was too late for all that.

Vegeta glanced at her. She was styling her hair in the mirror, looking like a wet fucking dream. He caught a glimpse of her breasts as she leaned forward, and his groin tightened. She was far, far too good for porn, wasted on a bunch of strangers and worse, on Goku. It made him ill to think about it.

Her hands were shaking as she adjusted her bangs.

Vegeta watched her fuss, feeling each horrendous beat of his heart bringing them closer and closer to her shoot.

“I should probably go out there,” Bulma announced, far sooner than he expected. “Get familiar with the set,” she explained, not quite meeting his eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the long sleeves of her robe.

No.

Don't. Don't fucking go.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff, and he looked askance.

Bulma checked her appearance one last time, then tightened the sash about her robe. “Okay! You can't beat perfection like this!” she joked. “…See you out there?” she asked, and he heard the tremor in her question.

He couldn't answer, so he grunted.

The next time he saw her, Goku would between her legs, his dick wet in her.

Bulma walked passed him on the way to the door, and if felt like she took the air with her.

Don't, please don't. Let's find another way, I'll find another way to make rent…

She stopped.

“…Vegeta?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

He turned to look at her. She was staring at him, a brow raised curiously. Then he saw why. He was holding her arm. How…? He didn't even remember reaching for her. But there his fingers were, pathetically clutching her slender wrist, holding her back.

“What is it?” she asked him, her face crumpling, her forced confidence shattering. “I-is something wrong? Is it my hair? Is it my make up?” she asked, touching her hair then her cheek. Her eyes grew wide, and she clutched at her robe. “Is it my breasts? My ass? M-my pussy? Oh my god, it's my pussy, isn't it?”

Vegeta blinked, stunned. “…What?”

“It's not pretty enough, is it?” she asked, her voice rising high, her eyes shimmering wildly. “Oh god, please tell me honestly.”

“Bulma,” he said, tugging her away from the door and take her shoulders in his hands. “How the fuck would I know what your pussy looks like?”

She stared at him for a few panicked breaths. “…Oh,” she finally said. Her lip trembled. She looked so sad and frightened.

Goddamnit it. Damn her. How did he constantly get himself into these predicaments with her? Life sure liked fucking with him.

Vegeta gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath. Letting it out, he put his hand on the sash at her waist. He checked to see if she objected.

She didn't. She kept his gaze, and nodded.

Vegeta undid her belt. The sash fell away, the fluffy robe still clinging to her body. Vegeta lowered his gaze, running his fingers along the broad edge of the fabric, and gently pulled it apart.

Bulma was immaculate. A tiny, flawless, deity. Pale curves, soft skin, a narrow waist that dipped down to a soft blue trail. He swallowed, taking her all in. His fingers twitched at her sides, barely feeling worthy of touching her. But fuck it, he had come this far, he wasn't going to stop now.

Vegeta placed his hands on her hips and slowly sank to his knees. Bulma sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. She braced herself back against the vanity, and parted her legs. The submissive gesture made his blood roar. With great difficulty, Vegeta pushed his lust aside. He wasn't here to try to get his dick wet. He was here for her.

He thumbed the sharp bones of her hips. She was so delicate. He cringed to think of Goku's massive hands pawing her. Vegeta erased the unpleasant image from his mind, replacing it with the lovely one before him. He ghosted his fingertips over her belly, watching it goosebump in his wake. He stroked lower, down her blue fluff, gently caressing her powdery soft lips. He could barely stop his fingers from trembling, awed that she was allowing this.

He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. Shit, shit, this was actually happening. Vegeta brought his left hand to meet his right, and placed his thumbs on her cute, little labia. Gently, reverently, he parted her lips.

Bulma made a soft sound. She blushed and bit her lip, her fingers tightening on the vanity's edge. Vegeta choked back his own sounds of lust, staring at her pink clit, her soft folds dropping down to a tiny hole. It was the most beautiful, amazing fucking thing he had ever seen, more perfect than he could have hoped for. He wanted to bury his face in it, to press his nose against her and breathe her in, to taste her on his tongue, and watch how she would squirm from doing so. He was glad he hadn't seen her last night, because the sight of his fingers slipping inside her would have tipped him over the edge and had him cumming in his pants.

“W-well?” Bulma asked, her voice breathless.

Vegeta tried to find the strength to speak. He cleared his throat and looked up at her. Anything less than a glowing review, and she wouldn't go. He could still stop her, keep her all to himself. All it would take was the will to break her heart.

He broke his own instead.

“…It's perfect.”

She let out a small, relieved laugh. “O-okay. If you say so. I trust you.”

Vegeta wanted to die. What the fuck was he doing here? This was fucking torture. He was holding the most perfect thing in the whole goddamn universe and he was just going to hand her over to some buffoon for a few measly hundred dollars? To think of Goku's fingers prying around her made him want to hurt something.

He was about to let his hands fall away when something occurred to him. He frowned.

“You're dry,” he commented. The weight of that revelation sat uneasily with him. The eyeful of Goku he had received in room 4 still haunted his vision. Goku was going to tear her up if she wasn't dilated, and Vegeta had a lot of doubts about how capable that man would be in preparing her.

“Oh, I-I'm just… I…” her words trailed away, unable to voice how scared she was.

He couldn't send her out like this.

Vegeta's jaw worked, and he made up his mind.

He raised his hand to his mouth and breathed on his fingers in an attempt to warm them. Then he sucked one into his mouth. When it was warm and wet, he reached for her, touching her gently, just the way she had taught him the previous night.

Bulma breathed in with a small, surprised sound, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

Vegeta watched her reactions astutely. Her cheeks burned red, her breathing accelerated. He waited for her to stop him, but she never did. Her thighs trembled, and when he nudged her leg, she obediently spread it wider. He felt his own breathing pick up, a primal, animal instinct awakening within him, rising to claim her, to take what she was so freely offering. But he resisted his own pleasure, focusing on hers.

Her nipples were hard and pert, her pretty chest rising and falling with her shortened breaths. He kept his touches on her clit light, teasing, only wanting to help get her ready for her shoot and maybe, just maybe, to imprint himself on her so that when Goku was thrusting inside her, Vegeta could delude himself into thinking she moaned because of him.

He spread her wider and looked at her without shame. Bulma whimpered. From behind her hand she gasped his name. Fuck, fuck, why did she have to do that? Like this wasn't fucking hard enough without her doing that. He looked at her face, and was instantly transported back to last night, seeing her face flushed and scrunched in pleasure, her blue eyes locked desperately to his. And with that memory, another followed.

You're so quiet. You could give a girl a word of encouragement, you know.

Her words hovered in his mind. He didn't really know what to say to be encouraging. Fuck, he didn't think anyone had said an encouraging thing to him in his whole life, how the fuck was he supposed to know what it might sound like? But he didn't want to fail her, so Vegeta did the only thing he could think of, and spoke honestly. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice coming out low and gruff.

Bulma sucked in a shuddering breath at his words. She nodded helplessly, her hand falling away from her mouth to clutch his broad arm. “D-don't stop.”

“I won't,” he promised. Like he could.

He slipped his finger down her soft folds, feeling her getting slick. “How's that?” he asked, pressing at her entrance. “I can feel you're getting wet. Does it feel good?”

“H-oh my god yes!” Bulma sobbed.

“Okay. I'm going to stretch you out now.”

“O-oh my god!”

Vegeta pushed a finger inside her and Bulma groaned, her head falling back. Her hips writhed, pushing down on his hand reflexively. It was the single hottest thing Vegeta had ever seen in his whole goddamn life. He curled his finger inside her and her hips bucked in response.

“Vegeta!” she whimpered. “Oh my god, oh my god… Please, please…”

He watched her, wanting desperately to know what it was she was begging for. If it was in his power, he would give it to her.

Bulma looked down at him, her face wrecked in pleasure. She whimpered, tugging on his arm. “Talk to me more?”

He rose to his feet. Compelled to be closer to her, to shelter her tiny body with his own, he gently took the back of her head in his hand. He nuzzled her ear. Her fingers latched onto his shirt, clinging, her legs spreading to accommodate him.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, still slipping one finger in and out of her. “Imagine you're home, in bed. Just like last night.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, trembling and grinding against his hand, one of her legs hooking behind his hip. “B-but you used two fingers in me then.”

“Did I?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Like this?” he husked, and wiggled another thick finger inside her, stretching her out.

Bulma keened, burying her face into his shoulder to muffle her cries. “Y-yes, yes, just like that!”

She was getting so wet, but still felt too tight. She'll never fit Kakarot inside her. Vegeta clutched her closer, protective, pushing unpleasant thoughts away.

“There's nothing else, no one else,” he said, as much for his own sake as for hers. “Just you and… me, inside you.”

He pulled back, enough to look at her. She opened her eyes, looking back. He lost himself in her eyes, drowning. She stared right back at him, her gaze cloudy with lust. She put her hands to his face and brought them closer together. Her mouth, gasping, tried to find his. “Vegeta,” she moaned, shivering against him. “Please fuck m-”

A loud knock came at the door. “All cast on set!”

Vegeta sprang off her, the knock a rude lightening bolt of reality. For a fleeting moment, he had forgotten where they were. For a heart beat, she had been his, and only his.

But now she was Goku's.

Fuck. FuckfuckFUCK! Vegeta turned around, giving her his back so that he could try and pull himself together. He tried to will away his hard on, tried to mentally prepare himself to let her go, to respect her choices as much as he might despise them. She wasn't his, she never had been. He had to respect that…

But he didn't have to watch it.

He couldn't. He fucking couldn't.

“Vegeta?” she called to him, her voice breathless, uncertain.

“…You'll be fine,” he told her gruffly, the last fragment of reassurance he could throw at her. He turned and headed for the door, his eyes downcast. He left, walked purposefully down the corridor, struggling to keep his knees from buckling or his hands from fisting through the nearest wall.

“Hey, where are you going?” Eighteen asked him as he passed her.

He didn't bother answering.

“Hey, she's going to need you! HEY!” Eighteen shouted after him.

He ignored her. Heading for the front door, Vegeta crashed through it, exiting the studios without looking back.

~xox~

It had all been so perfect.

One minute, Vegeta had been holding her, more tender than she could have imagined him being. His cheek pressed warmly to hers. His mouth crooning his intentions into the shell of her ear. His big fingers fucking her in a way that no man had ever made her squirm. But the next moment, he was gone. He had let her go as if burned, ashamed. Now all he gave her was his back.

Something tightened in Bulma's chest.

She closed her robe, feeling cold and exposed. Her mind was a mess, struggling to kick back into gear, warring between fading arousal and escalating uncertainty.

The knock on the door couldn't have come at a worse time. She had just worked up the courage to ask Vegeta to fuck her, here and now, her shoot be damned, when the interruption came. And now she didn't know, was scared to know - why had he let her go? Had her half-spoken question disturbed him, or was it the knock that made him pull away? And if the latter, why was he still not looking at her?

Bulma felt a cold pit of unease churn within her belly. Had she crossed a line? Had she made one sexual advance too many? She thought Vegeta was enjoying himself too. With all the things he had been saying, doing, the look in his eyes… Or was she just projecting? After all, she was always the one to push him into these things. Did he give in out of lust, or out of pity?

What was she to him?

And why wouldn't he look at her?

Bulma tried to catch her breath. She still felt wrecked from his fingering. “Vegeta?” she asked. She couldn't say anything else, her other questions unspoken. She couldn't bring herself to ask if he was okay… If they were okay.

“…You'll be fine,” he responded abruptly. And before she could reply, he left her.

Still wet, throbbing.

And alone.

The sound of the door closing after him rung in her ears. Her chest feel impossibly tight. Something splintered inside her, like glass fracturing under too much pressure. It felt like she was going to burst…

Another knock came at the door, softer than before. Eighteen poked her head inside. “Bulma, honey, are you ready?”

Bulma nodded woodenly. She stepped away from the vanity, tightly clutching her robe in both hands, and approached Eighteen. It was time for her shoot. She had to get her mind off Vegeta and onto her film.

The big moment of truth.

Eighteen put her hands on Bulma's shoulders and shepherded her towards the set. “Sit here, hon,” the blonde suggested, guiding Bulma to a couch on the set. The stage lights shone down on her with unsettling clarity, throwing the rest of the room into shadows. Her skin prickled with sweat under the hot lights. As she took a seat, she noticed the crew, fixing the lighting and adjusting cameras, suddenly paused to stare at her. Bulma looked away, embarrassed. She clutched her robe tighter about her throat and scanned the room. She had to squint to see past the glare of the lights. Off to the side she spotted Goku, now wearing a deliveryman outfit, talking to someone she didn't know. She looked past him, trying to find Vegeta in the crowd, and failing to do so. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or getting a drink?

The uncomfortable, squeezing pressure in her chest grew worse.

Eighteen came back with a make up kit and started fussing with Bulma's face, preventing her from further scanning the room. “You need a touch-up, hon,” Eighteen explained. “You're a little sweaty. Nervous?”

Who, me? Bulma Briefs? Nervous? Hahaha… That's what she wanted to say, but her throat felt dry, her tongue thick and uncooperative. She gave Eighteen a weak smile and shook her head.

Eighteen clearly wasn't fooled. She stopped fixing Bulma's make up and gave her a sharp look. “Everyone is their first time. We'll take it at your pace, okay? You'll be fine.”

Her final words hit Bulma hard, like a truck slamming dead into a wall. They were the same words Vegeta had told her before he walked away from her.

The heat from the lights was suffocating, sweltering. Was it always like this? Bulma felt dizzy, like she couldn't even breathe.

Eighteen finished touching up her face. “There. Gorgeous. I would fuck you. Just relax here, take some deep breaths, and have fun. It's just sex, right? And Goku's a total gentleman.”

“Right,” Bulma said weakly. Eighteen gave her a worried look, then headed off, straight over Goku. Watching them talk only made Bulma more nervous, so she looked away, watching the crew finish setting up.

Her make up felt heavy and unnatural. It hadn't been like that around Vegeta, he made her feel sexy, but now it just felt like a mask that wasn't fooling anyone. She was no porn star. She knew it, they knew it. They were only too polite to say. Bulma glanced down at herself; her hands were clutching her robe in a vice-like grip. She forced them to unlock, and instantly despaired when they started to tremble.

Her nerves were getting the best of her. She needed to calm down, to have someone to tell her, in their familiar, gruff, no-nonsense voice, that she was being an idiot. To calm the fuck down. To joke with her about Roshi's ridiculous shirt, to criticize the awful decor of the set, and to remind her that she could do this.

Where was Vegeta? Why couldn't she find him?

Why hadn't he waited for her?

Why had he stopped touching her?

And why did it make her throat close up every time she pictured him walking out the door?

Bulma looked around the room, vainly trying to spot him. If she could just see him, see his angry little frown and his muscled arms bunched over his broad chest, his dark eyes watching her with single-minded focus… If she could just find him, she knew she could get through this. But she couldn't spot him. The rope of unease inside her chest tightened further, making her heart pound and her lungs burn.

“Hey!”

Bulma startled. Goku crouched down before her with a disarming smile.

“Thought I'd check up on my co-star. We didn't really get much of a chance to talk before,” he said in a cheery tone.

“Oh. Yeah… Have you seen Vegeta?” she asked him.

“Sorry, not since earlier,” Goku admitted. “But, about today,” he added, and put a hand on her knee.

Bulma startled like a mistreated animal. Goku's eyes widened, pulling his hand back defensively. “Oh, sorry-”

“No, I'm sorry,” Bulma hurried to apologize. She felt her cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. God, she was a mess. She was supposed to let this man fuck her, but she over-reacted when he touched her knee? He probably thought she was a complete lunatic at this point. “You just surprised me.”

“Ah, no hard feelings, sorry to scare you. I should have asked,” Goku told her kindly. Too kind. He was patronizing her. Oh god, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be sexy, fun, naughty even. But it wasn't any of those things. Goku was treating her as if she were mentally unstable, wary of her breaking down from the slightest provocation.

And the worst part was, he was right.

She could feel herself crumbling apart, drowning in a sea of insecurities. This was far outside of her comfort zone, and for once, she wasn't enjoying the challenge. All she felt was uncomfortable, and ridiculous.

And alone.

Why wasn't he here?

“You know, if it helps, try to forget about all this,” Goku said, waving his hand at the cameras and lights. “Imagine you're somewhere safe, familiar. Heck, imagine I'm your boyfriend. I won't be offended.”

“Boyfriend?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. She felt the tightness in her chest squeeze, crushing the air from her.

Goku nodded. “Yeah. Vegeta.”

Her heart stopped. She sucked in a panicked breath, but she couldn't drag in any air. “Excuse me,” she gasped. She got up, stumbling off the set. Out of the glare of the lights, Bulma looked frantically around, trying to find him, her heart bursting to break free of the invisible rope constricting it.

“Bulma?” Eighteen asked with concern, coming over to her.

“Vegeta,” Bulma demanded, her voice thick. She could feel something hot and horrible burn inside her, stinging her eyes. “Where is he? Have you seen him?”

Eighteen hesitated. But she didn't have to say anything. Her face said it all.

He wasn't here.

He had left her.

The first sob escaped Bulma before she could stop it. Hot tears dripped down her cheeks, no doubt ruining the make-up Eighteen had worked so hard to put on her. Bulma couldn't get the tears to stop. She covered her face, broken, humiliated, her shoulders hitching as sob after sob wracked her. Weeks of nerves and insecurities gushed out as she cried, but at the heart of it all was the bitter sting of Vegeta's abandonment.

“Here, try to calm her down,” Eighteen said, and Bulma felt someone gently take her shoulders. She was too distraught to care who.

“Me? Where are you going?” Goku called.

“To find the asshole that's making her cry!”

~xox~

Vegeta felt the cold of the bench seep into his back. The world bustled around him, oblivious to his inner turmoil, but what the fuck was new about that? When had the world ever given a shit about him?

Never.

Until her.

Vegeta crushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to block everything out.

It didn't work.

Something hit the bench and he jolted upright. Eighteen stood at the end, one booted foot on the armrest. Her face was drawn and furious.

“Having a nice lay down?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vegeta glowered at her. “What's it to you?”

Eighteen lowered her foot, sweeping her blonde hair out of her face. “Just thought you might like to know that while you're out here enjoying the day, Bulma's back inside in hysterics.”

Vegeta leapt to his feet and grabbed the front of Eighteen's blouse. “What? What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Tch, you're asking me?” Eighteen sneered, not the least intimidated by him. “You're the one who sold her for a meal ticket.”

“That's not-!” Vegeta started to argue, then realized he didn't care to explain himself to her. He dropped Eighteen and ran off, sprinting back down the block towards Kame Studios.

He burst through the door and flew past the receptionist. He came to a dead stop at the set, gasping for air, looking around for Bulma. The crew was milling about, talking and looking bored, but Bulma was no where to be seen.

“Where is she?” he roared.

Someone pointed down the hall. “Goku's room.”

She was with Kakarot? Alone?

Vegeta saw red.

He ran straight to the four-star door, crashing through to get inside. The sound of Bulma crying instantly brought him to a stop. No, not crying. Crying was what Bulma did when that idiot, Jack-something, froze to death in Titanic, or when Bulma drank too much and spent the night puking and crying over everything that had gone wrong in her life, including all the times she had drank too much. No, this wasn't crying.

It was bawling.

Bulma sat half curled in a chair, her face in her hands as she wailed. Goku crouched before her (in clothes, thank fuck), his large hands awkwardly patting her on the shoulders. “Shh, it'll be okay, we don't have to do any-”

Some internal switch clicked on inside of Vegeta, and he pounced. With great violence, Vegeta yanked Goku back by his shirt, throwing the man hard into the nearest wall. Goku slammed backwards, wincing and letting out a small `ow' on collision.

“Don't you fucking touch her,” Vegeta snarled. “The fuck did you people do to her! I was only gone five goddamn minutes!”

“She isn't hurt… I don't think,” Goku said, rubbing his shoulder but otherwise appearing more concerned about Bulma than Vegeta's rough handling of him. “I don't know why she's crying.”

“You don't know why?!” Vegeta yelled, ready to explode. “I swear on my fucking life, if you tried anything with her-”

“Vegeta…” Bulma's tiny, wet voice croaked. It pierced him right through the chest.

Vegeta turned to look at her, then back at Goku. “OUT!” he said, grabbing Goku's shirt and shoving the man out of his own room. He slammed the door shut and, after a quick look around, wedged a chair under the handle for good measure.

Shaking with adrenalin, he approached her. With no one left to blame, and each of her sobs slicing through him like steel, Vegeta didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to dealing with crying, or emotions, especially others'. He hunched before her, swallowing thickly, and reached out to brush her bangs back from her face.

Bulma hiccoughed and looked up. Her eye make-up was smeared. She raised her sleeve to wipe her wet nose on the cuff. She looked very young, and small, and vulnerable. Vegeta was overwhelmed by the need to protect this tiny, miserable creature with everything he had.

“Wh-where did you go?” she asked, her voice breaking. Her hurt, blue gaze made him feel guiltier than any parental figure ever had.

How could he tell her the truth? How could he admit that he couldn't watch her get fucked by someone else? He struggled to explain himself, but Bulma spared him the misery of doing so.

“I can't do it,” she sobbed, putting her hands back over her face, her breath hitching higher. “I'm so ashamed. I'm such an idiot.”

Her words hurt, stinging him like salt in a wound for how untrue they were. “Bullshit,” he said firmly. “You're Bulma fucking Briefs, remember? If anyone is at fault it's them. Pairing you up with that idiot. I would fucking cry too.”

She laughed, weakly, but only for a moment before divulging back into tears. She slipped forward and pressed her face against his shoulder, her fingers curling into his shirt. Vegeta's eyes widened, shocked. Fuck, what was he supposed to do now? He debated with himself for a moment before finally putting his arms around her. Bulma eased against him, and he tightened his hold, guessing he had done the right thing.

But her crying didn't stop. “I r-really thought I c-could do it,” she sobbed sadly.

“Bulma,” he murmured into her feather soft hair. “If anyone can do anything, it's you. You're the most stubbornly determined person I have ever met.”

She shook her head in the negative, and their cheeks pressed together.

“Not this time,” she said, and once started, she couldn't seem to stop, rambling wildly. “I h-had this image in my head of what it would be like, but… Everything was wrong. It was all so wrong. It was nothing like I wanted it to be. I felt so awkward and uncomfortable. Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to mess up. It wasn't fun or sexy, it wasn't like when we practiced. I just wanted it to be like that. I just wanted it to be like how it was with you…”

Vegeta felt his heart skip a beat, and then struggle to catching up, thudding frantically at her revelation. He didn't know how to take her words. They made him ache in a way he didn't dare hope.

“You always made me feel good. Safe,” she added, her fingers tightening in his shirt. She seemed calmer now, her sniffling subsiding. Bulma rested her wet cheek on his shoulder, sighing and hiccoughing. “I just w-wish it could have been you.”

He felt his resistance come apart, splitting, like a giant sheet of ice breaking away from a glacier to crash into the ocean, taking all his misgivings with it. He grimaced, raw and exposed in a way he had never had to deal with before. He hugged her tighter, and knowing the full impact of what he was about to say, told her, “Okay.”

Just please, please stop crying.

~xoXox~

AN: beta-read by Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp, our resident vegebul fanfic librarian and aficionado ~_^

VegetaPsycho was kind enough to draw some steamy fanart for this chapter too ^_^

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he'd be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of Stupidoomdoodles and myself, LadyVegeets. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire, and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer, and ideas woman) can be found on twitter, tumblr and patreon.

Please check out Stupidoomdoodles' NSFW art for this fic too. We'd love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^