Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ You've Got a Hold On Me ❯ Chapter Four - You Do ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

A/N:  Hello again all!
What a bunch of fun this is!  I’m really getting some enjoyment exploring the nuances of the developing relationship between our favorite couple, as this is the first time I’ve done it myself in writing.  This one is a bit longer than the other chapters, and I hope you’ll be pleased with what you find.  :D
Big thanks again to all my reviewers, followers, and people who’ve favorite this story.  Without support it’s hard for anyone to keep motivated!  I appreciate all of your feedback, and as I’ve said before if I haven’t yet gotten to you personally please know that I do and I will.    Since I can’t PM this particular person, I’d like to mention this person by name – ShiftersFate, thank you for your reviews!  
Please go check out the “We’re Just Saiyan…” Community on Google Plus!  

Summer was coming.  She could tell by the color of the sky, the gentle but pungent smell of growing grass and the angle of the sun on her neck.  It was warm and relaxed the tight muscles around her shoulders with the sincerity of a lover.  Bulma sighed and shifted her legs out in front of her on the grass so as to catch more warm trickles of sunlight on her bare legs.  Her work shorts were entirely too hot now; even by the beginning of summer, West City was a notoriously hot and humid metropolis with little to no reprieve until late autumn.
There may be some just for a moment, though, she realized as dark clouds gathered in the west and threatened rain.  A distant flash of light echoed in those grey depths, and Bulma reluctantly gathered herself to a standing position so that she might cover up her father’s miniaturization engine with the tarp she’d carelessly thrown to the side earlier.  
Bulma had been working on the recalibration since seven this morning on the North Lawn of the compound, and her limbs moaned in protest at her having prostrated herself on her back for at least the past four hours while she picked at the calibration mainframe.  Something hadn’t clicked in after her initial calculations, and the engine itself was now at a standstill; it simply wouldn’t start.  The error messages flashed irritatingly at her as she gathered up the tarp, and Bulma vowed that the day would not end before she had been successful.  Dr. Briefs was a patient scientist and a stereotypically apathetic genius who mostly could not be bothered a whit about the problems every day people faced.  But Bulma had inherited her mother’s empathy and general interest in the outside world (not to mention her killer body and fabulous hair), and the daughter at least could carry on a relevant conversation with most people.
This realization brought her to another issue; in order to make it back to the Lab Wing and discuss today’s findings with her father, thereby leading her to the glorious solitude of the shower and probably a few barbecue chips, she would need to traipse through the East Lawn alone.  This of course would lead her past the GSR, and Bulma did not trust herself a simple, cursory glance it its direction.
It had been a week since Vegeta’s abrupt departure from that nighttime kitchen, leaving her to stare at his footprints in her slightly aroused yet utterly ambivalent state.  The man, or rather the Saiyan, was a complete aggravation.  In fact, after that encounter Bulma had been less inclined to test his limits than she had been before.  Though she had held her ground – though she hadn’t let him take a victory – he had scared her.  But Bulma’s one small comfort in that awareness was that, well, she was pretty sure she had scared him, too.  Imagine, Bulma Briefs scaring an intergalactic space pirate with an unresolved Napoleon complex and homicidal anger issues!
But that was where the amusement ended.  Part of Vegeta’s fear, she realized, was not necessarily that she was a fearful creature.  His fear was something different; it was a deep-seated, instinctual need to be left alone.  Contact, whether intentional or not, was something he controlled with despairing need.  And that night, well, he had not been in control.  Bulma should have reveled in that fact; she was a masterful controller, and came by it honestly.  But the dizzying intensity of his wariness was pitiable, really.  Like Vegeta, Bulma could hardly find joy in defeating a wounded thing…
She sighed and swiped at a spot of lubricant that had stained her work shorts.  Well, at some point she would need to walk by the GSR.  She certainly couldn’t stand here all afternoon, wind buffeting her voluminous curls, staring into the distance like some kind of water bird.  Besides, even from here she could smell cookies.  Her mother was not one to let a day go by without some kind of culinary adventure.
Bulma gathered her various accoutrements, tools and paraphernalia and stomped purposefully toward the East Lawn.  She wouldn’t even look at the GSR, she resolved.  But as she came closer and closer, the grass brushing her bare ankles, the urge to sneak a peek into Capsule 3’s porthole window was nearly overwhelming.
Get a hold of yourself, Briefs!  She ground her teeth together and, as the rounded top of the GSR slowly came into view over a row of pine trees, Bulma listened intently for the gentle hum of its engine and readied herself for the heat that would be spewing forth from the exhaust valve that faced the North Lawn.  She was intrigued to discover neither when she came to the tree line and stepped through the tall trunks behind the GSR.
As Bulma rounded the capsule, she found herself tiptoeing.  The silence that surrounded the East Lawn was nearly as deafening as it was confusing.  There was no way Vegeta had stopped for the day, and she was hard-pressed to believe that he hadn’t even begun.  It was now nearly six in the evening and the grouchy prince, though an unpredictable mess of a creature, was largely consistent in his routine.  Bulma struggled with her pack full of tools and instruments, shoving some wayward parts more securely into the bag and continuing on toward the front of the GSR.  As she gazed up and around the sphere, she noted a form inconsistent with that familiar shape just near the top.  
Bulma stopped walking, and the breeze began to kick up as the dark clouds headed swiftly toward West City.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she stared with unchecked curiosity at the back end of the figure on the roof of the GSR.  It was Vegeta.
He stood at the very top of the spacepod, arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart in typical stance.  His gaze was lifted heavenward, and he was watching the growing storm with unhindered concentration.  Bulma steered as close to the walls of the capsule as she could, without losing sight of the Saiyan Prince, and watched with glaring curiosity.
Minutes went by and yet he had not moved.  Bulma waited by the control panel and clutched her sack.  She wondered if he had heard her or felt her ki, but he made no indication to that effect.  And now that she could see a bit better she noticed that his black eyes, the ones that had scared the life out of her in the kitchen that night, were closed.  They were not cinched shut in pain or anger, though, she noted, but simply lidded.  And though his brow was set in his trademark ‘v’, it seemed, somehow, softer…
A rumble of thunder sounded, louder now and closer, and the sky had begun to darken over the Capsule Corp compound.  Kami, she hoped her mother wouldn’t look out of the kitchen window to observe the coming storm; she would have a clear view of the East Lawn.  She’d surely see Bulma in an instant and probably call out to her, ruining this odd little interlude in a heartbeat.
Bulma could smell the rain coming.  One always could at this time of year.  The warmth of the daytime sun beating down on concrete and asphalt would melt away as the pureness of water streamed over it.  It was not a smell she could easily forget, and nor was the man she watched now, perched on the tip top of Capsule 3 as though lightening were not a thing to be feared.  But for him, Bulma reasoned, for him maybe it was not.
She continued to watch with abject fascination as his arms came down to his sides, fists still clenched against the sides of his thighs and hanging there like naked hammers of his rage.  Bulma saw, dimly, that his bare arms were tensing and his chin had lowered.  Though his eyes were still closed, there was emotion there that she had never seen before.  A flash of lightening illuminated the darkened sky and startled her into submission against the wall of the GSR.
Bulma hissed out a curse as a few electronic stabilizers tumbled from her sack, and the rain began to pour down in sheets over the sensitive insides of them.  She bent to shove them back into her bag and stood with her arms pressed against the walls of the capsule.  The torrents of sudden rain pooled against her fists and beat down the rush of curls down her back.  Daring to look up again, as Vegeta had surely heard the calamity below him, she expected him to be gone.  Perhaps battling the storm in a way only he knew how, or even in the opposite direction to Kami only knew where.
But he was still there.  Vegeta’s body had not moved, but his eyes were open and glaring down at her from his post with wild, questioning eyes.  A few, paralyzing seconds passed, and Bulma held in the breath impending to rush from her lungs in a violent puff of awkward fear.  His eyes continued to bore into her with a threatening demand, and without a word she bolted.  It was the first time since Namek that she had run from him.
Her bare, soaking wet legs rushed through the rain drenched grass, across the East Lawn and toward the double-door entrance to the lab wing.  It was in sight now, and Bulma nearly dropped her bag of supplies as she came to the wet concrete and punched in the unlock sequence on the doors.  The rain beat at her back, and a crack of thunder drew out an unwitting moan of frustration as the panel did not accept her password.  God damn her trembling fingers!  Bulma slammed a wet fist against the wall in fury that a mere glare could affect her so.  But as she lifted her fingers to the command panel once again, it was too late.
Vegeta’s hand was on her shoulder and he was spinning her around in the rain until her back was pressed against the corner under the stone awning.  It hurt, and she slammed both palms against his wet, bare chest.  A loud smack echoed against the walls of the wing entrance.
“What the fuck, Vegeta!”  She screeched at him, hoping that her affected ire would conceal her earlier indiscretion.
He stared at her for a moment, in silence, until his nostrils flared and his lip curled upward in the vaguest of snarls.  Bulma blinked as a droplet of water fell from one soaking curl and into her eye.  It slid over the curve of her lip and under her wet chin.
“Why were you watching me?”  He demanded suddenly, his voice rasping against the resounding deluge around them.  She did not answer, feigning ignorance, and cocked her chin to the side.
She did not expect him to press a palm full against her shoulder and step forward until he was as close to her as he had been in the kitchen a week ago.  His expression went from disgust, to something Bulma was very familiar with by now:  attraction.  And then it was gone again in an instant, back to the powerful disgust she had seen a mere moment prior.  She squinted at him.
“Why were you watching me--?!”  He demanded again, rainwater spilling over his wild hair and splashing gently across her cheeks.
This time her anger trumped the desire she felt again in her loins, heavy and aggravating.  She pushed back, and though he could have, Vegeta did not resist.  He stepped away from her; a foot of volatile aura separated them, and his expression was unreadable.  Bulma pressed her lips together and pushed her bag closer to the door with her foot.  She pressed both palms against the corner of wall behind her and pushed out so that she was standing steadily again.
“I wasn’t watching you!”  She demanded, her voice wild and shaking.  It echoed across the East Lawn and was followed by another crack of thunder.  His hands clenched into fists again, and he took a deep breath.  Vegeta pointed at her.
“Do not watch me like that!”
“Like what?”  She hollered, taking another step forward.
“In the shadows like a conniving little bitch!” He shouted, but his voice overtook hers by a mile.  Bulma stopped, though her heart willed her to move forward even further.  The rain trailed down her chin now, and she ruffled at his name-calling.
“You asshole!”  She raged, clenching her own small fists into little balls of fury.  “You see tricks and deception everywhere you look!  Get some fucking therapy, Vegeta!  There’s no one here who follows your every move!”
Vegeta took three steps forward and was in front of her again, his palm pressed against the space between her collar bone and her breast.  Rainwater dripped from his sharp, regal nose and onto the ridges between his fingers when he pressed her back up against the wall.
“No?”  He asked, this time with a note of something very unfamiliar in his voice.  Bulma swallowed convulsively and shook her head.  But Vegeta’s eyes bored into her with hot insistence, and his fingers spread wide.  They slid closer to her throat, until his two middle fingers were pressing against her pulse.  “You do.”  He said then, and his words sliced her belly like a hot butter knife.
“Like I could give a good goddamn,” she hissed defiantly.
“Tu’sha La!”  He laughed, actually laughed as he pressed against her with his palm.  He sneered, and leaned into her mouth, again as he had done before.  “That means ‘bullshit’!”
And then he pushed away.  The cool rain was a blessing, and Bulma let out a few carefully moderated gasps of air as he backed away from her, his eyes dancing on the viciousness of his words.  He snarled on the edge of his grin.
“The simulation modifier is set at four hundred fifty times normal gravity.  Fix the permissions so I can set it higher!”  He insisted, and turned to walk away back toward Capsule 3.
Bulma let her gasps come more heavily now, and she watched that ‘won’t quit’ ass stride away from her until he was levitating back to the top of the GSR.  She reached behind her and entered the unlock codes, but did not enter the opening doors until it was possible to tear her eyes away from his still and unbreakable figure.

If Vegeta had known how difficult it would be carrying on a conversation with Dr. Briefs, while still dripping wet from the recent storm and agitated by the flaming aura that Earth woman had infused on him, he would have avoided the man altogether.  But reason dictated that, after his encounter with Bulma, the usually perky and assertive wench would probably not reassign permissions to the GSR.  
At the moment, Dr. Briefs regarded him with a gentle curiosity that was usually reserved for small animals that had become lodged in a laboratory puzzle.  Vegeta gnashed his teeth together at the sound of the other man’s quiet hesitance.
“Well…” the scientist managed, “in theory, if you’ve already been training successfully at four hundred fifty times gravity, then setting it to five hundred may not have an immediate effect on your body.  It would be safe for say, fifteen minutes.”
“And then?”  Vegeta ground out, imagining that perhaps that sort of pressure was exactly what he needed to exert on his body in order to reach his goal.  “What then?”
“Well, ahhh…?”  Dr. Briefs paused and pointed the eraser of his pencil against his wide computer screen.  “After fifteen minutes, and I’m no doctor of internal medicine but, with that kind of pressure your organs would start to shut down.  The volume of your blood would weigh more than your entire body does now.”
“Those are Earthling calculations.”  Vegeta told him.  “Recalibrate it for Saiyan capabilities.”
“Well, I ahh---?  Actually, I have, son.”  Dr. Briefs said.  His statement was more crushing than the GSR itself.  Vegeta clenched his fists and felt the white tank he’d thrown on tighten over his tensing shoulders.  “You’ve pushed yourself pretty far, Vegeta.”  The doctor was speaking to him with some amount of clarity now.
Vegeta thought of that plebian moron Kakarot, that purple-haired mock Saiyan who had destroyed Frieza with a sword… A sword!  He put both hands flat on Dr. Briefs’ work desk and breathed out, hard.
“Do you think so, old man?”  He asked, fairly certain that his voice had deteriorated into a growl that echoed the absent Oozaru inside him.  Shit, he couldn’t even utilize that power anymore thanks to a waste of life fat-man who’d robbed him of the only truly Saiyan facet of him he’d had left.  The doctor regarded him with the same obstinance as did his daughter.  At least he knew where the arrogance came from.
“Well, yes,” Dr. Briefs replied matter-of-factly.  “The GSR has been monitoring your vital signs for at least a month now, and--?”
“WHAT?”  Vegeta raged, suddenly furious that these… hacks, with their little, tinkering toys and their insidious diversions should be monitoring his every move.  Gods, it was like--!  Gods, it was like being in a regen tank, staring out at Frieza’s smiling, bemused face.
Vegeta’s palms pressed heavily down on the work desk, and Dr. Briefs’s eyes flickered down as the legs of the solidly soldered construct creaked loudly.  The hesitance and slight confusion had returned to the doctor’s eyes, and Vegeta felt his nostrils flare.  
“Well, you understand, son.”  The doctor’s brow lifted in what looked like genuine concern.  But Vegeta knew better… Yes, he knew that look all too well.  “Bulma had the equipment installed after your rib fracture compounded.  Your insides were a mess.  That injury could have killed you, you know that, right?”
“Feh!”  Vegeta huffed, shoving away from the work desk with a violent burst of ki.  Some papers flew in all directions and fluttered around the doctor like heavy snow.  He pointed one firm finger at Dr. Briefs.  “You will remove that equipment from the GSR immediately!”
The old quack’s eyes widened only slightly, and Vegeta felt his ire ball into the fists of his hands until small ki dans were resting there, glowing like little trophies of his past fits of fury.  He took a few quick, deep breaths and willed himself to control it.  Good gods, if he unleashed the Beast now who knew what the consequences would be?  As he watched Dr. Briefs and contemplated what must be done to counter this grave insult, Vegeta felt his eyebrow twitch.
They would not study him like some kind of filthy fucking lab rat!  By the god Vash’halla, they would not!  If there was anything in his life he had detested more than the beatings…  More than the abuse, more than the name-calling and the constant reminder of his long-forgotten throne, it was being observed by those soulless space physicians whose idea of ethics was a basic need for a live subject:  and obedience of Frieza at all costs.  His chest heaved, and the light material of his top was tight against the bulk of his bulging shoulders.  They were always the first to pop out, he thought, when he was ready to murder something.  But as he continued to stare, and Dr. Briefs blinked wordlessly, Vegeta remembered the thunderstorm – and he remembered her blazing blue eyes as they challenged his every whim with defiance so firm that it made his blood sing.
He turned from the ogling doctor and exited the lab with a vicious ferocity.  His aura, still flaring, caused a warning signal to sound loudly at the door control panel.  Vegeta would find a way to disable the equipment himself.  That would piss her off.  Yes, it would piss her off enough that she would come looking for him.  Because she did care, just as he had told her outside in the storm; she cared, and her interest, her concern, her attraction (the gods damn her), whatever it was it was dangerous.  Bulma Briefs would find him, and she would know just what happens when you challenge a full-blooded Saiyan with a vengeful hate streak the size of Shenlon’s cock.

It was still raining.  It hadn’t stopped for hours and in fact, the rain was beating down so heavily on the curved sides of the GSR that it was drowning out the sound of Vegeta’s steady, deep breathing.  He’d had the simulator turned off for about an hour now, and was sitting near the control panel where he had successfully found the mainframe access to Bulma’s ‘bioStatus’ program.  She certainly hadn’t concealed its purpose from him, which was curious.  Had she not known how furious it would make him, knowing that she could see everything from his heart rate, to his blood pressure, to how many times he’d failed to block a ki blast from one of her floating bots and vomited up a mouthful of blood in the process?
The blood rushed in Vegeta’s ears as the warning peal went off again, straight from the mainframe access.  It told him again that bioStatus processes were not functioning, and that immediate restart was required.  She’d even programmed the software to disengage the gravity simulation if for some reason the bioStatus was non-functional.  Surely, she’d have noticed by now, he thought.  If she’d been monitoring him as closely as was evident, well…  
By the gods that bitch made him livid; and if one other little tidbit of realization had hit him whilst he sat here, stewing in his unadulterated wrath, it was that she also made him want to pin her to a wall and see just what a naked earthling looked like underneath all that bravado and aggression.  Fuck her, and her naked tits…!  Gods, but that was the problem, wasn’t it?  
Vegeta pound his fist against the mainframe access panel and felt a few pieces fly off of the board; they hit him square in his chest and bounced off the still slightly damp tank he’d thrown on earlier.  One stuck to the soft material, and as he kept a hard stare on the entrance to the GSR he picked it off of his stone-tensed pectoral and flicked it at the flashing alert lamp near the door.  The hard piece of plastic shattered the LED lamp, and lodged itself in the wall behind it.  Vegeta’s lips quirked; the com panel was blinking, and the holo screen flickered to life about five feet from him.
The sight of her angry, half-mad glare was so energizing that he grinned ear-to-ear.  Bulma’s teeth were clenched, her primped hair was shaking (along with the rest of her) and her eyebrows were furrowed so deeply between her eyes that one could barely make out the separation of the two.  She was clearly dressed for bed, a light blue tank top clutching the perky roundness of her breasts and clinging to the curve of her stomach and hips.  Her hair, still high on her head, was pulled back from that small, commanding forehead.  Vegeta chuckled low in his chest before she even spoke.
“Why did you disengage the bioStatus?”  Her voice came to life, and the sound made the GSR echo with excitement.  She was calmer than he expected.
“Why were you monitoring me?”  Vegeta asked, his chin resting, gentleman-like, on his folded fingers.  He crossed both legs and promptly threw both onto the command panel of the mainframe.  Bulma’s eyebrows twitched, and she stood back from the holo projector.  She patted her hair back a bit and pointed a finger at him.
“Turn it back on.”  She said.  The candor of her voice told him that she was still a bit shaken from their encounter in the rain, earlier.
“No.”  Vegeta replied, encouraged.  If she wanted to spar again, his crowing blood would oblige her.
To his delight, Bulma stood straight and puffed out her chest.  There she was again:  bold, furious, alluring Earth Woman.  The hesitation had died in her, Vegeta realized.  She snarled and switched off the holo screen, and he smirked.
Moments passed, and each one felt like an eternity as he waited for her.  Thunder still rumbled high above in the stormy night sky and it resonated in his limbs, the distant lightening joining with his ki in a glorious wedding of animosity and elation.  He remained seated and fought back the urge to bite his knuckles in anticipation.
Finally, wondrously, the com panel flashed near the GSR entrance and it opened.  Bulma stood, almost soaked by the rain (she had clearly run from the compound to the East Lawn), panting heavily with exhaustion and irritation.  Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t help the evil little grin on his face.  He did not watch her directly as she entered, but he saw her clearly.
Bulma stood, panting, with her feet apart in attack stance.  Her fists were clenched at her sides, and she glowered at him with all the daring she could muster.  Her blue top was spattered wet by the rain, and a pair of white shorts inched up her rounded bottom as easily as a pair of hands.  The blue curls on her head were sprinkled with water.  Before she spoke, Bulma let out a growl so unlike her prissy, outward appearance that Vegeta felt his groin twitch at the sound of it.  Gods, it was so absurd and so lovely all at once.
“If I could, I’d kick your ass, Vegeta.”  She told him.  And he believed her.  His eyes found hers, finally, and he remained seated.  Bulma’s blue, blue eyes were alight with fury.  He chuckled again, and this time she could hear him.
“I bet you would, Earthling.”
“My name is Bulma!”  She shouted, and the sound resonated against the ki-absorbing walls she’d installed just days after his ‘incident’.  “And you are going to enable to bioStatus program, or this simulator will not function.”
“Why did you install it, Bulma?”  He asked her, the picture of calm.  Inside though…  Inside his guts and loins were roiling with delight.
“I installed it because you nearly killed yourself – twice!”  Her voice was gaining volume and tenor.  “You’re welcome to do so in any other spaceship, in any other galaxy or any other planet but not in my father’s capsule!”
“Aw, now,” Vegeta began, and shifted so that he was sitting in the chair facing her.  His feet were planted firmly on the ground and his elbows leaned against each leg so he could lean forward.  “We both know you don’t mean that.”
Suddenly Bulma was striding toward him, and she stopped just short of a foot from him.  For the first time he was glad she did stop; her proximity made his nerves go haywire, and his groin was stirring again.  Oh, gods, that bitch…  She plumped her lips a bit and squinted at him.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  She growled.  Vegeta smiled.  It was a perfectly evil, menacing one and he was proud of it.
“You don’t mean that.”  He said again, and shook his head slowly.  He could see that Bulma wanted to strangle him – or maybe do something else to him.
She leaned forward, hands on her hips, and she let loose a smile of her own.  It danced on those glistening lips like droplets of crystallized water on Planet Indira, where the cold nitrogen in her atmosphere made rain fall like glassy snow.  Vegeta remembered that lovely sight, just shortly before Nappa had charged his ki and began killing Indirans like flies.
“Even if I did care, what difference would it make to you?”  She hissed.  “I care, and you don’t care.  That’s the end of it, isn’t it?”
“Tu’sha La…”  He replied softly.  This time she knew exactly what he meant, and his voice faded on the final ‘ahhh’, into a giddy sort of moan.  He pressed both palms together and rubbed them back and forth.  Something in her ki stirred when he spoke those Saiyan words, and he basked in her seeming discomfort.
Bulma came further toward him, but this time her closeness set his nerves back on edge.  He stood with quick attention, knowing that the wary shake in his eyes had returned.  What if… Gods, what if she touched him again, the way she had in the kitchen?  She seemed to sense his returning walls, but she did not back down completely.  The wench…
“So?”  She asked, very quietly.  “So what if it’s bullshit?  So, I care if you hurt yourself or kill yourself or do whatever you can to punish yourself for some past evil.  Why is that so hard to accept, Vegeta?  Why can’t you wrap your mind around it?”
Her words were now more infuriating than any giddiness he may have felt moments ago.  How the hell would she know what he was punishing himself for?  How in the names of all the gods could she possibly have any concept of real, honest evil?  This time, Vegeta snarled.
“Don’t monitor me like a lab specimen.”  He told her.  She squinted again, but this time her eyes were not so angry.  They were curious.  “Don’t.”  He said again, and fought back the images that the words brought to his real and present memory.
Bulma reached down beside them and tapped the control panel.
“If you don’t enable the program, the simulator will not function.  And I won’t override it for you, because I won’t let you die on the press of my conscience.”
With that, she turned and headed back for the exit.  Vegeta’s patience reached the end of its fuse and exploded into little, symbolic sparks of rage as she left the GSR and trudged back out into the rain.  He went after her.
Bulma hadn’t gotten far by the time he reached her, and he gripped her slippery shoulder with hungry intent.  She stopped as he spun her to face him, and snarled.  Oh gods, and her tank top was soaking wet.  It clung to those perky, bouncy tits of hers and revealed a pink-shaded sort of support garment underneath.  It too clung to her like wet, hungry hands.  Vegeta snarled back at her, wondering if she was aware of the way their exchange resembled the beginnings of a real, honest fight.  Her white shorts were soaked heavy with the rain, and all he saw underneath was untouched skin.
“Override that thing, bitch!”  He shouted at her, his voice coming painfully sharp up his throat.  The rain pelted his face, and he saw the streams of it spray off his lips as he breathed harshly against the humid air.
“NO, dickhead!”  She shouted back with some insult so far unfamiliar to him.
The sound of it was exotic and exciting.  That stirring was back, and he put two hands on her shoulders.  The rainwater turned hot underneath his grip, and Bulma gasped as he swung her around and pushed her back up against the GSR wall.
“Override it – NOW!”  He said into her face, stunned at the way his voice faded in its ferocity.
“No.”  She said through clenched teeth.
Her ki was fluttering along the edges of wrath and passion.  The gods damn her…   Damn her!  He thought as he pushed his whole body against hers.  Shit and corruption, his cock twitched to life against the soft press of her thighs.  And she could feel it, because her face tilted toward him, and she gazed at him with clear, confused amazement.  Fucking hell, his body had betrayed him.  Vegeta fought hard to retain his command of the situation, though the look on the wench’s face told him that it was waning.
One of his hands lifted from her shoulder and pushed sodden, matted curls away from her face.  The gesture was not gentle, or comforting, he made sure of that as she continued to watch him.  His arm framed her head from one side to the other, and he spread his fingers wide over her cheek.  This female, this… thing from Earth, of which he had so little knowledge other than that she looked remarkably Saiyan in body and stance:  she would not break him.  Right now though, his raging libido was getting the better of him.  He took a few deep breaths, and some water dripped between their lips.  It was hot like lava, and his body, from fingers to loins to toes, ached with a distant longing.  Oh, gods, it was sweet and agonizing all at once.
“Turn.  On.  The simulator.”  He said, murmuring the words like some kind of sick poetry.
But Bulma, now so emboldened by his obvious weakness – his fucking shameless weakness – smiled vaguely and leaned into his mouth.
“No.”  She said again; a world of abject defeat in that single word.  He snarled.
Vegeta crushed his mouth against hers, against those plush, wet lips that issued a muffled gasp against his onslaught.  Her hands gathered in the wet material of his shirt and squeezed delightfully.  All the gods, why did it have to be her?  But as he forced his tongue past her still stiff and worrying lips, he realized:  she was the only one who would fight back.  The latent, Saiyan instinct in the far-reaches of his troubled mind suddenly became overwhelming when her mouth faltered and began accepting his with a feverish want.  Well, shit, that was that wasn’t it?  His body surged with the life of arousal.  He gasped against her mouth with the unexpected power of it and ground his hips against hers.  She whimpered against his deep, demanding kiss and pressed one palm against his collarbone.
Oh, gods, and those damned tits of hers – pressing up against him and soaking wet, begging to be seen by someone who wanted something delicious to look at, and touch… And nipandsuckandlick…  His arm left the circle around her head and shifted to fiercely grab one pert, heavy breast in his searing hot hand.  Ooooh, that was soft and lovely, with a hard little nub at the center of his palm that begged him for something more…
In an instant, Bulma’s mouth wrenched from his and she put her other palm out to shove against him, hard.  The rain was suddenly cold and shocking, because he knew what she was doing.  Vegeta’s raging hard on danced a slow death along the edges of his fading arousal, and he stepped away from her, breathless with confusion.  Who the fuck was she to push him away?  Who the fuck was she--?!
Bulma stared at him for a few, agonizing seconds and for the first time he did not know what emotion was crouching in the blue depths of her eyes.  The pain of his thwarted lust dared him to speech.
“Still afraid of me, are you, Earth Woman?”
Her expression changed, and in it he saw a glint of something he despised.  She edged closer to him again, shaking her head and pulling at some wet strands of hair near her mouth.  Her chest heaved as she approached, and one hand reached out to him – like she had in the kitchen.  Like she had when she’d wanted to comfort him.  No… To pity him.  By the Blood Goddess, he hated pity.
“I’m not afraid of you, Vegeta.”  She said then, and her fingers came closer to his jaw.
But just as the soft tips of them came into contact with his skin, and the warmth from them eased the tightness from those bunched up  muscles, he swatted her hand away with the same violent unease he’d felt in the kitchen that night.  Bulma watched him, and she put one hand on the wrist he had slapped away.  She pressed her dripping wet lips together and shook her head again.  She gestured with both hands at her body, still so hot and emanating a ki whose glow only he could see.
“This takes a lot more work than that, Vegeta.”  She nodded once in the direction of the hand that had slapped her away.
And then she was gone, shuffling through the soppy ground back toward the lab entrance.  Vegeta turned his head to watch her retreating backside and cursed the day he’d ever seen her.  Something entirely different than rage boiled in his gut until it was bursting out of him with a roar, and a flash of rushing ki.  But gods, what was it?  He wasn’t even sure if he cared to know it!  But he was sure she could hear and feel his outburst, she hadn’t even gotten inside.  But she did not look back, and Vegeta took off into the sky, into the rainstorm until, despite the continuing deluge, his aura had dried his sodden hair.