Undisclosed Desires (Previously known as 'Misery Loves Company')

Written by Maatlockk

Major overhaul going on! Please be patient. I read a lot of B/V fanfictions over the past few weeks, and I'm slowly getting back into writing it again!

This piece of fiction was written a few years ago, and with age, I've grown, and I've also decided that the writing standard of this piece is substandard. I'm improving and hoping to complete this fiction as soon as I can.

I renamed this as Undisclosed Desires after the song by Muse. I heard the song one day and decided that this song will be the main inspiration of this piece of fiction; the lyrics portray Bulma and Vegeta's relationship as I would picture it; enigmatic, emotional, full of conflict. I hope this time, I will do it justice.

Non canonical, kind of. Bulma deals with depression; but no one knows because she never shows it. Continues off the badly written one off of The Breakup.

SMUT ALERT, SMUT ALERT, SMUT ALERT! Kids, go home and crack open your multiplication tables. This shit ain't for you.

Yes, I've had one of those soul searching walks where you refine your tastes and appreciate things more. I've had so much going on in my life lately. I have found new love, and it's the kind of love that makes this 23 year old woman giggle and squirm like a little girl. And he's quiet, so the first thing I thought of him when we first got together as how much he reminded me of Vegeta. XD Ah, I'm wearing a Cheshire grin.

Chapter 1

Staring at the receipt for a very expensive meal for two at a very fancy restaurant in town, Bulma recalled the events of that particular night; angry Yamcha, bad sex, and a lot of crying. She crumpled the paper up in one hand and tossed it to the overflowing waste basket; the pile of paper on her desk had threatened to tip over, and it was getting very cluttered in her office. A few weeks ago, Bulma Briefs ended her relationship with Yamcha. Or rather, it was that he had ended it with her for the umpteenth time, and she had refused to let him back into her heart. Burying herself in her work, she had tried to shake off the depression that was closing in on her. She would wake up early and spend all day in her office reviewing plans and charts, rarely taking a break, and would come back to her empty room very late for a night of fitful slumber.

Her weeks had been uneventful, save for her heated encounters with the alien prince. Vegeta had spent his time in the gravity room, pushing himself to the edge of his limit. More often than not, his rigorous training would overload the gravity room's mechanisms; Bulma would often have to change out the blown out fuses and replace the burnt out wires on the main circuit board. It was during these few moments of the two being in the same room that Bulma felt somewhat unnerved; for a jerk alien, he was, as Bulma once thought to herself, 'absolutely yummy.' It was hard not to notice; sure, he was shorter than Goku, but his lithe form was toned and sculpted, and though he does not intend on strutting his stuff around, Bulma can't help but fantasize about him. Sure, he would probably laugh at the thought of her thinking about him like that, the way a giddy schoolgirl would; it wouldn't be the first time that he had shown her his indifference towards her existence.

"How's your training going, Vegeta?" Bulma would inquire as she plucked the smoking fuse cartridges out from the panel in the wall; the cartridges were so hot, she could feel the heat through her protective gloves.

The alien prince would always stand next to the control panel, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his chest. Often he would respond to her questions with 'fine' in a tone that screams 'not in the mood to talk', and they would then remain in an awkward silence as Bulma continued with her repairs.

Today, the gravity room held out, so there was no need for her to go there for any repairs. She could monitor the gravity room's status from her office computer via the monitoring software; the energy consumption rate fluctuated in a graph display, signifying the brutality and force of the Saiyan prince's training. Should any part of the gravity simulator break down, Bulma would be able to diagnose the problem at her computer terminal, thus enabling her to prepare the proper tools and components necessary. Ignoring the screen, she rifled through her paperwork, signing papers and initialling diagrams and plans, her mind lost within her science. At first, it was hard to get focused on work, but with fierce concentration, she would enter a trance-like state; so engrossed in her work, she would often forget when she needed to eat and drink.

Lifting a mug of coffee to her lips, she took a sip, only to find that it had emptied hours ago; the mug was cool to the touch. Sighing, she looked up at the clock on the wall; it was past midnight. Had she really been working for that long? Only when she looked out the window into the dark Capsule Corps courtyard did she realise how late it was; she was suddenly aware of how tired she had become. Her neck and shoulders ached, and her stomach was empty. Leaving her office in a state of organised chaos as it usually is, she lazily dragged her feet towards the living complex and headed towards the big kitchen that her mother had always kept meticulously organised; a contrast to the heiress' chaotic working space.

Without much thought for taste or enjoyment, Bulma grabbed a small box of wholemeal crackers and a small can of tuna in extra virgin olive oil and snacked as she sat by the television out in the lounge. She had with her a 6 pack of beers, and she was currently nursing her 4th. It wasn't the best diet, but at least she had gotten enough of her nutritional requirements with her daily supplement intake. In terms of mineral requirements, she was getting her daily dose. As for calories, however, Bulma was barely eating enough to maintain her weight. She was petite to begin with; 5'6", had a slender waist that flared out into hips, and shoulders to match. Slowly but surely, her poor diet began taking its toll upon her. She was anaemic, overworked, overstressed, and was running on fumes. It wasn't long before she crashed; the question is when and how?

After finishing off 5 of the 6 cans of beers, she decided that she would return to her room for a quick shower and a nap. She felt grimy, and she was in desperate need of something to massage the tension out from her muscles. Alas, Yamcha is no longer her boyfriend, and even if he was, he never did figure out how to touch her delicate skin without tickling or hurting her. She was a woman in need of a man's touch, and because her relationship with Yamcha (which had been the longest and most committed of all relationships she's ever had with a man to date) was so turbulent, she often felt neglected and lost in the drama. Sex had always felt like a nuisance because she had always distanced herself when she was naked with him; she hated the thought of being vulnerable, and vulnerable she when she opened herself up to him. It was hard to achieve orgasm, and more often than not, it was always with a toy which was rigid and cold. Perhaps she was too frigid to really enjoy sex; her mind was always too preoccupied with trying to guard herself from being hurt by Yamcha's rough touch. Either way, she was starving for it, and with no means of release, the frustration was channelled into working harder and for longer hours, even if it meant living on a diet of chips and soda.

She swayed as she made her way to the stairs, singing in perfect tune to Marilyn Monroe's Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend; she moved her hips and arms and danced the way Marilyn did in the film, and giggled. She never could hold her drink, which was why she always stuck to soda whenever she was out in town with her girlfriends. This, of course, had earned her a reputation of being a goodie-two-shoe of the social sphere. Only at home could she dance and be carefree as she was, but only if her parents were out, and lucky for her, they were on their third holiday cruise for the year. One more step, and she would have reached the top of the stairs, but before her foot could land on the soft grey carpet, a voice spoke from the bottom of the stairs: "You're drunk."

Signing, she slumped and hung onto the new stair banister that her mother had had installed during the last bi-yearly redecoration; most of the time, it would involve changing out key furniture pieces or major reupholstering, but occasionally, Bunny would see something in Country Home, like the Italian style marble counter tops, or in this case, mahogany stair banisters, and would often have the entire house in chaos as a construction team often laboured while trying not to knock over the very, very, very, VERY expensive (as Bunny would always describe) designer vase made by some new up and coming artist that seemed to be so popular amongst her mother's art circles. The asymmetrical oddly shaped black vase was on a pedestal in the middle of the hallway, just behind the alien prince, who stood at the foot of the stairs. He wore very little clothing, as usual; a pair of low cut khaki shorts that hung dangerously low on his pelvis. It was painful trying to ignore the man; sure, he may have been a jerk, but he has a certain air of mystery about him, one that made Bulma feel that whatever it is he had gone through before had hardened him into this cold, ruthless predator, and that he could not have helped it.

"Uhuh." She didn't want to give the prince any more reason to stick around; partly because she might not be able to hide her excitement any longer if he were to come any closer. Damn, these good looking men; why can't they put a shirt on? When he didn't say anything else, she continued; "Did you want something? Whatever it is it's going to have to wait until Monday."

The prince rolled his eyes, and commanded, "Tomorrow, noon, at the very least. I haven't got time to waste getting drunk off my ass like you do; I need to train." Without another word, he left, and Bulma stood against the banister, watching as the silent enigma of a man walked away, her eyes wandering down towards his rear end, which looked delicious in those low sagging pants. She wasn't going to introduce him to a belt any time soon, but her raging hormones were getting a bit harder to ignore within the past few weeks. It had been 2 months since her last date; Todd, or Ted, was it? Who knows, really; all that she remembered was that the sex was just as miserable, and did nothing to alleviate the aching want that so tormented her.

As soon as he was out of sight, she walked quickly to her room, locked the door and shed her clothes in record time. She turned on the cold shower and closed her eyes and winced at the sudden drop in temperature. Goosebumps pulled her skin taut; deciding that she had had enough, she turned the warm water on and spent the next half hour showering, enjoying the bath products that she had purchased at a high end boutique. It wasn't because she believed in any of that aromatherapy hocus pocus that she preferred high end beauty products; they just smell nicer, and her nose had always been easily irritated. Her mother even told her how when she was 7, her mother had taken her shopping at a department store, and when they had walked past the perfume section, young Bulma puked right there and then. Cloying synthetic smells were nauseating; she preferred subtle smells, something that doesn't overwhelm the senses.

Her favourite smells were lavender, frankincense, and pine. The steam was laced with essential oils, and the heat from the steady shower stream eased the tension in her shoulders. As she lathered up her sides and her breasts, her mind inadvertently wandered, and for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it was like to have Vegeta next to her right then, and how it would feel to press up against him, wet and naked.

"I am so gonna regret this..." she groaned to herself as she became lost in her imagination. Her teal hair damp, pressed down against her skull, her skin mottled red because of the heat... she knew that any man (any STRAIGHT man that is) would find her attractive. She was well aware of how men looked at her; more often than not, they were anything but discreet.

Would Vegeta look at her like that, if she were naked and exposed to him, as she was in the shower? Or would he think of her as something hideous and malformed, it disgusted him to see her naked? Ah, the voices of insecurity; for an heiress with everything she could ever have wanted, she was still afflicted by low self-esteem. Being abused didn't help; it obliterated any and all traces of it. Only when she was drunk or high could she push the voices away into a box and lose herself completely. She made sure she was alone whenever she did get wasted; these days, socialising was low on the list. She preferred to be distracted from her personal problems by ploughing through her workload at break neck speed. But when she did have a moment to herself, and if she was feeling just right, she would let herself fantasize about how it would be like to have a man like Vegeta between her legs, how she knew that the stubble on his face would tickle her skin, and she would surely gasp... it would feel especially delicious to have his head between her legs; she could almost hear herself moaning wantonly.

She used her fingers and both hands on herself, and continued to dream about the alien prince. She would probably rake her nails down his already scarred back if he did take her; would he hate how she sounded? Would he not want to look at her face? With heroic effort, she ignored the voices in her head and thought about how his lips would taste like, how his cock would feel, pounding in and out of her cunt... before she knew it, she felt her own release wash over her; her knees wobbled, her eyes rolled back as far as they could, and thank God her parents were away, because her moans were echoing off the Italian tiles, and she was well aware of how loud she was.

Her skin prickled under the heat, and as soon as it was over, she realised how tragic it was to have been alone on a Friday night, with no one to make love to but herself. The shower felt too hot all of a sudden, so she lowered the temperature to shower off one last time. When she was dried, well lotioned and in bed, she imagined what it would be like to have the prince hold her. Yamcha never held her, even though she did enjoy it immensely. And again, for the second time that night, she allowed her mind to wander again. But just as she was about to take her knickers off and make love to her imaginary prince, she glanced at the empty space next to her in her king sized bed, and sighed. Feeling sorry for herself, she decided against it, and pulled the covers over her, eyes closed, tears flowing; when sleep came, her pillow was damp with tears.

END CHAPTER 1

So... whatcha think?