Revelation to Vegeta
By: Vaniti
Disclaimer: Dragonball Z © Akira Toriyama

Six
Unification

"Oh? And is that an invitation, Saiya-jin Prince?"

There the words were. They had spilled out like red wine onto plush white carpet and had already begun to soak in. Crawling all over her skin was the temperature of the steady water that provided a constant stable backdrop. The humidity in the enclosed bathroom seemed to keep escalating with forming clouds of steaming vapor. But seemingly all other movement was ambiguous and glossy as if she were watching and experiencing it through a kaleidoscope. Who was this woman she was watching from faraway? It seemed to be her body, but she could not quite bring herself back down to reality.

Sleep deprivation had played its tricks and toll on her. The hotness in the air had made it feel as though her head were disconnected from the rest of her. She was vaguely aware of what was occurring but as a ghost, a spirit, watching. It was not actually her, was it?

His calloused hand lingered on the swell of her hip.

The mere contact from his fingertips, touching her, jolted her awake.

It was not like she imagined for a man who was so ruthless and obsessed with training to be the strongest.

Her heart beat shallowly against her ribcage. Consenting air seemed to be blocked through her trachea. Her gut tangled in excruciating knots. She felt alive as a mixture of fear and excitement crawled through her pores.

He regarded her critically at first; not by her appearance but by what to do with her. How he should proceed. His touch, while his hand was calloused and baking with warmth, was ginger; as if he did not know how much pressure she could take. She found herself swallowing and placing her own hand over his to show he could apply more force.

He took her into his arms and Bulma relished in the defined, masculine feel of his chest. Despite all the people Vegeta had fought and destroyed and the wary stigma he had created for himself, Bulma felt at ease in his arms.

Then he recoiled.

Ostensibly, the trance-induced state left like a bird fleeing into the sky upon approaching risk. Acute awareness slipped its damning noose around his neck.

He eyed her with revulsion and Bulma found herself hastily backing up in defense. She wrapped her emotional shields around the pride she had left. Her heart crammed itself into her windpipes and she almost did not think she could breathe.

The turquoise-haired woman could not bear his expression or the embarrassment and hurt that swelled up in her chest capillaries.

For once, she could not summon any words she thought were appropriate for the humiliation.

His retreat was branded like an unwanted tattoo in her head.

So she left without saying anything else. She kept her head high until long out of sight.

The next morning greeted her with grey skies and dull clouds with the consistency of Elmer's glue. The sky had broke open and had cried earlier in the morning, but before Bulma had awoken. Someplace in a distant dream she had heard the raindrops pelting against the pavement and roof of Capsule Corp. like infiltrating little soldiers. Now the Earth remained wet, the puddles dark in the dreary light.

She sat at her laptop staring off absentmindedly out her window. Her fingers remained poised over the keyboard but did not produce any work or words. Her coffee was black and cold.

Some time later, she was not sure how much, she robotically took a sip. Its icily putrid taste somewhat revitalized her back to the present. Wincing, she eyed the tiny clock on her laptop screen and blanched.

11:22am.

How had over two hours passed without her having a retrievable thought? She gritted her teeth and hastily stood up. She needed to knock this off. There was far too much work to do to afford sitting around like a silly young girl daydreaming.

Quickly, she slipped on a headband to smooth back her turquoise bangs and grabbed her coffee mug. She bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. She had always been concerned about her figure, but it seemed these days she had less and less of an appetite.

She had just turned the corner when it was too late to go back.

Vegeta was already in the kitchen, the first time she had seen him since their personal encounter yesterday. The mortification of it circled like an unpleasant track on repeat. Although her heart felt like it was stuck in her wind pipe, she received the distinct impression that he sensed her before he saw her. His back and pan of broad shoulders were facing her, but he did not turn around. The slightest tilt of his face indicted he knew.

For a split second she seriously contemplated turning back. But that would be too easy and too coward for her. Hadn't he made the first move, after all? Distinctly aware that her face felt hot she strode in the kitchen and marched right up to the coffee pot.

"Vegeta."

There was a snake of silence that crept by. After she had poured the measured amount of water into the coffee maker, ignoring her slightly trembling hands, he gruffly acknowledged her.

She heard movement and could not help herself. She was possessed to peer over her shoulder. He was exiting the kitchen. His spine was rigid and posture tense; fists in tightly clenched balls. However, he had not escaped before she caught a glimpse of the stormy chaos brewing in his black eyes.

The turquoise-haired woman could not quite place her finger on why her chest squeezed like a wrung-out towel. What she did know was that she was furious and ashamed in herself.

She slammed down the black plastic coffee grind holder.

'STUPID! Completely, utterly stupid!'

She replayed last night's "incident" and winced. What had possessed her to say the things she did and act so bold? Her brazenness had evolved into a complete new level.

'Hey,' Her subconscious consoled sharply, 'It's not like you forced yourself on him. He's the one who openly stood there…naked. And made a salacious invitation.'

It was true, but that did not erase things. He had changed his mind and had not considered her desirable after all. She felt a new emotion that she was not familiar with. Shame.

Sadly, she waited for her coffee to brew before listlessly trekking back up the stairs to continue with her work.

"Bulma, sweetie," Her mother poked her Shirley Temple blonde head into her room. "Your father and I are headed up to the city for dinner! How about you join us?"

Bulma glanced at her watch and shook her head. A little after five 'o clock already.

"No, thanks, Mom. Not really hungry."

"But you haven't eaten all day! Come on, we're going to try that Bahama Breeze place. Heard that they just have the most wonderful appetizers and the drinks are to die for!"

"Sounds great, but I need to get some work done."

"You've been working all day. You deserve a break. Besides," Mrs. Brief folded her hands in front of herself beseechingly, "It would be so nice just to have the three of us go out."

Idly, her turquoise gaze wandered out the window where she could see the looming training capsule. Vegeta had been in there all day as well. Had he even come out for food…

"Bulma? Sweetie, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, I did. Sorry Mom. I'm just not in the mood."

Seeing the open disappointment on her mother's face stirred some feelings of guilt. Dramatically, she heaved a loud sigh.

"Fine. Just give me some time to shower and change."

"Oh, good! Fifteen minutes?" Mrs. Brief transparent smile beamed out at her.

"Twenty."

As her mother cheerfully scuttled away with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever, Bulma briefly entertained the idea of Vegeta going to dinner with them. She snorted. Yeah, right.

Vegeta, in civilian clothing, politely requesting how he wanted his steak prepared to the waiter.

A little past twenty minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Brief were buckled up and waiting in the capsule hover car. When she stepped out, they waved at her as if they just spotted her at a ball game and had been saving a seat for her. Bulma shook her head but could not deny the fondness that welled in her chest. No matter what, her parents always tried to see the positive side of things, and approached every little moment with keenness. She wondered where she got her disposition from.

She cast one more glance over at the training capsule where bursts of light would consistently flicker and blasts would rock its dome shape.

The scene from the night before flared its ugly head again and the disgrace tightened in her chest.

The more she thought about it the more unforgivable it became. Her actions were stupid. No matter what race Vegeta was, he was a man. He was just acting out of biological instinct. Of course he had needs too. Purely physical ones.

The thought violated and disappointed her at once. Then she composed herself and pasted on a cheery smile as she strode over to join her parents for dinner.

Vegeta straightened his posture and used his forearm to wipe the thick sweat off his face. Momentarily satisfied, he had gotten in a good training session today. As he swiped it away his watch caught the scene out the window. He slowly lowered his arm. The woman's parents were clearly waiting on her to run out somewhere. The woman was obviously taking her sweet time. Then he saw the look on her face.

What caused her to gaze like that?

Was it… grief that he saw?

He glowered. Things like that were sentiments he did not understand. Nor did he care to. The humans were so weak. Always talking about how they felt. Pathetic.

A most unwelcome thought slithered into his mind. Was it because of…?

He had pushed the encounter from the night before out of his head all day by using his training as a primary focus. Or he had tried to. What could have happened… He cursed himself. It was weak of him. And stupid. He did not want to make the same mistake twice. Her undeniable beauty and tenaciousness had appealed to him and he had lost control. He would not let it happen again. No more weakness.

Yet as he spared one more glance and saw her face light up as she trotted over to where her parents waited, he could see exactly why he thought her so attractive when those long legs stretched to climb into the levitating vehicle.

It was well after a blood-orange sunset when Bulma returned from dinner with her parents. The full pearl of a moon still hung low in the sky and the blanket of air was lukewarm with no humidity. She had been thoroughly enjoying the break from the usual scorching temperatures of summer on her adjourning balcony. The coolness of the evening was unexpected, she had been thinking. That was when she realized she had forgotten her purse outside. She blamed this slightly on the few Hurricanes her father had talked her into during Happy Hour and then during dinner.

"And you are better than that." Vegeta's previous words regarding her past binge drinking crawled annoyingly into her mind.

She grimaced. Well, having a couple of cocktails at dinner was different than going around pounding shots and drinks with the intention of getting wasted on a regular basis. Not that she had to prove anything to him.

She shook her head as she spotted her MK handbag sitting by its lonesome after the car had been returned to its capsule.

She bent over to scoop it up and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"What's for dinner." Vegeta's low voice demanded what was typically presented as a question.

Suddenly conscious of leaning over in shorts in front of him, Bulma hastily straightened up. Gaining control, she skewered him with her distasteful glare.

"What is this? A twenty-four hour dine-in? I see you know how to grill meat. Fix something yourself." She hated how secretly she relished in the normalcy he was displaying with her. As if last night had not happened at all.

She didn't want to admit it, but she had been afraid it would. Especially after how uncomfortable this morning had been.

"So am I to assume your pitiable trip of familial nature allowed an Earthling peasant to serve you rations?"

Bulma thoughtfully bit her lower lip, trying not to emit a chuckle. From what she grasped, Vegeta did not understand the concept of going out to eat. He considered the waiters and waitresses "peasants"/servants.

"Yes. So you have to fend for yourself. Sorry Prince of Saiya-jins." Bulma indifferently tossed her hair over the shoulder.

His coal gaze darkened and his deep features almost blended in with the night-blanketed forest behind him. His skin, albeit being scarred always had a rich caramel tan to it. With the illustrious glow of the moon, it made a stark contrast to the whites of his eyes and teeth when he spoke. He took a step closer to her.

"You feign nonchalance?"

"I'm not faking anything. I could care less about your eating habits."

His eyes melted until she could no longer differentiate his pupils from his irises. His features were drawn into uniform intent.

"I was no longer talking about food, woman."

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Oh? What were you referring to then?" Her voice strangely did not sound like hers.

Before her human eyes could process it, he was standing right before her. He was still bare-chested from his training and his rippling muscles – solid definition in places she didn't even know existed – was not lost on her. Every pore from him oozed strength, dominance, and command.

His deepening intensity gave her her answer. There was no vagueness as to what he was referencing. And she glared. Rage so swift flared through her veins.

"Wasn't it you who decided that our little encounter last night was not up to your liking? And you accuse me of feigning nonchalance? Get over yourself. Or stop being so bipolar. Either way, you need a reality check."

"Wanting something is a weakness. I never claimed so otherwise," Vegeta responded sharply.

"Well, I'm sorry you have issues. But you would do better to leave me out of them." Indignation and some of the buzz from alcohol fueling her, Bulma turned on her heel to storm off.

When his hand lashed out and caught her by the wrist.

Her heart hitched and she stared back at him. He could have snapped and was about to harm her; he was a coldblooded killer by nature.

"What do you want from me," she whispered.

In answer, he threw her body against his. She felt his strength and vigor against the perfection of his chest. She quivered, her blood pounding too shrill in her ears. And it was being pressed against him she felt him harden.

His calloused fingers were on her forearms. He tugged her even closer to him, his mouth first capturing her neck and then moving up to her mouth. A winding and curling thrill pulsed through her. Her blood throbbed even louder in her ears. All the menace and dangerous power with Vegeta only excited her. And she realized her argumentative nature excited him.

Usually being the one to be a leader, Bulma felt light-headed with something she could only explain as desire. Despite all the jeopardy Vegeta meant, arrogance, ruthlessness… she still could not deny the tightening deep in her stomach. Disregarding how he infuriated her to no bounds, how he was a heartless alien warrior…she lusted for him.

She had, always, once he had taken residence at her home, entertained the taboo notion of this moment. Now here it was.

Abruptly he released her and stared down at her face. They both seemed breathless. She had never seen the expression on his scarred face. Less than a mere second passed before his blazing stare addressed the unspoken question between them.

"Can I take you?" His eyes pooled like molten onyx.

The bluntness of the matter, or the words from his mouth, were not lost on her. There were no threads of ambiguity any longer. A ghost of conscious, what would her friends think, fleetingly haunted her.

But she, despite every single warning sign, wanted the Prince of Saiya-jins.

Her vision blurred as though she were a spectator underwater and her limbs grew hot with fever. She nodded yes.

The zeal overtook her until everything was hazy. She was hoisted into his arms. He was carrying her. Dizzy. They were soaring. They landed at her balcony. She had left the door open to let in the warm air. Now it was suffocating. How had he known it was open…

They were inside. She had barely gotten to the bed. He was tearing off her clothing. She was naked. He paused and took a moment to permit his gaze to linger. The moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains illuminated highlights of her figure. Under his scrutiny sexual craving twisted deep in-between her legs. She was able to render him speechless. He unwillingly snapped out of his appraisal trance and finished disrobing.

She had seen him naked last night. Now, she had the knowledge this was no longer fantasy.

He hovered before her and the warmth and closeness of his bare skin sent shivers down her arms. The two, human and Saiya-jin, made eye-contact before they lowered themselves onto her bed; him guiding her with his body. Certainty laced each and every of his movements.

Bulma was not naïve. This would not be like how it was with Yamcha. Yamcha who told her he loved her. Yamcha would be courteous of her physical needs along with his own. Vegeta would be rough. Vegeta would be relentless for his own pleasure and go about his business when it was over.

She didn't care. The liquor-quick danger he exemplified, his flawless structure in body, she didn't care. The precarious pull of him made her want it more. Briefly, she trailed her fingers down the horrid gash on his chest; a battle tattoo from a close call in a fight. They were all over his body. He followed her stare. He smirked as though amused, or maybe proud, by her fascination.

Then his arms were pinning her down on either side caging her as his prisoner.

"You can still say no," he whispered, his voice gruff and close to her neck.

Her throat dried up and her heart catapulted into her lungs. And she looked him square in the eyes.

"Don't make me say it again."

His trademark smirk returned before his dark features shifted.

He sank himself into her quickly and forcefully. The dull pain entered her and ignited like a forest fire through her limbs. She gasped, and every thought disappeared. It was just primitive sensation alone. She only felt.

He looked into her face as he thrust. Prolonged need and anticipation were sated at last. She was melting in an inferno; on a seesaw between gratification and risk.

The dull but pleasurable ache from him filling her took over all other awareness; it was just his body in hers, in and out. He rapidly took on a quick and steady pounding that was relentless and harsh.

And still she heard herself calling his name, over and over again.

A/N: (Dodges tomatoes and cans and old boots) It's been a long time everyone! (Met with unforgiving glares) In all seriousness, I want to offer my deepest apology for the unreasonably long time it took to update. To sum it all effectively, I landed my career-path job and a lot has been on my mind. But, another reason it took so long to post is because I wanted to start writing future chapters so something like this does not happen again. They're not complete, but I wanted to at least get some basics down. So what did you think? I'm sorry if the end made anyone uncomfortable. I rated this story R, but I did not want to go into graphic details. I suppose if anyone wants to read an "adult continuation" I could write it and send it privately. Also, towards the end, before the actual act of intercourse, it was written choppy on purpose to express the abrupt and staccato beforehand. In any case, let me know your thoughts. It is the end of August so the next update will be in September. Until next time, sincerely yours —

Vaniti