Bulma is not a desperate girl but it has been literal months since she’s last gotten laid and it is making her just a little anxious.
“You need to just fucking cave and start trying dating apps or something,” Eighteen says flatly as she scrolls idly through her Instagram feed.
Bulma hums at that, vaguely disapproving. “Doesn’t that seem dangerous to you?” She picks at her chipping nail polish. “You don’t really know who you’re talking to. It could be some psycho hiding behind someone else’s profile pictures.”
Eighteen glares at her over the top of her phone. “That sounds like an excuse to me.”
“If you're nervous, you can let us know when and where you're going,” Chi Chi offers as she walks back into the room from the kitchen. She plops down on the sofa next to Bulma, sipping at the soda she’s fetched. “At least then we’d know to check in if we don't hear from you within an hour or two.”
“Yeah, I guess so…” Bulma says, eyeing her phone where it sits on the coffee table. She hesitates for another millisecond, then snatches it up and navigates to the app store. “Alright, fine. But at least help me try to set up my profile.”
To be truthful, she’s started creating a Tinder account for herself something like five times now and has chickened out before finishing each time. Chi Chi titters over her shoulder as she selects a decent looking photo of herself and enters a quick blurb in her bio, but Eighteen doesn't bother to feign interest until she's started swiping through possible suitors.
“What do you think of this one?” Bulma flashes a photo of a slim, academic looking brunette at Eighteen as she settles in on the other side of her on the couch.
Eighteen studies his photo for a second before opining. “Well, we don’t really give a shit about his personality, right? Isn’t this just for a one-and-done dick appointment?”
Bulma scoffs, swiping left. “Well yeah, but I still don’t want to fuck just any loser,” she grumbles.
Chi Chi laughs. “How did you manage a five year relationship with Yamcha, then?”
“Ha, ha.” Bulma rolls her eyes, swiping through several more duds, with a possible interest or two scattered in between. “Yamcha seemed like a good choice at one point, okay? And he is still totally my type: muscular, athletic, dark hair, a sharp profile… ooooh, like this guy!”
Both Chi Chi and Eighteen lean in to get a better look. The profile shows an impressively built man with creased brow and a shock of black hair, a smug smirk plastered across his angular face. Everything about him seems to ooze confidence; even his bio is oddly arrogant: “I don’t do dates, and I don’t play games. Take it or leave it.”
“What a weird name. ‘Vegeta’?” Eighteen snorts, retreating back to her own phone.
“What, like yours is super common or something?”
“Hmm, he looks really familiar,” Chi Chi remarks, raising a finger to her chin in contemplation as Eighteen sticks her tongue out at Bulma. “I think he might know Goku somehow. I’m almost sure I’ve seen him at one of his boxing matches before. That hairstyle is hard to forget.”
“Really? As a spectator or a participant?” Bulma has never been interested in having a partner that has as rigorous a training schedule as Goku, but can’t deny that being a boxer makes for an impressive physique. Besides, this is just for casual sex. Who gives a shit what the guy does in his free time? It would be a one and done kind of thing, and then she'd never see him again.
Chi Chi slurps her soda can. “As a participant. If he’s the guy I’m thinking of, though, he has a shit temper,” she says, reaching around Bulma to scroll through another picture or two. “He got into a shouting match with a ref and ended up getting expelled from the ring. Real asshole, it seems.”
“It’s not like she’s looking for a fucking marriage opportunity,” Eighteen gripes, giving Chi Chi a disdainful look. “Does his personality really matter? I say go for it, Bulma. He’s hot. I bet he’d fuck your brains out.”
Bulma swipes right before she can think better of it. Who is to say if they’ll match, anyway?
Vegeta is to say, apparently, though he takes his damn time doing it. It isn’t for another two days till he messages Bulma, who by that time has all but forgotten about the lapse in judgement that spurred her to download the app in the first place.
“Oh, shit!” she squeaks, realizing what the phone notification is for. She skids to a halt in the middle of the hallway as other students mill about her, and hurriedly pulls open the message.
Hey, says the blunt text, Meet me. I’m free whenever you are.
Bulma balks at the direct tone of his message. What the fuck? Aren't they supposed to have some kind of banter, maybe get to know each other at least a little bit? She worries her bottom lip with her teeth before responding.
When and where?
Her heart hammers steadily in her chest as she waits for a response. Is this what dating is like these days? Granted, it has been several years since she's last been single, but she doesn't remember it being this stressful. After a moment, her phone chimes again.
Come to my place around eight. I’ll send you the address.
A siren goes off in the back of her mind, warning her against meeting a strange man for the first time in private location she doesn't know. This is everything she has learned not to do, everything she constantly warns her friends against. And yet…
I’ll be there.
As it turns out, Bulma’s handsome stranger lives quite close to her own tiny apartment, albeit in a much more affluent area. As she drives through the neighborhood her GPS has directed her into, she can’t help but be reminded of days long gone by, when her parents would drag her to boring dinner parties held in the houses of business partners and other wealthy colleagues of her father’s.
She eases to a stop in front of a three storey brick townhouse, double checks that the address is correct, and turns off her car. She's already let both Eighteen and Chi Chi know where she is, just in case, but has also brought a can of pepper spray with her in her bag. A girl can’t be too careful.
She walks up the path to his house and knocks on the door like he’d instructed. It is warm and muggy outside, but Bulma knows she would be flushed even if the temperature wasn't so suffocating; this all feels a little embarrassing somehow, like her friends are pranking her and any minute someone will jump out and tell her it's a big joke. Am I being made fun of?
As the minutes creep by and still nobody opens the door, her paranoia increases. She knocks again.
“Christ!” Bulma jumps, not having heard someone approaching her from behind, and swings around wildly at the sound of a male voice.
The man walking up the path towards her is very obviously her Tinder guy, but it is immediately obvious that his pictures, while flattering, haven’t quite done him justice. The man walking towards her looks like something out of a magazine. He is in gym gear, possibly just coming back from a training session, and the workout tank he is wearing leaves very little to the imagination in terms of his impeccably cut pecs. His arms and shoulders are similarly sculpted, all hard cut lines and rounded edges, and she can't help but stare as he saunters towards her with his bag slung over his arm. He is fine.
He snickers at her jumpy reaction, his amusement a low rumble. “Damn, relax. I won’t bite,” he says, jostling keys out of his pocket as he nears the door. “At least not yet.”
The hair on Bulma’s arm stands on end, and she can feel herself fighting a blush. “You didn't scare me, I just didn't hear you,” she titters, and follows him inside as he unlocks the entrance and pushes open the door. She smooths her dress across her thighs, glancing around as she enters. “Nice place. My name’s Bulma, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says flatly, dumping his bag on the floor as soon as they walk in. He kicks the door shut behind her, then turns an appraising eye on her. “I’d introduce myself but it doesn’t matter. We’re not here to chat, are we?”
Normally Bulma would have a smart retort to such a snippy comment, but tonight she isn’t normal Bulma. Tonight she is a new woman, sexually liberated and fully in charge, and she'll be damned if this stranger is going to kill her moment of courage. Chi Chi already warned her that he has a mouth on him, after all. Instead of listening to him spout off then she'll just have to put his mouth to better use. If he wants to be straightforward, then she will, too.
She grabs the front of his tank and drags him towards her, abandoning her bag on the floor of the entryway. Despite still being a bit sweaty, he has a clean, earthy scent about him that overwhelms her senses as she presses against him. He smirks as she cups his chin and angles his face towards her, obviously amused by her forwardness. “Eager, are we?”
“Very,” she says, and crushes her mouth against his. He loses no time making it apparent that he is running the show, though; she quickly finds herself comfortably within his strong embrace, pushed up against the nearest wall. Despite the fact that he is just her height - aka, short - his entire presence radiates calm confidence.
His palm slides up her neck to cradle her jaw right under her ear as he kisses her, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, while his other hand grip her backside, pulling her body tight against his. Bulma’s skin breaks out into goosebumps again as excitement flares through her body, pooling at the juncture of her thighs. Has she ever been kissed like this? Shiiiiiit.
A whine of protest nearly escapes her as he suddenly breaks away. “Fuck, you’re even hotter in person,” he says frankly as he pulls his tank off, latissimus muscles bulging. “Hope you don’t mind fucking on the couch, ‘cause that’s my plan.”
“No complaints here,” she says, eagerly resuming their kissing now that he is half naked. Her hands roam his abdomen freely, figuring she might as well live this up while she can. She's already abandoned any lingering modesty she might have had, and who’s to say when the next time she'll be with a Grecian god?
“Perfect, let’s go,” he says and effortlessly hoists her into his arms without warning, as though she isn’t a hundred and twenty-five pounds of dead weight. She grabs hold of his shoulders as he carries her across the foyer and into a side room, where an absurdly large sectional couch is featured. He sits on the nearest cushion, allowing her to straddle him, and deepens their kisses again.
Bulma can feel the length of his hard-on through his sweatpants as she grinds against him, pressed firmly up against the bottom of her thigh, and finds herself immediately impatient. Foreplay is great and all, but it has been longer than she is willing to admit since she's had a man all up in her private bits, and she isn’t willing to prolong the action any longer. “Pants off,” she pants against his lips, tugging at his waistband.
Vegeta lets out a short bark of laughter before obeying. “You’re not one to waste time, huh?” he remarks, shimmying his pants down past his hips as she shifts to the side. “Condoms are in the side drawer, there, if you can grab one.”
Bulma snorts, reaching over to open the drawer of his living room side table. “You keep condoms in your living room? Shit,” she says, half laughing.
“Hey, don’t knock convenience,” he says, smirking himself as he snatches the little packet from her, and finally pulls his boxers low on his hips to expose his erection.
Damn! She stares in open admiration of the girth he’s just let loose from his pants. For all the terrible things Bulma can say about her ex, having a small dick is not one of them, and even still this guy dwarfs Yamcha’s size. Eyeing his dick, she wonders for a moment if this is, logistically, a good idea.
“Let’s go, woman, it’s not going to fuck itself. Panties off,” he says, not noticing her sudden apprehension and pulling her towards him again. She has to admit, she kind of likes being bossed around.
“I’m not wearing any.” That was a suggestion from Eighteen. ‘Best to have a few surprises up your sleeve,’ she'd said.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he mumbles into her mouth as his tongue laps her own. He hoists himself over her again, tugging her dress up over her hips and teasing her entrance with his newly wrapped package. “Let me know if I’m too rough.”
“No such thing.” She sits herself up on her elbows to watch him, nearly going mad with anticipation. A beat later he is pushing into her, slowly at first, but within a few surprisingly gentle thrusts he is fully seated and they are both breathless.
“Oh, God,” she moans, letting her head fall back on her shoulders. “Fuck, you’re huge.”
She can practically hear the sneer in his reply. “That doesn't sound like a complaint, though,” he says. He pulls one of her legs flush against his chest and holds tight as he begins moving more quickly, slapping against her underside. After a moment his hand wanders south to find her clit amidst the slippery mess where they are connected and begins rubbing in tight circles, until uncontrollable whimpers begin tumbling from her lips. “C’mon, make some noise for me.”
“Oh, please - shit - ” Bulma’s been reduced to a blubbering mess within minutes, though it's at least partially because this guy knows what he is doing. He's hitting all the right places at all the right speeds, and despite a desire to have it go on forever, she can already feel a familiar pressure building at her center. “My God, Vegeta - harder!”
He pulls the front of her dress down to let her tits loose and palms one of them firmly as his hips snap back and forth more vigorously. “Say my name again,” he orders, his voice low as he watches her. His eyes are half closed and his cheeks are flushed, and Bulma finds his obvious arousal unspeakably sexy. She winds her fingers through his wild hair, prompting a groan of his own as she yanks his head back.
“Vegeta,” she repeats through half a moan as he pounds into her, his hand still steadily working her clit. It's all an amalgamation of hot panting breath and sweat, and although they are already so close she has an urge to pull him closer. She can feel her orgasm mounting in the background, like a sneeze about to rip itself from her. “Fuck, Vegeta - fuck me, I’m gonna - ”
He lets go of her tit in favor of her hip for leverage to rut against her with more force. “That’s right,” he husks. She can feel the press of his strong fingers against her waist, holding her firmly in place, and knows she's at his mercy. “Come for me, woman. I wanna see your pretty face when you do.”
He doesn't have to wait long; within seconds she's arching her back, moaning and gasping as her muscles contract and spasm, leaving her a trembling mess. His own climax comes not long after, and the two of them are left gasping on the couch, sprawled out next to each other.
Bulma’s chest rises and sinks heavily as she breathes through her nose, trying to regain herself. It takes a few minutes to catch her breath before she decides it is time to put herself back together; the post-sex clarity of her current situation - half naked and sweaty on a stranger’s couch - has begun to sink in, and she knows it's time to leave. She can feel Vegeta’s eyes on her from where he sits, still laid back against the cushions, as she straightens her dress and combs her fingers through her hair.
“Nice tits, by the way.”
She laughs. “Thanks. I like them, too,” she says, and stands to leave.
He sits up, reaching for his discarded sweatpants. “Hold on, I’ll walk you - ”
“No need.” She grabs her bag off the floor and flashes him a smile as she heads to the door, taking a mental picture of his attractive face. “Good night, handsome.”
“Chi Chi, I’m not lying! Biggest dick I’ve ever seen, no contest,” Bulma insists, shoving chips into her mouth as they walk into the stiflingly hot gym. “I had to ice my shit the next day, I swear.”
Chi Chi wrinkles her nose at that. “Ugh, Bulma, that doesn’t sound fun,” she says, craning her neck in her search for her husband. The area is full of noise and sweaty men; some are in one of the three boxing rings available for sparring, while others are using the sparse weight lifting equipment scattered along the perimeter.
“I don’t know, sounds like a good time to me,” Eighteen quips with a shrug, eyes glued to her phone screen.
“God, and he is ripped, too. Crazy strong. He picked me up and moved me around like I was a fucking ragdoll,” Bulma sighs, popping another Dorito into her mouth. “He may have ruined my chances of enjoying any other hookups. The bar has been set too high.”
“Oh Bulma, please. He’s one guy. Who knows who else you’ll meet?” Chi Chi dismisses with an eye roll as she scans the gym. She lifts her hand in the air and begins waving around. “Oh, there’s Goku! Honey! Over here!”
Goku holds his hand up in greeting from across the gym and jogs over to them a moment later, his shirt slung over his shoulder. He bends to give Chi Chi a quick kiss before greeting the other two. “Hey guys,” he says with an amiable smile, wiping at his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
Eighteen grunts in acknowledgement from behind her phone and Bulma flashes him a smile of her own. Chi Chi taps her foot as she takes in his messy appearance. “Come on, Goku, you said you’d be ready to go! We have to get Gohan from my Dad’s and you’re still not even showered!”
“Relax, Cheech, it’ll only take me a second. I’m just going to - oh, hey Vegeta!” Goku says cheerily, addressing someone over Bulma’s shoulder.
Bulma’s heart leaps into her throat, nearly choking her as she spins around. The agitated look on her handsome stranger’s face throws her for a moment, before she realizes it’s directed at Goku. “Hi, Vegeta,” she squeaks, trying not to stare at the snug training shorts he is wearing. His boxing gloves are tied together, slung around his neck.
He nods at her in greeting, his scowl unwavering. “Woman. How the fuck do you know this idiot?” he asks, gesturing at Goku without bothering to reciprocate his greeting.
Chi Chi huffs. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, we’ve been friends since we were kids,” she says, waving a nonchalant hand towards Goku who is watching the interaction with a puzzled expression.
“Hmm.” Vegeta glares at Goku, clearly not entirely believing her.
“You guys know each other?” Goku asks, looking at the two of them. “Well, Vegeta, if you want to come we are going to go - ”
“Don’t bother, I was just leaving,” Vegeta interrupts flatly. He looks back at Bulma. “Come with me.”
Bulma’s mouth opens and closes stupidly, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “Oh, I - I - yeah, uh, okay,” she says, fumbling under his unwavering stare. She shoves what is left of her chips at Eighteen, who has an amused look on her face. “Here, take these - uh, I’ll just meet up with you guys later, then!”
“Bulma Briefs! Seriously?” Chi Chi complains, stamping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest. “We have plans!”
“Sorry, Chi Chi, something’s - uh, come up,” she says stupidly as Vegeta grabs her wrist and begins guiding her towards the exit. “I’ll text you later!”
It only takes a moment for them to reach his car, but his hands are up her shirt before they even manage to get the door open. He pushes her up against the window, trailing hot kisses down her neck as he fondles her nipple. “Vegeta! We’re - shit - we’re in public,” she protests weakly.
"I don't give a fuck. I'll fuck you in front of everyone, Kakarot included," he says, his voice a growl against her collarbone.
"Kakarot - oh, you mean Goku? Fuck, don't worry about him. He's literally like my brother," she says with a nervous chuckle as the hand cupping her breast gives a firm squeeze. "Look, I'm all for public displays of affection and everything, but - "
“Fine. Come back to mine,” he suggests, his breath tickling the crook of her neck. A thrill scuttles through her stomach as his teeth nip at her skin. She nods, unsure she can muster up the will to form any coherent words.
They manage to get into his house without losing any clothing, but don’t make it up the stairs before Vegeta’s face is between her thighs and she’s shouting his name.
“So much for ‘one and done’, huh?” Eighteen asks with sneer later that day when Bulma goes to meet them for their previously planned dinner date.
Bulma shrugs, sliding into the booth across from Chi Chi, Gohan, and Goku. “It’s just a coincidence we ran into him. That is the last time, I’m sure,” she says, stealing a fry off Eighteen’s plate. “It’s not my fault he has a magic dick.”
“Bulma!” Chi Chi chastises, covering Gohan’s ears with her hands. “Language!”
Goku raises an eyebrow at his wife’s outrage. “Cheech, he’s barely two. I don’t think - ”
“Chi Chi, you’d understand if you saw it,” Bulma defends, reaching for another fry. "The thing's the size of my forearm, I swear."
Eighteen swats at her hand. “Do whatever you want, as long as you’re being safe.”
“Yeah, the last thing we need is dealing with the fallout of you getting pregnant by this random jerk,” Chi Chi complains, letting go of Gohan’s ears as he begins to whine.
“Wait, are you and Vegeta dating?” Goku asks, finally catching on to what they are talking about.
Bulma laughs. “Dating? No! God no. Just hooking up a little.”
“Oh,” Goku says, looking a little disappointed. Gohan’s whining begins escalating in the background, shooting up several octaves as Chi Chi tries to convince him to eat some chicken. “Too bad. He could use a girlfriend, I think.”
“What makes you say that?”
Goku shrugs. “He’s a little rough when you first meet him, but he’s really not a bad guy. Got a good heart.” He hesitates for a moment before adding, “He just always seems lonely to me.”
Bulma ponders this as Gohan begins full on crying, and Goku slides out of the booth so Chi Chi can take him outside to console him.
“Uh, sir? Mr. Breigh?” His assistant pauses for a brief moment before knocking on the cracked door. “Sir?”
Vegeta tears his eyes away from his phone to stare at the meek blonde standing in his doorway. “What?” he snaps.
The girl flinches as she enters the room, a manila folder in hand. “Sir, Mr. Son is here for your two o’clock,” she explains, placing the folder full of papers gingerly on his desk.
He scoffs, leaning back in his chair, and waves his hand at her. “Fine, fine. Send him in, then.”
His assistant disappears out the door only to be replaced by Raditz’s hulking form a second later. “Damn, Vegeta, be nice to the poor girl,” he admonishes jokingly as he plops down into a chair on the other side of the huge mahogany desk. “You’re going to give her a heart attack. She’s a cute little thing.”
“Oh, shut up. She’s a moron is what she is,” Vegeta complains, picking up his phone again to idly check the screen. “Fuck, I wish this day would end already.”
“You still thinking about that girl?” Raditz asks in a playful tone. He eyes Vegeta with a knowing sneer. “No wonder you’re all distracted. You gonna hit her up again?”
“Tch,” he says in annoyance, jerking his face off to the side. Any other time he would be angered by Raditz bringing up non-work related topics while in the office, but in this case he's right: he is thinking about his Tinder girl. “Fucking no I’m not going to hit her up again. Twice is already too many times.”
“Yeah, man, but you like her, don’t you?” Raditz picks a pen off his desk and begins twirling it between his fingers.
Vegeta hesitates, tapping his index finger against his desk. “Well yeah, I like her. She’s gorgeous and funny and damn can she take a pounding - ”
“Nothing wrong with dating, you know. Tons of people do it.”
Vegeta reddens. “I’m not going to fucking date her, moron!” He has had this conversation with Raditz before, and doesn't care to repeat it; he isn’t interested in any kind of emotional relationship. Recreational sex has managed to meet all his needs for as long as he can remember, and he has no intention of muddying up that arrangement. “She wouldn’t be interested, anyway.”
“You don’t know that,” Raditz admonishes, pushing his bushy hair over his shoulder. “Who the fuck’s to say she’s not at home, getting off to the thought of you right now? I’m sure you’ve given her plenty to think about while she’s petting her kitty - ”
Vegeta scoffs again, and sits up straight in his chair. “Yeah, yeah, fuck off. It’s not gonna happen,” he mumbles, grabbing the folder of papers his assistant handed off to him a few minutes prior. “Alright, what the fuck is this meeting supposed to be about? Talk to me about these shitty quarter three numbers.”
The brilliant colors of the fluorescent signs adorning the wall behind the bar swirl together as Vegeta shakes his head, trying to focus on Raditz’s voice. The music is far too loud and the club is packed but he is drunk enough that he doesn't give a shit.
Suddenly Raditz’s breath is against his ear. “Dude, did you hear me?”
Vegeta jostles his head again, squinting at his friend in exaggerated concentration. “No, sorry. The fuck did you say?”
Raditz grabs him roughly by the shoulders and spins him to the side, pointing across the crowd. “Isn’t that your chick? She has blue hair, right?”
He follows Raditz’s finger until his eyes land on a girl across the room who does indeed have very blue hair. Shit, she really does look like his girl. Or - is it actually her? “Fuuuuck.”
“Go say hi to her, man! She doesn’t look like she’s with anyone,” Raditz encourages, half shouting over the surrounding ruckus.
A passing group of girls pushes past the two of them, shoving him into Raditz, and suddenly Vegeta feels overly warm. “I need to piss,” he says, patting Raditz on the shoulder as he turns away. “Be right back.”
He pushes his way haphazardly through the crowd without any real destination in mind; all he knows is that he needs to get the hell away from whatever that was. This girl has to think he’s a creep, showing up in all the same places as her.
He somehow ends up at the entrance, and shoulders his way outside into the warm night air. He leans up against the sturdy brick wall of the building, face angled skyward, and takes a deep breath. After the chaos of the club, even the day-to-day commotion of the surrounding city seems calming. He hums quietly to himself, content for a moment of solitude.
The door to the club swings open again, releasing a second of turmoil from within, before slamming shut. A moment later he feels small hands pressing up against his chest. “Hey, Vegeta.”
He looks down into blue eyes and feels himself smirk. “You following me, woman?”
“Your friend told me where I could find you,” Bulma admits, a smile of her own adorning her pretty features. Her fingers find his and winds them together. “Want to get out of here?”
“I’ll go wherever you do.”
The walk back to her car is quick, but even so Vegeta finds himself impatient by the time they get there. Bulma sucks him off in the back seat while he fumbles around in her panties clumsily, finding it hard to concentrate on anything that isn’t the warmth of her mouth and her tongue wrapped around his cock. He comes embarrassingly quickly, and Bulma drives them back to her apartment.
They stumble through the front door and into her bedroom, where he tugs off her top and laps at her nipples. The noises she’s making are driving him crazy, and even though he just blew a load not twenty minutes prior he’s antsy to feel himself inside her.
He stands next to the bed and pulls her over to the edge so he can angle himself over top of her. She rolls the condom over his erection, and he nuzzles the head of his dick against her warmth. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he says as he pushes into her and finds no resistance.
She moans beneath him, fingers already fisted in the bedsheets. “Fuck me hard,” she orders, and he’s only too happy to comply. He hammers against her until she’s full on wailing and he’s out of breath, and he finds himself doing his best not to come prematurely again.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes as he slows his strokes, looking at her sprawled beneath him. Her short hair is a blue aura about her head, and her cheeks are stained a cute pink as her fingers work at her clit, chasing her own release. For the first time, he wonders if hook-ups will ever get any better than this. “You’re fucking ruining me, Bulma.”
She laughs at that. “Please. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of suitors to keep you busy,” she says between gasps. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers increase their speed, her hips arching to meet his thrusts.
He kisses her calf from where it sits against his shoulder. Alcohol has made him brash and stupidly honest, and he can’t stop himself before he says, “I don’t want other suitors. I want you.”
“Well I’m right here, silly,” she says, her eyes trained on his face. His pace has slowed, and her expression clouds with confusion. “What’s the matter?”
Vegeta knows he is potentially about to ruin the only good thing he’s got going for him at the moment, but does it anyway. “Come home with me,” he implores, holding her thigh to his chest. His other hand has wandered southward, seeking out her fingers where they tease her clit. “Stay the night with me.”
Bulma sits up on her elbows. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sick of only seeing you for just an hour or two, and I... I don’t know anything about you,” he says. He rubs at her nonchalantly, moving her own hand out of the way to do the job himself. “But I want to. Come home with me. Let me get to know you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she says with a laugh, hooking her heels around his waist to push him into her. He knows she’s trying to distract him, but won’t be deterred; there’s no going back now.
“Please,” he adds, doubling over to nuzzle the crook of her neck. He takes the lobe of her ear between his teeth and sucks on it, still gently rutting against her. “Give me a chance.”
She’s quiet for a second, almost suspicious, as though she’s trying to decide whether or not he’s being genuine. After a moment, she caves. “I’ll stay with you tonight,” she agrees, falling back against the bed and cupping his face in her palm, “but you’ve got to finish what you started here first.”
He grins smugly, standing up straight again. “Come here, then,” he says, and flips her onto her stomach before tugging her flush against him by the hips. He pounds into her from behind, and it only takes another minute or two before she’s all sobs and whimpers again.
“Ve - ahh, Vegeta!” she moans, and before too long she’s trembling and gasping as the ecstasy of her release washes over her. Her excitement provokes his own, and his orgasm quickly follows. He falls onto the bed next to her, both of them gasping for air.
Vegeta looks at her, naked next to him, and rolls onto his side to tuck her into his arms. Her lithe form folds into him comfortably, and she sighs against his forearm, content. He can’t explain it, but somehow this feels right.
He traces shapes against her hip for a moment before tapping her. “We should go, before we fall asleep,” he says, spurring her to sit up.
“Are you sure about this?” Bulma asks, looking at him as he reaches to the floor for his discarded boxers.
“Of course I’m sure. I’m sure about everything,” he says arrogantly, tossing her shirt at her face. “I’m going to take you home, maybe fuck you again, and then you’re going to tell me about your boring job and your friends and whatever the fuck else you do when you’re not with me. Now get dressed.”
She laughs but obeys, tugging on the pair of jeans he had so eagerly pulled off of her when they’d arrived. Within five minutes she’s grabbing her keys and waiting for him at the door. “My friends are going to be pissed I ditched them for you.”
Vegeta smirks as he opens the door and ushers her out. “Yeah, well, they’d better get used to it,” he says, and walks out after her.