i still fight while i can fight

Vegeta grits his teeth.

There has been an array of things gone wrong in his life as of late. Every day he seems to slip a little bit further in his training. Every day he goes over and over a mental checklist of the differences between he and Kakarot, their parallels, where one might be lacking where the other one thrives, and every day he comes up with inconclusive results.

Every day his head throbs harder and harder over the many troubles that plague him - one of whom is taking her sweet time correcting an error on a half-assed machine she should've built right the first, second, and third time.

The bile rises upon the back of his tongue as he watches her sashay about the console in one of her despicable little outfit, her tight blue curls beginning to unwind about her shoulders as they grow longer and heavy. Just now, he's almost too keenly aware of the single sweat droplet that's starting to ease its way down the back of her thigh and into the crook of her knee.

He's not an idiot. He knows what this could wind up meaning. But he's beginning to hedge on desperate. He needs to fix this – fix himself, because he's certain he's broken - and what other routes could be taken? There's only this one he sees, paved in blue, and it fills him with the utmost apprehension and dread to consider such madness, but it's there.

She's babbling something at him now and it echoes in the space around them; it's this filter of annoying nonsense as though a gnat is trapped in his ear. His arms fold tighter as she bends at the waist, and he decides quickly.

It takes three long strides for him to reach her side and Bulma spins immediately, her mouth flown open in surprise at his sudden closeness. Her eyebrows narrow at his hand gripping at her arm, and she snarls and pushes half-heartedly with an elbow at his rib. "What the hell are you doing? Let go of me, Vegeta."

"Your presence infuriates me, woman," he tells her in a low and even tone, his face near enough to map out the pink blotches spreading slowly in her cheeks.

"Then maybe you should find some other gorgeous billionairess to mooch off and feel up?" She tugs her arm, but he does not concede. His grip only tightens. "Ohh, c'mon! I'm sure there are plenty of others out there who would love to take in a freeloader with your candor!"

He seethes and inches his face closer, threatening her with his nearness, and she offers up a saccharine smile in repartee.

Since the early part of his second year in this realm, he's felt this back-and-forth between them fester gradually into something else; something terrible and ugly, something that could potentially ruin everything he has strove for all these years. And it is something he absolutely cannot abide anymore.

He hopes that picking this particular scab might satisfy him and his anxieties, if only temporarily.

His silence and unwavering stare unnerves her, he can tell. Bulma swallows, flushes, and pulls from him again. "What are you-"

He can't stand the sound of her. His dominant hand behind her head forces her forward almost violently and she yelps, and his mouth burns agonizingly so at the soft warmth of her lips.

Yes, it must be a virus making him sick and weak, but God, he prays this is the cure.

Author's Note: Another drabble for the deviantART group DBZ-Fanfics. The theme for June's contest was Taking Risks, and - duh - the first "risk" that popped into my mind was Vegeta pursuing Bulma. Which I figure was a pretty huge effing risk for him and he was probably at the end of his rope when he made such a decision. ;P