Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A/N: So its weird what songs will inspire you to sit down and write about your favorite couple. You might not even need the whole song to fit—but one line…Anywhoo…I was driving and a pop song came on, and something about the lyrics, "I'm leaving my fingerprints on you…" made me think of Vegeta and how his attraction to Bulma came about. Before you know it, most of this was written in my head.
No beta this time, sometimes you just have to write what you want and to post it without thinking too much—so sorry now for grammar and spelling mistakes. Hopefully you guys see this as what it is, a one shot about how Vegeta first became attracted to Bulma. Enjoy!
Vegeta was not sure if there was an exact moment when that woman who had given him a place to live had become more than that, had morphed from that vulgar woman to just 'Woman' or when 'Woman' had become known as Bulma, but he found that she had seeped into his consciousness in a way that was unexpected and new.
He was not sure how she had stolen into his thoughts as such, but he knew when he was aware of her as a real person, rather than just a provider or inventor. Vegeta had really never paid much attention to anyone who was not a fighter, someone he would have to challenge to prove his worth, and so the woman had never been anything more than the woman in his mind for a very long time.
She had nothing to offer him in the way of fighting, and she owed him the technology she dangled in front of him that would improve his fighting. He deserved to be the best, especially ever since they had learned about the android threat looming and so her shrieking about him not being appreciative enough fell on deaf ears as he had been served his whole life (on Vegetasei and in Frieza's servitude).
But something had changed….
It had been another long day of training, and so Vegeta had flown to the roof of the spaceship he used to train, contemplative in his search of the ever-elusive switch to become the Legendary. His eyes had been drawn to the stars, far away and bright, that he had spent his youth growing up among, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the minuscule empty spot where Vegetasei would have stood if not for Frieza. Vegeta did not grow too introspective about how different his life would have been if there had never been a hostile takeover of his planet, as he had learned from a young age that wishing about what could have been got you nothing—but even so he was unable to look away from the spot.
As he stared into the stars, trying to relax his body before he went in for some much-needed rest, Vegeta's ears had picked up a rather peculiar sound that intruded into the solitude of his thoughts. Turning his head away from the stars, he found himself staring into the lit up bedroom of the woman, and though the gauzy curtains were drawn, he could see her, sitting with her back to him in a silk nightgown, facing a vanity, her head in her hands, her shoulders quietly shaking as she let out some soft tears.
Vegeta should have turned away, disgusted at the act of over emotionality (weakness as he had learned from a very young age), but instead he had been interested for some unexplainable reason. Vegeta moved nothing but his neck to watch her, but he had focused his energies and attentions on Bulma, watching her cry for a few minutes trying to fathom why the woman who had everything would be shedding tears.
His ears picked up another sound in the room, a quiet beeping sound, and he grew even more interested as Bulma's hand came out from under the veil of her hair, hitting the beeping thing next to her (some sort of way of keeping time?), before she lifted her head to face herself in the vanity.
Vegeta had seen plenty of people cry in his lifetime…s (ah yes, he had died once, hadn't he?), many of them as they begged for life at his hands, and so he was used to seeing blotchy red cheeks, tears and snot streaming down their faces, eyes swollen— what he had never seen before was a person who could cry, really cry, and then make it look as if they had done nothing more than blown their nose.
Bulma's clear pale skin should have shown the exertion behind her tears, her face red, but no—as she wiped her eyes, then methodically sat straighter to rub lotions and creams into her face and body, the tears he had just witnessed might as well have been something he had dreamed up. The end of her nose was a little red- that was it.
Bulma had a rather steely look about her as he finished watching her get ready for sleep, one that he was drawn too. He was sure he had seen the woman's many moods (and she did have many, even he, who was removed from everything really, was aware of that), but he had never seen her with this hard look of determination Vegeta recognized as someone preparing themselves for battle.
Which was odd, considering that the only thing Bulma did after he watched her cry was crawl into her bed, and turn the lights off.
Vegeta watched the room silently for a few more minutes, curious as to what he had just witnessed, but found that Bulma's breathing became more even, her body more lax as she fell asleep giving him no hints about her emotions. Not a clue was given as to what she had just put on display for him….
Vegeta had then turned away from the room, once he realized no forthcoming explanations were coming, frowning as he tried to resume his earlier contemplations. He found that his brain was too unfocused to even meditate after he had let himself become distracted, so he had left his post on the top of the spaceship heading to the kitchen in search of nourishment before he rested.
It was in there that he found the reasons for Bulma's tears, as he approached the kitchen, hearing her parents speaking.
"Bulma sure has been taking this break up with Yamcha better than the rest." The scientists voice, Bulma's father who was always more amenable to Vegeta's demands (though admittedly it could be because he was so scatterbrained he never remembered agreeing to granting Vegeta's wishes like some forgetful technological genie), stopped Vegeta outside of the kitchen door.
"She said they broke up over a week ago, but she didn't think to tell us because it wasn't a big deal." The high-pitched voice of the woman's mother answered, and Vegeta frowned.
So that was why she was crying? Her and the weakling human had broken up? He had noticed his Ki signature coming by less and less, but he had thought it was because the idiot was really settling down, ready to focus. It must have been because the pair had found yet another reason to get back together. But why not show her parents how sad she was—this was not the first break-up Vegeta had seen Bulma and that idiot go through, and he knew last time Bulma had made a big production of it, wallowing in self pity, ice cream and wailing for days on end.
So why act like this now? Put up a brave front for her parents, and then let herself have a released, controlled cry in her room with no witnesses?
Vegeta frowned at himself, shaking his head. It did not matter—that's what it came down to. It was ridiculous that he was even allowing himself this moment to wonder—she was just Bulma, the woman who had offered him a place to live and train.
That was it, and that was all she would ever be to him.
Vegeta could pinpoint the moment he realized Bulma had become more than just a passing thought, a blip on his consciousness. It was months after he had seen her cry that one night, and he had come to realize that she was becoming more and more of a problem to his training. He had started the bad habit of watching her through her curtains after he trained at night, though she was usually asleep—he would still find an odd comfort in watching the soft rise and fall of her chest as she was wrapped deeply in slumber.
Even if she were not asleep, he would watch her as she did her nightly routine of beauty products. He found something oddly familiar about her movements and actions when she was by herself, the mask she wore for the rest of the world put aside until morning. She did not know he watched, but every now and then, if he was staring at her particularly hard she would stop, frowning, or shoot a look over her shoulder, though there was no way she would see him with her human eyesight.
It was as he watched her in her room that he saw her cry only a few more times, or saw her really frown at herself, recognizing her sluggish movements as those of someone deep in thought. It took him a while to identify why it was so familiar to him, but it hit him eventually. She reminded him of...himself.
He would surreptitiously watch her around others, when she was working in the lab with her father, or when any of her weakling friends came to visit, and he would see her smile and laugh like she had not a care in the world, loud, brash and vulgarlike she had everything going for her. But then he would see her that same night, in her room, sighing and looking like she very much had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Vegeta recognized that look, that interplay between being who everyone wanted you to be, and who you really were. He was a proud man, but even he recognized how lonely he had been ever since he had allowed Radditz to try and find his younger brother—Radditz and Nappa had always been his kinsmen, even if he held them apart from himself (he was still their prince), and there was a sense of camaraderie there (of having killed and survived together) that was not easily found once lost. He saw it in the gang Kakarrot had built around himself, but he knew it probably stemmed from their having banded together so many times to save each other and the world. Vegeta was not jealous of the group, per se, but he did not like how it made him feel like even more of an outsider than he had always felt like.
Watching Bulma, seeing her act as such—he knew she would understand. She would understand his loneliness, her sense of not quite belonging. Sure, she brought brains to her group of friends, but not being a fighter, not being one who would they train and spar with, then die standing next to, she also did not truly belong. It was why she had stayed with that degenerative scar faced weakling for as long as she did—with him, she had a role in the group beyond forgotten about genius that gave the group inventions.
He had left for space the second he realized he was spending more and more of his time on top of his ship, watching her, when he should have been inside of it, pushing himself, training harder. He was acting more and more like a fool—going in when he knew the family would be eating dinner, so they would ask him to eat with them, just so he could sit across the table from the woman with a sharp wit who often insulted him when he ignored her questions.
He did not come in to find her and talk to her—he came in to be simply closer to her presence, to have that alluring scent of hers tickle his nose. There was something about her... he could not explain it. She was not a soothing person to be around; in fact he often found her jarring in the presence of others, when she was wearing her mask. But something about seeing those moments of weakness in her eyes, where she let the loneliness shine through, and he got to see the real Bulma, hidden underneath the layers of show Bulma... it made it worth it. Even with his good eyesight he could not see the depth of sadness in her eyes from his perch on top of his ship, and he found odd comfort and connection in seeing it on her face when she thought no one was watching.
A part of him responded to that loneliness, a part of him that he had thought long dead and so he had left her, and the whole damn earth, behind.
Space had been good for training, it always was, and he had no plans of returning to Earth until when he knew the androids would be attacking, until he obtained the legendary at the very least.
At first he had not thought of her, other than when he called to demand her to help him fix his bots that would help him fix his ship, or when he would think of something else he would want to help him train. She always answered his call, annoyed, but she spoke to him, and he answered her questions. That was it—the second he was off the phone with her, he would forget her.
But then he would find himself, in those odd moments where he stopped for a deep breath, wondering about her, wondering if she still would look sad when he returned home or if she would be back with that fool. He found himself actually watching her and paying attention to her when he called to give her status updates about the ship, looking for a sign of the loneliness that he knew lurked beneath the surface. He knew that his calls became too frequent, his need to see her too intense when he noticed when she changed her hair from that ridiculous afro to a more palatable look, her hair cascading down her back in waves like a moving waterfall.
It was when he had thoughts like that that he would abruptly insult her, then get off of the com link with her as quickly as possible. He would force himself to not even stop to think about why he cared about what her hair looked like (or felt like, or smelled like) and instead turn the gravity up as high as it would go, or force himself outside, to battle the elements. He would push himself to train harder; making it so no thoughts could crowd his head, only thoughts of the legendary and how to make himself stronger.
He would have to stop eventually, and he would have to sleep, often falling into a deep sleep within moments of finding his bed. But then the dreams would start, and Vegeta would find himself waking, restless and antsy, as thoughts of pale white skin, soft blue hair, and familiar wet pink lips crowded everything and anything else out of his thoughts.
So he knew the moment he landed back on earth not a month after he had taken off that she had become more than just a blip, had become something much more than he could have anticipated.
What she had become was a distraction, and one that he needed to find a solution too.
So he had come back to earth, desperate to find some sort of release from the spell the woman had unknowingly cast on him.
He was not stupid enough to think she had set out to seduce or bewitch him, though he was vain enough to know that she found him good looking (who wouldn't?). As far as he knew, she saw him as that alien who demanded more and more from her technologically. Whenever she tried to engage him in conversation, he would rebuff her with insults or stony silence, and after a while she had stopped trying to get him to speak.
So he was not surprised to see her own surprise when he landed on her balcony, as she was getting ready for bed, sitting in front of her mirror, looking so very alone and sad. The second he tapped on her balcony sliding glass door, she had frozen, looking over her shoulder as if she was afraid...and hoping. He was not sure what she was hoping for, but it was gone just as quickly as it had arrived, the look fading from her face, anger and confusion replacing it.
She walked over to the glass, sliding it open, though not moving or allowing him entrance into her room. "Vegeta? What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back to Earth!"
Vegeta considered answering her snarkily, asking her if she regretted ever having given him the option of staying here, but instead he cocked his head, looking at her.
She was almost ready for bed, as he had memorized her stages of getting ready for sleep, her hair long and loose down her back, the silk nightgown she wore covered up by a matching silk robe, cinched at her waist. He did a long and slow perusal of her, allowing himself to sink in the sights of he had denied himself this past month, her familiar scent overwhelming his already cloudy thoughts. When his eyes finally sought hers out again, he was glad to see some pink tingeing her cheeks—she might be confused as to why he was here, but she was intrigued at the same time.
His prolonged silence flustered her, he knew, but it also excited her, if the beating pulse at the base of her throat was any indication. As his stare grew longer, she began to fidget, grabbing the ends of the belt of her robe, pulling it tighter around her tiny waist, unknowingly giving him a better view of her delectable curves as her heavy breasts pushed against the fabric. "Did something on the ship break? Are you here to demand more gravity or something?"
Vegeta let the silence drag on a beat too long, then he gave her a savage smile, pushing past her, into her room. She spun from her spot, watching him as he walked over to the familiar vanity, her eyes wide as she followed his movements. Vegeta ignored her spluttered, "H-hey! What are you doing?"
Instead he walked over to where her dozens and dozens of glass-bottled ointments and creams sat, picking up the crème in the dark amethyst jar, opening it. He recognized it as her lotion, what she rubbed on her body every night right before she fell asleep, as what seeped into her pores as she slumbered, and he was curious. He opened it, turning to her as he put his nose unnecessarily close to it to breathe in deep the scent of her.
He was surprised that the smell was not overpowering, or saccharinely sweet, as he would expect from a female who was as vain as her. It was a simple, base smell, though there were hints of primrose in it, not something he expected from her. Overpowering lilacs, or poignant lavender, he would have expected, but not this. He looked at her, seeing her still gaping at him from right next to the balcony, and he smirked as he put the crème down. "You surprise me Woman. It was not what I was expecting."
Bulma blinked slowly, watching him warily as he moved closer to her, tugging on the ends of her belt again. "What do you mean, not what you were expecting?"
Vegeta stopped a good few feet away from her, not wanting to scare her off, though he was certain they were past that point already, that they had been past that point since he had walked into her room. "Your smell, that smell you carry with you everywhere you go, that makes you so uniquely you—I thought it was from that lotion you put on every night…but it is not."
Bulma's cheeks grew red, heated, and she took a deep gulp that worked the muscles of her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was unwittingly husky. "How do you know I put that on every night?"
Vegeta smiled, his white teeth gleaming as he moved closer to her, close enough to feel her body heat through his thin suit of training clothes. He stopped so they were not touching, but kept his voice low as he replied. "I think you know why."
He saw something click in those eyes of her, something she had not been expecting an answer to, unknowingly finding one. Her voice was not even surprised when she simply stated, "You watch me."
He smiled, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw, up her cheek, pushing some hair behind her ears. His voice was sure when he replied back, "You like it." It was true—she was not sure that Vegeta had been watching her, but he knew in those few times she had looked over her shoulder, she had been hoping to catch a glance of whoever was watching her. She was not a voyeur, and did not ever try anything risky, such as coming out of her bathroom unclothed, or even allowing herself the pleasure of touching herself if he was watching, but he knew that she did like the thought of someone wanting her so badly they could not help but watch her.
Or that, more likely, someone understood the same pain of solitude that she did, and could help her ease it. "You like to know you're not all alone in the world, that someone out there might understand what you are going through. Admit it."
Bulma said nothing to that, taking another hasty swallow, and Vegeta had the only answer he needed from her.
He gave her a predatory smirk, before his other hand reached up to join his first one, pulling her closer to him, bringing her a lips breath away from his own mouth. "Nothing to say now, Bulma?"
Bulma reared back, her eyes wide as she looked at him, searching his face with her eyes, before she seemed to find something she was looking for, smiling as she relaxed in his hands. "So you do know my name…."
He gave her another smirk, before he finally gave into the temptation that had been building ever since he had seen her cry, ever since he had felt an odd connection with the woman before him, allowing his hands to sink into the soft weight of her hair, angling her head and pulling her closer so that when their lips touched, he could press into her, really press into her, trying to absorb her whole as only their lips met.
She was soft and pliant underneath him, his hands never leaving her hair as her own came up to grip his upper arms, her fingers digging into the hard muscle there as his lips claimed her, branding her with hot fiery kisses, surprising her with slow, long tastes of her own mouth. When she moaned, pressing her curves against him, Vegeta had knew whatever doubts he had had in this moment that the woman would not respond disappeared, and he had angled her head further back, opening her mouth to him, so he could sweep into the moist heat of her, tasting her.
Bulma was bold, responding to his ever deepening kiss with her own actions, dragging him further into her, kissing him back, meeting his tongue as they became lost to the heat of their actions. Vegeta felt the desire he held for her at all time pulsate through his veins as liquid fire began to heat him from the inside, his skin tingling with the need to feel skin against skin.
They finally broke apart just long enough to slide clothes from their bodies, Bulma's robe slipped from her shoulders, her nightgown torn off of her (Vegeta had never claimed to be a patient man), his own training gear stripped by harried hands as the fire that raged between them grew out of their control.
When they pulled together next, Vegeta grabbed her to him, delighting in the feel of her soft, silky skin against his hard planes and angles. She was everything his dreams had promised him of, and yet nothing he could ever imagine, the taste of her mouth, her flesh, driving him beyond redemption as they fell to the bed, Vegeta covering her. He wasted no time in exploring her body, the need of knowing her inside and out driving him past the point of insanity.
He worshipped her body with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, and when he knew she thought it could get no better, he had slid up her body again, his body resting in the cradle of her legs as he kissed her again, slowly, softly, surprising both with the depth of passion in such a soft kiss. He finally broke the kiss when she widened her legs, angling her hips to his jutting erection, looking into her eyes as he finally pushed inside of her.
Vegeta had known things with Bulma would be different than they had been with the other women he had been with, but it still surprised him the amount of immediate pleasure he had found simply from entering her. Bulma's head was thrown back, her mouth open as long and low sounds of pleasure escaped her, and Vegeta had buried his head in her neck, delighting in being able to breathe her in deeply as he claimed her with his body.
Though he knew it was not the truth, nor could it ever be the truth, some primal part of him had driven him forward, to leave his mark on her forever with his body, to nip at her skin, leaving love bites over her flesh as he simply thought, Mine.
His movements started out slowly, sensuously as he wanted to learn all that would make her moan the loudest, what would have her clawing at his back with need, and when he finally found that spot, her legs wrapping around his back to hold him closer to her, he had grinned at her, grabbing her hips to control the pace fully as he began to thrust into her, harder and deeper. The sounds that came from her mouth, seemingly ripped from it, became louder and baser, driving him beyond insane with his need of her.
She met him, thrust for thrust, holding him to her, saying his name, louder and louder, before he felt a final release from her, her muscles clenching around him, pulling his own release from his body as he emptied his seed inside of her, his own head thrown back as he groaned, climaxing.
It was nirvana, it was bliss.
And it was fleeting.
Vegeta held himself up from Bulma as he slowly returned back to earth, feeling sated and content for the first time in a very long while, looking down at her. He was delighted to see the way her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, her body covered in little bite marks that claimed her, and the dazed, unfocused look she had as she looked up at him. Vegeta allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction, of letting himself bask in the heat of her body, of feeling a connection with someone, before he sighed, allowing himself to return back reality as he pulled from her.
Without giving him too much time to think about it, he had stood, his back to Bulma as he reached for his training gear. He knew that one time would not be enough to drive her out of his system (and he would be foolish to think so), but he also knew that it should buy him some more time, free him of the distraction of needing her as desperately as he did. So he had grabbed his clothes, his back to her as he debated whether or not it would be worth the time it would take to put them on or if he should just leave while he could.
"Stay." Her voice was temptation itself, the promise of pleasure wrapped up in a beautiful woman who had some sort of claim on him (that he wished he could find some way to sever completely).
Vegeta had frozen at her words, his back to her, though he had looked up from his clothes, his hands twisting in the fabric as he contemplated that simple word.
No one had ever asked him to stay before—everyone had always asked him to leave, always asked him to go. To stay…well that was as foreign a concept to him as the feeling of companionship he felt with this woman.
Bulma's soft voice surprised him by speaking again, breaking into his troubled thoughts. "Don't leave just yet…. I know why you came tonight."
Vegeta shot her a look over his shoulder, and saw that Bulma had regained enough of her senses to sit up on the bed, to watch him, uncaring of her nudity (or unknowing of how much that sight drove him crazy) as he turned back to study her, arms crossed, face composed. "Oh?"
Bulma gave him a sad sort of smile, her eyes full of understanding and that look he recognized as Bulma without the mask—the look that had drawn him to her in the first place. "You think I don't recognize loneliness Vegeta? You should know better than anyone else how lonely I really feel."
Vegeta had not expected the bluntness behind her words, or the way they had hit him, but she had been blunt, and they had affected him. So without over thinking it, he had dropped the clothes he had been holding, and took a step closer to her. He frowned down at her as he answered some sort of unspoken question within himself, and he had sat back down on the bed, still frowning at her, even as he reached for her.
He would give himself tonight with Bulma. That was it, and that was all she was going to get from him, all that he could give.
Because he needed to get her out of his system so he could go back to training, so he could reach the Legendary, so he could kill the androids, so he could prove to Kakarrot he was the prince of the Saiyan's, all without her pinging around in the back of his head, making it harder to concentrate on his true goals.
Because Bulma Briefs was nothing but a distraction, and despite her understanding his loneliness, his unspoken and ignored need for companionship, he would never allow himself to find it with her.
A/N: A nice change of pace from my usual writing, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Some feedback would be loved/appreciated, especially as writing Vegeta is out of my comfort zone…. The 3 year gap in the Trunks saga is one of the most intriguing things about DBZ to me (and most people, if the amount of fanfiction written about it is any indication), and I could see a hundred different way this couple could come together. But I think their loneliness really pulled them together, and I wanted to explore that from Vegeta's POV.