She crawled into her bed and settled down. It didn't take long for her to notice that Vegeta left behind his smell, and she smiled as she inhaled it.
That intense animalistic quality of his was intertwined with every fiber of his being, apparently. And apparently that smell did exactly what she needed: it lulled her into sleep. How amazing.
Everything Bulma had said stirred unwanted feelings in Vegeta. It was a good thing, then, that Kakarot had lost his memories and spared the planet? It was good, then, that Vegeta couldn't destroy Frieza on his own, and had to be wished to Earth with the rest of the Namekians? It was good, then, that he was forced to stay on the planet, living off a group of non-royal humans - if geniuses of their species - just to be here and have his mate?
But the question was, why was Bulma his mate? Why was Chichi Kakaort's? Why two humans, when their species had never before bred out of their own race? What made Earth so special?
. . .What made his planet so special?
Apparently, nothing. But his race was so much superior to that of the humans'; how could a human be a good enough mate to a Saiya-jin? It didn't make sense.
But sense has nothing to do with love, his mind told him.
It was hard to sleep that night, probably because Bulma's mind had so easily fallen to sleep after he'd left. He tried telling himself that it wasn't fair; if he was plagued with inccorigible thoughts, so should she. But he kept reminding himself that Bulma was pregnant: she deserved easy sleep. It was good that she wasn't having troubling thoughts.
And it wasn't just his thoughts which kept him awake; he was aching badly for Bulma, in more than one way. Though they'd had few nights together, he was already missing the warmth of her beside him, near him, under him. . . even above him. He could still feel a burning in his arm, from this morning when his arm was draped over her. His body seemed to have absorbed her warmth and was still clinging to it.
He stared at his arm, fascinated at the aching and burning. Why didn't she feel this, too? He'd felt it all day, puzzled over it for hours. He could touch his arm and feel only his heat, but the moment he would lift his fingers, he would feel her warmth burning him again. Such a strong ache, searing like fire, reminding him where he should be. Instead he lay in his own room, alone, oddly bereft.
It was completely in his rights to go to her now, now that they'd settled things, and stay with her the night. At the moment, she might not even notice.
Unfortunately, in order for the male to stay the night with his mate, he needed her consent. Rights or not, it was simply how they worked.
But he missed her so much. . .
To his surprise, when he awoke Bulma was already up. That didn't happen often.
He felt tired, sluggish; slow. He stumbled into the kitchen only because his stomach had awoken him. He nearly fell into a chair when he reached it, hardly believing he was so tired. He dropped his head onto the table and found that he couldn't lift it again.
He could feel Bulma near, could smell her. It made him smile.
"What's up with you?" she asked. He heard her steps leading to the table, the sounds of her sitting in the chair opposite him.
He moaned weakly. Long night, he told her. Sleep. . . . not easy.
She chuckled. "So what, your stomach woke you up?"
She was teasing him, but she was also right. Exactly.
She laughed again and he heard her get up. "If you're awake enough to chew your food, I'll feed you."
You're lucky, woman.
"How am I lucky this morning?"
That I can't punish you right now.
"And how would you, if you could?"
Tired or not, he couldn't stop his grin or his chuckle. Visions flew through his mind, visions of Bulma on the recieving end of his loving; screaming his name into the night; writhing, trying to keep up with him; covered in beads of glittering sweat. . .
Bulma was quiet for a long moment, and Vegeta managed to lift his head slightly and look up at her. She was blushing, covering her mouth with a hand. She was staring at the tile in front of her feet.
I really look like that? he heard her think.
Those thoughts seemed to have rejuvinated him. He sat up, leaned back, crossed his arms and plastered on his smirk. "It's possible you're actually quite detestful to watch, but my love for you changed the way I see you."
She tossed him a glare. "It's sad to think that that was one of the most romantic things you've said to me."
"We have many years of romanticism to come."
She tilted her head. "That's true."
Purposely, he changed his smirk into a gentle smile. "Bulma. . ."
She looked at him, and blushed slightly. "Yeah?"
"Bulma. . ."
She bit her lip. ". . .Vegeta?"
"Mate. . ."
Her blush increased, and she swallowed. "What?"
He grinned. "I thought you were going to make me food."
She stuttered and her mood did a complete one-eighty. Her blush went from passionate/embarrassed to angry. Her fists clenched and she stood up straight, looking down her nose at him as though he deserved nothing better.
He loved it when she got that expression.
"You can make your own fucking food," she snarled.
He smirked. "Perhaps, but not nearly in the same way you can."
She blinked and her expression became confused. "What?"
"The way you look when you cook," he explained. "The heat makes you flush, like you are now. And the way you bend and stretch to reach everything in the cabinets. . ." He gave her a lusty grin. "It's far better to watch you than to train."
She looked shocked. And she very well should; he'd never before ranked anything higher than training, than being the very best. Funny how that worked.
She turned her back to him, turned on the oven, and raided the refridgerator.
Bulma sighed contentedly as the night ended and Vegeta rolled off her. She knew he'd come to her to make love to her as soon as he told her that watching her was better than training.
Though she still doubted he believed it, it really didn't matter as long as she fully enjoyed his loving.
"Bulma. . ."
She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking since she hadn't yet figured out how to go past his mental barriers. "Yeah, Vegeta?"
By the looks of it, now that he had her attention, he didn't know what to do with himself. Or possibly, what to do with her. At length he wet his lips and laid back.
"You know we cannot undo the mating," he said, staring at the ceiling.
She raised a brow. "Yes, I know."
He looked at her. "You won't reject me anymore?"
Her breath caught. She hadn't been consciously aware that she'd been rejecting him, yet she realized now that she had. She smiled in apology. "Unless you manage to really piss me off, which is very possible, no. I won't reject you anymore."
He smirked. "I don't think you realize why I piss you off so often."
"Yeah, well, don't bother telling me. There are things I'd rather not know," she added as she leaned back into the pillows.
She looked at him. "What about it?"
"We are mates. I won't sleep anywhere but with you."
Despite his harsh tone, she heard a note of pleading. She rolled towards him and stretched her arm across his chest. "I can live with that," she told him. "Provided you don't try to break me every night."
He chuckled. "I will try to restrain myself."
She smiled and kissed his neck, the scar that only days ago was a fresh bite. And she heard him groan.
"It would be much easier to restrain myself if you would not do that every night," he added.
She laughed. "So, it's an eroginous zone, is it?"
He clamped his mouth shut, but it didn't stop him from moaning softly.
She giggled. "So it is."
He sighed. "Yes, it is."
"Anywhere else I should be wary of kissing or poking?" she asked in a teasing tone. She traced patterns on his chest and felt him shiver.
He looked at her in complete seriousness. "If you plan on 'poking' like that, then be wary of everywhere you touch," he warned her. "I may not always be able to stop myself from ravaging you."
She shivered. The way he said that, it was so. . . arousing. The word 'ravage' truly meant 'rape', but it was such an old term and used with such passion that it no longer had a frightening meaning behind it. She bit her lip and laid down fully, pulling the covers a bit higher as though they could protect her from her 'ravishing' Prince.
Prince of me, she thought against her better judgement.
She felt Vegeta move and then his lips were on hers. A moment later his voice was in her head, saying, Princess of me.
She blushed but kissed him back. After the kiss ended he moved again, moving down her bodies and under the covers. Her blush increased in passion, thinking of all the amazing things he could do to her. . .
. . .And felt him kiss her womb. He reappeared above the covers and laid back down.
She blinked. "What was that?" she asked.
He didn't reply at first. When she looked at him, he was smiling, if slightly. "I kissed my mate good night. . . and my son."
She felt tears come to her eyes and cuddled up close to him, holding him tightly. "Vegeta. . ."
His arms went around her, and it seemed that it was all it took for her to succumb to sleep. She didn't hear him, but after he felt her mind ease into sleep, he spoke again.
"Princess. Rest well."
And we have reached the end of the fic. Maybe I'll add an epilogue or something, if I get a good idea. Until then, please just be happy with this. The ending is long since overdue, anyhow. I figure I should've ended it at the Hunt or something, but oh well.
So this is the official ending. Ta-da!