Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Saiyan For All Seasons ❯ Beauty ( Chapter 2 )

A Saiyan For All Seasons

Chapter Two

Beauty

Disclaimer: I'm an obsessive compulsive Vegeta fan, unfortunately that doesn't make me Akira Toriyama.

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The heat and glare of the summer months had quickly turned into the rusty glow of autumn. The days were getting shorter and a chill was starting to creep into the air around the grounds of the Capsule Corporation. It has to be said that the descent into autumn didn't affect the residents much. There was too much work to be done for them to pay attention to the seasons. Bulma and her father were at the office most days as usual, it was more important recently due to Mr. Briefs impending retirement. Next summer the entire company would be the sole responsibility of his daughter, and the demands such a step made were felt heavily by both of them.

Bulma was happy for this. It was an event she had been looking forward to for several years and it was almost complete. Just a couple more months and everything would be made over to her. Her father's involvement would be limited to overseeing her progress as he took less and less work on. The summer would signal the official transfer. At the moment all their combined efforts were spent overhauling the company and taking stock so Bulma could start a new era in Capsule Corporation's history.

During this Bulma had little time for anything else. Her working week had suddenly become almost the entire seven days. The only time she managed to get to herself were the Saturday evening barbeques because even the daytime was devoted to office and laboratory duties. As a result all personal matters naturally had to take a backseat. Not that she had much of a private life anymore. Becoming a workaholic had its limitations, the most noticeable and sad was her lack of time for friends.

Her friendship with Yamcha was one of the worst-hit areas. His training days had become fortnightly very quickly into the transfer, and she was beginning to see less and less of him as the months progressed. It was painful to see as much, especially when she had made the conscious effort of leaving her Saturday evening schedules free just to see him. There was no company she felt as comfortable with than Yamcha's.

Still she was plodding on as usual and was grateful for the time they had spent apart when he had been in Otherworld. Very quickly she had found herself falling back into the old routine, and as much as his growing absence upset her, she was too strong to let it get to her. Perhaps she could tolerate it a little easier now because although there was decline in one quarter; there was steady progress in another.

Vegeta.

Now she couldn't say there had been any groundbreaking steps made forward in that direction, but there were, without a shadow of a doubt, inroads being made. The first real conversation she had shared with him in the summer, it turned out, was to be the first of many. Nothing really important was divulged in these meetings, but they at least managed to build into something more than snapped orders and automatic compliance.

It was weird because she'd stuck to her guns and did not willingly pursue the matter as she had in the early months. Oh yes - Vegeta was still demanding; he was still arrogant, aloof and proud, but the rare conversations with him seemed to make it a little less offensive.

Vegeta never told her why he wished her to move that evening, but Bulma wasn't the kind of person to give up just because all the answers didn't immediately present themselves. The curiosity had been unbearable and prompted a little detective work. Her bedroom was directly above the den and spending a few balmy nights on the balcony had done the trick. She'd found out very quickly why Vegeta didn't want her there. It was for no other reason than because he seemed to like the spot better for himself.

She had known (through being friends with Goku) Saiyans tended to have more feral instincts than the average human. Take fighting as an example. It was a primitive and natural response all humans were gifted with, but evolution and civilization had tamed the need to fight into a recreational habit, rather than a means of survival. By comparison the Saiyan race had not altered, and although they had become very technologically advanced, the survival instincts were still just as sharp as ever. The need to be the best, the wish to conquer, the desire to fight was all-consuming for them, and in one instance, Vegeta displayed a very strong territorial nature.

His gravity room was one such example. As soon as her father had finished building the damn machine, Vegeta had made it very clear that only two people other than himself were allowed to enter it at any time. Her father was the first, and on the odd chance he wasn't available, Bulma had somehow found herself filling in as the emergency second. Not that she had ever had the opportunity to invade his domain, (the gravity room was all her father's brilliant work and he was protective of his inventions) but he had at least made the concession to include her - a concession that gave her an inexplicable feeling of honour.

The patch of grass outside the patio and the unmarred view of the sky it afforded, seemed to be yet such another place. She would see him there late at night when he thought all the residents were asleep, prowling the spot as though he were trying to figure out the complexities of the universe. His scowl would be relaxed slightly and his mind lost to thought. It had intrigued her to no end, wondering in just what direction his thoughts were being spun, but she knew there was no point in asking. Instead she just let him be, figuring on that point at least, obstinacy would be useless.

It didn't mean, however, she had forgotten her pledge regarding him. She never outright addressed him when he entered a room, instead only talking if he made the first initiation. Of course, most of the time she was disappointed, but in the long run she profited from the change in tactics. Vegeta was a bizarre man. She didn't know anyone else with a personality like that - who almost seemed to naturally become more open with you the less attention you paid.

Still, she didn't want to knock the situation. She'd spent six months trying to get him to open up with minimal success and now, after only two months of not trying, she was making reasonable headway.

It was now freefalling into night. Bulma had been up at six that morning, in the office by seven and more than fourteen hours had passed since then. She'd managed to break away from her duties for only half an hour to get a sandwich before she was called back to crawl under the piles of paperwork once again. Her stomach was now almost growling in time with the minute hand, and although she still had ten files to revise, for today at least, she had to admit defeat.

Grabbing her coat, she left the office for the short walk across the grounds to her family home.

Missing the usual eating hours didn't matter. Her mum was used to living with irregular eating patterns and made sure everyone ate well. If any of the family missed a main meal then it was sealed up in Tupperware, and ready to reheat the moment they returned. Tonight, Bulma was the more thankful for such a step. She really didn't feel like anything other than eating, watching a little television, and then bed. The television wasn't really high on her priorities, but she knew if she tried to sleep straight away her mind would be too busy with work to relax properly.

Easily finding the security locks on the main building, Bulma automatically bypassed them, despite the lack of light. Kicking her shoes off in the hall and laying her handbag on the side, she padded softly into the main kitchen. It smelled delicious and tempted her towards the microwave in curiosity as to what culinary treats awaited her.

There was a post-it-note stuck to the door. Bulma plucked it off and read as she pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, hoping to satiate her hunger enough during the time it took for the food to cook. Rolling her eyes she took a quick glance out of the kitchen window. The note had been for her, simply stating Vegeta hadn't eaten with the family and if she could lure him out of training - to make sure he had plenty to fill his plate. Or as her mother's hand scribbled, "We mustn't let the poor prince starve."

"Well," she said to herself, seeing no lights on outside, "he's definitely not training."

Setting the timer on the microwave and letting it beep into activity, Bulma left the kitchen to the only other place he might be, if indeed he was still on her father's grounds. The den light was switched off, but the chill blowing into the room from the open doors was all Bulma needed to know. Making a point not to call out his name, she simply tugged the thin material of her jacket around her a little more snugly and wandered onto the patio.

He didn't greet her arrival, even when she sat down on the decking, but as she lit a cigarette, and the sound of the flints echoed around the compound, he tilted his head in a slim acknowledgement of her presence.

"How long?" he demanded at last.

"A few minutes," she replied, letting the smoke escape with her words.

He nodded curtly, standing, staring into nothing, with his arms folded and legs slightly apart. It gave his figure a form of authoritative grace. His body really was something else. She hadn't really paid it much attention before. She was used to having fighters around. Bulging biceps and defined abs were nothing extraordinary, but now, as she looked more closely, she had to admit there was something interesting about Vegeta's muscle tone.

Shorter men with such compact muscle structure rarely kept such a slender and agile profile, but Vegeta did. Especially the way his back muscles curved into a trim waist and connected so beautifully with such powerful legs. It really was something she had never seen before; his lack of height actually complimented his figure. The fact he was shirtless didn't do him any disservice either and looked good with his usual royal blue trousers.

"Why are you staring?"

Bulma blushed a little. She didn't realize her attention had been that noticeable.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

Vegeta uncrossed one arm, flexing his fingers as though studying the strength held in them. Cocking his head to the side he said, "I didn't ask for an apology, Woman. I asked for an explanation. Try again."

She chuckled slightly to hide her embarrassment and leaned back on her hands to look up at the stars. "You don't want to know."

"I asked, didn't I?"

Bulma tilted her head to look at him. His eyes were fixed on her as she caught them, and then they drifted slowly over her body. That damned smirk was curled majestically on his lips. She knew there was no way around the truth. He wouldn't tolerate lies. Deceit, she had learned very quickly, got her nowhere.

"Okay, if you really want to know I was just appreciating your body. I've never seen anyone with muscle tone quite like yours. It's a lot different to most fighters."

She said it frankly, no hint of her previous embarrassment to give it false values.

"Being a scientist and around fighters for most of my life, it's an area I am something of an expert in," she continued, proudly flicking her hair. "In theory you should be a lot wider."

"You should know by now that I am the exception to most rules," he drawled. "No creature can compare to a Saiyan elite, especially one of royal blood."

"Perhaps," she said. With a coy smile she added, "Hey! Maybe you'll let me study your physiology at some point?"

He stared at her a moment in shock and then snorted. "Not likely."

She giggled. "I didn't think so."

The wind whistled through the palms, licked around the buildings and crept under Bulma's skin. She shivered slightly and stood up.

Vegeta frowned at her. "Cold?"

She nodded.

"Are all earth women as weak as you?"

"Not all," she chuckled, "but most are, yes."

"And you don't know how to manipulate ki?"

She shook her head.

"Bizarre!" he said. "I have never socialized with ki-less creatures before."

"And what do you make of us so far?"

He was about to reply, but Bulma realized her mistake.

"Nuh-uh!" she interrupted. "No macho bullshit okay? There's no one to show off for, no damage done to your ego if you say what you really think. I didn't lie to you. Now I want an honest answer."

His brow creased a moment as he thought over his reply.

"Well," he said, "I have not had the opportunity to meet many of your race. Some of the fighters you call friends are impressive for such a weak species in general, but the majority of your kind are intolerable to me. Some of the females, though," he said, throwing those eyes over her once again, "are not altogether objectionable."

Bulma closed her eyes in acquiescence. "Praise indeed."

He snorted and looked away.

"So," she said, crouching to stub out her cigarette on the leaf-littered ground, and throwing it across the lawn, "I've told you what I think of your body, it's only fair for you to return the favour." She stood and raised her arms above her head, letting her newly straightened hair tumble down. "Don't you think I'm a beautiful woman?"

He didn't reply, but simply let his eyes fall over her. His stare was different yet again. Rather than being cold or playful, it was serious and curious at the same time and although not emitting heat, it somehow managed to make her feel hot.

Then the heat was gone, snatched away with his gaze.

"Well?"

"Perhaps," he said, "though I'd say you were more exotic than beautiful."

"Hmm? Exotic?" Bulma turned the phrase over in her head a few times, wondering what to make of it. "Is that a good thing or a bad?"

He looked at her pointedly - his eyes narrowing. "Both."

She felt a little disappointed. No man had called her looks anything less than stunning, and here was Vegeta, in his very own cuttingly honest way, saying that maybe she didn't look perfect.

He laughed cruelly into the darkness. "It seems I've hit a nerve. What's the matter, Woman? Did you honestly think I would flatter you into something you're not?"

"No," she pouted, "No, I didn't. You enjoy being an arsehole too much, right?"

"Right," he agreed.

"Why exotic?" she urged, actually starting to like the word. It was definitely different from beautiful. It captivated the mind, produced images of Amazonian warriors - or something like that.

"Your colouring is odd," he stated impassively. "It is something I have not come across before."

"Odd… exotic…" she sighed. "but not beautiful eh? A girl could get offended."

"I was not aiming to offend, but beauty is relative, Woman. You're no Saiyan."

"I see," she said, "and Saiyan women are the benchmark of beauty for you are they?"

"As I remember them?" he said. "Yes."

His arms refolded and his posture became more on guard.

"But there are no Saiyan women left - right?"

"Correct," he answered, with a slight growl.

"So excluding Saiyan women or even keeping them in mind, what would you look for in a wife?"

Bulma almost coughed with the effort of trying to keep a straight face. Vegeta was less able. He stared at her in shock for several minutes, before growling out a low, "Vulgar woman!"

"What!" she screeched. "I am not vulgar!"

"No, you just come straight out and ask me what kind of woman I would like to bed. Nothing vulgar in that is there?" he snarled.

Bulma was shocked for a moment, until she realized her mistake, or rather his unfamiliarity with her culture.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that, Vegeta. I was just asking what kind of woman you could see yourself settling down with. You know, starting a family with - that kind of thing."

She was still laughing even as she spoke. There was something totally bizarre at the thought of Vegeta settling down, falling in love, and raising a family. It would never happen! Imagining him changing diapers or doing anything even remotely romantic was just insane! He trained non-stop, he'd probably never even looked at a woman in that way before.

She turned to look at him, and was startled to see he was actually thinking on it seriously.

"Wife is an alien term to me," he said eventually, "but," he flashed her a wicked smirk. "I have coupled with many women. Some of them have been beautiful, some strong, and some… some sluts between the sheets."

Bulma's cheeks crimsoned at his last admission.

"A little something of all three would be a very tempting proposition in a life-mate, were I ever to take one."

Finding it hard to form words in reply, she missed the moment he got closer. The first she knew of it was when he whispered, "So, can you see why I shouldn't think you beautiful now?" into her ear, pelting her exposed neck with warm breath.

"I guess I should have figured that strength would come into it somewhere. Oh well! One out of three isn't so bad" she said with a wink.

He didn't take long to figure her meaning, and realization dawned on him with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow.

"Well, well," he said, "Now isn't that an interesting development."

Bulma smiled smugly and stepped away, but Vegeta's eyes kept her under close scrutiny.

Fortunately a succession of beeps carried through the open hall and drifted outside. It was the microwave letting her know dinner was ready.

It seemed to bring them both back from a conversation that had escalated very quickly into something very dangerous. Bulma had always wanted progress in her understanding of Vegeta, but this conversation… it had taken things a step too far for her liking. Her body had started to shake in anticipation of what he might do next, and that was oh, so very wrong . . . wasn't it?

Shaking her head and realizing she was going completely insane, she ignored Vegeta and walked towards the open doors.

She shrugged her shoulders. Vegeta didn't find her as attractive as other men might, but that didn't mean she had to be equally unaffected. She had to admit there was something very appealing about him. The thought of bedding the Saiyan prince had never entered her head before, but she had to admit the idea was tempting. His dark power was something she could almost feel run through her when he was close, and she had no doubt it would be an even more amazing experience in closer contact. Certainly his control and perfectionism promised well on the satisfaction side of things, and now she knew he had experience as well, that was a definite bonus.

Once out of the den she sighed in relief, and went to the kitchen. The heat in her cheeks was fuelled by their weird conversation. She had no doubt that he would follow her. Food was on offer. He was like Goku in that sense; he never turned down a free meal. She just hoped she could avoid more of the same kind of conversation. The desire she had felt for him on the patio was far too sudden and real.

Her foresight was proved accurate a moment later. When she reached the microwave, she felt a chill skitter down her back. It was always felt that way. She might not see or hear him enter a room, but she could always feel when his eyes were on her.

She didn't say anything as she served the food, sectioning it proportionally for their unequal appetites. He was there, leaning against the doorframe, watching her as she worked, but (much to Bulma's relief) it appeared their conversation was finished.

Moving from the work surface, she laid his meal on the table. Instantly he moved away from the door and sat stiffly on the chair at the end. Knowing that he didn't like people watching him eat, Bulma retrieved her own dinner and left the room, heading to the lounge and the television time she had promised herself earlier.

She slumped back onto the soft cushions, positioning her food on her lap as she picked up the remote and started to flick through the hundreds of stations her cable company offered. Settling on a music channel, because of nothing else interesting being on, she let the soulful music of some new rock band fill the room as she ate.

She put her empty plate on the coffee table and stretched her feet across the sofa. The music was really quite relaxing and she soon felt her eyelids drooping.

She wasn't, therefore, fully aware of how much time had passed when she next opened them. By then a figure had joined her on the sofa. Wiping the sleep from her eyes she stretched slightly, her feet brushing the material of Vegeta's trousers. At some point she must have unconsciously pushed them under his thighs for the extra heat they offered.

Slightly startled she pulled her feet away, her eyebrows raising a fraction, as she wondered how long he had let her stay that way. She'd never seen him like this before, not doing anything, taking comfort in her father's house. It made him seem almost - normal.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before they were snatched haughtily away. The silence of the house was only broken by the commentary of some reporter on the making of a music video.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but Bulma decided to break it anyway. Passing him the remote she said, "Feel free to change the station, I couldn't find anything I liked."

He grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't change the channel. Instead he turned to face her.

"Can I ask you a question?" he inquired.

She smiled. This was turning into an interesting evening.

"Sure - go for it, Vegeta."

"What is a 'wife'?"

He asked it slowly, confusion heavy on his brow.

"You used the term earlier," he continued as a form of explanation. "I presume it has something to do with mated couples, but, I am not sure in what context it should be used."

Bulma was stunned.

"The scarred human fighter," he began again, "you and he once shared mated intimacy is that correct?"

Bulma blushed, although she didn't quite know why. "Yes."

"Does that make you his wife?"

She almost fell off the sofa! "Kami no!" she protested, violently shaking her head. "We were lovers, that's all. We never got married… a good thing too as it turned out."

He looked even more confused.

Sitting upright and leaning a little forward, Bulma tried to explain in more detail. "Well, you see, when two humans like each other a lot, want to raise a family and spend the rest of their lives together, they might decide they want to get married. It's basically a ceremony that shows their devotion to each other, and under the protection of whatever god they might believe in. They exchange vows and become husband and wife."

"So… you and the undisciplined human never performed such a ceremony?" he asked.

"No - Yamcha and I never did."

"But most humans do?"

"Sure! Mum and Dad are married - Goku and Chichi, too."

He looked thoughtful and turned that stare back on her. "Why didn't you get married?"

"Well…" she said, "there are several reasons. For one I didn't know if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Although we had fun together, I guess I knew I didn't love him as much as I ought to. We both knew it, in a way. The sex was fun, but we just realized our relationship was based more on friendship than passion."

Vegeta harrumphed in reply and looked back to the television. "Friendship," he sneered, "Love. They are weak emotions, I do not understand why your species covets them so much."

Bulma sighed. He really was lost to everything, wasn't he? "It's part of being human."

They both lapsed into silence again, and even though he was staring at the television, Bulma could see the creases in his forehead that hinted his mind was otherwise engaged.

"Vegeta?" she questioned.

"Hn?"

"Have you ever had a friend, you know - someone you cared about, and someone who cared back?"

"No."

"No one?"

"No," he repeated.

"Would you ever want one?"

He scowled at her from across the seat. "No."

"It's a pity," she said, standing and stretching her joints into order.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said with a yawn, "I think I would have liked being your friend."

Levelling her smile at him, she headed out of the room and to the stairs and her bedroom. She made it half way to the top before Vegeta's low voice drifted up to meet her.

"Woman!"

"Yeah?" she replied, feeling a nervous shiver rush up her spine.

"Do not wish for such foolish things."

Standing still for a moment, Bulma shook her head.

"It's your loss, Vegeta," she whispered, before climbing the stairs once again.

When she reached her bedroom, she flopped down on the freshly washed sheets, and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind focused on the Saiyan downstairs and their conversation. Why did she feel so good around him? She'd always been interested in him, but it was more than that now. On the patio she had received a wake up call like none she had ever had before. It showed her, despite his objections, she already did consider him a friend.

When had it happened - the transition from fear to love? Oh, she wasn't in love with him, but she valued his company, took pleasure from being around him. Her eyes slanted as she hated herself for the next thought - she felt an attraction to him. Again her brain disobeyed all reason and wondered what kind of lover Vegeta would be? He'd probably be powerful, demanding and (with his stamina,) go all night. Her cheeks blushed, but her mind kept wondering, and the thought of getting him between her sheets became more and more appealing.

She wasn't looking for love she didn't have time for it, but a lover? Someone she could come home to for raw nights of passion. She didn't want a comfortable relationship - she wanted reckless mind-numbing sex and with no thought to the consequences. Vegeta presented something of an opportunity. He wouldn't be the kind of man for commitment or want anything other than the physical, and that would suit her fine.

Of course thinking about it and achieving it were two entirely different matters. After all, hadn't Vegeta just told her outright that he didn't think her beautiful? It was then she realized, he had never completely said she wasn't. He had called her 'exotic'and asked her if she knew why he shouldn't find her beautiful, but he had never said he didn't. She even remembered he had become somewhat more animated when she had claimed to fill at least one of his criteria in a 'life-mate' as he had called it.

Was there hope for erotic nights of Saiyan-filled pleasure ahead of her? She laughed out loud, her hands covering her face in disbelief. Her imagination really was overactive! It was going to get her trouble one of these days.

She undressed and crawled under the sheets. "Damn him," she yawned, snuggling down into her pillows and letting her tiredness win out, "Why can't I get him out of my head?"

That night she dreamed of being Vegeta's lover. It was to be the first of many.

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A/N - Thank you for the lovely reviews for chapter one. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter just as much. I had such wonderful fun writing it. Chapter three is halfway written but I'm afraid it will have to wait for more attention until I finish other updates, and don't worry. I haven't abandoned my other fics. This is just a nice little creative bubble for me to work on around them. I'd love to know what you all think of this chapter.

Ember

Thank you LisaB for beta-ing this story and being such a great friend.