Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Cold Comfort for Bulma ❯ Act 11 Diplomatic Immunity ( Chapter 11 )

Cold Comfort

Act 12 Diplomatic Immunity

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z. The standard disclaimer as always! Thanks to those who reviewed. Hopefully I can help answer what happened to Shandi in the next chappie or two.

***

Grumbling, Vegeta realized he was again aroused. Fortunately there was an easy way to satiate himself, he realized with a slow grin banishing his grouchy mood. He had eaten a very hearty breakfast courtesy of Boss Lady a few hours before. Once his head was cleared he carried his paramour carefully into her bedroom so she could sleep. Approaching her boudoir lightly dropping her on the bed.

 

"Vegeta I'm sorry I couldn't keep up," Bulma apologized with a slow smile. Her blue lashed eyes blinked heavily, lead weighing them down. Vegeta said down next to her, his hip brushing hers. She raised her arms wearily to loop them around his neck, pulling herself up to give him a kiss.

 

"Rest now, you'll need the energy later," Vegeta whispered hoarsely to the object of his fixation. Bulma groaned sleepily, her entire body limp with exhaustion. Despite his best attempts she had hardly been able to keep up with him the second time he had taken her.

 

Perhaps she did have another round in her after all, Vegeta snickered as he dropped his towel again and swung his leg over her body. Bulma thrust her tongue between his lips, questing for that remarkable taste of his full masculine musk saturating her entire being. Smell, scent and taste caught her up in a sensory overload that she craved far more then even chocolate. With a grunt, he felt her pulling him down to lie atop her. Vegeta did so, tentatively levitating the majority of his solid weight off her delicate bones so he wouldn't crush her. Bulma didn't need to know he was doing this he snickered inwardly. He felt her legs parting under him, her hips rising to try and take him in.

 

Despite his effort to bury himself inside his bed of willing flesh he was distracted by the arrival of weak kis outside. A frown twisted his brow, and Bulma glanced up at him in irritation. Poised just outside her thirsting core, his erection was inches from another satisfying screw session. "Damn it, I'm going to kill someone if I'm interrupted."

 

"The police," she mumbled. To his irritation he pulled his face away from the hungry kiss she was about to bestow on him

 

"Lie here and I'll get rid of them," he mumbled.

 

"Don't disintegrate them Vegeta," Bulma gasped.

 

"Remain here," Vegeta snorted, leaning down to grab up a pair of her sweatpants. He slid them on over his muscular thighs, then grabbed one of her baggy T-shirts to throw on. Thankfully it hung loosely around his hips and hid the evidence of his arousal. A moment's concentration restored his ironclad control.

 

"Now wait a minute," she gasped.

 

"Don't be stupid, Woman," Vegeta snickered. "You're only human after all. But we shall work on your endurance. Rest now, and be prepared for another round later."

 

"If you don't, I'll never argue with you again," Bulma panted, feeling an ache returning to her thighs.

 

"Later, female. Conserve your strength. I'll be most hungry later after my workout," he laughed. Bulma groaned, feeling sleep cover her in its unrelenting blanket. Vegeta suppressed a self-satisfied snicker, then streaked downstairs to answer the front door.

 

Two policemen glanced in surprise at the short powerfully built man that answered the door. He bestowed a serious scowl while looking down his nose at both of them. They blinked, realizing that he was that strange houseguest that the Briefs had taken in months ago. Dark eyes examined them as if they were prey to be devoured or brushed aside. Immediately he found names for them, based on the strong scents blasting his nose. Inspector Donut for the heavy set fellow licking strawberry icing off his lips, and Mister Coffee for the clown clutching a Styrofoam cup with a small plastic lid on top.

 

"Mr. ah?" asked Officer Coffee, digging his notepad out of his jacket with one hand.

 

"Prince Vegeta," he said quietly.

 

"Oh right, you're that diplomat they've been hosting. The security detail told us you might be in charge today. Is Miss Briefs resting?" Officer Donut said, grabbing the notepad from Mister Coffee and scribbling on it.

 

"Figure that out yourselves geniuses?" Vegeta snorted.

 

"Are you unharmed?" asked Mister Coffee, nervously sipping a few draughts from his cup.

 

"I wish to protest an outrage. An assault on my royal person, and on the private property of this domicile," Vegeta grunted, striding off with his back to them. "Follow me."

 

"Sure Mister… I mean, your Majesty?" Donuts blinked at Mister Coffee. Vegeta sensed they were smart enough to mind their own business. Perhaps they were accustomed to weird goings on since this was the mansion of Capsule's CEO and founder. Silently they followed him into the sitting room where several smoking holes burned in the walls and a smoldering smell filled the air.

 

"This is the scene?" asked Donuts.

 

"Naturally, here and there. Have you interrogated the female yet?" asked Vegeta impatiently.

 

"Yes. She's singing like a bird," said Mister Coffee.

 

"Good. Now be quick. I'm most anxious to return to my workout, uninterrupted. And I don't want a lot of idiots running around taking pictures. I can't be responsible for the consequences," said Vegeta.

 

"What caused this?" asked Donuts, stooping down to look at the pile more closely.

 

"A new security system," Vegeta fibbed, as one of them prodded the pile of ashes that had been Chopsuay with the end of his pencil. "You will see the presence of unlicensed neutrino disrupters."

 

"Wow, pretty high tech stuff. We'll have to confiscate it as evidence," Mister Coffee commented, reaching down to peer more closely at the metallic pistol Ginger had dropped across the room.

 

"Do as you wish. It's no concern of mine. Just catch whoever's responsible so I won't be bothered, or the hosts here," Vegeta grunted.

 

"Will you be willing to sign a statement?" asked Donut. He flipped the metal hatch on the notepad, revealing a small set of papers beneath the notepad. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen, after tossing the pencil back to Mister Coffee.

 

"Fine, make it quick," Vegeta rolled his eyes. Struggling not to blow them away in his impatience, he gave them a capsulated version of what happened. Then he signed his name to the bottom of the carbon copy report with Japanese and English lettering, "Prince Vegeta of the Saiyans."

 

"Not sure I'm aware of where this country is sir, but the id's legit," said Mister Coffee taking the ID card that Vegeta forked over.

 

"Of course it's valid, idiot. Would I be so stupid as to forge an operation permit?" Vegeta asked annoyed.

 

"Well you do have diplomatic immunity if you're from a foreign country. I just want to make sure you're aware of your rights…" said Donuts.

 

"My world… my country has been destroyed long ago by war," Vegeta said quietly. "I'm the last of my people. I'm living here under the invitation of the Brief's family. Is there anything ELSE you need to know? I'm getting tired of these questions. I wish to know if my woman's calmed down."

 

"Your what?" Mister Coffee blinked, then quaffed another sip of his hazelnut frappe or whatever.

 

"Bulma," Vegeta mumbled. "The Vice President of Capsule Corps. She's had enough annoyances."

 

"So you're her significant other?" nodded Donuts, scratching just before his left ear with the eraser of his pencil.

 

"Humph, if it's any of your business," Vegeta said. "But say nothing to the press."

 

Mister Coffee widened his eyes in horror at the prospect. Holding up both hands he waved them negatingly before Vegeta's annoyed face. He stammered, "Of course. We're perfectly discrete. We'll call you when Miss Briefs is awake and able to make a statement."

 

Donut rolled his eyes dramatically, then shoved the notepad back into Mister Coffee's other hand. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a paper card. Delicately he pushed it in Vegeta's direction between his thumb and forefinger saying, "Here's my number when I can be reached. Please have her come by."

 

"Right. Now leave unless you have other business," Vegeta grunted. He peered briefly at the name card, then carefully pocketed it.

 

"No that should be all, your Majesty," said both officers.

 

Mister coffee then said, "Um we did forget to mention that the forensics team will be here soon."

 

"Oh, where you try and fill in all the blanks eh? Well I don't care. Do as you will. The tin cans will keep an eye on you, and the clowns downstairs will deal with your comings and goings," Vegeta lifted a brow. He turned his back to them, arms folded across his chest to indicate he was done with them.

 

Donuts and Mister coffee heaved a sigh of relief. They had in fact seen their share of politicians and diplomats, and the mere action of this stranger turning his back to them with bored indifference seemed oddly reassuring. Mister Coffee's gut told him that Prince Vegeta could be a very dangerous man if provoked. Yet he knew that if they were polite and deferent, the Prince would take it as a sign of respect to his authority. Something about the Prince reminded them both of the Vice President of Capsule. At least his manners were better then hers.

 

"One more thing," Donuts said, clearing his throat.

 

"What?" Vegeta snorted, turning his head to peer at them impatiently with a dark eye over one shoulder.

 

"I suggest you relocate Miss Briefs to another place while we investigate the crime scene," Donuts said.

 

"Fine, just get on with it," Vegeta grunted. Mister Coffee suddenly answered the trilling meringue on his small flip phone attached to his belt. He mumbled in a hushed tone while Vegeta looked expectantly at Donuts.

 

"Well?" Donut asked.

 

"They're on their way," Mister Coffee said quietly, his eyes darting back and forth between Vegeta and his partner.

 

"May we stay here and begin the preliminaries?" asked Donuts.

 

"Feh, do as you will. Just don't bother me unless it's important. Otherwise bug the staff," Vegeta grunted.

 

"Thank you, your Majesty," said Donuts. "That's all for now… right?"

 

"Right," Mister coffee breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Leaving the police to do their work, Vegeta stormed up the stairs irritated that his time with the Woman was being disrupted. A small smile crossed his face though when he remembered the GR chamber and the small bungalow. Quietly he wrapped the Woman in blankets; glad she was fast asleep. He dumped the contents of some of her drawers into a small workout bag. Sliding open the window, he then turned back to pick Bulma up and throw her over his shoulder while he carried her bag in his hand.

 

Seconds later he landed on the porch of his bungalow attached to the GR. He kicked open the door and carried the woman and her things inside. Dropping the bag at the foot of his double bed he then lay Bulma on one side of it. He peeled the covers back, then shifted the woman under them. All throughout this she didn't bat an eyelash she was so peacefully sleeping.

 

Grunting, Vegeta kicked the front door shut. He then grabbed his training shorts and a few drying cloths. Marching to the GR corridor, he left the Woman to sleep in his apartment till he returned.

***

Evening sun beamed through the curtains, falling right across the face of the blue haired beauty slumbering in the double bed. She licked her lips, turning over and stretching. Slowly Bulma blinked, then glanced around in confusion. Every part of her body ached, especially between the legs, and she blushed at the memory. Then the room swam into view.

 

"How the hell did I get here?" she wondered, then shoved herself to a sitting position. The sound of a loud rumbling was followed by a bang awfully close. It dawned on her that she must be in Vegeta's apartment. A quick glimpse at the digital clock showed it was half past five in the evening.

 

It had been Bulma's idea for Vegeta to take the bungalow in the first place, for Yamcha insisted if he was going to stay, it would make no sense to have Vegeta in the main house. What if he got angry and blew something up? Inviting a homicidal maniac into a house seemed ridiculous, so the bungalow was a reasonable alternative. That way they could keep an eye on Vegeta, and he could have the solitude he so desperately required. Nevertheless, he did eat meals sometimes in the main house when he ran out of food, or when Mrs. Briefs hustled him out. Often times he accepted the tray of food capsules set by his door by Yamcha, Bulma, or a bot.

 

Lately as Vegeta proved he wasn't going to blow them all sky-high the briefs laxed their restrictions on the alien prince. Vegeta could come and go as he pleased in the downstairs floors, and the pantry. Day or night he was encouraged to get his own food, as the bungalow's kitchen was small, and the fridge woefully inadequate. Yamcha had protested at first, till Bulma told him to shut up and put up with it, since she would rather have the Prince where they could see him.

 

"Oh hell, I've lost a whole day because of that horny bastard," she groaned. Every cell of her body still tingled with post coital haze. The very muscle fibers complained from her efforts to swing her body around and place shaky feet on the floor. Tentatively Bulma pressed her feet to the floor then lifted her backside off the bed through the aid of her hands pressing downwards simultaneously. The first few steps were shaky at best, so she rescued her flagging balance by grabbing the nearest bedpost on the footboard. At her feet she spotted the rumpled shape of her workout bag. For a moment she wondered why it showed up, till she unzipped it quickly. Shakily she squatted to examine the contents: workout sweats, jeans and a T-shirt, clean underpants and bras, socks, sneakers, and at least one or two dresses with pantyhose. Bulma felt a hot flush spread from her cheeks outward thinking of Vegeta palming through her drawers.

 

She extracted her sweats, then crawled back up on the bed to pull them on. After a second she hesitated because of the sticky feeling between her legs. Evidence of his royal seed pooled there, causing another hot wave to tingle over Bulma's sensitive body. It seemed far more prudent to find her way to the shower and clean off before even attempting to dress. Not that she didn't want to remember the incredible sex she had, but only to present Vegeta with a fresh clean female to bed. The thought of taking Vegeta as a lover seemed second nature, as long as she didn't overanalyze her motives. For all she knew he wanted her for a pleasant diversion. When he was done he would probably throw her aside. Bulma wondered if she should ask him the terms of the relationship, then hesitated. Vegeta would have things on his terms, and she didn't want to ruin it with trying to take control. Perhaps that was the problem with Yamcha, the fact she had to be in charge. Vegeta possibly would resent any attempt of her to put limits on the 'thing' they had going. It would take a lot of swallowing her pride, but Bulma figured it was another challenge for her to surmount.

 

"It feels too good to question and ruin, Bulma. Just accept it, and take what he gives. Till he won't give it anymore," she figured.

 

As she made her way to the shower, she suddenly remembered the packet of birth control pills she had been taking. It dawned on her that she had skipped a day. A sense of horror and fear washed over her one moment, then abated with the hissing waterfall she created at the turn of a tap. Vegeta's bungalow had a small bathroom with a tub shower, a solitary sink, and a commode. Venetian blinds kept out nosy lookers, who were brave or stupid enough to peer past the hedges.

 

Bulma complained under her breath at the lack of floral scents. Finally deciding she couldn't be too fussy, she grabbed the ivory soap, and the old spice bodywash. Something about that overly masculine scent made her skin tingle. Vegeta had grudgingly accepted the toilet articles her mother lay on the bungalow bed all those months ago when he first inhabited the space next to the GR

 

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," she shivered. After the intimacy she shared with Vegeta, she wondered how true that was? By sleeping with him had she betrayed all her Z warriors? Suddenly she felt extremely lonely at the thought of everyone turning on her for this infraction.

 

"I don't care," Bulma whispered quietly. "If they're that shallow, who needs them? Piccolo was an enemy we hated till he helped Gohan. And Vegeta COULD have killed us all, but didn't. Maybe he's STILL an enemy, but as long as he can beat Goku's ass, he'll behave. But now that he's my lover…"

 

Lover, sex partner, or something else? Friend with fringe benefit? Yamcha had been all of the former. As of last night she doubted that he would even be an acquaintance. Guilt passed over her, for she realized that she had been a cold bitch, fickle and demanding of him to be something he wasn't. Perhaps he was right, that she wasn't good enough for him?

 

"I'm not a goody two shoes," Bulma said soberly, hugging herself in the shower. Despite the scalding heat she felt another pang of loneliness. Without special powers she relied solely on her brain. Memories of Namek spiraled back, and she felt herself shivering and on the verge of sobbing at the helplessness she felt. Numbly she let the slew of memories spiral out of that cabinet in which she'd locked them. Loneliness in the capsule house till even an enemy's touch would be welcome. Nightmares of that enemy choking her in her sleep, only to find that Vegeta never did raise a hand to harm her. Frighten her, but never carry through.

 

Her wealth separated her. The remarkable genius of her scientific mind separated her from most of the Z warriors. Only Gohan's intellect reached hers. Yamcha, Krillen and the others weren't stupid, but they weren't a blue haired know it all. The lack of power separated her, now the man she had taken to her bed was the newest barrier. Slowly she sighed, rubbing the sponge over her breasts to inundate the water with her scent. She swallowed back the large lump sliding down her throat at that moment. Bulma heard the shower curtain slowly scraping, and almost screamed when a male hand shot through and slid it open.

 

"KUSO!" she shrilled, till another hand clamped over her mouth, followed by a hand sliding around from behind to squeeze her breasts. Hot breath pulsed against her ear, and she trembled at the realization it was just the Saiyan Prince being an asshole and scaring her.

 

"Boo," he chuckled.