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“And why should you care?” Bulma asked, disentangling herself from Vegeta’s embrace with a huff.
“I have no interest in being tunnel buddies with some Earthling.”
“You and me aren’t even going to be ‘tunnel buddies’ any more if you ever use that phrase again.”
“Fine.”
“And you say I’m vulgar—damn. Way to make a lady feel special.”
On the top ten, all-time list of Dumb Shit She’d Done, Bulma decided falling into bed with a murderous alien prince was rapidly moving its way up to number one. It had been almost a year since Vegeta had come to stay at the Capsule Corp. compound, and three months since Bulma discovered their mutual interest in bickering and rough sex. She didn’t think either of them intended to make a habit of it. Yet, here they were, lying shoulder to shoulder in her bed for the third time this week and, for the third time this week, Bulma asked herself what the hell she was doing.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I am not.”
She was avoiding the question, but damned if he needed to know that.
“Well?”
“I do not indulge jealousy, because it’s not my job to fix your trust issues.” If it sounded like she had rehearsed that line in the mirror, it was because she had. “So, I’m only going to say this once, okay? I have zero interest in any of the guys I’m friends with.”
“Hmph.”
“Fine. Let’s go through the list, shall we? Tien—definitely celibate, probably asexual, the eye thing kind of freaks me out. Goku—just a big, dumb lump of love and muscle and every time I look at him, I see a six year old. Bonus points for being both married and dead. Krillin—hard pass. Not my type.”
There was a tense, telling silence until Vegeta asked, “And the other one?”
Bulma sighed. What was there to say? Whatever there had been between her and Yamcha was long gone, but she would always feel a little differently towards him than any of the others. Residual fondness mixed with the uncomfortable knowledge of what he looked like during orgasm. How could she explain that?
“I guess... it’s like this: When I met Yamcha, I really wanted a boyfriend and he was the first guy who sorta kinda fit the bill. I spent the whole time trying to change him into who I wanted him to be, but he just is who he is. And that’s okay, but it’s not what I want.”
“And what is it you want?”
Bulma laughed and shook her head against the pillow.
“Fuck if I know. Someone smart, who keeps his promises and doesn’t borrow money without asking. Easy to talk to, with the knowledge that people other than himself actually have thoughts and needs and feelings.” She stopped short, suddenly remembering where she was and who she was talking to. “Why, you thinking of auditioning for the role?”
“I merely asked a question.”
“Just checking,” Bulma said, “I don’t want this to get weird.”
Vegeta chuckled as if to say that ship had sailed a long time ago. It was a low, rumbling sort of sound that reverberated through the mattress. Bulma found it weirdly comforting and tried not to dwell on that fact.
“Any more annoying questions?”
“Don’t you want to know if I’m fucking anyone else?”
“Yeah, right, like I don’t already know the answer to that one. No offense, but you spend all day locked in a metal box, punching robots.”
“Then it is no concern of yours whether I do or not,” Vegeta said, in a tone that landed smack-dab in the middle between statement and question.
Bulma mentally added ‘doesn’t talk in riddles’ to the list of boyfriend must-haves.
“Well, it sounds like you’re asking me not to have sex with other people. And if that’s true, then I think it’s only fair that you return the courtesy.”
“I see.”
What exactly was the point of this conversation, Bulma wanted to know. It wasn’t as if either of them had the time or energy to mess around with anyone else. And who cared if they did? This was just a casual, run-of-the-mill, ‘we might all die when the androids arrive, so fuck it’ fling. It didn’t mean anything to either of them.
“So...” Bulma started, unable to stop herself, “Is that what you’re asking? For us not to fuck other people?”
“Mm.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna need a yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Sure, fine. I won’t if you won’t.”
“Agreed.”
This definitely just sky-rocketed its way to the top of the Dumb Shit List. It might have broken some sort of record for Worst Idea Ever. Was there a trophy for that?
Bulma knew herself too well. Sex without feelings was possible. Constant sex without feelings was sort of possible. Constant, purposefully exclusive sex without feelings with someone she lived with? She had about a snowball’s chance in hell. Eventually, Vegeta was going to rip her heart out and stomp all over it. Possibly literally.
The mattress groaned as Vegeta rolled over. A leg draped across her hip, his head resting against her chest, half of him sprawled on top of her. Bulma had to admit she liked the way he sunk into her, weighed more, the closer he got to sleep. It was like she could feel the defenses melting away.
Her hand found his, but when she went to enlace their fingers, he pulled it back. Bulma refused to let that sting of rejection. She shifted her weight, trying to squirm out from under him.
“Nuh-uh. You’re not falling asleep like this.”
Vegeta hummed, but showed no signs of moving.
“You’re too heavy. I’m trapped.”
“So?” He asked, lips curling into a smile against her breast.
“So, what if I have to go to the bathroom, genius?”
He seemed to consider that for a minute. Then, with a petulant noise, Vegeta righted himself onto his side. He pressed his face resolutely against her neck with a gesture that, if he was a completely different person, would have qualified as a nuzzle. Bulma picked up his hand again, again interlacing their fingers, and again he recoiled. This was exactly the kind of shit that would ruin her.
“Break your fingers,” Vegeta mumbled against her skin.
“What?”
He took a deep breath, rousing himself enough to say, “I clench my fists.”
“In your sleep?”
“Mm.”
“Oh.” Bulma turned the problem over in her mind. Gingerly, she laid her hand on top of his, stroking the back of it with her fingers. “Is this okay?”
His thumb brushed across hers in assent.
Bulma stared up at the ceiling until her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Beneath her fingers, Vegeta’s hand began to pulse into a fist. Did he dream about punching the way dogs dreamt about running? As she drifted off to sleep, Bulma wondered what color her Worst Idea Ever trophy would be. She hoped it was gold.