Work Text:
"Oh my gosh, you're so smaaaaaaall!"
"Wh- no, I am not!"
Bulma grinned as she put dishes away on the shelf he hadn't noticed without a stepstool or flight. Her newish houseguest was unfamiliar with the layout of the kitchen, at least the places that he couldn't immediately extract food from, and was supremely easy to tease.
"Pffft, please, we're like the same height! Goku's a full foot taller than me. He can fully bend his fingers over mine with our palms together and everything!"
Vegeta stomps up to her and thrusts a white-clad hand in her face. Well, ok, up close it wasn't quite as small as she thought. She slowly lifts her hand up near his. Oh.
"...Your gloves are a thick material, they're . . . They're making your hands look larger."
He cursed under his breath, and clumsily removed them - strange, he always seemed to put them on effortlessly- and held his hand back up to her own.
Vegeta's hand is warm.
His hand is soft, too, more than she was expecting. Maybe the gloves are why? His skin still feels slightly leathery, tougher and thicker than hers. Hm. The palm and underside of his fingers are slightly lighter than the top. Bulma likes that. She isn't sure why.
He smirks up at her. She huffs.
"Well, theyre still not big enough to wrap around mine."
He frowns and bends the tips of his fingers over, his palm dragging up lightly against hers. He takes good care of his nails.
".... no fair, you're moving your hand up...." Why did that come out so quiet? Why did I stop? Why is... his hand is still moving, slipping down slowly to bundle her fingers in his grasp. Their elbows seem to almost line up, his arms aren't that long.... his forearm is much wider though, and she sees the muscles shift and flex slightly as he...
His thick fingers glide down to cradle her delicate wrist.
She realises she isnt breathing. Stealing a glance up at him, he isn't either. His eyes are focused intently at where he is holding her, brows somehow more furrowed than usual, but... something else is there. Maybe they're tilted slightly up in the middle? Why?
He moves his thumb, testing his grip, and Bulma breathes in sharply. The moment is broken. Vegeta's eyes shoot up, gaze slamming into hers, panicked, and he abruptly lets go and strides from the room.
Bulma watches as the door swings shut, running her fingers over where she can still feel his touch. Even though he's gone, she feels extremely warm.
Ah, he left his glove on the table.
