Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Bulma stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that as the light from thousands of sequins sparkling off of her dress reflected around the room. She smoothed the black evening gown down over her hips in a gesture that was half nervous habit and half self-soothing as the texture of the sequins was reassuring against her palms. He’d be here any moment now, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

Her aqua hair was artfully curled, pinned up on the right and cascading down on her left, held in place by an ornate yellow flower pin. Her gown was an elegant V-neck that showed what she thought was a very tasteful amount of cleavage, accented with a simple chain necklace and long, sparkling silver earrings. Her arms were bare, but a filmy black wrap lay on the counter next to her matching clutch. She’d stuck with kitten heels since she didn’t know what to expect, knowing some men were intimidated by a tall woman.

She smiled at her reflection, trying to make herself believe the confidence she could see on the outside. She had always found that to be the key to confidence, anyways – if the people around you thought that you were confident, you were. That’s why shysters were called confidence men, after all – it was all about perception. And she was the undefeated world champion at controlling the way she was perceived. She carefully ran one perfectly manicured silver nail around the dark red curve of her bottom lip and breathed in and out a few times. She was ready.

There was a solid knock at the door. Three quick strikes, and anxiety spiked in her stomach, bringing bile up to the back of her throat. It’s fine, she told herself. I’m the one in control here. She walked across the hardwood floor to collect her wrap and clutch, and approached the door, trying to reassure herself that this was all very normal. Common, even. Plenty of people went on blind dates, and this was basically the same thing.

She opened the door, heart pounding as she revealed the man waiting on the other side of the door. He was approximately the same height as her, although between her kitten heels and his dark, upswept hair it was a tossup as to who was the taller between them. He was in a smart, well-tailored navy suit with a matching tie and a crisp white shirt that accentuated an athletic figure in a way that spoke of money well-spent. Dark eyes regarded her with the faintest hint of surprise from a tanned, angular face. He was quite handsome, which wasn’t exactly a shock, but it was pleasant all the same. He carried a small, unobtrusive black valise in one hand.

She smiled warmly at him, and his features smoothed into unreadability. “Hello. You must be Vegeta.” She released the doorknob and extended a hand towards him.

“I am.” His voice was a low, scratchy baritone that sent a tiny shiver down her spine. “That must make you Bulma.”

He took her hand and gave it a firm but gentle shake. She found herself absurdly glad he didn’t try to kiss her hand or something equally ridiculous. She spent her days around far too many men that thought they were being chivalrous when they were just being gross. She had no doubt he would have done that if he thought she would prefer it, but he was erring on the side of caution, and that was a relief.

“It does, indeed. Shall we?”

He raised the hand holding his bag. “Would you mind if I leave this here?”

She moved out into the hallway and he leaned in to set the bag inside next to the door before pulling the door closed. They turned and walked across the marble foyer to the golden elevator, and he pressed the down button. She caught him looking her up and down from the corner of her eye and inwardly grinned as she shrugged into the wrap and settled it on her elbows. She’d made the right choice with this dress.

The elevator arrived shortly, and they stepped in. He pressed the button for the lobby, and they waited in semi-awkward silence as soft classical music played in the car as it zipped down several floors. She wasn’t sure how to start, so she just jumped in.

“I made a reservation at Shenron’s. I hope that’s okay.”

He nodded. “It’s a great choice.”

She chuckled and hoped it didn’t sound nervous. “Good. I made the assumption that you’d probably prefer an actual steak to five tiny plates of rabbit mousse and mushroom dust.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “You’re not wrong. I’ve had enough tiny slivers of fish served on expensively cut crackers to last a lifetime.”

She grinned at him. “I don’t think I’ve met many guys who wouldn’t pick the steak, honestly.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Men are truly simple creatures.”

The doors opened, and he raised an arm to hold them so that she could walk through, joining her after she passed. They walked through the exquisitely appointed lobby and she smiled at the woman behind the desk who watched them go with something like envy. They walked out into a cool evening, where a sleek black car was waiting for them.

He opened the rear passenger door and gestured for her to climb in, closing it smoothly behind her once she was seated. He walked around to the other side and climbed in beside her. The driver pulled away as soon as they were both settled, merely glancing quickly in the mirror to assure that they were ready before departing. Professionalism was something she prized above all.

She slid her fingers across the smooth leather of the armrest, enjoying the pebbled texture as lights zipped by outside the smoked glass of her window. Did ever a songbird have so gilded a cage as this? She didn’t know, but she hoped that she could at least stretch her wings tonight. She looked over to find her companion watching her and blinked with surprise for the intense regard. Her cheeks felt warm, but she let her lips curve up in a smile. Look confident. Don’t look nervous.

“I’m sorry, my mind was wandering. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Vegeta shrugged. “You looked deep in thought. I wasn’t going to interrupt.”

She waved a hand as if it were nothing. “It wasn’t important. Just thinking about work.”

He watched her closely. She thought that those sharp eyes rarely missed much. She’d have to be careful around him. “If you were thinking it, it’s probably pretty important.”

Now her face positively burned. She tried to laugh it off. “You’re only saying that because you don’t know me. I’ll give you points for smoothness, though.”

He smirked at her, and something in the arrogant tilt of that smile plucked at her insides with precision. “Don’t worry, we’ll work on that.”

“What, getting to know each other or your smooth lines?”

His eyes wandered down over her body for a moment and then back up, giving the distinct impression that he’d rather be talking about her smooth lines. That made a pleasant warmth kindle in her belly. She was under no illusions about why they were both here, but the thought made her want to squirm in her seat. She resisted the temptation as his eyes met hers again, and she refused to drop her gaze.

“Both.”

Shortly their car was pulling to a stop in front of the restaurant. He got out, walked to her side of the car again, and opened her door, offering a hand to help her out. She placed her hand in his and the warmth of his palm radiated into her as his fingers closed around her automatically. He offered her a stable platform to pull herself up rather than trying to yank her out of the car, and she was grateful for that, too. She’d had her shoulder hurt by an overenthusiastic “assistant” like that, once.

When she stood and moved beside him, she caught a whiff of the very soft scent of him, a sort of clean, woodsy smell that was incredibly gentle. It was sort of like cedar, with a hint of citrus, which didn’t seem like they should go together well, but on him it was alluring. And most importantly, not overpowering. The man clearly knew the value of restraint, and she found that very reassuring. A man who knew the right amount of cologne to wear and didn’t try to break her hand on shaking it was much more likely to care about respecting her boundaries as a fellow human being. It was ridiculous, but it made her feel better about her decision to be here.

They walked inside and the hostess greeted her by name before leading them to an intimate booth made for two that was dimly lit by a flickering candle and soft, indirect lighting. They were presented with menus and quickly made their selections. The servers were quick and efficient, striving to be helpful but unobtrusive, simply appearing at elbows with glasses and plates and politely whisking away things with gentle smiles and soft voices.

Once their food had been ordered, Bulma found herself resting her fingers along the stem of her wineglass, rotating it slowly and watching the man across the table, who was watching her in turn.

“So,” she started, lamely. She let it hang in the air, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“So.” He sounded much calmer. He lifted his own cup, a squat glass of some neat scotch that she was quite certain she would hate, and he took a small sip. “You seem nervous.”

She attempted a chuckle but it came out more like a shrill twitter, and she hated it. “I’m not nervous.” He didn’t look very convinced. “I mean, maybe I am, a bit. This is all pretty new for me.”

He regarded her for a moment and nodded. “I can tell, and that’s alright. It’s more common than you might think.”

That was somehow both a relief and not. It was a reminder of what they were doing here, but it was also nice to know that she wasn’t the only woman he’d ever sat across a table from with sweaty palms. Of course she wouldn’t have been, not with a man as attractive as he was. He’d probably sat across from hundreds of women just like her. Why am I doing this? This is really stupid. I should just see if he wants to cancel.

“No,” he said simply and she stared at him. She was certain he couldn’t read minds, and yet, the smile he gave her made her feel like he could see past all of the meat and bone inside of her and directly into her innermost thoughts. “It’s fine. I’ve just had this conversation once or twice and I know the look well enough.”

“I’m sorry.” He started to open his mouth, and she held a hand up. “I’m not apologizing, exactly. I’m not usually very timid. It’s just my first time doing something like this.”

“Go on a date, you mean?” He didn’t quite smile but his eyes sparkled in the candlelight with amusement. “I was under the impression you’d at least been on dates before, Ms. Briefs.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You know exactly what I mean. Of course I’ve been on dates before.”

“Of course I know what you mean,” he said in a nonchalant way that made her want to punch him a little. “But at least now you’re more annoyed than you are nervous.”

Fuck him for being right, she thought. But he was. “Ah, is that your secret to winning women over? You annoy them enough that they forget to be uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping with you?”

“It’s worked pretty well so far.” A brief flash of white teeth, and then he was sipping his drink again. “About as well as bullying people probably does for you.”

Her eyes widened in outrage. “I’m not…you don’t even know me!”

He laughed, and the sound was rich and full. He was enjoying this far too much. “I may have done some obligatory research. I saw the video where you decked that guy who asked you about your bra size.”

She frowned. “That was supposed to have been scrubbed from the internet.”

“The internet always remembers. It’s hard to make anything completely disappear these days, even with all the money in the world.”

“That’s true enough,” she supposed. “I’m sure there’s still that panty shot of me getting out of a limo when I was 21, too.”

“The internet always remembers,” he said again, with slightly more amusement. “It’s harder for someone like the daughter of a CEO to stay out of the public eye.”

“You really have done your research.”

“I’ve always found that it’s better to know more about what I’m getting into when it comes to these kinds of situations.”

“That makes it sound like you’ve been on some really terrible dates.” She resisted the urge to fiddle with her silverware.

“You have no idea. And it’s never the people you might expect.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I’d expect it. Being my father’s daughter means that I’ve got to see the up close and personal on a number of the scum of the earth. Also known as executives.”

He nodded. “Sounds about right. You don’t seem like you’re scum of the earth, though.”

“Such high praise,” she pretended to preen at that. “I hope they put that on my tombstone. ‘She could have been so much worse.’”

He laughed. “You’d be surprised how low of a bar it is, especially from women with generational wealth. You don’t seem like a lot of the ones I’ve met, though.”

That plucked at something in her chest. Certainly she had been like them at times. “Yeah, well, putting your personal mess on display for the tabloids certainly has a humbling effect. You can only see yourself as an explosive mess so many times before you shape up or lean fully into the delusion of being somehow “above” it all.”

His head tilted to one side slightly as he regarded her. “That does bring up the question of what we’re doing here, though.”

Oh boy. She knew he would probably ask these questions, but that didn’t make them less awkward for her. Although she was more at ease, she realized. He was pretty good at this. “That depends on whether you mean here at the restaurant or here together, I guess.”

He looked amused again. “Both.”

He thinks he’s some kind of comedian, she thought wryly. “Well, we’re here at this restaurant because it’s one of my favorites and I’m of that civilized era where going to dinner on a date is normal.”

“Sure. I just wondered if it was a bit public, considering.”

“Oh.” She picked up her wine glass and had a sip, savoring the way the tart flavor exploded on her tongue. He lifted his own glass for another sip. “I mean I wasn’t planning on fucking right here on the table.”

She’d timed it perfectly. He choked, coughing and spluttering on expensive scotch, pounding his chest twice with a fist. She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass, smiling at him. It was kind of nice to see him off balance.

“Holy shit, woman.” He rasped as he fought for air.

She snickered. “It’s fine. I don’t really expect anyone to be paying enough attention to figure it out. I’ve calmed down enough to bore the tabloids in recent years, I go out to dinner with a lot of people for business, and I haven’t been seen dating anyone in a while.” He sipped a glass of water and nodded for her to continue. “I’m sure you know from doing your research that I was with my ex for a really long time. We were high school sweethearts. In the end, we just wanted different things. I wanted stability and commitment, and he wanted other people.”

“People grow apart.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like he knew anything about her life from looking her up online. It was infuriating, especially when she was trying to be vulnerable with someone who was entirely a stranger.

“Yeah, well, his problem was growing too close to people who weren’t me.” Her jaw clenched and she forced herself to take another sip to wash the bitterness out of her mouth.

“I see,” was all he said in response. They sat in awkward silence for a moment as servers arrived with their food.

She smiled at the woman who placed a gorgeously arranged plate of food in front of her, each piece of greenery placed just so by someone who had worked for years to perfect their art. She picked up her fork and carefully demolished that delicate art, crunching lush leaves between her teeth as she thought about the fleeting nature of beauty. Across from her, Vegeta picked up his knife and made careful work of cutting up his steak into very neat, efficient bites. She could understand a man who liked order.

“Anyways, I decided that it’s been long enough, and I need to get back into dating. But dating is complicated, especially for someone like me. It’s hard enough being rich and a target for every scam out there. It’s even more complicated by being almost 30 and only ever having been with the same moron my whole life. I suppose you could say I’m out of practice.”

He looked up at her without lifting his head, piercing eyes peeking at her from beneath heavy brows and looking into her soul again. At least this time it was with amusement. “That makes a certain kind of sense.”

She jabbed at a piece of her own steak and started cutting it with too much force. “You don’t have to make fun of me for it.” She cut a piece and popped it in her mouth, the savory flavor of the steak distracting her from her own irritation momentarily. It had been too long since she’d gone out for a good steak. Too many nights of polite salads and smiles that didn’t reach her heart.

He looked up at her sharply. “I’m not making fun of you.” She glared at him, and he held up one hand in surrender. “I’m not. Even if that wouldn’t be hypocritical of me, which it would, I respect that you’re getting back out there in your own way. I meant that I admire the gumption to skip awkward dating and go straight to…” he trailed off, looking down at his food. “Slightly less awkward dating.”

That caught her by surprise, and she laughed. She covered her mouth with one hand, cognizant of the half-chewed bite still in her mouth, and he smirked at her again. That smirk was somehow both infuriating and endearing.

“Well, when you put it like that,” she said, still giggling. “I guess that’s kind of exactly what I’m doing. I figured I could sort of study up before I try to get back at it for real.” She sighed.

“You’re someone who values being in control,” he said, his tone thoughtful. She had a bite halfway to her mouth.

“What?”

“You don’t want to be out of practice with dating or anything else because that puts you in a position of weakness.”

She stared at him. The worst thing was that he was right, and he knew it by the way he put another bite in his mouth and chewed. “That’s certainly making some assumptions about my character.”

He shrugged. “You’re in line to potentially become CEO of a big company. It makes sense to me. I get it.” She could tell that he meant it. “You have to deal all the time with being perceived a certain way.”

“Yeah.” They ate for a while in silence. “You know, you’re pretty insightful.”

“You kind of have to be, in my business.”

The candlelight flickered around them as they ate, warming them and alternately bathing them in light and letting shadows play across their skin. They ate their fill and when the server asked if they would like dessert they both politely declined. After she signed the bill and they headed back out into the darkness, pleasantly full and warm from a well-crafted meal.

She glanced up at the stars as the car was being pulled around. There were only a few she could see this far in the city, the sky clouded with light pollution that lifted the utter blackness into a navy that matched the suit of the man who waited patiently beside her. She could see the North Star, Polaris, and she wondered where it might guide her if she just set off to follow it without any plan.

They climbed into the car in much the same fashion as they had on their short trip to the restaurant. They arrived at the hotel quickly, and they made their way back up to the penthouse. As she pulled the card out of her clutch and tapped it to the door, she felt the stirrings of butterfly wings in her stomach again.

She knew that it was illogical. They were two consenting adults who knew what they were getting into, and it wasn’t like she was a virgin. Even with only one partner she’d still explored and spent plenty of time understanding things she liked, and she wasn’t hung up on something like having a body count. If she was, she wouldn’t be here with him. That didn’t make the nerves dissipate, though.

He opened the door and held it, as politely chivalrous as he’d been all evening. She set her clutch and wrap down on the counter, and he indicated that she should go have a seat on the plush couch in the sitting area. She walked over and flicked a switch that turned on a gas fireplace. The fireplace mostly just created ambiance rather than heat, more dancing shadows across the wall, but it made the room seem more comfortable.

She kicked off her heels and sat down on the couch, lounging against the arm rest and crossing one leg over the other. She watched the flames as she heard him moving around in the kitchen, smalll tinkling noises and eventually the sound of a cork being popped reaching her ears. Eventually a glass entered her field of vision, and she looked up to see him standing next to her and offering her a glass of dark red wine. She took it with a smile, and he sat down.

He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie and had evidently kicked off his shoes at some point as well. He sat down against the other side of the couch with his own glass, the top two buttons of his shirt undone and revealing a tantalizing sliver of tanned skin. He’d also undone his shirt cuffs and rolled them up to almost his elbows, and she was in awe of just how much muscle a man could have in his forearms alone. It was quite impressive. He sat back, turning to face her, studying her by the light of the fireplace.

“So.” Her voice was dry, so she took a sip from her wineglass, leaving a dark red smear on the glass like a bloodstain.

“So,” he responded with a cheeky lilt. He didn’t try very hard to hide his grin as he took a sip from his own glass, and she rolled her eyes.

“You know I thought there would be significantly less getting picked on and belittled in this arrangement for some reason.”

He laughed. “It’s part of my job to get you to relax. It’s not exactly on purpose.” She squinted at him. “Maybe it’s a little on purpose. You’re pretty easy to rile up.”

“Ah, easy to rile up. The kind of compliment every woman wants to hear. Next, you’ll be telling me to calm down.” She glared at him.

“I mean, I can tell you to get back in the kitchen if you want, since you’re already barefoot. I don’t know if there’s anything in the fridge there for sandwiches, though.”

She considered throwing one of the luxurious throw pillows on the couch at his head, but then he might spill precious wine, and that would truly be a waste.

“I’m starting to think this was a huge mistake.” She took another sip of wine. “If I want to have my gender insulted I could have grabbed any asshole off the street and fed him a hamburger and gotten called a bitch for my trouble.”

“It sounds like I should earn my keep, then.” He set his glass down on the table and scooted closer.

Her heart rate immediately spiked. He patted his lap, looking at her expectantly. She stared at him for a moment, not comprehending until he leaned down and grasped her feet. He pulled them up gently, rotating her body so he could pull her feet into his lap. He cradled one foot in his hand and gently started kneading it with his thumbs, pressing them into sensitive spots on her feet. It was heavenly.

Bulma had only worn kitten heels tonight, but she’d been on her feet all day in regular pumps before that. She melted back into the couch, a moan escaping her as he somehow seemed to find every sore spot and worked them out with careful pressure, occasionally stopping to flex her foot or work through particularly bad sections.

“Shit,” she groaned. “You’re really good at this.”

He smiled. “I’m a man of many talents, some surprising, many ordinary.”

“I’d say this is one of the extraordinary ones, then.” She let her head fall back and her eyes drift closed.

It had been so long since she’d had an actual foot massage. Probably the most physical contact she’d had with another human in recent memory was getting a manicure the day before, but that had been as quick as possible between meetings and the woman who’d performed it had seemed too intimidated to talk to her, even when she tried. She made a mental note to make time for massages in the future, because she was practically two seconds from an orgasm and he was just touching her feet. She was clearly touch-starved, which was sort of the point of the evening.

She lifted her head to look at him, and of course he was watching her. When he wasn’t talking, he looked so intense and serious. It felt a bit like she was on the other side of an experiment, being observed all the time to see what she would do and how she would behave. It was uncomfortable, but it was also flattering in a strange way.

She was used to being looked at. She spoke in public, led meetings, directed plenty of others in labs, even held press conferences from time to time. People looked at her constantly, analyzing her words and actions, judging her for anything from what she had for lunch to how recently she’d worn the same shirt. Public scrutiny was something she had come to expect in almost every aspect of her life. Normally she hated it, but this felt vastly different.

Vegeta wasn’t staring at her or dissecting the things she was saying and looking for faults. He was looking at her. He was hanging on her words when she spoke because he was interested in what she had to say. Maybe it was for his own ends, to some degree, and certainly there were unique motivations in this case, but it didn’t feel like she was having to perform for him, and that was…unique. It felt nice.

“You’re doing a lot of heavy lifting.”

Bulma blinked herself out of her thoughts. “What?” She felt like she was saying that a lot tonight. She felt especially stupid around him for some reason.

“You were pretty deep in thought. I was starting to worry you might spring a leak or something.”

She laughed. “That would be a first for me.”

He set her other foot down and leaned back, leaving her feet in his lap. He picked up his glass and took another sip. “I feel like you’d be the one to do it if anyone could, though.”

“You’re not wrong. It’s sort of a special talent of mine.”

He rested one hand on top of her leg where her dress had ridden up slightly and the feeling of his fingers mindlessly rubbing in a small circle on the skin there was warm and electric. She remembered wondering earlier what she’d do if she wasn’t attracted to him at all, and she was so grateful that it wasn’t an issue. It helped that he was charming, or at least more pleasant than most of the men who had tried to get her to go on a date with them.

“You’re so strange.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she was talking. She had to fight the urge to clap a hand over her mouth, since that would make an awful mess of her lipstick.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It’s just…you talk to me like you want to hear what I have to say. I don’t get that a lot.”

For the first time his smile was bitter and sad instead of sharp, and he looked away from her, towards the fireplace. “You’d be shocked how often I hear that.”

“What, that you’re a good listener?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been told that as well, but that’s not what I mean. I was referring to women telling me that no one listens to them.”

She reeled from that. “Oh.”

“You’d be surprised how much of my job is just that. There are so many women who just feel like they’ve never been listened to. Like they don’t have anyone to talk to.” His eyes cut back over to hers. “They’re just lonely.”

“Lonely,” she repeated dumbly. That felt painfully correct, a knife drawing a little cut down her skin, shallow enough not to bleed but deep enough to hurt. Just enough to expose some very delicate nerves to the air between them.

“I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve just sat up with someone all night, just talking. Most people just want to feel like they’ve been listened to, and sometimes that’s more important than anything else.”

She looked down at where his fingers were still rubbing circles on her leg. “Sometimes I sit down at the end of my day and realized that I haven’t had a single meaningful connection with another human being all day. Like even when I joke with an assistant or talk to people all day…it just feels empty. It’s like those people are paid to be nice to me, you know?”

He chuckled, the sound rolling over her like smooth honey spiced with cinnamon. That sound pulled gently at her, inviting her to come along and join in. It only managed to tug the corners of her mouth up slightly.

“Unfortunately, I can’t really comfort you on that one, considering.” His tone was lighthearted.

“Yeah, I guess I kind of walked into that one,” she said with a wry smile.

“I can tell you that you’re worth listening to.”

She looked up into his eyes and she felt like he meant it. Maybe he did, or maybe he was just really good at his job. But what she did know was that she felt a magnetic pull towards him, inexorably drawn in by his charm and his wit, and she knew that she wanted much more than to just talk all night. A pleasant warmth spread through her stomach at the thought of him, of his hands on her body and all the things he probably knew how to do. Things she didn’t even know the names for.

He seemed to sense the shift in her, and he lifted his hand so that she could swing her feet off of his lap and sit up next to him. He held up a hand almost apologetically.

“I hate to talk shop, but we should cover a few ground rules since this is our first evening together. It’s not very sexy, but it has to be done.”

She shifted in her seat, feeling heat rise on her face as she looked away. It was uncomfortable, being reminded in this way. He definitely knew it, but she supposed that he was right. It was for everyone’s safety, even if it was an awkward reminder of the circumstances around why they were here.

“I read all the paperwork I was given, and I signed everything.”

“Still,” he said, his voice gentle. “There are some things–”

“I know,” she said, hating the way her voice came out sounding short and snippy. She forced the irritation away and continued with a calmer tone. “Sorry. I’ve just–”

“Never done this,” he finished for her. She glanced at him, and he smirked at her. That smirk was somehow both infuriating and perfectly engineered to get behind her defenses. She wanted to slap him and tear his clothes off at the same time. “I get it. I don’t want you to be nervous. But I also need you to confirm that you understand those rules.”

She sighed. “Yes, I understand. Condom use is mandatory. I wouldn’t want anything different, anyways.” Her mind flitted back to her admitting that she’d only had one sexual partner, and she felt a sort of delayed embarrassment. Did he think she was that inexperienced? He was probably just covering requirements from the agency he worked for, but it still made her feel self-conscious.

He nodded. “I can stay until the morning or leave any time you want. I won’t do anything that you tell me you don’t want. My time is yours to do with whatever you want. I do have one additional personal rule, though: no kissing.”

She blinked at that. “No kissing?”

“Yes. I find it helps clients maintain a professional distance.” He shrugged. “My job is to create the right illusions and maintain the right environment, but some clients can forget that it’s a business transaction and take it too personally.”

She let her eyes wander down the lines of his face, at the triangle of skin that disappeared down into his shirt, over broad shoulders and arms that he had crossed in front of his chest. The warmth in her stomach was amplifying, suffusing her system. Embarrassment or no, she knew how to sate the hunger that gnawed at her. It had been too long.

“I can see how someone might get carried away,” she said, catching her bottom lip with her teeth as her eyes met his again. “And I get why you’re concerned about it with me.” Probably he thought someone like her was a much higher risk of getting lost in her emotions, since she’d been with the same man for so long. But she hadn’t been able to keep having feelings for him, so it seemed unlikely for her to immediately get lost in a fantasy.

Vegeta smiled at her, and then stood up, offering her his hand. She took it and he helped her up from the couch. They stood that way for a few heartbeats, bodies close together, chests barely brushing with each breath, and he released his hold on her hand, letting his own drift down to caress the curve of her hip through her dress. His other fingers brushed lightly against her hair where it was pinned up on one side.

“This is beautiful,” he murmured.

It took her a second to realize that he was talking about the elegant pin that held her hair. “Thanks,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “It’s a peony.” She felt stupid again, like all the smart words had left her.

His eyes reflected the flame of the fireplace, seeming to burn softly as his fingers ran lightly over the petals. “Yellow peonies are for new beginnings, for starting with a clean slate. Very fitting.” How the fuck did he know that? His fingers and eyes drifted from her hair and down the side of her face running along her jaw before his eyes met hers with their own fire that left her breathless. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a moment.”

And like that he was moving away, collecting their wine glasses and whisking them off to the kitchen. She turned and tried not to wobble too noticeably towards the bedroom of the suite, whose doors stood open. The room was as lavish as the rest of the suite, with a huge bathroom and lush carpeting and its own fireplace. She mindlessly hit the switch to turn that one on as she passed, but her eyes were focused on the giant bed.

She found herself swallowing thickly. They were really about to do this. There was no going back, now. She steeled herself against the nerves, and stepped up next to the bed. She wanted this, and she wasn’t going to let performance anxiety stop her.

She wanted this.

Chapter Text

Bulma moved next to the bed and reached up to pull the pin that held her hair in place. It cascaded free and she shook her hair out, enjoying the relief it brought. She touched the flower pin and smiled. She was more than ready for something new. She set it on the table next to the bed and carefully removed her earrings so they wouldn’t get snagged on anything. She reached back to unzip her dress and warm hands met hers.

“Here,” Vegeta said simply. She pulled her hair to the side and his steady hands pulled the zipper of her dress down to her waist, and she reveled in the feeling of the silky lining of the dress parting and sliding over her back as he did. She felt the warmth of him move back, and she slipped the dress down, letting it pool on the floor at her feet.

She turned to face him in the filmy black bra and panty set she’d selected for the occasion, and she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen as she did. She reached up, twisting her arms behind herself to reach the strap of her bra in a move that also pushed her chest out towards him. She quickly unclasped her bra and let the straps fall down her shoulders as it, too, was discarded on the floor.

Vegeta stared at her for what felt like too long, drinking in the sight of her until she started to feel self-conscious again. He shook himself slightly, as if waking from a daze, visibly swallowing. “Your ex is a fucking moron,” he breathed.

That caught her by surprise, and she laughed. She slid her panties down to join the pile and turned towards the bed. She saw that he’d set a small black bag on the bed and his valise on the floor nearby. She sat down on the bed next to it and looked up at him curiously, trying not to let the nerves show. He stood there watching her for another moment before shaking his head.

“I mean it. You have an incredible body. You’re smart, you’re funny, and ditching that asshole was probably the best thing you’ve ever done.”

She blushed, but it made her feel less insecure. She knew she had a great body, and she knew she was smart, but having her life choices validated by someone she’d only known for a few hours felt nice. It was oddly reassuring, the idea that someone could meet her for such a short time and see that she was capable.

She leaned back on her hands, looking him up and down. “You’re still wearing an awful lot of clothes.” He smirked and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I have to admit that I’m very curious about what you’ll want to do with me.”

He reached the bottom of his shirt and pulled it open, untucking it from his pants. Underneath he was just as muscular as his finely-cut clothing suggested. Every inch of him seemed to be lean and corded with muscle, and she watched those muscles flex and move as he pulled his shirt off and carefully folded it, setting it at the end of the bed. He was like something out of a Renaissance painting, or a cast bronze sculpture made flesh.

“That depends on what you want.” He glanced at her as he unzipped his pants, and she felt heat rise in her face as she watched him boldly. “But I have some thoughts on the matter.”

“Do tell.”

He carefully slid down his pants, revealing thighs and calves that were equally muscular and well-built, and black boxer briefs that were suggestive but somehow maddeningly concealing in the low light from the fireplace.

“Well, people have different preferences for sex, and I’ve come to know a lot of them and how to spot what people want.” Vegeta folded his pants just as carefully and set them on the bed with his shirt. “Some people want to be comforted, some want to be challenged. Sometimes people just want to feel in control of everything, or to not have to make choices at all and have their agency taken away. Some people like to be humiliated, or to humiliate others. There are a lot of different motivators for sexual encounters.” He slipped his socks off and added them to the pile, and his eyes glittered as he considered her thoughtfully. “I think on any given day you might fit into several of those categories, maybe multiple at once. But not tonight. Tonight, I think you need one thing specifically.”

“Oh?” Bulma’s voice shook slightly, uncomfortable under such direct scrutiny. “And what is that?”

He closed the distance between them, leaning down towards her in a way that made her lay back on the bed as he followed her down, putting one knee on the bed to do so since she was still at the edge. He ran the fingers of one hand down the smooth contours of her body, raising goosebumps in his wake. He brushed his fingers down her chest, grazing one nipple gently without lingering, across her stomach and down her hip. When he reached as far down as he could on her thigh without changing positions, he slowly drew his hand back up, skating inward to trail briefly through the thatch of neatly-trimmed hair between her legs, back up her stomach, and between her breasts.

“Tonight, you need to be worshipped.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her collarbone, and she shivered. Her nipples tightened to hard points, and he slid back off the bed to stand by her knees. He was disappointingly still wearing his underwear.

“What, uh,” she stumbled and stopped to clear her throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Lay on your stomach in the middle of the bed.” He turned to pick up his clothes and set them aside on a chair.

She stood up and pulled the blanket and top sheet back, tossing decorative pillows on the floor on the far side. She settled in the middle of the bed on her stomach, turning her head to watch him walk back over to the bed. He moved with a quiet, animalistic grace, and she resisted the urge to squeeze her thighs together as she watched him move towards her.

She closed her eyes as she felt the weight of him shift onto the bed, focusing on the motion of the mattress until she felt the smooth warmth of his skin brushing against hers. He moved until he was straddling her waist, the curve of his ass settling back against hers, albeit touching only through a thin layer of cotton. Still, he was warm, and the weight was comforting.

He carefully gathered her hair and pulled it to the side, baring her back entirely. He shifted his weight and leaned to one side, and she heard him grab the bag and open it, fiddling with its contents. She wondered what was in it, and in his larger valise. Sex toys, perhaps? She wondered if she could sneak a peak at some point. She supposed she could just ask him, but that seemed less fun, somehow.

At least the question of one item from the small bag was answered when he leaned down and rubbed his hands down her spine, hands gliding easily along her skin with the help of some kind of oil. The feeling was instantly blissful, warmth spreading into her muscles as his fingers began to work to unravel the knots in her muscles.

It felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, except that she was very much in her body. The soothing feeling of his fingers running down her muscles and gently teasing apart every spot she’d managed to hide and store away her stress was hypnotizing. He diligently worked over every muscle group in her back and upper arms, including massaging her neck and working his way down until he had to scoot back onto her legs so that he could reach the muscles down near bottom of her back.

Bulma closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into the massage. She’d just been thinking about how much she needed one, and even if he wasn’t a certified massage therapist or whatever, it felt fucking amazing. Although maybe he was one, for all she knew. A man of many talents, he’d said. Who knew what that meant? At least right now it meant having her body reassembled one muscle fiber at a time, and she had to fight not to fall asleep as he worked. It was maybe one of the better massages she’d ever had, although perhaps that was colored by her perception of him.

He stopped just short of her glutes, which felt like a shame because suddenly her mind was filled with the image of his hands on her ass. Somewhere in the massage he had worked away at the inherent nervousness of a sexual liaison with a new partner, melting the awkwardness of paying for sex. When the residue of those feelings had evaporated, all she seemed to be left with was excitement, and the reminder that she hadn’t been touched carnally in a very, very long time.

When he moved off of her legs, she looked over her shoulder at him to see what he was doing. He was watching her, of course, as he had been all night. How much did he learn from watching people? Probably more than she wanted to know, but she wasn’t here for a psychoanalysis. Perhaps she could argue that she was here for a lot of things, but certainly not for that.

He tilted his head slightly, as if to ask her what she wanted. Maybe he worried that she might be tired, or if her nerves had gotten the better of her. Maybe she just wanted to talk to him all night, the way that some women did. Regardless of the answer, he was waiting for her to make the move, letting her take the lead on what they did next. He said he would worship her, but he clearly meant to do it in whatever way she preferred.

She rolled over onto her back so she could face him properly. She slid her arms back, propping herself up on her elbows, enjoying the stretch down her spine as she did, which thrust her chest out more prominently. She reached out with one foot and slid it up his thigh, letting her legs fall apart slightly as she did. She saw the way his eyes focused on her body, sharp and intrigued, and it made her feel bolder. It made her feel wanted. She nudged at the hem of his boxer briefs with her big toe, her mouth stretching into an impish smile.

Vegeta grabbed her foot with one hand, pulling it up and away from his lap, incidentally pulling her legs open wider as he did. He placed a kiss on the inside of her ankle, eyes flicking up to meet hers as he did. It was an oddly tender gesture, and she waggled her eyebrows at him.

“I thought you said no kissing.” She remembered the way he’d kissed her collarbone earlier, too.

“You know what I meant, woman.” He pushed her foot aside and moved between her legs, climbing towards her in a primal way that made her salivate.

“What happened to all that talk of worship?” She smirked at him as he settled back down, slipping his forearms arms underneath her thighs.

“You’re making it awfully hard to treat you like a princess with that mouth of yours.” His eyes looked blacker than sin with only the flickering light of the fireplace to light them. She laughed.

“You clearly haven’t met many princesses.” She ran her tongue over her upper teeth thoughtfully. “Are you planning to show me what you can do with that mouth of yours?”

“So vulgar,” he muttered, shaking his head. He failed at trying to hide a slight smile as he ducked his head down, but she quickly forgot about it.

He gripped her thighs, gently pulling them farther apart, and the moment his tongue touched her skin it sent a shiver up her spine. He didn’t tease her, he just dove in like he was starving for her, like she was the cure for everything that ailed him. On another night she might enjoy being teased, but it had been far too long, and she was far too desperate to put up with any kind of torment.

His tongue flicked at her clit lightly and she was already gasping for air, fighting not to let her hips roll under the most minor amounts of attention. She was oddly grateful that he wasn’t some new boyfriend who might think she was always this easy to please, especially when he chuckled softly, almost to himself. It made her want to hit him for seeing her so vulnerable and needy, but instead she wound her fingers into the sheets to try to keep herself from thrusting up to meet his mouth as his tongue worked to bring her to the edge.

“Fuck,” she breathed, hating how whiny it sounded to her own ears. Now he chuckled again, louder, and he looked up at her with an intensity to his gaze that took her breath away. It reminded her of the way that people in action movies sometimes stared into the eyes of someone they killed. His tongue moved, flicking and licking, and he closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently while he watched her with those dark eyes, and she lost her fucking mind.

She should have felt ashamed with how quickly he was able to make her come, but all she felt was overwhelming pleasure as her orgasm tore through her with what felt like bone-breaking force. There was no pleasant build, no anticipatory drive that heightened over time, just what felt like twenty seconds of attention and her hips bucked underneath him as she cried out, body twisting and bowing as wave after wave washed over her. She was delirious with it, completely dazed with just a few motions of a hot tongue sliding over her with carefully controlled precision.

He worked her through it until she thought she might snap from the tension in her body. When he finally stopped her body sagged to the mattress, and she realized that she was covered in sweat and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. It’s a good thing you never have to see him again if you don’t want to, because you are a mess, girl. Which, of course, was why she was here in the first place, wasn’t it?

Her cheeks burned with that feeling, but she hoped it wasn’t obvious over the flush of her skin. It was stupid, feeling embarrassed over something like that. She’d all but told him how long it had been for her, and toys were no substitute for having someone unravel her in that way, thread by thread. There was something so different about being wanted, and it had been ages since she’d had anything even resembling that.

He released her legs and sat up on his knees, looking down at her thoughtfully. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, but at least he wasn’t mocking her or teasing her about her reaction to his attention. She let her gaze trail down his body and saw that, on the contrary, the bulge in his underwear indicated that he’d rather enjoyed having that effect on her. The thought made her quiver like some female protagonist in a smutty romance novel. He was hard after making her orgasm, and as his hand drifted down to cup himself lightly, she thought she might die if he didn’t start fucking her in the next ten seconds.

He smirked at her, as if he could read her thoughts. Asshole, she thought, and his smile widened, but before she could shove him off the bed he moved off of it so he could take his underwear off. He didn’t make a production of it, just slid it down and climbed back onto the bed unselfconsciously. Not that he had anything to be self-conscious about, looking the way he did. She called him an asshole in her head again, just for good measure.

He plucked a condom out of his smaller bag and unwrapped it, tucking the packet back inside the bag and setting it aside. She leaned up on her elbows so she could watch him roll it on, just as unabashed to watch as he was to have her watch him as he did. She’d only ever seen one other man naked in person, and if she was going to have sex with him she at least wanted to look first, dammit. Thankfully he seemed to enjoy the attention, stroking himself a few times under her gaze, and when she looked back at his face he once more pressed between her legs, this time lining his hips up with hers, placing his hands on either side of her.

He lowered himself down, the heat of his skin radiating into hers as he made contact up her body, the hard planes of his chest pressing into hers as he settled on top of her. It felt perfectly natural to turn her face up towards his, wanting to taste his lips and feel his tongue slide against hers, but he deftly ducked around to let his lips graze her neck. Then she remembered herself and felt stupid for immediately ignoring one of the very few rules he had. The only personal rule he had that wasn’t dictated by the agency he worked for. She turned her head away, chastising herself for her carelessness.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Everyone gets carried away, sometimes.”

Vegeta shifted and the head of his cock grazed her overly sensitive clit, and she sucked in a sharp breath. He moved, pressing against her again, and the overstimulation made her want to shove him off of her. It was deliciously painful, and she shivered from the sensation of it, which only encouraged him to keep doing it, rocking against her and creating a gentle friction that made her want to tear off her skin and scream even as she rocked her hips to meet his. When was the last time she’d been tortured this way? It had been too long.

She let her head fall back against the pillow and he nibbled his way down her neck, still just lightly thrusting against her enough to drive her insane. He made his way down her collarbone and chest, licking and kissing her skin, until he captured one nipple in his mouth and laved it with his tongue. She cried out, and he sucked it between his lips, eyes meeting hers as she squirmed beneath him.

It was all too much. The overstimulation, the teasing, the intensity of his gaze as he watched her while keeping her from what she frantically wanted. The sheer need to feel him inside of her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so desperate for something in her whole life as she was right at that moment, but she was loathe to stop him from this sweet torture as his fingers worked her other nipple, squeezing and pinching in a way that normally she probably would have disliked if it weren’t for how completely far past comfort she was in the first place. There was a twisted pleasure in the way it hurt that she’d never experienced before.

Bulma suddenly realized that she was panting, and sweat was pouring off her body. How could she be so riled up just from this kind of touching? It didn’t make any sense to her, but she’d never tried pushing past her limit like this. Normally once she’d had an orgasm most of the excitement was over for her, but not this time, it seemed. Her hips bucked under the constant stimulation and something between a whine and a moan escaped her throat. She couldn’t tell if she wanted him to stop or if she’d die if he did.

He laughed softly and she would have strongly considered punching him if any of her muscles worked. Instead, she just clung weakly to him, and he decided to show her mercy and eased up his relentless campaign to completely overload all of her nerves. His hips stilled, and she sagged back against the mattress in relief, gasping for air. He gave her a moment of respite, leaning up to watch her as her chest heaved.

“Your ex really is a fucking moron.” He sounded stunned. She looked up at him inquisitively. “He just…never tried, did he?”

“What?” She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He gestured at her with one hand. “It’s like you’ve never had your pleasure considered like this before.”

That shy, awkward feeling was creeping back in again, and she looked away. “It’s not like he never got me off. He was…considerate enough.”

He snorted. “I think we have differing definitions of considerate. He should have made you scream every time he was fortunate enough to get a taste of you.”

Heat rushed to her face in a rush of shame and desire, embarrassment and pride. It seemed he hadn’t ended his crusade to overwhelm her – he’d merely changed tactics. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes to judge his sincerity and she only saw open appreciation and hunger. He wasn’t mocking her inexperience; he was simply shocked at how she’d been treated.

She moved her hips against him so that she could wrap her legs around his waist, and he seemed to understand what she wanted perfectly. He reached down and carefully aligned himself against her, glancing back up at her for confirmation before going any farther. She nodded, and he pressed into her slowly, rocking his hips as he went to ease the way, watching her as her eyes fluttered closed.

Some part of her felt like it should feel intrusive, or strange. She didn’t know this man, and the only other person she’d ever been intimate with she’d known for half of her life. When they’d been together sex was like sharing halves of the same body, most of the time, or at least it had to her. It had made her feel complete, in a way. She had worried that the lack of emotional connection would somehow make it uncomfortable, but instead it just felt…really good.

It didn’t feel like an intrusion at all. The hard press of him inside her was welcome, making the warmth in her congeal into spikes of heat. She squeezed him with her legs, encouraging him, suddenly lacking any patience or hesitation. He’d teased her too long, let the need build in her to a dizzying height, and now she was half-mad with the idea of having him inside her. He is really, really good at this.

He responded to her encouragement with enthusiasm. He pressed deeper, thrusting until their hips met. He bowed his head, hiding his face in the crook of her neck as they both paused for a moment, breathing together. She felt him swallow, and she shifted her hips against him, wrapping her legs even tighter around him, and he lifted his head to look her in the eye again, and began to move his hips slowly.

Her breath caught. His dark eyes were so focused on hers that she couldn’t see anything else. She felt lost in those depths, her mind unable to focus on anything except the darkness there and the sensation of his cock thrusting inside of her. It was slow and gentle, and she felt every movement, the delicious friction as he carefully withdrew and thrust again, all the while watching her intently.

It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She’d had sex plenty of times, but this was somehow wildly different. They didn’t have the emotional connection of a long relationship, but something about it felt right all the same. Maybe it was all of the focused attention, maybe it was the circumstances of how much she’d wanted this and the thrill of what she was doing, or maybe it was his wealth of experience, but she was already on edge and the way he was looking at her only pushed her farther as he moved slowly in and out of her.

He reached up with one hand and brushed his fingers over one cheekbone before cupping her face with his hand. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers until she couldn’t look at him properly anymore because he was too close to see. She closed her eyes as their breath mingled together, willing herself not to lean up and kiss him, just focusing on the sensation as he thrust harder into her, but just as slowly.

It was agony. Part of her wanted him to speed up, to take her breath away in a wild panic, but the slow pace was hypnotic and drew a bow across already-taut nerves. It was almost like a continuation from the torture before, with an added layer of pleasure from the feeling of him inside of her. She clenched around him as that pleasantly painful feeling drew even tighter, and she heard him suck in a breath before breathing out slowly, never breaking his rhythm.

Her fingernails were digging into his back, feeling his muscles moving under his skin as his body worked. His hand moved back into her hair, and he buried his head in her neck again, pulling her against him as his body slid against hers. The white-hot coil inside of her wound tighter, and she found that she was whimpering again, not quite begging with words, because she couldn’t manage to form any.

She realized he was saying something, and she tried to focus on his words.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth next to her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine, the sensation of his breath tickling her ear and the praise for her body even as he was inside of her, surrounding her, grounding her in a moment where she was starting to feel untethered from reality. A spasm wracked through her body and she clamped down on him again. “Damn, woman. You’re making this very difficult.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “Sorry,” she breathed. “C-can’t help it.”

“You wouldn’t stop even if you could,” he said. She could hear the smirk. He wasn’t wrong, but before she could chastise him properly he thrust into her again and that coil inside of her exploded into shrapnel.

She couldn’t remember how to breathe as stars exploded behind her closed eyes. Waves of spasms rippled across her body as she clenched around him, fingers and legs and cunt squeezing for all she was worth, gripping him and refusing to let go as her hips rolled against his. The air escaped her lungs in a keening wail and she tried as hard as she could to hold on to her very concept of self. She unraveled, unmade at her deepest level into her fundamental pieces. She fell apart.

He kept moving, thrusting against her a little harder, a little faster. He was swearing now, grunting out something that charitably couldn’t really be described as words as she shook and her fingernails dug into his back. The rhythm of his hips became disjointed, the force of his thrusts greater, until he finally snapped his hips against her and held, muttering a curse as he came, his hand tightening in her hair as he thrust twice more before he finally halted, his body heavy against hers.

They lay there, covered in sweat as she felt it run off of her in rivulets. It slowly evaporated, cooling the temperature of her skin as her hands and legs relaxed, and eventually he did, too. Their harsh panting resolved into slow, deep breaths as she reveled in the soft bliss of the moment. The quiet of the room, disturbed only by their breathing, sank into her bones and she felt like she was immersed in a pleasant, warm light made entirely of endorphins.

It felt like a long time before he moved, untangling his fingers from her hair and pushing himself up on his palms. His face was flushed the way she knew hers must be. He glanced down as he pulled his hips back, easing out of her and reaching down with one hand to hold the condom in place as he withdrew. He moved off the bed and stood up, walking into the palatial bathroom and leaving her alone in bed, the air rapidly cooling the rest of the sweat on her skin. She shivered with the chill that rolled over her, and she turned on her side and pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

After a couple of minutes he reappeared, having disposed of the condom, and holding two damp washcloths. He offered her one and sat on the edge of the bed to clean himself with the other one. She took it gratefully, wondering briefly why he hadn’t just cleaned up in the bathroom while he was in there.

It’s so I don’t feel awkward cleaning up by myself, she realized. He’d thought ahead and knew that she’d be less uncomfortable cleaning up if he wasn’t watching her and was doing the same thing. It was clever, and thoughtful. He really had this whole thing down to a science, which felt both comforting and not.

When they were both cleaned up he took both washcloths back to the bathroom, then came back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“We can take a shower if you’d like. Or you can, and I can go. It’s also fine if you just want to get some sleep or even make a whole night of it. My time is yours.”

That last one was tempting, but she knew she’d be both sore and exhausted if she picked that one. She sat up and the sheet fell down to her waist. She felt inexplicably like she should cover herself, but she resisted the urge.

“What do you prefer? After? Do you like a shower or sleep? Or would you rather go back and sleep in your own bed?” His eyebrows rose in surprise before he schooled his features. “What? Is that rude to ask?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not rude. It’s unusual, perhaps, but not rude. I like feeling clean, personally.” He let his eyes drift downwards and smiled salaciously. “And I’d be a fool to turn down a shower with a beauty like you.”

She knew it was just mindless flattery. He was, quite literally, being paid to make her feel good, to suit her whims and do whatever she wanted. It still felt nice to be complimented, and the expression on his face didn’t leave the sentiment feeling hollow. Maybe he was a great actor, but something told her that he really did mean it. They seemed to have great chemistry, and that was harder to fake for someone as sharp as she was. Maybe most people in her position told themselves those sorts of things, but she at least had the advantage of being confident in her appearance. It never hurt to be reminded, though.

She pulled back the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed, sliding down to the floor even though she had to brush up against him to do so. She stood up and stretched. “Give me two minutes and I’ll get the water going.”

After using the bathroom she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and turned the shower on. A moment later he knocked on the door and she let him in. They both got into the shower quietly, taking turns rinsing off, and she lathered up a washcloth and gestured for him to turn around. She saw the briefest surprise on his face before he turned, and she set to work scrubbing his back.

What kind of women does he usually see? she wondered to herself. Undoubtedly his clientele had to be mostly wealthy women, based on the small fortune she’d paid to his agency for his services for an evening. It was nothing to her, but she supposed that a lot of women in her financial position might view someone paid for a service as less than a person, which was horrifying to contemplate. Surely he was capable of saying no to anything he was uncomfortable with, but the thought of him being surprised that she asked him what he wanted, or offered to wash his back was…disheartening.

She was under no illusions that Vegeta was some poor, helpless waif. She ran the soapy washcloth over his back, noting that his skin was mostly smooth except for a few scars and the red marks she’d left a few minutes ago. She ran her free hand over his back as well, ostensibly as part of her scrubbing, but mostly to marvel at the impressive amount of muscle there. He was around her height, but she was certain he could hold his own in a fight and had nothing to fear from rich widows who wanted a tumble in the sheets.

The thought made her giggle, and he glanced over his shoulder at her curiously. She shook her head and offered him the washcloth so he could finish cleaning himself. He took it, and started working it down his arm, his face impassive as he did.

“Do you like what you do?” She hadn’t meant to speak, but the thought had bubbled up out of her unbidden.

He looked at her and seemed to think about his answer for a moment. “Usually. It’s not all attractive young heiresses.” He smirked, and it made her laugh. “But it’s not too bad, getting paid to make people happy.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she mused. “That sounds kind of nice, actually. Although I bet the customer service is way worse than most public-facing jobs.”

He was running the washcloth over his chest and abs now, which was very distracting. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t seem to have a lot of unsatisfied clients.” His stare was unwavering as he ran the washcloth lower.

“I’d believe that.” She let her eyes follow his hand as he cleaned himself more thoroughly than he probably needed to. She resisted the urge to step in and help, knowing that would only lead to them getting sweaty all over again, and she doubted he had brought another condom into the bathroom with him. Something for next time, perhaps. She turned into the water, enjoying the feeling of the hot water hitting her skin and trailing down her body, breathing in the steam and letting it fill her lungs. “Do you have a lot of repeat customers?”

“Sometimes. Mostly older women who are lonely. Or sometimes when someone needs arm candy for an event.”

She wanted to laugh, but it made sense. He had cut a nice figure in his suit, and he seemed to have more manners than the average ape she’d met at various fundraisers. She wondered if they’d ever crossed paths in the past.

“Do you like that? Do you like seeing the same person again?” She closed her eyes. Even though she had her back to him, it felt like it was shielding her from his scrutiny.

“Sometimes. Depends on the person.”

After a moment, she felt the washcloth, freshly lathered, run across her shoulders. She leaned forward, enjoying the feeling of his hands running over her body in an echo of the massage he’d given her earlier. The washcloth slipped over her back, and when he was finished, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around so that he could run the washcloth over her chest and stomach, her back and ass pressed against him in a slippery mess with all the soap. It was oddly pleasant.

He took care with running the washcloth over her breasts, only squeezing a couple times more than necessary. When he eased it between her legs he was very gentle, careful not to get too adventurous with the washcloth, which she was grateful for. He knelt down behind her and ran the washcloth down her legs and feet, making sure to squeeze her ass a few times as he went. It was like he was teasing, but only incidentally to the actual task at hand, like he didn’t want her to think her ass wasn’t worth a good squeeze if he was in the area anyways.

When he was finished they rinsed off, dried off, and he led her back to bed. He climbed in first, scooting away from where their sweat had soaked the sheets, and he pulled her back against his chest and settled his arms around her. It was both intimate and impersonal, not facing each other, but still laying, entwined and naked. She fell asleep almost instantly.

~~~

Bulma woke to an empty bed, and she spied immediately that his clothes and his bag were gone. There was a note on the nightstand with her name on it in precise handwriting. She scooted over and picked it up, flipping it open.

I enjoyed our night together. I wouldn’t mind another one.

~V

She smiled to herself. She didn’t think she’d mind another evening with him, either.

Chapter Text

Bulma didn’t see him for a week. She struggled the day after she’d woken up alone, feeling like she was meant to call or text him, but that wasn’t how it worked. Part of her felt like she was ignoring him, but she wasn’t even meant to talk to him directly. She had to go through the agency if she wanted to set up another “date”, and it wasn’t like she owed him attention. It was a business transaction, for all that she had enjoyed it. The problem was how much she’d enjoyed it, and how much her thoughts were straying back to their encounter in the days that followed.

She forced herself to wait for three more days before arranging their next evening together, just to prove to herself that she could. She certainly wasn’t worried about spending all her money on his attention, since even at the agency’s prices it was just a drop in the bucket for her. But she needed to stay grounded, remind herself that this wasn’t emotional. It was about filling her own physical needs, about regaining her confidence so she could get back out there and start dating. Nothing more. Although certainly nothing less, either. A woman has needs.

And so, four days after their liaison, she called the agency and scheduled another evening with Vegeta. She requested him specifically, and the person she spoke with seemed surprised. He hadn’t been downplaying how infrequently he was requested multiple times by the same person. She found that odd – he’d seemed charming to her, if a little rough around the edges at times. But she didn’t mind it at all.

She thought about that for a while after her call. Vegeta had joked with her, poked fun at her, teased her. She’d found it infuriating on some level, but it had also been nice to talk to someone who pushed back against her and could actually stand toe-to-toe with her in a given conversation. She enjoyed being challenged, generally speaking, and someone who could hold his own against her was something she had missed from a partner. Or from anyone she interacted with, really.

He was no doormat, even when she was paying him to please her. It made his compliments somehow not like simpering garbage. He could have just kept his head down and told her whatever she’d wanted to hear all night, but him serving her own sass back to her made his attentions seem that much more real and genuine. It was exciting and fun, and she was absolutely looking forward to doing it again. It was nice to feel like she could have an intelligent conversation with someone that wouldn’t devolve into an argument about semantics or work or have them just smile and nod. Dealing with all of the pandering and kowtowing that she put up with regularly was exhausting.

She thought about the kind of women who might pay for an evening with a man like him. Rich women who needed him for an event so they weren’t unescorted, women who were lonely, women who had money but needed a thrill in their lives. Many of those kinds of women weren’t likely to appreciate having someone work for them who would give back some attitude rather than simply fulfill their wishes before they even asked. Those kinds of people wanted automatons, robots to totter around and look pretty and not think for themselves.

Was that why he’d left her that note? She still had it tucked away in her work bag, as ridiculous as that felt. As though she was some school girl who’d gotten a note slipped into her locker by a boy she liked. There was something to it that felt dangerous, the kind of risky behavior that might get her into serious trouble. Not that she’d ever been the kind of girl to shy away from trouble, but this kind of trouble had more heart-rending consequences. Still, she’d have to be careful to not let herself be too vulnerable to that particular kind of heartache.

A few days later found her back in the same penthouse suite, this time dressed in a clingy dark blue dress that still managed to be the right side of elegant despite showing significantly more skin than the last one had. Her hair was still artfully pinned, her makeup carefully placed, but she wasn’t too worried about showing off more cleavage and back, and her gown had a slit up one thigh. Last time had been more conservative, but this time she was dressed to kill.

The same precise knock came, three solid taps, and she answered the door with significantly less nervousness than she had previously. She felt much more confident and in control this time, having grown more comfortable with the idea. Now she had experience, both with a casual sexual encounter and with him in general. She knew what to expect, and she was ready for anything he could throw at her. This time she would have the upper hand instead of feeling foolish.

Or at least, those were nice, almost-convincing lies that she told herself before swinging the door open. This time he was in a black suit, but she was also very aware of what those well-tailored lines were hiding, and when he smiled at her she felt her mouth go dry. He offered her a single flower – a pink peony, and she took it on reflex, looking down at it in surprise. She couldn’t remember offhand the last time someone had just given her a flower. Sure, she got deliveries of them, but this felt personal. It was nice.

“Oh!” She looked down at the flower stupidly, cursing her inability to be as suave as she had felt a few moments earlier. Why the hell are you nervous again? He’s already seen you naked for fuck’s sake. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, and the sound made her stomach flutter. “You’re welcome.” She looked up at him, and his eyes were wandering down her body. “You look…is it unprofessional to say delectable?” He glanced back up at her face, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something else she couldn’t name. His grin was practically predatory, and it sent a shiver of warmth through her body. Curse the man for being here for two minutes and already managing to affect her this way.

“On the contrary. For you, I’d say it’s very professional.” She stepped back and let him into the suite, closing the door behind him. She breathed in the sweet smell of the peony he’d handed her, smiling to herself after he’d walked past. It was such a lovely touch.

The room had been set up with a relatively small dining table, set with an array of dishes covered with shining metal cloches. Tall, tapered candles were sprinkled throughout, already lit and providing the scene with a romantic glow in addition to the merrily-burning fireplace. Two places had been set just so, with wine glasses and a bottle of her favorite red wine already uncorked and breathing on the table.

He glanced at the pre-set table and then at her. “I assume we’re staying in tonight?”

She walked over to the kitchen, her heels clicking on the marble tile as she went. “You assume correctly.” She opened a few cabinets until she came across a suitable cup that would hold her flower well enough for now. She filled the glass with water and set the peony in it carefully, giving it one last sniff before she turned to face him again.

“Fair enough.” He glanced down at his black valise. “I’ll go ahead and put this in the other room, then.” He ducked into the bedroom and she found herself wondering again what was inside of it. Sex toys for certain, she’d decided. Probably a change of clothes. Maybe tonight she would get to find out.

“From our previous conversation I sort of got the impression that you don’t always appreciate a public spectacle,” she called after him. “So, I thought we’d stay in this evening. Have a quiet dinner in private.”

He looked at her oddly as he returned from the other room, his expression reserved but curious. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the way you talked about being arm candy. Like you don’t appreciate being paraded around for show. It made me think that you’re not as fond of public displays.”

His expression was calculating. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. It was fascinating to watch, and she briefly wondered if she looked like that to other people. “It’s not that, exactly. I do the job I’m paid to do, even if that’s to attend functions with clients.”

She gave him a wry, knowing smile. “Meaning you’ll do it for me if that’s what I want, but you actually kind of hate it?”

He shook his head, but not exactly in disagreement with her statement, more in disbelief. “I forgot that you’re so…”

“Shrewd?” she asked. “Tactless?”

He was clearly trying not to smile. “Perceptive, is the word I would have chosen.”

“Ah yes,” she agreed. “Because you’re very professional.” He grinned at her. “Still, I’ll try not to drag you to a bunch of events like that. I can’t promise to never do it, but I don’t really like to do a lot of it myself, these days. It’s just too “dog and pony show” for me.”

“I’ll be the dog if you prefer to be the pony,” he quipped, and she laughed at that.

She gestured towards the table. “Come on. We should eat while the hot things are still hot and the cold things are still cold.”

They moved towards the table, and he stepped forward to pull her chair out for her. She shot him a fierce glare that let him know that she was only allowing it this one time. He practically choked on laughter as he pushed her chair in. He started pulling cloches off of dishes and took them to the kitchen to get them out of the way. She carefully arranged food and poured each of them a glass of wine. After he got seated, they dug in.

She watched him as they ate, observing his meticulous cuts of food and small, polite bites. It seemed so weirdly formal and out of place. She could almost see him at a state dinner, blending into the background so as not to offend anyone. It made her uncomfortable.

“You know you can tell me if you don’t want to do something.” His gaze flicked up to meet hers, an eyebrow raising curiously. “You’re allowed to have a personality.”

He snorted. “You really are new at this.”

She blinked, caught between amusement and indignation. “Hey! I was trying to be nice.”

“You say nice, I say ignorant.” He sipped his wine with a cool expression.

“At least you’re taking me at my word,” she said wryly. He clearly needed very little prompting.

He shrugged. “I’m just saying that you should be careful what you wish for.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, I think I have a good idea already.”

“You say that,” he said flatly, “but you don’t really know me. You only know what you’ve seen so far.” He gestured at himself, his suit, and the table laden with the trimmings of a nice meal. He was clearly implying that beneath it all he was dark and mysterious, but she wasn’t fooled.

“I’ve seen more than you realize, I think.”

“Oh?” He smiled warmly at her, and she could see the edges around it. They weren’t easy to spot, but she could see them all the same. If anything, she was reassured by them. She’d been around the block a few times, and she’d met all types. She wasn’t some naïve twenty-year-old who’d never been off the apron strings. Just because she’d only had one partner didn’t mean she lacked wisdom in other parts of her life. She knew how to tell the rotten apples from the good.

“You’ve got to watch out for the smart ones.” She winked at him, and his insincere smile faded into something more like thoughtfulness.

“Still. It’s my job to put people at ease. Generally, that means going along with the things they want and agreeing with them. Most people want to be reassured that they’re right. They don’t want someone second-guessing them or making them doubt themselves. People generally run with a crowd that will tell them the things they want to hear.”

“Maybe that’s true for most people. I have to deal with fake people all day. I don’t need you to pay you to kiss my ass, too. I can find that anywhere I go with ease.” She gave him a level look.

“So, you don’t want to be praised for your beauty and intelligence?” he asked, slyly.

“Oh, you can say as many true things as you want.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled.

“Noted. Maybe I’ll carry a mirror with me just in case you need reassurance. I can hold it up any time you need to double check how attractive you are.”

“Very funny.” She fiddled with her fork. “I’m serious, though. If you don’t like something or don’t want to do something, I’d rather you tell me. I don’t like the thought of…compelling someone to do something with money, like that.” He looked at her with a flat expression and her stomach lurched, dropping out suddenly. “Oh shit, are you…don’t tell me that you’re not doing this willingly.”

His flat expression curved up into a smirk and he shook his head. “It’s almost too easy with you.” She stared at him as he put another bite in his mouth and chewed. “I thought you were so good at reading me already, when you’ve only met me the one time. You’re just so good at reading people, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, well, I know you enough to know that you’re kind of an asshole,” she said, rolling her eyes.

This time his smile seemed genuine. “Maybe you do know me better than I realized.” He took another bite and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

She sighed. “Clearly your personality shines through in spite of your phenomenal acting skills. Maybe you need to take some classes or something.”

He raised a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell you if you’re asking me to do something I don’t want to do.”

“Good. And I’ll try not to drag you to a bunch of fancy receptions, or back you into corners about your drama background.” She finished the last bite of her entrée and sat back. “So, what’s something you actually like to do?”

He shrugged, setting his fork down. “I spend a lot of time at the gym.”

She eyed him, remembering keenly the physique hidden by his suit coat and she smiled. “I’ll bet you do.” She saw his eyes flick downwards at his plate and she frowned. “You don’t have to be done eating just because I am. Seriously, are your other clients really this shitty?”

“You have no idea,” he grumbled, picking up his fork again. “Rich people are the worst.” He froze, his eyes darting up to hers, and it made her laugh as she waved off his concern.

“It’s fine, I asked. And I meant it when I said that you can be honest with me.”

He relaxed slightly. “Like I said last time, a surprising number of women just want to feel heard, which is fine. Those ones aren’t so bad, because they actually see me as a person with thoughts and emotions of my very own. But others…” He trailed off, taking another bite.

“I get it. I have to interact with a lot of those kinds of people. I strive not to ever be one.”

He gave an appreciative grunt. It wasn’t exactly reassurance, but she decided she’d take it. She watched him eat for a little longer, reflecting on the calorie intake it must take to keep up the kind of physique he had. He must be so hungry all the time when he was surrounded by women who probably took him to parties where the only things he had to eat floated by in single bites on lofty trays. She pushed one of the side dishes towards him and got up to start collecting empty dishes. When he started to stand to help she glared at him until he sat down, giving her a disgruntled look, but he kept eating until he’d cleaned out the side dishes and she’d piled the plates in the sink.

They found themselves curled up on the couch again, watching artificial flames dance in a fireplace behind glass. Well, the flames aren’t artificial, she thought. They were very much real, just fed by gas and licking up artificial logs to give the impression of a bright, cheery fire that wouldn’t go out until someone cut the access by flipping a switch. It managed to provide just enough warmth that the room wouldn’t get uncomfortably hot while it was running, but it still let cozy to sit in front of it.

“We’re such a strange species,” she said aloud, and he turned towards her. She gestured at the fireplace. “We worked for so long to become civilized and more than the animals we lived amongst, only to take comfort in the same basic things that soothed us when we lived in the wild, projecting stars on our ceilings, making pretend fireplaces in our homes.”

“Don’t forget paying for sex with strangers.”

Perhaps it was meant to be bitter commentary, but it made her laugh, and she saw the corner of his mouth turn up. “You’re not wrong, there. We’re simple creatures, after all, and we love our physical comforts.” She leaned back into the sofa and watched the fire a few moments longer. “Do you joke with your clients about this kind of thing a lot?”

“No.” Now that did sound bitter. “Generally speaking, I never bring it up, and neither do they. I think they prefer the fantasy that it’s a regular date. The ones who don’t treat me like furniture, anyways.” He glanced sideways at her. “Most people don’t ask me many questions about the job. It’s like they’d rather not have the reminder.”

“Hm,” she said, thoughtful. “You know, last time you said you didn’t mind your job. Most of the time, anyways. If I’m being honest though, it sounds kind of miserable.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. It’s pretty rare for someone to actually be abusive or something, and if they are I can just leave. I get to be my own boss and make decisions, and most of the women I interact with are just lost, and sad. I get to brighten their day, remind them that they are human. It’s nice to give people that kind of agency.” He leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the couch, not looking at her.

She frowned. “But it sounds like some of them treat you like you’re subhuman. That’s not right.”

“It makes them feel like they’re in control when they get to push someone around.” He shrugged. “Even if they’re not thinking about it when they’re bossing me around, it’s not like they can force me to do something. I know that I can say no, and that’s what matters.”

“But you don’t.” He looked at her, his expression flat. “You were basically telling me earlier that you do things you don’t want to all the time. You stop eating when they do so they don’t feel weird, you tell people what they want to hear. You go to functions that you don’t want to attend and play the consummate date in public all the time.”

He shrugged again. “You’re making this deeper than it is. Sure, I do things I don’t want, but it’s because I choose to. It’s not really any different than doing anything at a job that you don’t particularly want to do, or making compromises in a relationship.”

“Except you’re paid to make people happy,” she mused, and he nodded. “Are you? In a relationship, I mean?”

“Do you think I’d tell you if I was?” That smirk. She simultaneously loved and hated that smirk. At least it felt real and honest. He shook his head. “Not a lot of people willing to have a partner who’s leaving the house every night to sleep with other people.”

“That must be lonely.” Every night? She wondered if that was an exaggeration, or perhaps a turn of phrase.

He sighed. “Not really. I’m surrounded by people all the time.”

“There’s a difference. I’m surrounded by people all the time, but none of them actually know me.”

He looked at her, and she realized how bitter she’d sounded. She remembered him saying how most of his clients were lonely, and she felt her face warm as she looked away. She felt like she was lying to herself, trying to convince herself that she was any different from the other women he saw, but she wasn’t. She was another job, another number. She was okay with it on a physical level, but at the same time it made her feel pathetic. Maybe it was time to start dating again.

“I pity them,” he said softly.

She blinked at that. “What?”

“The people who spend time with you and don’t know you. They’re missing out.”

He ran the fingers of one hand up her arm, and she leaned into the touch. She knew it wasn’t real, knew he was just doing his job and reassuring her, making her feel appreciated and special. His touch was so warm and comforting, and she was so starved for it that she didn’t care. She was drowning in the contradiction of not wanting him to fake sincerity one minute and just desperately needing his praise and attention the next, and she was struggling to separate those things and keep track of the narrative.

This is dangerous, her mind whispered.

I don’t care, she thought back.

She stood and led him to the bedroom.

~~~

Her clothes were in a rumpled heap on the floor. His were folded neatly, set carefully on the same chair as last time. She was an utter mess, sweating and swearing and fists gripping the sheet tightly as she twisted. He was calm, measured, and absolutely ruthless. He watched her intently as she fell apart, and she felt a little like pushing him off the bed for how cool and collected he looked the whole time.

He eased two fingers out of her, his smile almost cruel in its delight. She was starting to realize that it was a point of pride for him, this ability he had to make her come in such a short time. It wasn’t exactly that he was trying to get it over with quickly like some kind of undesirable chore, but more that he enjoyed the sort of power it gave him over her. It was an accomplishment to him, another trophy he could put up on a shelf and remember fondly.

Looking up at him from the twisted nest of bedding she’d made at his hands, she understood when he said he didn’t mind his job most of the time. It must be a heady thing to make someone feel the way he did for her, holding their pleasure in the palm of his hand. Or his fingers, as it were. He clearly enjoyed the feeling, since he was just as hard as he had been the time before. She wasn’t sure if that was a him thing or if it was specific to her, but he got satisfaction from getting her off and that was wildly hot.

“Fucking fuck,” she breathed, her hips falling back to the bed as he sat back and looked at her with that sense of smug satisfaction.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asked, his tone far too cocky for her liking.

“No, but if you keep sassing me I’ll kiss your father with it.” She grinned at the mix of emotions that crossed his face; chief among them was outrage.

“What?” he managed to choke out indignantly, and she chuckled.

“Yeah, you don’t want to play that game with me. I learned really quickly that the easiest way to shut down a guy who’s too sure of himself is to threaten to fuck his dad. It works like ninety-five percent of the time.” She sat up, leaning up on her palms and watching him with amusement.

“You have such a foul mouth,” he grumbled, reaching into his small bag to pull out a condom.

“It’s part of my charm. It makes me irresistible to men with daddy issues.” She bit her bottom lip and smiled seductively as she waggled her eyebrows at him.

He glared at her as he rolled the condom on. “Can we please not talk about my father while I’ve got my dick in my hand? It’s not exactly setting the right mood.”

“I mean I can call your dad if you need adv-augh!” She cut off mid-sentence as he lunged at her and she dove to the side, laughing as she tried to escape his grasp. She was no match for him since she’d been on her back and he easily caught her around the waist with one arm, dragging her back towards him as she giggled madly.

Her giggles subsided as he pulled her body against his, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tightly. Bulma groaned softly at the sensation of so much of his skin brushing against hers, all hard angles pressed into her soft flesh. One of his hands fell to her hip and he ground his cock against her ass while the other hand snuck up to fondle one of her breasts. She had no breath left to laugh as his lips found her neck, sucking at the skin there.

How quickly we’ve moved from teasing to a very different kind of teasing, she thought wryly. She wasn’t exactly sure if he was trying to shut her up about a sensitive subject or if he was excited about the way she fought back when he’d teased her. Either way, she was all too happy to enjoy it, and she leaned into his attention with excited anticipation.

The hand on her hip released her and he leaned away from her for a moment, leaving her skin feeling cold. One of his legs nudged between hers, urging them apart, and she obliged him, spreading her knees wide, and she leaned forward against his other hand, warmth already pooling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that whatever he was planning, it would leave her breathless.

After a moment she felt him nudge against her, the hardness of his cock brushing against her cunt and setting off every nerve in her body. She arched back into him, and although the angle wasn’t the easiest he managed to press into her. She sighed, bending forward a little more and shifting her weight back towards him in order to take more of him in. When their hips met, he placed his hand on her hip again, pulling her even tighter, and pushing her into a more upright position.

It was sort of an awkward position in that he couldn’t get quite as deep, but when he pulled back and gently thrust forward her breath caught in her throat. He held her tight, rolling his hips against hers, and something in the way he was moving inside of her made her tremble. He’d found the perfect angle where he was able to hit her just right and make her see stars. It probably helped that she was still so sensitive, but still.

How the hell is he so good at this? she wondered as her breath was already coming in sharp pants. Of course, she already knew the answer to that, although she didn’t want to think about it too much. His words about women wanting to live their fantasies drifted back to her, and she realized she wasn’t all that different from the rest of them. It shouldn’t matter where he’d learned his tricks or how many women he’d learned them with. If anything, she should be pleased with the sum of his knowledge as it was currently making her toes curl and her back arch, her head tipping backward, lips parted as he moved and thrusted inside of her.

She cried out softly as his pace increased, his mouth working along her neck. He moved his arm so that he could press his palm against her chest, holding her steady so that he could get better leverage and move faster, the fingers of his other hand tightening on her hip. Pleasure, white-hot and nearly overwhelming, was already coiling inside of her. It didn’t even seem possible how quickly he could do this. It took ages for her to come from fucking alone with her ex if he even could last long enough to get her there, but Vegeta seemed to have it figured out.

She wanted to be angry at how well he already seemed to know her body, how he could just find every button and press them with such ease. It wasn’t fair, like he had the cheat codes to a game she was only just getting the guidebook for. But she couldn’t yell at him, she could only whimper pathetically and try to hold onto his arm, trying to withstand the force of him. It was like trying to resist a riptide. She could stand as bravely as she liked, but being swept away was inevitable.

She came hard and fast, her body trying to twist out of his grasp as she shuddered, clamping down on him with a loud, wordless cry. Despite how her body tried to fight, hips bucking and muscles writhing, his arms wrapped around her securely. She was held fast, somehow contained as she fell to pieces in his protective embrace. He grounded and centered her even as he drove her closer to madness with every thrust.

He was breathing hard, despite the fact that it had only been a few minutes, his breath hot against the side of her face. He was tantalizingly close, driven to it just as she had been. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he could let go, but she couldn’t find her voice. She grasped his hand with her own and squeezed with all of her strength before it left her completely.

His fingers squeezed back as his hips stuttered against hers, slamming into her a final time. He groaned quietly, his fingers spasming where they held her, and he withdrew and thrust into her one last time, more gently than before. He held her for just a moment as they both tried to find their breath again, and then he slipped out of her and they both crashed sideways onto the bed, gasping.

They lay that way for a couple of minutes, sprawled on their sides and working to recover their breathing. His hand was on top of her hip, his fingers moving back and forth across her skin. She was fighting not to fall asleep when he finally sat up, rolling over and slipping out of bed and padding off towards the bathroom. She drowsed, waking when he ran a hand over her leg and offered her a warm, damp washcloth.

They both cleaned up, and she offered a hand out for his when she swung her legs over to stand up from the bed. He handed it to her without comment, and she made her own way to the bathroom. She started the shower and tied her hair up in a bun, and after a moment he tapped on the door as he had the last time. She opened the door to let him in, and they got into the shower together. He seemed more reserved for some reason.

“Is everything okay?” She started working lather into a washcloth and he looked up from her hands to meet her gaze. She couldn’t read the expression there.

“I…I’m not usually so…” he trailed off, seeming to grasp for the right words. It was enough that she realized what he was getting at and she grinned at him.

“What, feeling a little embarrassed at how fast you came?”

His face turned crimson and he sputtered out something that sounded like a cat had just been tossed into cold water. It was so peculiar, considering he’d just been inside of her that he would struggle with talking about it. He clearly wasn’t a prude, and part of his job definitely had to involve talking about sex, so maybe he just felt uncomfortable discussing what he saw as an inadequate performance. She could understand that to a degree – she’d felt embarrassed herself at how quickly he’d made her come every time.

She made a little twirling gesture with one finger as she held up the washcloth with the other hand. At least if he was facing the other way it might spare him some embarrassment at being observed while struggling with her perceived lack of performance. He turned around without hesitation, and she worked the washcloth over his back, scrubbing extra hard.

“It’s actually pretty flattering. I know there’s probably some kind of macho bullshit tied up in that kind of thing, and other women might enjoy being fucked for three hours after they’ve already come twice, but I’ve had a long day, and that was perfect.” She handed him the washcloth, and he gave her that unreadable look again as he began to run it down his arms. She got the impression that he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t have to.

“This doesn’t have to be the end of the night.” He sounded so resigned. It was like he’d disgraced himself in front of the class and knew he’d earn a stupid nickname for the rest of the school year and endless tormenting from bullies.

She leaned back into the spray of water, enjoying watching him soap himself up. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get tired of that sight, all of his muscles moving fluidly. It was like watching the most finely tuned machine move with purpose. He was certainly the pinnacle of evolutionary engineering, and she was determined to enjoy it no matter how petulant he was.

She shrugged. “I’m certainly not complaining. I had a good time, and now I want to finish a shower and get comfortable in bed. Is that so much to ask?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, but he seemed impervious to her charms. His jaw worked as he tried to find a way around her words.

“If that’s what you want.”

She smiled indulgently. “I’m feeling particularly selfish, so yes it’s what I want. Look, next time we’ll plan an all-night session and you can fuck me until neither of us can walk straight for a week, okay? Then you can defend your manly honor or whatever.”

His eyes met hers sharply. “Next time?”

She laughed. “I mean, yeah. Hell yeah. Unless you’re tired of me already?” He stood up with the washcloth, so she turned around, letting him have access to her back, and he worked the washcloth over her body gently. “I’m pretty sure you can fire clients, but I sure hope I haven’t annoyed you that much. I’ve been having a pretty good time with this.”

“Next time,” he mused quietly.

Her mouth curled into a warm smile where he couldn’t see it. He had been worried she wouldn’t want to see him again. It was kind of cute, but she didn’t say anything, just nodded as the washcloth worked across her tired muscles. If she said anything it would just embarrass him further. He grunted in agreement.

When she woke up the next morning, the note he’d left simply read:

Next time.

~V

She smiled to herself and tucked that note next to the first one. She couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

The day following their second night together, Bulma got a text from a number she didn’t recognize.

Unknown Number: I saw some flowers that made me think of you.

Attached was a picture showing a bouquet of daffodils. She stared at the picture for a minute, trying to think of what the hell this could possibly be and why someone would be sending her random flower pictures. Was this a new move that some slimeball was trying to pull to get her attention? It was certainly more welcome than a random dick popping up on her phone, but it was definitely a new one for her.

She looked at the flowers themselves, trying to think of who would think of her when looking at daffodils, of all flowers. They weren’t her favorite, and she couldn’t think of any significant events around them. They were an early spring flower, and it was currently fall. There weren’t any kind of holidays she could think of that involved them, and her birthday had been a couple of months ago.

She was on the verge of blocking the number and forgetting it when a couple of facts suddenly clicked for her and she looked at the flowers again. Of course. She rolled her eyes so hard she thought she might strain something.

Bulma: I bet you think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Narcissus flowers?

Unknown Number: I knew you’d get it. I’m glad my faith wasn’t misplaced.

Bulma: I thought I wasn’t supposed to be able to text you.

Unknown Number: You’re not. But I can text whoever I want.

Unknown Number: Although technically I could get in trouble for stealing your number, but only if you report me.

She added the number to her contacts, smiling to herself.

Bulma: Hmm I dunno, it’s very tempting

Vegeta: You wouldn’t

Bulma: That depends on whether or not you think I’m going to drown in my own reflection.

Vegeta: Jury’s still out.

Bulma: You’re such an ass.

Vegeta: Stating the obvious isn’t a good look for you.

She giggled. This was going to be fun. She didn’t think she’d get to talk to him at all outside of their evenings together. It could be fun to tease him, perhaps, but she was just interested in getting to learn more about him than whatever they talked about over dinner. She got the impression he wouldn’t text a lot in volume, so she’d try to make it count when she could.

It was also a great reminder to go ahead and set up their next meeting. She was trying to keep them a week apart, mostly for her own sanity. Any more seemed kind of desperate, even if desperate was exactly how she was feeling. Something about suddenly having access to amazing sex made her want it more often, oddly enough. Except it wasn’t as easy as coming home at the end of the day – it had to be carefully managed. And she didn’t want to get too used to it. Obsession would be so easy to slip into unawares, and she couldn’t let herself fall mindlessly into some kind of addiction.

She called and set it up for Thursday. That was almost a week, and if she scheduled a day off for Friday it was really just giving herself a little three-day weekend treat that was good for her mental health. She was being responsible and taking care of herself the way she kept saying she was going to. It was downright grown-up of her to take care of herself like this. She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling. She wondered how he would react if she ever booked him for a weekend. 48 hours of debauchery, just because she could. She’d have to take the following Monday off just to walk.

No, she thought. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Once a week, that’s it. Maybe for my birthday, or something. Damn that’s so far away. I wonder if he’s busy over the holidays.

Her phone chimed and she looked down at her messages, sighing heavily.

Vegeta: Eager, aren’t we?

Bulma: I just like having my week planned out and I was planning to take Friday off anyways. Don’t flatter yourself.

Vegeta: Sure thing. I’ll see you on Thursday, then.

She deleted multiple versions of, “I can’t wait” before settling on

Bulma: See you then.

It was fine. She had this under control.

~~~

They didn’t text as much as she might have hoped for throughout the week, but it was honestly more than she had expected. She realized that he rarely texted in the evenings, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. She was often busy during the day, so there was a small golden window at the end of her day and the beginning of his when they would chat a little, and she enjoyed it. He never got too deep in those conversations though, keeping the conversations surface level. He was surprisingly good at directing those conversations without revealing too much at any one time. But still, she worked her magic the best she could to try to draw him out and learn more over the time they had.

She was more than eager for Thursday to arrive, and when it finally did she was antsy all day through meetings and boring talks that she couldn’t give a shit about. She’d already arranged all of the details and all she could think about was her evening plans. No number of presentations or spreadsheets could compare to the way he made her feel and the things he did to her body. She skipped out of her last meeting entirely, leaving early to go home and get ready.

Today she had selected a red, slinky dress that covered her perfectly well but hugged all of her curves just so. It was one of her favorite dresses, one that she’d gotten for a special celebration for a bitch of a woman who had insinuated that she was a frumpy scientist one too many times in her hearing. It fit her like a glove, and she was pleased to see that it still gave her quite a flattering silhouette even though it had languished in the back of her closet for a couple of years. She knew it would have quite an effect on him.

She showed up to the hotel room early too, impatient and overeager. The waiting was agony, and she found herself pacing back and forth, her heels clicking on marble tiles and making sharp staccato notes as she moved. When the now-familiar triple knock came, she resisted the urge to run to the door. Instead, she smoothed the dress over her hips, strolled forward, and opened it with a sultry smile.

Whatever flattering or sarcastic line he had been planning to say (and she would have taken even odds between those two things) died on his lips when he saw her. He stared, and her smile broadened into a grin. She leaned against the door frame casually.

“See something you like?”

He blinked twice. “I wish I had some sort of smart comeback to that, but I seem to have forgotten how language works.” He pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a small bouquet of daffodils, offering them to her with a smirk, which made her laugh indignantly.

“You’re such a prick.”

He smiled. “Other women like to call it my boyish charm.”

“Other women clearly haven’t talked to you for more than five seconds.” She took the flowers and moved aside so he could enter the suite. “Thank you all the same.”

She walked to the kitchen and took a vase out of a cabinet that she’d selected just in case the flowers had started to become a habit. She filled it with water and placed the flowers in it, smiling at them before she turned to see Vegeta watching her more closely than usual. She looked at him openly, looking him up and down.

“Where did you even get daffodils this time of year?”

He gestured vaguely. “Florists. You know, they grow them. Or so I hear.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, like finding off-season flowers is just so easy. I bet you didn’t call around to multiple places for these.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I know a guy.”

“Sure. I totally believe you.”

He let his eyes wander down her body very slowly. “Dare I ask what’s on the menu for tonight?”

She grinned. “Depends on whether you want to know about dinner or dessert.” She led the way to the table, very cognizant of his eyes on her. It was nice, feeling like she could still have that kind of effect on someone. Most of the times looks she got from men just left her disgusted, but having this particular man look like he wanted to throw her over the counter and have his way with her was very satisfying.

They sat down to dinner. She thought his eyes wandered over her more often than usual, but she couldn’t be sure. Whether they were or not, it certainly boosted her confidence. She glanced over at the flowers he’d brought and smiled to herself. Maybe he had a point, but he clearly also enjoyed how she indulged in her vanity from the way he kept eyeing her from across the table. She smiled again as he watched her wrap her lips around the straw in her glass, taking an extra long sip of her water just to tease him.

“Anyways,” she said, continuing the line of conversation they had been in the middle of, “I didn’t wind up getting as much done this week as I’d hoped. We wound up reorganizing the whole lab because my dad brought in some feng shui expert who didn’t like the “flow” of the energy in the room.”

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. “A feng shui expert? I thought he was a man of science.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Scientists can be surprisingly superstitious. I’m not saying I agree with him, but once he gets something in his head there’s no stopping him until he follows the path as far as he can take it. Or until he gets bored.” She took another bite of her dinner, smiling at the disbelieving expression on his face.

“That’s like a physicist believing in Astrology.”

Bulma quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m a Leo, thank you for asking.” He glared at her, and she flipped her hair over one shoulder while fluttering her eyelashes at him. “It means I’m prideful and confident, and an excellent leader, but I’m incredibly loyal.” He snorted and shook his head. “Why? What’s your sign?”

He gave her a baleful glance and took a sip of his wine. “I can’t believe you buy into that mumbo-jumbo.”

She squinted thoughtfully at him. “Sagittarius?”

“The date of my birth has nothing to do with my personality,” he grumbled, stabbing at his dinner with more force than strictly required.

“That’s not necessarily true,” she shot back.

He looked at her as though he was dealing with a particularly stupid child. “Go on, then. Dazzle me with how the alignment of stars nowhere near this planet on the day I was born has anything to do with my sparkling disposition.”

She held up one finger. “Ah, I didn’t say that stars had anything to do with it. Sure, that’s how we mark time, but realistically it has more to do with when you’re born. Children born at differing times of the year naturally go through similar developmental phases at the same time, and that can impact their personalities.”

He sighed and gestured for her to continue. She smiled at him and touched the fingertips of one hand to her chest. “For example, children born around the same time of year I am? Tend to be younger when they enter the school year. Some would say that it’s more likely for us to be friendly and outgoing because we learn social skills at a younger age. Plus, we’re born in the summer, which means we get to start exploring the world as babies when it’s autumn, and we spend a lot of critical development moments inside where it’s safe during the winter, and we begin walking when it’s warm out and get to explore the outside world more, building our curiosity.”

Vegeta seemed to consider this. “I suppose that you could argue that kids born later in the school year have advantages to being older and more developmentally progressed before they start school as children.”

“Exactly!” Bulma sat forward. “Of course star alignment has nothing to do with your personality, but being a summer baby instead of a winter baby? That can absolutely help shape your worldview when you’re learning how everything works.”

He nodded reluctantly. “I can…accept that there is some merit to the idea, at least.”

She grinned at him. “Most stuff like that has some basis in reality, even if it misses the mark sometimes. So, what about you?”

He looked like he would rather be anywhere other than this conversation, which made her want to laugh. “Scorpio.” He said it like it was being dragged out of him at knifepoint.

She felt her face light up. Not only did he know, which was its own significant piece of information, but that also meant…she leaned forward eagerly. “Does that mean your birthday is soon? I won’t forgive you if it happened already and you didn’t tell me.”

It was as though he was in physical pain as he closed his eyes, breathing out. “It’s a week from tomorrow.” At least he was smart enough to know that she’d get it out of him whether he wanted her to know or not. There was hope for him yet.

“Ooh, that’s so exciting!” She wanted to bounce on her toes but she settled for gripping the table and leaning forward even more.

He cracked an eye open to look at the way she was leaning over her food. “I assure you, it is not.”

She frowned. “What, do you not like your birthday? I make it a giant thing the entire week of my birthday. Big old party, the whole works.”

“If I knew nothing else about you, I would believe that.” He opened both eyes and leaned back. “But no, I don’t really make it a thing to celebrate. It’s just another day.”

Her frown deepened. “Well surely you at least take the day off to do something fun, right? Something nice for yourself? Go out to eat at a nice place or something?”

“No. It’s just like any other day. I work, I eat, I sleep. It’s not a big deal to me.” His voice and expression were both flat.

She didn’t know if she believed that. He didn’t exactly look like he didn’t care, he looked like he wanted to talk about anything else, and that was very different. She decided immediately that it wouldn’t do. “Do you already have a client lined up?”

The stare he gave her was withering. “No.” It sounded both like an answer and a command. Luckily she wasn’t one to be told what to do, so she smiled brightly at him.

“Great, then you can spend it with me.” He was already shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can turn down the appointment if you want to, you can block me as a client, but I promise that if you spend it with me I’ll make it memorable in all the right ways.”

She leaned forward and brushed her fingers against his. He glanced down at where their hands touched, and back up at her. His expression still looked like she was offering to take him for a complimentary root canal, but at least he nodded, even if it was reluctant.

“Fine. But I swear if you throw some sort of godawful party I will burn the place to the ground as I walk out. I’ve had a lot of bad birthdays.”

She laughed at that. “A huge party would be perfect for my birthday; I wouldn’t do that for you. I promise I’ll come up with something you’ll like.” He poked sourly at his meal. “Thank you for trusting me.” He looked up at her sharply.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Have I ever given you anything to regret?” She poured honey into her tone, and he relaxed visibly. He pushed away from the table and stood up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m finished with dinner. I’m ready for dessert.” He walked past her into the bedroom, and she rose to follow him with a smile. Him being pushy was new, and she found she didn’t mind it. She liked a man who knew what he wanted, and she absolutely liked being what he wanted. Her eyes drifted to the flowers in the vase as she walked by them, and she fought the urge to laugh.

Bulma had expected that the evening would progress much the same as it had on their previous encounters. Dinner and conversation, an orgasm or two, some of the most satisfying sex she’d ever had in her life, a shower, and then sleep. When she walked into the bedroom she was already plotting how to make next week special, how she could plan a fun birthday for someone who hated birthdays and public spectacle. Her mind was whirling with possibilities as she was already spinning out ideas. She already had half a plan formed by the time she reached the bed, so lost in thought that she was startled when his hands wrapped around her shoulders.

He pushed her down onto the bed. It wasn’t exactly rough, but it did take her by surprise. They were both still dressed for dinner, although he’d loosened his tie. Her dress wasn’t exactly made to move in easily so he pushed it up over her hips until he could spread her legs apart, pulling her panties to the side to press his mouth hungrily against her. He wasted no time, his tongue working her into a frenzy in a way that was almost too much, too overstimulating, but at the same time it was wildly enjoyable.

Her brain seemed to short circuit, and for a sensible moment she wondered if that was the point, if he was trying to make her forget everything that had just happened. Maybe he was hoping that if he made her come hard enough she’d forget all about his birthday and her promise to celebrate it with him. Even as pleasure threatened to override all of her physical senses, she laughed internally at the thought. If he thought she was that easy to crack, he was woefully unprepared to handle her.

It only took a couple of minutes as he teased her with tongue and fingers, once again seeming to know the shortcut in that infuriating way he had. She wasn’t sure if it was infuriating because it was short, or because no man should just have it figured out that easily. She wanted to make him work for it, just a little. It was setting unrealistic expectations, dammit.

The thought almost made her laugh. The idea that she was upset that a man who was paid to have sex with her was good at it, or that she was mad about the example he was setting for future men in her life was ludicrous. He looked down at her as he was sitting up, pulling on her underwear so she’d shift her hips up and he could slide them down her legs.

“What’s so amusing?”

“I was just thinking that it’s unfair how good you are at this. You just make it seem so easy and effortless.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been chastised for doing a good job before. I should put that on my next performance review.”

She stared at him. “You have performance reviews?”

The flat look he gave her was only rivaled by the incredulous tone of his voice. “No.”

She burst into great whoops of laughter, her whole body shaking as she fought for air. She’d had this hilarious vision of him sitting in an office, surrounded by sex toys and condoms and reporting to some pissant dork who wanted to talk to him about his customer satisfaction ratings. She wanted to make a stupid joke about red tape and middle management, but she couldn’t manage enough breath to do so before he leaned down, his body covering hers.

She was still shaking as he pressed into her, and that energy dissolved into a moan as he pulled her hips up to meet his. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her skin rubbing against the fabric of his suit. She preferred the feel of his hot skin against hers, but she couldn’t find the strength to protest as he slowly pulled out of her and thrust back in with a quick snap of his hips into hers. The sensation was exquisite. All of her amused energy transformed into pleasure and desire and need. He leaned down to speak softly into her ear.

“From the first moment I saw you tonight I knew I was going to fuck you in this dress.” His breath was hot against her skin. She could smell the lingering scent of herself on his face, and she longed to pull his face to hers and taste herself on his mouth as he fucked her. “It was like you wore it just for that purpose.”

“Maybe,” she breathed. “Maybe I did.”

He growled, the sound in her ear like an animal pleased with its kill. It sent a shiver through her as he thrust into her, harder. “I knew it. You’re so vain.”

“Like you’re not just as vain,” she snapped back, caught somewhere between pleased and annoyed. That seemed to amuse him.

“Of course I am. I take pride in my appearance.” He sucked at the skin on her neck as he brought their hips together with another sharp thrust that made her moan again. “I like to see how much you want me.”

He leaned up, cupping her chin with one hand so that she was looking directly at him as he thrust into her again. The knowing smirk on his face was too much even as the friction built sweet heat inside of her. She pushed his hand away and grabbed his shirt, using it to haul him back down to her level.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” she snarled.

His dark chuckle haunted her, but he complied. He sped up his pace until she was gasping against him. He leaned up and slid a hand between them, circling her clit gently with his thumb and he watched her with dark eyes as she fell apart again to his hands and the insistent thrusting of his cock inside of her. His amusement at her pleasure was infuriating and pleasing and so fucking sexy and she wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face permanently after she took a picture so she could always have the memory of it. She couldn’t help the way she cried his name when she came, and she knew she would never forget the hungry, victorious look on his face when she said it.

He wrapped his hands around her hips and pounded into her several more times before he leaned into her, grunting against her neck as he came. It was longer than last time, but she still sensed his displeasure at how quickly it was over. She opted not to tease him, though. She’d gotten what she’d wanted out of it, and they still had a shower to enjoy. Personally, she didn’t see anything wrong with it being quick, as long as everyone was satisfied, and he seemed hellbent on making sure she was satisfied every time.

He got up and went to the bathroom without looking at her, again. She wondered if she should do something to reassure him that she was thrilled with the things he was doing to her. She thought about asking him if he had any comment cards as a joke when he came back from the bathroom, but his flat expression made her reconsider that. She went off to the bathroom instead, silently grumping at having to hike her dress up to pee.

She started the shower as usual, but this time she went out and met him outside of the bathroom. He was halfway there, glancing up as she opened the door. She turned around so that he could pull the zipper down on her dress. She had to slide it down to get it to fall to the floor owing to how tight it was, and she kicked it aside heedlessly while he pulled his tie loose and started unbuttoning his shirt.

She took his suit coat off and folded it neatly while he pulled his shirt off, raising an eyebrow at her. She set it neatly on the counter just before going into the bathroom, and when he took his shirt off she did the same, taking care to fold it and smooth the wrinkles out of it. She let him fold his pants as she took off her bra and walked back into the bathroom to pin her hair up. She stepped into the shower and into the spray, enjoying the warmth of the hot water on her skin as she always did. There was something near-religious about a good shower, and a good shower after good sex was like a miracle.

He stepped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. His mouth found her neck as his hands roamed her body. The warmth of the water and the gentle exploration of his fingers was both soothing and exciting. His hands cupped her breasts and stroked down her stomach, and at one point he gripped her hip tightly. When his fingers trailed down even farther and dipped inward to brush against her clit, she laughed.

“You can’t already want more.”

He let his teeth graze the skin beneath her ear. “You have no idea what I want.”

She pushed halfheartedly at his arm as he let his fingers circle gently, to no effect. “I’m still too sensitive for that.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” he said darkly, and his fingers pressed harder.

His body pushed up against hers and she had to brace herself with both hands to keep from falling as her breasts met the cold tile in front of her. Her legs shook, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her pinned to him in a way that also kept her from falling as her body shook from too much input in such a short time. Her shaking was pursued obstinately by his fingers as they dipped down, pressing inward and into her, and her cries echoed off the tile as water hammered against them.

He was relentless. No matter how she cried out or squirmed against him, he held her fast and kept moving his hand, pushing her past the discomfort of overstimulation and into dizzying levels of pleasure. She wasn’t actually trying to fight him, but her body still sought to get away from the overpowering sensation as he held her fast. Warm water ran down her skin, and his breath was hot against her neck as the heat in her stomach intensified into something like lava.

She felt like she might die if she didn’t get fresh air, but she let herself drown in that feeling, exactly the way he wanted her to drown. He had planned his attack with precision down to the swelteringly humid air and the cold numbing her nipples and she luxuriated in his thoroughness even as she struggled to breathe. When she came he held her up to keep her from collapsing to the floor, whispering to her just above the noise of the shower.

“That’s it,” he was saying. “Right there.”

When she calmed down, he carefully maneuvered her out of the shower and dried her off, getting her back into bed with ease. It seemed those muscles weren’t just for show as he half carried her and got her laying down on her side in soft sheets. They hadn’t actually showered, but it turned out he wasn’t terribly concerned about it for his own nefarious reasons. It seemed he wasn’t yet done with her as he lay behind her and pulled her body against his. When she felt his hardened cock nudging against her ass and the slick slide of lubrication from a condom that she remembered their half-hearted agreement from their previous night together.

“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, and he laughed. The sound was rich, and more than a little sadistic. It was predatory and thrilling and her body instantly responded to it. That laugh threatened to destroy her, and she was all too willing to be destroyed.

“Uh-oh is right,” he said, and she could feel the smile against the back of her neck.

“I guess this is a lesson in idle promises.”

In response he reached down to draw her thigh up and back over his so that he could shift around and slip inside of her. They both sighed as he sank in, filling her up in the most delicious way. He held her leg up and back so he could get leverage against her, and she moved her free hand up behind her to tighten in his hair and hold on where she could. It wasn’t much of a grip as far as keeping a grasp on her sanity went, but it was all she could afford as he pounded into her and made her writhe to his beat.

They wound up having sex twice more that night, collapsing into sleep somewhere in the darkest hours before faint tendrils of light started to paint the sky. When she rolled over after what she desperately hoped was the last time, she was exhausted and sore, but immensely pleased. Certainly, if he challenged her again in the wee hours or in the early light of the morning she’d rise to the occasion, but she knew she was going to be chafed for days just from the sheer amount of fingering he’d done. She knew he had to have a vibrator in that bag, but it was like he was determined only to use his mouth and fingers and cock just to prove that he could.

She smiled to herself as he wrapped an arm around her, though. It had been more than worth it. Plus, it had been wildly amusing to see his competitive side emerge, his utter fixation on wanting to prove himself to her driving him to push both of their bodies to the limits. Neither of them had the body or libido of a teenager, and they were surely going to feel aches and bruises in all sorts of fun places in the morning since she was already feeling sore. Still, she thought, definitely worth it. And if he ever tried it again she’d probably brain him with a serving tray and make a run for it.

When she woke in the morning, he was still there, snoring softly. She slipped out of the bed to go use the bathroom, trying her best not to wake him up. She winced as she stood, feeling every ache that she had worried about and more, but when she looked back the sight of him still asleep in the bed made her smile. Evidently staying up for hours after midnight for multiple rounds of sex was his breaking point for doing his regular disappearing act. Although she did think it would be hilarious if she exited the bathroom to find him sneaking out of her room like a particularly terrible cat burglar.

Thankfully he was still there, but he was sitting up in bed and looking at her as she walked to the bed in the soft morning light, stark naked and unashamed. There was a hungry look in his eyes, and she grinned at him.

“Good morning. It’s nice to see that you occasionally stick around. Want me to order some breakfast?”

He looked her up and down, looking like he was seriously considering it. “Mm, I probably shouldn’t. I’m off the clock and I’m not generally supposed to do pro-bono work.” He climbed out of bed and winked at her, also seeming to be unconcerned about his nudity as he walked off to the bathroom.

Watching him move through the room in the full light of day, completely naked, was an entirely different experience. She was so used to only seeing him at night, frequently in dim lighting, but she could see every line and angle of his body, and she enjoyed it. The man clearly took good care of his body, and it showed. She’d have to turn the lights up more often whenever he was over. Or perhaps she could convince him to stay for more mornings.

She climbed back into bed, into the warm spot he had just vacated, and pulled the blankets up around herself. She didn’t want to leave the bed just yet, and she wrapped herself in the scent of him. When he came back she made her best pouty face and patted the bed, but he just shook his head. At least he had the good grace to look disappointed, as though he regretted having to leave.

“I have to go. Maybe next time you can convince me to stay for breakfast.”

He opened his bag and pulled out a fresh set of clothing that turned out to be a tight black shirt and comfy pair of blue jeans that wouldn’t exactly go with the dressy shoes he’d been wearing the night before, but wouldn’t look too out of place. He tucked the nicely-folded clothes from the previous night into the bag along with his smaller bag and stood up, looking at her.

“Well, there’s part of the mystique ruined,” he said with a mocking lilt to his voice.

“I don’t know, I kind of like getting to see under all those carefully crafted layers you have.” She smiled at him, and he shrugged. “It’s kind of fun getting to see how you craft this experience.” She let her eyes drift down his body. “Getting to see how the sausage is made.”

He smirked. “Are you really that insatiable?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’m going to be walking anywhere today. Thank goodness I don’t have to work or I’d have to call in dick.” He stared at her, both dismayed at her crudeness and amused by it. “But don’t you worry, I didn’t forget about your birthday. I’m going to make it special.”

“Oh goodie.” His voice absolutely dripped sarcasm. “I suppose that means I’ll see you next week.” There was a hopeful note there that she didn’t miss. She didn’t know if it was about seeing her or his birthday or both, but she held that close.

She nodded. “Yup. There’s no escaping me now. Once I’ve got my claws in you’re pretty much screwed.”

He picked up his bag, shaking his head. “I suppose I’d better go, then, before I get into any worse trouble.” His expression and tone seemed to indicate that he wouldn’t mind some more trouble, all the same.

He raised a hand to wave at her, and she raised one in return. He exited the room with no further fanfare, stopping to put his shoes on, and she let herself sink back into the bed with a happy sigh. She snuggled into the pillow he’d used, relishing the scent of cedar and citrus. She felt like she’d earned an extra morning nap with all the activities of the night before. She’d order breakfast whenever she woke up again. The door to the penthouse clicked closed, and she drifted off into slumber as sunlight streamed through the windows.

Chapter Text

Bulma texted him his horoscope every day after that. She had really only planned to do it once, but his overly exasperated reaction to the first one made her laugh so hard that she started doing it regularly. She was only planning it to do it until his birthday and then she’d let it go, but she was happy to let him think that she’d be doing it forever.

His responses were hilarious, mostly frustrated and telling her how ridiculous they were. Even if it were possible to infer something about a person from when they were born, there was absolutely nothing that could predict the kind of day someone would have based on it, and they both knew it. But she truly did love annoying him with it, so she kept it up.

Bulma: I was just reading an article about how Leos and Scorpios can be incredibly compatible because of how they’re both so passionate.

Vegeta: Please stop.

Bulma: The real problem is that they can butt heads when it comes to decision making, since both of them want to be in charge all the time.

Vegeta: I’m going to revoke your texting privileges.

Bulma: You see both signs tend to have really fiery tempers.

Vegeta: I regret ever talking to you about anything.

She laughed a lot over that last one. She regularly texted him with more, similar tortures, including telling him that she saw some flowers that made her think of him and taking a picture of some weeds along the side of the road. He had at least thought that one was funny. Not so much with the scorpion picture she sent him, however.

She carefully worked through several sets of plans for his birthday, but she made sure not to share anything that might tip him off about any of them. She did ask him some leading questions that he mostly refused to answer, but that was mostly to throw him off the scent, like whether he liked improv comedy or musicals more. She remembered to call and set up the appointment with the agency, at least. Shortly afterwards she’d gotten a text from him about it.

Vegeta: You know, I don’t know why I thought you might let me off the hook for this one.

Bulma: If you’ve known me for more than 5 minutes, you should know better.

Vegeta: Oh, come on it was definitely more than 5 minutes.

She howled at that, almost dropping her phone as her shoulders shook. He had a way with that, getting her to laugh like a maniac over the stupidest things. It never ceased to amaze her how he could manage to both be incredibly prideful and yet so self-deprecating. She hoped she managed to make him smile at least half as much as he made her cry with laughter.

When the day of his birthday finally rolled around, she made a bold move. Their texts had all been relatively lighthearted to this point – they teased each other and called each other names, but anyone who looked at their chat log would probably assume that they were just friends giving each other shit over nothing. Even joking about sex could have been mistaken for nothing more than jokes with no deeper meaning. It never really devolved into anything overly cutesy or sexual, except a little light harassment that was all in fun.

But now it was his birthday, and she felt like that warranted something special to celebrate the occasion. Before work, she slipped into one of the things she had specially ordered for the occasion. It was a black lingerie set, specially made to plump and push and reveal and tease. The bra made her tits look amazing, and gauzy fabric draped over her stomach, split open in front to reveal a pale sliver of skin that led down to matching panties.

She draped herself over a chaise lounge in her bedroom, working to get just the right angle to show everything except her face and hair, just in case, although she took a few where her lips were visible and she rather liked those. She took a series of pictures before finding one that she really liked, and she sent it to him before she could put too much thought into it.

Bulma: Happy Birthday. I hope to make it a memorable one.

She didn’t hear back from him right away, so she got dressed and went to work. She kept checking back at her phone every now and then, but hours went by with no response. It wasn’t that unusual for him to need some time to respond, especially during the day. She got the impression that he tended to sleep late, which made a lot of sense for him. It was much more common for him to respond later in the afternoon, verging on evening. It was perfectly normal, but the worry that she had crossed some sort of line made the waiting that much more uncomfortable.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he decided that he really should revoke her texting privileges? He’d seemed okay with everything so far, but maybe that was because they’d kept it lighter. Maybe he would take offense to her “talking shop” when he wasn’t at work. She hadn’t really thought about it from that angle. It was meant to be a gift, but what if he looked at it the way someone might if they got harassed by work outside of work hours?

Fuck. I really hope I haven’t fucked this up.

The problem was that she really liked their dynamic. It had worked out really well for them so far. He was fun, he sincerely worked to ensure her pleasure, and he was better company than most of her supposed friends. He made her feel good without ever making it feel like he stood anything to gain from her. Which was ludicrous, since she was literally paying him for his time, but it still felt that way when they were together, dammit. He seemed so…genuine.

It was around the time she was writing and erasing an apology for overstepping the fifth time that he finally responded to her.

Vegeta: Holy shit, woman. I was in public when I opened that.

Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips, composing her response carefully.

Bulma: Sorry about that. I guess I should have warned you. Or asked if it was okay.

Vegeta: Yeah a little warning would be appreciated.

Her stomach dropped out with nauseating force. She had fucked it up. She had fucked it up big time. Her hands shook as she went to respond, until she saw that he was typing something, and she waited.

Vegeta: I can’t just be popping boners in the middle of grocery shopping or whatever.

Relief, almost as nauseating as the nearly-overwhelming panic she had just felt, washed over her. She fought the urge to throw up and shakily tapped back a response.

Bulma: Sure you can. Just sporting a chub in the cereal aisle. It’s your birthday, who’s going to stop you?

Vegeta: The cops, probably, when they haul me off for menacing other customers with a full boner while I’m shopping for milk.

Bulma: I can see the headline now. The Dairy Pervert Strikes Again!

Vegeta: If I go to jail you’re bailing me out. I’m going to show the cops that picture as proof of my innocence.

Bulma: I don’t think that’s going to make you look very innocent.

Vegeta: No, but they’ll get a kick out of it all the same.

Bulma: I’m sure it’ll make the rounds at the precinct.

He didn’t respond after that, which was pretty normal for him. It was rare when they could do a lot of back and forth texting in a row, and her for now her fears had been assuaged. He wasn’t somewhere telling his agency to blacklist her and blocking her on his phone, and that was what mattered. She could apologize in person tonight.

She showed up early to make sure everything was perfectly in place. She’d worked hard all week to lay her plans out, and she was rather proud of herself for how well everything had come together. She double-checked herself in the mirror, as was her habit, and was pleased with what she saw. Her makeup today was simple, but effective, and her hair was loose around her shoulders but not styled in case she wanted to put it up, since she wasn’t sure what the evening would bring. Her dress was also significantly less elegant than the ones she’d worn before – it was a dark wrap dress that tied just above her left hip so that she could easily change if needed.

Three sharp knocks. She remembered thinking earlier in the week that she should issue a keycard to him so that he could come and go as he pleased for days that she had the penthouse reserved, but she hadn’t quite gotten around to that yet. She made a mental note to do that next time she reserved the room and went to go open the door.

Vegeta was wearing the same navy suit he had on their first evening together, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his bag. He eyed her appraisingly as she opened the door, and she got the sense that he approved of the scaled-back look, which surprised her. She assumed he would prefer the fancy gowns and bolder makeup, but perhaps he had enough of that during his regular work. That changed some things for her, but not too much.

“No flowers, today?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

He shook his head. “You bring a girl flowers twice and she expects them every time. I should’ve known better.”

She let him in, and he looked around the room. The table wasn’t set with dinner the way it had been the previous two times, and the room seemed empty by comparison. He turned to regard her suspiciously.

“Are we going out tonight?”

“That’s actually up to you. Come here.” She gestured for him to follow, and she sat at the table.

He set his bag down on the floor near the couch and sat in the seat closest to her, where a small pile of cards was sitting. He looked down at them and back up at her. She grabbed the cards and spread them out in a fan in front of him.

“For your birthday, you get to pick whatever you want to do. This is an assortment of things we can do, or not do, as you please.” She slid one out of the deck. “See, this one is for a private reservation at Namek. It’s public-adjacent, but we have the use of their private dining room if you’d like.” She slid another card out of the deck. “This one is for a private tour at the Tuffle Museum – I’ve reserved the entire building so that we can have a guided tour to ourselves, or we can tell the guides to piss off and look at art without anyone bothering us at all.”

He looked up at her, eyebrows raising. “You reserved an entire dining room and an entire museum?”

She grinned, spreading the cards out further. “I did way more than that. What the hell am I doing with my money if I’m not using it frivolously on shit I’m not actually going to do?”

He looked down at the cards again. “What about the places we don’t go to?”

She shrugged. “The staff get an easy evening with a generous tip. They’ve all been forewarned that we may not show up.”

He touched a couple of the cards. “Are these color-coordinated?”

“I like to be organized. Look, these ones in blue are about places we can go, and the green ones are dinner choices. These pink ones are about…other things we can do.” Her face felt warm when he looked up at her again, but she made herself meet his gaze.

“Today is about you. I want you to know that you are under no obligation to do anything. You can combine any of these that you want, but if you choose this one,” she slid one out of the fan, “you can just leave right now and go home, or I’ll leave, and you can stay here and enjoy room service and the room by yourself. If what you want for your birthday is the day off, then you can pick that one. But even if you do stay, even if we get dinner, or go do a nighttime tour of the aquarium, or even if you just want to stay in and watch movies on TV in bed, nothing has to happen. You can have whatever you want.”

He sorted through some of the cards, looking at options she had spread out for him. He notably hadn’t touched the card she’d indicated for going home, which cheered her a little. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to go get us a glass of wine. I’ll let you pick out whatever you’d like, but I promise there’s no pressure. I just want you to have a birthday you enjoy.”

Bulma moved to stand, but his hand reached out to grab hers, stopping her from rising, so she stayed. He slid a couple of blue and green cards out of the pile and looked over at her inquisitively. She pulled the cards over to look down at them.

“You’d like to stick with room service and a quiet evening in?” She smiled. “Color me surprised. I wanted to give you options just in case, but I thought you’d probably want to stay in. We can order whatever you’d like off the room service menu, but I forewarned them with some of the things I thought you’d like, just in case. I also stocked the fridge in here with snacks in case you just wanted to have a movie night or something.”

His expression was unreadable as he slid one of the pink cards over to her. She’d struggled a bit with what to put on those, but she’d included such ideas as “fulfil any reasonable sexual kink or fantasy, no questions asked (except for a limited list of vetoes) but no judgment” and “another sex marathon”, and of course the one that said simply, “nothing sexual”. She looked down at the one he’d selected.

“You’re sure? This is what you want? It’s your birthday, you can do whatever you’d like.”

He nodded, tapping the card for emphasis. “This is what I want.”

She scooped up the other cards and set them aside. “If you change your mind, you can switch to any of these at any time. Nothing’s off the table unless you take it off. I’ll go grab the room service menu and we can get dinner ordered.”

They moved to the couch and picked out what they wanted from the menu, and she called down to the service desk to put the order in. When she hung up she came back to sit next to him on the couch.

“It’s going to take about 30 minutes or so for the food to get delivered since they have to cook everything.”

He nodded. “I figured. Even with forewarning they can’t just have everything ready to go.”

“You’d be surprised, but I was actually hoping we’d have a little time before they arrive.”

“Oh?” He watched her with interest, but she held up a hand to forestall him.

“First, I want to ask about the picture I sent this morning. After I sent it I realized that I didn’t know if it was appropriate or not.”

He considered that. “I didn’t dislike it.”

She stared at him before she barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. Her heart squeezed uncomfortably in her chest. “Just what every woman wants to hear. “Not awful. Wouldn’t immediately burn my eyes out.” Thanks.” She looked away.

“No.” His jaw clenched. “That’s not what I meant at all. I obviously liked the picture; I’m a man with a cock and a pulse.” Her face warmed as she looked at the fireplace. “I meant that I didn’t mind it from a…professional standpoint.”

She looked at him, and his face was rosy, like hers. “So, it’s…okay for me to send you things like that?”

“Yes. Unless I say otherwise.”

“Okay. I feel the same way, for the record.” He nodded in agreement, the color on his face deepening, and she returned the nod. “Okay. In that case, I think we still have enough time.”

She stood up from the couch, and she pulled at the tie that was holding her dress securely closed. The tie pulled out of the loop that held it, and her dress fell open, revealing the outfit she’d taken a picture in that morning. The dress pooled on the floor at her feet. His eyes lit up, and he breathed out slowly as he looked her up and down appreciatively.

“I’m not sure we have enough time for that,” he murmured.

Bulma smiled at him, slow and predatory. “Trust me. This won’t take very long.”

She moved around in front of him and knelt down on the floor. The cold stone tile sapped warmth from her legs, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. It relieved some of the heat from her skin, which was a welcome feeling. She reached for his belt buckle but stopped to look up at him first.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t want something? Or if something’s off limits?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Her fingers pulled at his buckle while maintaining eye contact, and he looked intrigued. Excited, hungry, and curious. Nothing that suggested he was displeased with this choice, and everything that told her to keep going. That was enough. She unzipped his pants, and he shifted around so that she could reach in and pull out his quickly hardening cock.

She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, stroking him a couple of times to get him harder. Then she leaned forward and flicked her tongue out to tease the head of it and glanced up at him when he hissed in response. His eyes were large and dark, focused intently on her. His breathing was shallow, and his hands were already digging into the couch cushions next to him. This wouldn’t take long at all.

She reached out with her free hand and ran it over one of his. “You can touch me, you know. Wherever you want.” He looked uncertain, which was an odd response. They’d had sex multiple times, so this bashfulness was…surprising. It seemed better not to put pressure on him, so she refocused her attention back downward, flicking her tongue out again, running it over the head of his cock.

Even though she’d only had one partner before, this was something she knew she excelled at. She knew of course that not every man was the same and that not everything that felt good to one man would feel good to another, but she was confident here. She’d had a lot of practice with this over the years, and she watched him carefully to see what might and might not feel good.

She licked down along his shaft, feeling him jump and twitch under her touch. She worked her way back up, squeezing and following with her hand. When she reached the tip, she took it in her mouth, running her tongue around him as he breathed in sharply again. Her lips wrapped around him as she sucked gently, and his hips jerked involuntarily, one hand hesitantly coming up and touching her hair. She reached up to cover his hand with her own for a moment, reassuring him, and then slowly slid her mouth down the length of his cock.

His hand spasmed in her hair, and she hummed in appreciation when his fingers tightened momentarily. His eyes were wide as he slowly tightened his fingers in her hair, but she hummed again when he did it and he applied gentle pressure when he realized that she wanted it, guiding her up and down his shaft as she squeezed and stroked with her hand and sucked with her mouth.

Spit slicked her chin and his cock, dripping down from her mouth as he started moving his hips in time with her head bobbing along his shaft. There was something primal in the way she enjoyed his change in expression, as he slowly morphed from his carefully controlled neutrality to interest to completely unravelling under her touch. She thought about touching herself to show him just how much she was enjoying it, but she firmly decided against it. This was about his satisfaction specifically, and even if he would probably like seeing it, she didn’t want any implication that she was doing this for her own pleasure. She wanted him to feel special and wanted, and all of the other things he'd inspired in her.

A desperate moan escaped him as his hips bucked involuntarily, close to a whine. “Bulma,” he panted, pulling gently up on her hair when she reached the apex of her movement. She ignored him and plunged back down and he bucked again, pulling at her again when she rose. “Bulma, you have to–, I’m going to–”

If she could have smiled, she would have, but since she couldn’t she just bobbed back down, stroking downwards with her hand, aided by the lubrication from her mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and he cried out her name hoarsely as his hips jerked and he came, filling her mouth with the salty taste of him. He jerked again, and she swallowed around the rich flavor, stroking gently with her hand as his fingers spasmed in her hair.

The tension released and he sank back into the couch, and she gently worked him still, squeezing and sucking very lightly to get every drop until he protested weakly. She leaned back and looked up at him, for once getting to appreciate the devastation that she had caused, and she smiled to herself as she wiped her cheeks and chin with the back of her hand. He sprawled against the couch, breathing heavily as he watched her with heavily lidded eyes, his complexion ruddy. It was nice to see him be a mess.

She thought about the pink card that said “let me take care of everything” and was very pleased that she’d included it, even more so that he had chosen it. She hadn’t been sure if he would take that one, but she’d definitely hoped he would consider it. His whole job was ensuring that others had pleasure, and while he got to pursue his own to some degree, it was still as a part of that job. Most women would probably prefer a man who finished with her, but if they preferred he didn’t come, if they just wanted to use him as a sex toy and dismiss him, he would do that.

Tonight, then, could be uniquely centered on his pleasure, and it seemed he didn’t hate the idea at all. In her mind, he more than deserved it. She wondered how often he even had sex for fun. He didn’t seem like the type to go meet a stranger in a bar, and while he’d never truly answered her question about whether he was dating someone, she doubted it. As he’d said, navigating relationships with his job would be difficult, so it was probably a very rare event that he got to be the focus or concentrate on his own pleasure, unless he happened to be with someone who wanted that.

She stood up, trying not to focus on the aching need she felt to have him touch her, taste her, fuck her. Seeing him that way had awoken something hungry within her, and she was almost shaking with how much she wanted him. He reached one hand out, and when she took it he pulled like he was guiding her onto his lap. It took every scrap of her will to resist, instead leaning down to pick her dress up off the floor.

“We don’t quite have time for that now,” she said, chuckling. “Although I appreciate the enthusiasm.” He frowned at her. “Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from, if you want it. But room service should be here shortly.”

“Well, if you’re just going to go and make sense about it,” he grumbled.

He tucked himself back into his pants, and she carefully wrapped the dress and tied it into place. He looked at the dress appreciatively and pulled on the tie, undoing the careful bow she had just done up, pulling the dress open again. She laughed when he held it open, admiring her body.

“It’s like a birthday present I get to unwrap as many times as I want.” He sounded rather pleased.

“Well done, Galileo,” she said with a very gentle tease. “You seem to have figured out the point.” She pulled it closed again and started to tie it in place.

He stubbornly pulled the tie out of her hand, grinning at her. “Magellan would have been funnier.”

“Look, if you want me to be half naked when the strapping young men arrive with all the food, I’ll do it.” It was a challenge, and he knew it. He looked up at her with an expression that was somewhere between a pout and a challenge of his own, but he sat back and let the tie go so that she could close the dress. “And Magellan would have been funnier if I’d made the joke about finding the point. Galileo made compasses.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable when you think you’re right. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me on my birthday?”

She finished tying the dress in place. “I knew there was a birthday diva lurking in there, just waiting to be set free.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and she winked at him before going to answer it. A couple of gentlemen in hotel uniforms wheeled in a tray and quickly set the table with the meal they’d ordered, a delectable array of his favorite dishes. They sat down to dinner, and she watched as he ate, noticing how much more relaxed he seemed. He was usually so rigid and uptight, and even though he still had an air of poise he seemed less…carefully controlled. Maybe it was the blowjob, maybe it was because it was his birthday, but either way he seemed less tense that he was normally. It felt nice to know that she was putting him at ease.

They ate quickly, the meal light but simple. When she finished she sat back with her wine and watched him eat with a smile. When he finished she led him back to the couch and they relaxed into the softness of it, watching the fireplace with pleasantly full stomachs. She watched the flames dancing merrily along the fake logs.

“I hope this is better than some of your previous birthdays.”

He glanced at her. “This already far outpaces any birthday I’ve had since I was five.”

“Oh? What was special about your fifth birthday?”

“I got one of those little motorized trucks that kids can drive around in.”

She nodded somberly. “Yeah, there’s no beating that. I should have bought you a car.” He looked startled at that, as though he hadn’t realized that was a possibility. “What, you think I couldn’t afford to just give you a car?” He blinked, and she sat up, reaching for her phone. “Do you want a car? I can literally get you one right now. What color would you like?”

“Holy shit, no.” He grabbed her hand to stop her from getting to her phone. “Why would you even suggest that?”

She stared at him. “Because if you want it, I want you to have it. You deserve to have the things you want.”

He looked troubled by that. “But you can’t just buy me a car.”

“Yes,” she said seriously, “I can.”

He stared at her for a long moment, looking frustrated and confused. Eventually he glanced down at where he was still holding her hand. “That’s not what I want, anyways.” He pulled at her hand, and she let herself be pulled into his lap, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on her waist.

She looked down at him, sliding her hands up his chest to his shoulders. “So, what do you want for your birthday? You can have anything you desire.”

The firelight glinted in his dark eyes, and he squeezed her hips, letting his hands dip around so he could squeeze her ass, too. He leaned forward and pressed his face into her chest, and she leaned back a little to give him free access to nuzzle against her breasts, breathing in deeply.

“This.” His voice was muffled, but she could hear him all the same.

Her fingers stroked lightly through his hair. “Do you mean this specifically, or sex, or both?”

There was a pause, and then he nodded against her. She smiled, continuing to run her fingers through his hair for a moment. It was ultimately validating that he wanted her, when he could have chosen to take the day off. It wasn’t why she had done any of this, but she still took that small slice of satisfaction and enjoyed it, nonetheless. After all she was a woman of many facets – she could manage to be pleased with herself while still serving someone else. Just like she could still enjoy the act of giving someone else pleasure.

It was delicate work to disentangle herself from him, but he eventually relented with a huff as she pushed against his shoulders, leaning back so she could stand. She turned so that one hip was angled towards him, and he understood instantly, grinning as he pulled on the tie for her dress, making it fall open again. She let the dress fall to the floor again and looked at him appraisingly.

“You’re wearing entirely too much clothing.”

He immediately shrugged out of his jacket, but before he could reach for the buttons of his shirt she leaned down and started working her way down, unfastening them slowly. She knelt as she went so that she could lean in and press kisses against the skin of his chest and stomach as she went, pulling his shirt open to reveal tanned skin and muscle. When she got to the last button she placed a kiss on his abdomen just below his belly button before pulling his shirt to untuck it, pushing it back so that he could extract his arms from it.

She placed kisses all over his chest and stomach before reaching for his belt, unbuckling it as she worked her way down. After she pulled it open she unzipped his pants and the two of them worked together to slide them down over his hips along with his underwear and pull them free until he was completely naked on the couch. She dipped her head down and licked the head of his already-hard cock once, smiling at him as she stood up.

Thankfully he’d set his bag nearby, so she dipped her hand into it and found the small bag sitting on top, making sure to bend over fully in his view when she did. He was just as organized as she thought he’d be, so she didn’t have to root around in the bag for it. She opened the small bag and plucked out a foil-wrapped packet and stood slowly. Turning back towards him, she tore the small foil packet open and found that he was watching her, idly stroking himself as he did.

Her eyes flicked down to his hand and she smiled at him. “I think that’s my job, this evening.”

He pulled his hand away but said nothing, just holding his hand out for the condom. She ignored that, kneeling down in front of him and grasping his cock firmly with one of her own hands, rolling the condom on with the other. He breathed out as she did, but he didn’t try to stop her. Once it was firmly in place she stood up again and slid her panties down to the floor, stepping out of them. She ran her hands over her breasts, cupping them before she ran her fingers up over the straps.

“Off, or on?” she asked.

“Off,” he said immediately, and she twisted her arms behind her to release the bra and her breasts from its confines. It was too bad, since the bra did so much work for her chest, but the hungry look on his face when the bra dropped to the ground told her everything she needed. It was about what he wanted, after all, and she was more than happy to oblige.

She straddled him again, kissing along his neck and chest. He reached down and she felt his thumb brush her clit, making her shiver. She pressed her body against him, pinning his arm so that he couldn’t keep reaching her with his fingers. He grunted but didn’t try to stop her, wiggling his arm out from in between them and running his hands down her back so he could grip her ass instead. He was a fast learner, after all.

She sat down in his lap and shifted her hips against him, rubbing herself against his cock. A hissed breath escaped him, but he helped guide her, pressing her to grind against him and making all of her nerves light up as the tip of his cock pressed into her clit. She moaned softly, her lips next to his ear, and she felt his grip tighten on her. She didn’t want to tease either of them too much, but she couldn’t resist a little teasing, mostly for his benefit.

She eased up on her knees so that she could reach down and position him against her. She teased the head of his cock with the opening of her cunt a few times before she shifted and sat back. The slide of his cock into her was deliciously slow, and she looked down and held his gaze as she settled on top of him, the hardness of him pressing into her and filling her up. His expression was difficult to read, but she could see the need there, the open desire, and it drove her on inexorably.

When she was fully seated, she shifted around to make sure she had good leverage and started moving slowly, sliding up and down the length of him with a circular motion of her hips. He buried his face between her breasts, groaning into her chest as he kissed and nuzzled. After a few strokes he leaned back to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, running his tongue over it and sucking it between his teeth, bringing one hand around to cup her other breast, squeezing and kneading it in time with the rhythm of her hips meeting his.

“Yesssss,” she hissed. “You’re so fucking good at this. You’re so fucking hot, and you’re so good at this. You always make me feel so good.”

She slipped her fingers into his hair, scratching her fingers along his scalp and pulling gently, and she felt a rumbling moan against her nipple. She sped up, slamming herself down onto him with more fervor, and his hips rose to meet hers, thrusting up into her and fueling the fire that was growing inside of her. She pulled his hair harder, and his hips jerked in response.

Her nipple slipped from between his lips. “Fuck, Bulma,” he half-whispered against her breast.

“Such a dirty mouth,” she chided gently, not ceasing her movement against him, his hips bucking up into hers. He looked up at her, and he looked absolutely devastated. She ran the fingers of one hand over his cheek, letting one trail down his lips. “That’s it. I want to wreck you the way you’ve wrecked me.”

“Can you–” he trailed off, his voice desperate. She knew what he wanted.

“I think so. I can try.” She hadn’t really been focused on her own pleasure, but the noises he was making and the need he was showing her was helping a lot. The idea that he wanted her to come with him helped even more, his desire fueling her own. She adjusted her movement, shifting so that she was grinding against him more. The hand on her ass pulled her down as hard as he could, and he worked to grind her against him every time their flesh met.

She could feel sparks shooting through her body, electrifying her nerves and making her body tingle as sweat dripped down her skin. They were both breathing hard now, his face pressed to her chest as they both worked her towards completion and he tried to hold out long enough to get her there. His body shook under her, and she knew he was almost at his limit. He was pushing himself so hard despite the fact that this was supposed to be for him, and his need for her to come pushed her over the edge as he ground into her.

“V-Vegeta, I’m com–” her words cut off sharply as he lifted his head and hand from her chest, slid his fingers into her hair, and wrenched her mouth roughly down to his. Her shock was overpowered by the force of her orgasm as she moaned against his mouth, his tongue sliding against hers even as his hips jerked, his other hand pulling her hips hard against him. Her body shook, muscles squeezing and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her, electrified every time their bodies touched. Stars burst behind her eyes as she shook and fought to keep control, keep moving, draw out his pleasure with hers.

He thrust into her a few more times as she clamped down on him, continuing to try to grind against her as he came. His movements were dissociating away from any sort of rhythm, but he still moved, desperately, even as his mouth devoured hers. His hand kept her mouth firmly against his, not letting her try to squirm away in the throes of her own orgasm. Not that she was trying to fight him, even as it subsided, and she cupped his face with one hand as she continued to ride him.

The sensation of kissing him was exquisite, something she’d thought about every time they’d had sex, and she enjoyed every moment of it. It was a shame that he was such a good kisser since she didn’t know if he’d ever let her do it again. His mouth was soft and he tasted like wine and something that was uniquely him, and for a few moments after their bodies had stilled they sat that way, mouths gradually slowing but still tasting and exploring. She relished it while she could, trying to commit every moment to memory.

Some ineffable moment passed, his fingers easing up on her hair and hips, both of them breathing out, and she broke the kiss so that she could press her forehead against his. They both breathed hard, sitting there in a quiet moment with their eyes closed as their heart rates returned to something more normal. When her eyes opened, she saw that he was looking at her, and she leaned back a little so that she could look at his face properly.

“I thought you said no kissing,” she teased gently.

He looked away, blushing. “It’s my birthday.” He sounded embarrassed, perhaps even petulant.

“Ah, the birthday diva strikes again.” She took advantage of his inattention to lean forward and press her lips to his, one last time. “Happy Birthday Vegeta,” she whispered against his lips. The expression on his face was difficult to decipher when she sat up. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up. We can watch a movie if you want, or go to bed early, or stay up all night getting so sore we walk bowlegged tomorrow. Whatever you want.”

He was already slipping out of her by the time she moved, but she felt the loss anyways. She enjoyed that feeling of fullness when he was inside of her, and she missed it every time they had to part. Maybe she could convince him to have sex with her again tonight, but she would absolutely do whatever he wanted. This was his birthday, and she wouldn’t force anything on him that wasn’t expressly what he wanted. She was determined to make it the best birthday he’d ever had.

He let her pull him up off the couch, and into the bathroom so they could take a shower. He was quieter than usual, but she didn’t think that much of it. She just got the shower started as he tied off the condom and tossed it in the garbage. He grimaced at that, and she expected it was more nonsense about “ruining the mystique” since he always did that without her around, which made her chuckle. She drew him into the warmth of the shower, determined to make him see that she didn’t need him to be mysterious to enjoy his company.

They enjoyed a quiet evening in bed. She put on an old movie and offered to let him cuddle with her, so he rested his head against her chest while mostly she laughed at cheap comedy that was barely funny anymore but held just the right amount of nostalgia for her. She offered to have sex with him again, which he declined gracefully enough, so she went and got a small cake out of the kitchen that she stuck a single candle into. His glare was absolutely withering when she lit it and told him to make a wish, but at her urging he closed his eyes for a moment before blowing it out. They cut it in half and ate it in bed while another movie played and fell asleep to another old comedy shortly afterwards.

The next morning, he was gone. The bed felt more empty than usual without him there. She’d had hoped to kiss him goodbye, maybe one last birthday gift. She had also hoped that the last time would start some sort of trend where he stayed until the morning. But he was gone, a note in its usual place. She picked it up, unsurprised at its brevity.

Thank you.

It was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Vegeta didn’t text her the day after his birthday. That was fine, she reasoned, as he had probably scheduled a day off for himself in case things had been too energetic over his birthday. Or maybe he was busy with a daytime client, which he had mentioned was an occasional possibility, although frequently his clients preferred evenings for obvious reasons. That thought made her more uncomfortable, for some reason, but she told herself that she was just happy if he was relaxing. He deserved a day off.

The day after that, he followed up with a brief “Thanks” when she’d texted him to tell him that she hoped he’d had enjoyed his birthday. She tried to jokingly tease him, saying she hoped it was still the best thing since power wheels, and he didn’t respond. It left an odd feeling of disquiet in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling.

Bulma called the agency to schedule him for Thursday night. She was sort of using it as an excuse to get out of a social function that she knew he wouldn’t want to go to. And having him on her schedule for the week would settle her nerves.

“I’m sorry, Miss Briefs,” the receptionist said. “He’s not available that evening.”

For the first time, something icy snuck its way into her heart. He’d never not been available on a night she’d requested him. It was possible she was just in the habit of picking good nights, especially since she hadn’t been trying to schedule weekend times, knowing that was when he was most likely to be busy, but her mind whispered something darker. Maybe he just didn’t want to see her again.

“Like he’s not available at all on Thursday?” She didn’t want her voice to sound as desperate as it did. She tried to stay calm and cool.

“Unfortunately, he is not,” came the woman’s measured response. “I can make some suggestions for a different companion that evening, if you’d like. We have an impressive selection.”

“No, that’s…that’s not necessary.” What the fuck was she going to do now? Maybe he wasn’t answering her texts on purpose. Maybe she’d overstepped somehow the other night or done something to upset or anger him. Her mind whirled with possibilities, each worse than the last.

There was a short pause. “Would you like to make an appointment with him for Friday, instead? He’s available then.”

Relief surged through her. She felt stupid. Of course he was just busy. It’s not like she was the only woman he saw. She knew that, and he’d reminded her on more than one occasion. He was incredibly attractive, great at sex, and could pass for human in polite society when he needed to. He was probably out with other women all the time, and she just had good luck when she was scheduling. She was going to have to get used to this feeling or just set him up on a reoccurring appointment or something. A regularly scheduled booty call. The thought was amusing enough to lift her spirits slightly.

“Yeah, Friday would be great,” she croaked. They worked through the details, and when she hung up she dropped her phone on the desk and covered her face with both hands. She felt like a stupid, foolish child.

What was that? That feeling that had bubbled inside of her chest when she worried that he had blacklisted her, that he was withdrawing from her life was…awful. It had felt like poison in her veins, the thought of just never seeing him again. It was irrational. Her time with him was meant to be practice, just getting herself back out there and gaining her confidence, and she needed to treat it that way. They weren’t anything more than that, and she had to remember that or she would lose herself in the fantasy. It wasn’t real.

A few hours after she’d scheduled him he’d sent her a text about looking forward to Friday, but it felt forced. She responded lightly and then left it alone. They texted each other a couple more times that week, but it felt much shallower. Surface-level. That was good, she told herself. They should keep it that way. Maintain some of that professional distance he had talked about.

Thursday came, and she found herself getting dressed in the elegant black dress she’d met when she first met him. She’d originally decided not to go to this stupid gala because she wasn’t very fond of the organizer and, truth be told, she sometimes hated going to these things at all. She didn’t mind being social on most days, but sometimes the fakeness of it all got under her skin and she hated it. Today was one of those days, but it didn’t matter.

She reminded herself that she was supposed to get back in the game, and this was the perfect opportunity. It wasn’t like she needed to stay the whole night – she could just show up, do some dancing, maybe flirt with a few strangers for practice, raid the shrimp buffet, and go home. Besides, it would keep her mind from…anything else that might be going on that evening. It would be good for her, and she was determined to go and at least appear like she was having a good time.

Picking the same dress was merely coincidental. Their first night she had selected it because it looked amazing on her but was still more than passable for being spotted in public. This was no different, and it made sense to want to look her best. She touched up her makeup one last time and met her driver outside to be whisked away to a grandiose evening where she hopefully wouldn’t be bored to actual tears by ancient men trying to learn her breast size through osmosis. The last thing she needed was trying to deal with having broken someone’s fingers for getting too fresh. Again.

The gala itself was a lovely, sparkling affair. She could appreciate a well-organized fundraiser as much as the next socialite. A large band took up most of the stage, playing big band music to the enthusiasm of a few very talented dancing couples who had clearly taken lessons, and several more dancers who were just making up for it in enthusiasm, which made her smile. There was something nice about just watching people have a good time together and enjoy themselves.

There was a silent auction for some charity or other, extravagant gift baskets filled with all manner of prizes. She’d heard that there was a live auction later in the evening, as well, but she had no idea what types of prizes might be available at that. She spied something on a banner about a children’s hospital and was grateful that the event was at least for something good. She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and sipped at it, reminding herself to take it slow and not get hammered before she even had a chance to try some of the appetizers walking past.

Bulma stepped up to browse some of the auction items, wrinkling her nose at the assortment of getaways and vacations. It’s not that she minded spending the money on charity, but she wasn’t interested in going somewhere on a vacation she hadn’t planned down to the detail herself. If she picked up any of these, she’d wind up on some awful tour with a guy named Randy who barely spoke the local language and was constantly referring to a guidebook. She much preferred the intimate, quiet vacations she could arrange on her own.

Instead, she turned her attention to some of the things she considered more exotic. She bid way too much on a hamper filled with homemade jams and spreads, hoping no one would dare challenge her. Strawberry was a heavily featured flavor, and that was her absolute favorite. She was delighted to find quite a selection of handmade items by local artisans, and she put herself down for too many of them with glee.

She was examining a gorgeous diamond necklace and wondering if she really needed another one in her collection when someone spoke up next to her. “A woman of taste, I see.”

Her gaze flicked over to the tall man who had appeared next to her. He was quite handsome, dressed smartly in a black suit that was impeccably tailored, easily hinting at the amount of muscle that likely hid beneath it. His arms weren’t quite bursting out of their sleeves, but the cut of them definitely was intended to leave that impression. He had long, dark green hair that was pulled back in a tasteful ponytail, and his ears were pierced by diamond studs, which was a refreshing rarity in her circles. Men often found any jewelry other than watches and rings to be emasculating for some reason, and she was much more interested in a man who wasn’t bothered by such notions.

He leaned over to examine the necklace, which was under glass. “That’s quite a find. I’ve been curious to see who would pursue it. The clarity is exquisite.” He glanced at her, and his eyes were a warm golden honey color that she found intriguing. He smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back.

“I don’t know anything about the clarity, but I sure thought it looked pretty.”

He raised an excellently-manicured eyebrow at her and smiled. “Well, it would certainly look pretty around such a gorgeous neck.” She felt her cheeks warm as he extended a hand her direction. “I’m Zarbon. It’s lovely to make the acquaintance of such a superb specimen as yourself.”

Something uncomfortable slithered down her spine at that. She didn’t like being called a specimen. But he was handsome, and otherwise charming. And, well, part of the point of even being here tonight was to try to work on herself. She steeled herself and took his hand. “I’m Bulma Briefs, and you’re too kind.”

He took her hand and turned it over, placing a delicate kiss on her fingers. She winced but immediately covered it with a smile when he smiled warmly up at her from over her hand. “A perfect name for such a perfect lady. I assure you that I’m not being kind enough by half. Would you like some company around the auction? Or perhaps a turn on the dance floor?”

Is this guy for real? She wasn’t sure that she’d yet met someone who managed to be this pompous while also somehow managing to be incredibly charming. Usually, the most pompous ones were creepy old men that were easy to dismiss, but this one was different. He didn’t look her grandfather’s age, for one thing, and he actually seemed interested in hearing her words instead of talking directly to her tits. She figured she could do worse for a walk around the floor. Maybe a dance or two.

“Sure. Let’s take a look around the auction. Maybe there’s more pretty rocks.”

He laughed at that, and she felt a little more reassured. Gemstones were clearly a thing for him, and if he could handle her joking about it, then he wasn’t easily riled up. He offered her an arm, and she took it. Before they moved on she wrote down a bid on the necklace, and he gave her an approving nod.

“So, what do you do, Mr. Zarbon?” She asked him, sipping her champagne and working to keep her wrap secured over her elbows as they perused the auction listings.

“Ah, just Zarbon, please. I’m not one to stand on formality.” What an oddly formal way to say that, she thought. “I come from a long line of jewelers. My family has been in the business for five generations.”

“What a stunning coincidence,” Bulma said, looking over a basket with interest. This one had flavored syrups for making cocktails. “I come from a long line of people who wear jewelry.”

He laughed, and the sound was rich and genuine, but it still felt oddly hollow. “You’re quite a delight, Ms. Briefs.” She waved a hand.

“Just Bulma, please. Ms. Briefs is my father.”

He blinked at that one. “Ah, Bulma, then.” Evidently that one didn’t land as well. At least he wasn’t laughing at everything she said in that horrifically insincere way that some old men did. That was something. She added a bid on the syrups. “Interesting choice. Are you a purveyor of fine beverages?”

“I do occasionally enjoy some cranberry syrup in my vodka like any other reasonable adult.”

He blinked again, not quite sure what to make of that, either. “I’m actually a collector of expensive wines, myself. I enjoy many of the refined tastes in life, no matter the cost.” He smiled that self-assured smile again, and she actively fought not to shiver. She didn’t think she’d be inviting this gentleman back to her place for a nightcap. He was handsome and charming, but something about him just rubbed her the wrong way.

She sipped her champagne. “I’m not much of a wine drinker.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I have a very expensive bottle awaiting my return home this evening.” He placed his hand on top of her arm where it was through his.

“That is a shame. Say, what do you think of these earrings?” She pulled him towards a pair of peridot earrings. Before he could answer, she hear someone call her name.

“Bulma, darling! I’m so glad to see you here!”

Bulma gritted her teeth, willing herself not to flinch at the sound of that voice. Maron was a socialite who had always tried to get close to her, trying to infiltrate her very small circle of friends. She suspected the woman was wildly envious of her life. She had started dying her hair blue and even had blue contacts, although neither of the colors quite matched Bulma’s natural tone. Her family was moderately wealthy, which was to say that they had nothing on the Briefs fortune, and Maron’s jealousy threatened to turn her hair green at times. Bulma found herself wishing she'd worn the red dress just to spite her. Again.

She knew Zarbon had seen her reaction, but she looked at him apologetically and gave him a weak smile. He nodded and gave her a wink. He either knew Maron, or he just knew the type. It was sort of easy to figure out who people were at these things. They turned around together, his hand on her arm, and she plastered a big, fake smile on her face. The smile died like she’d just been told someone had run over her dog.

Maron was dressed in a sparkling golden gown that was just a little too close to prom fashion and not quite elegant or chic. She had a huge, gaudy necklace on and gaudy earrings to match, although her hair was done up nicely and her makeup was well done. At the very least, she had good people providing her with those services, which was something. She was waving enthusiastically as she walked up with a hand that was adorned by loud, clattering bangles.

Her other arm was occupied by Vegeta.

Bulma felt the color drain from her face, but she instantly plastered the smile back on. She knew Zarbon could probably tell that she was shaking, but he probably assumed it was because of Maron. He patted her arm in what she was sure he thought was a comforting way. It just served to call Vegeta’s attention to her arm through his, although his calm, congenial expression never faltered for a moment. She wasn’t sure whether she was going to pass out or throw up. Maybe she’d throw up and then pass out into it as a fun party trick.

“Maron, is that you? It’s been too long.” Her voice was too bright, but Maron was clueless. They both stepped forward from the arms of their respective escorts, giving each other little air kisses near their cheeks before stepping back. Bulma took a large gulp from her champagne glass to steady herself.

“It has been too long,” Maron agreed just as brightly. “I feel like I never see you at these things anymore.”

Bulma waved around with her glass. “Oh, you know how it is. I just get so wrapped up in the lab, it’s hard to make it out to social functions. I just really wanted to make this one since it’s for the children’s hospital.” She hoped she’d read that banner right.

“Of course. You’ve always been such a philanthropist!” Maron’s smile was turned up to 1000 watts. Bulma wondered if she used some sort of radiation to get her teeth that white. It was all she could do to focus on the woman and not look at Vegeta. Her eyes betrayed her, and she glanced over at him. “Oh, and of course I must introduce you to my guest for the evening, Vegeta. His family and mine go way back.”

It was a lie, and Bulma knew it. Not because she knew Vegeta that well, but because she knew Maron. She would take any excuse to make herself look better, and she was certainly not going to introduce the man with her as an escort. In Maron’s eyes that would be just a step up from introducing him as the help. She felt angry on his behalf, but she held it in alongside the million other things she wanted to express.

Vegeta held his hand out, and Bulma had no choice but to take it. When their hands touched, the feeling was electric, and just his gaze on her filled her belly with warmth, and she felt the first stirrings of arousal. He squeezed her hand harder than the first time they shook hands, his thumb brushing the back of her hand slightly in a way that made her nipples harden. She was so grateful she was wearing a bra with padding. She met his gaze and smiled her best award-winning smile that hopefully conveyed polite interest and nothing more.

“Bulma Briefs,” she said, calmly. Evenly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Briefs,” Vegeta said. His voice was smooth, and the timbre of it sent a shiver straight down to her cunt even as she was wracked with nausea.

“Bulma, please. Ms. Briefs is my father.”

His eyebrows shot up and he barked a short laugh before recovering himself, still smiling. He took his hand back, and she regretted the loss of his touch immediately. She took another, more measured sip of her champagne.

“That’s a good one,” he said. Maron’s expression flickered for just a moment. She clearly didn’t enjoy a man whose company she’d paid for finding some other woman’s joke amusing. Maron also probably didn’t get the joke at all.

Bulma smiled, and it felt genuine. “I saw it in a TV show and thought it was a fun way to break the ice.” She looked at Maron. “So, have you two been dating long?”

Maron’s giggle was high-pitched and shrieky. Bulma hated it. “Oh, you know how it is. Families are always pushing their heirs together.”

“I see,” she said, trying to hide her amusement. She glanced at Vegeta and could tell that he was not pleased with Maron’s cover, either, but he smiled politely through it. He really was good at this. She could also see why he hated it.

“And who’s this?” Maron asked, and Bulma suddenly remembered that she had walked up with someone, too.

Zarbon stepped forward, offering her his hand. “My name is Zarbon.” His voice was smooth as silk, and Maron blushed when he took her hand and he pressed his lips to the back of her fingers the way that he had with Bulma. That irritated her. Vegeta frowned slightly at Zarbon, and she wasn’t sure if it was for putting his mouth on his date, or because he was with Bulma. Things were getting complicated quickly.

Maron giggled fiercely. “I’m Maron. It’s so nice to meet you!”

Zarbon seemed encouraged by her response, and grinned at her. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He released her hand and Vegeta offered her his arm again. She took it, and Bulma’s eyes darted to the touch and back to his face. Something passed through his eyes, but it was gone immediately. She felt like she had been thrown into the Twilight Zone.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Vegeta asked, looking between her and Zarbon. Was he jealous? Was he just making conversation? She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she preferred.

“We’ve only just met,” Zarbon purred, smiling at her fondly. He offered her his arm as well, and she took it. She didn’t miss the way Vegeta’s eyes darted to her hand on Zarbon’s arm. It was quick, but it was there. “We were perusing the auction items. Bulma here has quite an eye for fine gemstones.”

Bulma shrugged, uncomfortable with being the object of scrutiny within the group. “I like my pretty rocks as much as the next gal.” She gestured to the earrings they were standing in front of.

“Yuck, I don’t like green,” Maron said. It took everything in Bulma not to roll her eyes. It was such a juvenile response. Maron likely didn’t even notice the way that Zarbon’s eyes tightened at the remark. Not that she would have

“They’re a lovely cut,” Zarbon remarked. “Peridots, I believe.”

“They’re my birthstone,” Bulma said, and Zarbon grimaced. “What, not fan of birthstones?”

“It’s one of those modern inventions that’s designed to sell more jewelry, nothing more. It takes away from the art of the gemstones and reduces it to tourist trap frippery.”

Bulma tapped one finger against her champagne glass. “I bet you don’t like Astrology, either.” Zarbon was shaking his head as Vegeta coughed, clearly covering a laugh.

Maron looked at him with concern. “Is everything okay, sweetie?”

The flicker across Vegeta’s face when she called him sweetie was very subtle, but she saw it. “I’m fine. I just need a drink.”

“Don’t we all,” Bulma agreed. She finished off her champagne and gestured to a passing waiter, who took her glass and provided them all with a fresh one. Zarbon declined, saying something about it not meeting his very specific preferences. Bulma held onto her eyes as tightly as she dared to keep them from rolling away with that one.

Bulma was quickly approaching being sick of his shit, but she smiled at him all the same. She wanted to peel her skin open and climb out of it, shrieking to run off into the night like some kind of haunted apparition. That felt like it was the only way to resolve this wildly bizarre encounter. Instead, she chuckled and took a large swig from her glass.

She stood back as Maron and Zarbon debated the merits of the earrings, despite the fact that Maron hadn’t been interested in the earrings a moment ago. They had both stepped closer to the table, and it didn’t escape Bulma’s notice that Maron stepped close to Zarbon, bending over to look at the earrings and exposing more of her cleavage as she leaned over, scooting closer so that they brushed up against one another while she blathered away.

Bulma simply rolled her eyes. She had something, so Maron wanted it. She was welcome to Zarbon – the man seemed more and more like a lizard in human skin and not someone she was interested in spending an evening with, even superficially. She had thought she’d enjoy a little dancing with him perhaps, but seeing the way he peeked down Maron’s dress when she presented him with the opportunity was quickly diminishing any interest she might have been able to muster for the man.

Vegeta stepped up next to her and their eyes met. Even if Zarbon hadn’t turned out to be such a typical man, seeing Vegeta here would have wiped out any affection handily. His dark eyes flicked down over her body before meeting hers again. His expression was guarded, careful, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes that stirred her guts up in a pleasant way. Regardless of how she felt about him being here with Maron, it didn’t seem to have changed about how much she wanted him.

“Vegeta, right?” she asked politely. He nodded. “I’m sorry, what did you say that you do again?” She sipped at her champagne.

“I didn’t,” he said, with a smile, sipping his own champagne in a mirror of her body language.

“Oh, a man of mystery? How quaint.” She twitched one eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “I like to maintain an air of mystique. It’s the only thing that makes me interesting.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You seem like a man of many talents. I bet you’re even good at some of them.” Her voice was even, like she was talking about the weather.

“Perhaps one or two,” he allowed, covering a smile with another sip of champagne.

Their two idiots, who had been talking animatedly about cut or cloudiness or something else that she couldn’t have given a single fuck about, suddenly turned towards them. Maron was attempting badly to cover a sly look with innocence.

“Bulma!” Maron exclaimed. “Would you mind terribly if I dragged Zarbon to the floor for a dance? I was thinking we might sit next to each other at dinner, and he suggested that we cut the rug a little beforehand. You wouldn’t mind, right?” Her tone was pleading. Bulma knew exactly how to handle this.

“Well,” she said, dragging out the l a little too hard. “I guess that’s fine. We can always look at the rest of the auction items later, right Zarbon?” He smiled at her warmly, no doubt thinking he’d have his pick of ladies by the end of the night. He nodded, and she shrugged. “I guess that’s okay then. I’m going to step out and get some air though, it’s a little warm in here.”

“Of course, poor dear. I know it must be hard when you haven’t been to a party in so long.” Ah, she really thought she was being so clever. It was almost painful to watch. It was like tricking a particularly stupid dog into going to the vet by putting treats in her crate – the dog clearly thought she’d discovered some magical source of food through willpower alone and never saw the door swinging closed.

“Would you like me to accompany her?” Vegeta sounded so innocent that Bulma would have believed him if she didn’t know him. Like he was just suggesting something to do with his time while Maron was busy. But she did know him, and it was all she could do not to grin at him.

She watched the idea bloom in Maron’s mind. Maron absolutely thought that this was hilarious – Bulma spending time with an escort without knowing who he was. She could see the rusty wheel turning in Maron’s mind in real time. Distract Bulma with a man who had no interest in her and at the same time get her claws into the man Bulma was clearly trying to seduce. Bulma was worried that she might overdo it and strain herself making these connections, but Maron smiled and patted Vegeta’s arm.

“That’s such a lovely idea, Vegeta! I wouldn’t want her unescorted.” She actually put the emphasis on the word “escorted”. She must have thought she was so cunning. “Please keep an eye on her.” Vegeta nodded, offering his arm to Bulma, who tried to look hesitant as she took it. The two of them turned to set their glasses on a passing tray and walked off towards one of the private balconies, slowly and awkwardly, not looking back as Maron and Zarbon took to the floor to dance.

Once they were outside, Vegeta closed the doors behind them. She turned to look at him, and when their eyes met they both burst into laughter. Bulma leaned over, her hands on her knees, laughing in big whooping guffaws that made tears leak from her eyes. Vegeta half collapsed against the door, holding his chest and laughing up into the sky.

Eventually their laughter settled down into giggles. Bulma leaned back against the stone railing around the balcony, catching her breath and attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes without smearing her makeup more than she had already. When her vision cleared, Vegeta had moved to stand next to her, leaning against the railing with her.

“What a night,” Bulma said, still giggling.

“Yeah,” Vegeta added.

Silence stretched out between them, and Bulma eventually turned around, placing her hands on the railing so she could look up at the stars as they came out in the deepening twilight. They were still close enough to the city that light pollution meant that it would be difficult to see too many of them, but a few were starting to peek out of the darkness. The moon was bright and full, keeping even more stars at bay than usual. He leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky while still facing towards the building.

“Do you want to talk about it, or are we just pretending everything is normal?” She was surprised at how normal she sounded. Her voice didn’t waver like she thought it probably should.

“What’s there to talk about?” He was probably attempting to sound bored, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

“I don’t know. I don’t know…how to deal with this.” She raised a hand to touch the pendant she was wearing, fidgeting with it just to have something to do.

“There’s nothing to deal with. We acted like we hadn’t met. That’s pretty much the entire deal.”

“Hey,” she scoffed. “That was as much for your protection as anything. If Maron thought we knew each other, or had any inkling that we’ve been together, she would be all over you. You wouldn’t be able to peel her off of you, like some kind of vampiric barnacle.”

He was quiet for a long time. When she looked at him, his jaw was set stubbornly. “Who’s to say I don’t want that?”

She snorted. “There’s no fucking way you can convince me that you would willingly spend time with Maron if you literally weren’t paid to. I can’t imagine she’s been amazing company so far this evening.”

A question occurred to her, and she willed herself not to ask it. He was silent, his jaw working as he looked at the door they had come through. Waiting. He was waiting for her to ask it. She fought against the instinct, but it dug at her. The sensation of it was sharp and painful, digging at her like she was being stabbed repeatedly with a needle. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her wrap tighter about her shoulders, breathing in and out slowly.

She turned towards him. “Why have you been so quiet this week?”

He looked at her in surprise. It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. “I’ve…been busy.”

He winced, and she could tell that it sounded as pathetically weak to his ears as it did to hers. It was insulting at the very least and wildly infuriating at best. She stared at him, and he looked away, his cheeks red and his shoulders slumping.

“Right. So, we’re just not going to talk about any of it. Not tonight, not last week, none of it.” Her voice was flat. He should have taken it for the warning it was.

He continued not to look at her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Goodnight, Vegeta.” She pushed off the railing and turned away, walking back towards the door.

“Bulma, wait!” his hand grabbed her wrist, and she turned, twisting to get out of his grasp. When she turned he used the momentum of it and pushed her back, pinning her against the door with a solid thunk as her back struck the wood and the moonlight transformed into chaos. 

His mouth found hers, his hands cradling her face as his body pressed hers against the door. The kiss was frantic, like he was trying to drink her up before she slipped away, his tongue moving against hers like he might never taste her again. She’d raised her hands to push him away, but when faced with the naked need in his kiss, she found herself fisting her hands into his jacket and pulling him closer. One of his hands released her face, drifting down the side of her body to her waist, pulling her hips against his.

Fuck, he’s hard. Why? Why was he kissing her like this? He was here with someone else, on their dime. He was supposed to be in there, entertaining Maron and being charming, putting her at ease and making her look good to everyone around her, not pulling Bulma’s leg up over his hip and pushing her dress back. Yet here they were, his hand cupping her through her panties and sliding under them, fingers already plunging inside of her because she was so wet as she tried to swallow a moan of pleasure and what if someone came outside and saw them?

Her hands were tearing at his belt as she was trying to tell herself that Maron hadn’t already done this tonight, his hips jerking as she took him in her hand and pumped him once, twice before he pushed her hand away and picked up her other leg, pulling her underwear to the side and thrusting into her, hard. She wasn’t sure if her hips made another noise as they struck the door again but her mouth sure did as she moaned, trying to remind herself not to moan his name because what if someone heard but she wasn’t sure she cared.

One hand was on her leg, holding her up as he thrust into her while the other hand was frantically pawing at her, fingers brushing her clit as he swore her name like it was the foulest curse word he’d ever heard. She clawed at him, holding on for dear life and grasping for purpose, anchoring herself to reality with a fist full of fabric and a handful of hair, her mouth filled with his tongue when he wasn’t using it to pray in her honor. It was all she could do not to scream when the madness finally resolved into an orgasm with the force of a landslide.

He slammed his mouth over hers, meeting her moan with his own as his hips stuttered against hers, thrusting into her and spilling himself into her the way he spilled her name against her lips. She whined softly as he thrust again, harder, bracing himself against her and the door as the two of them slid to a shuddering stop. Meanwhile the world continued to spin around them, stars twinkling from the dark sky above, a silent audience to their passions.

They held that way, her legs around his waist as he was buried inside of her, his face buried in her neck, her hands buried in his hair and his coat. They breathed for long moments, madness receding from them at lightning speeds and reality crashing back over them in a tsunami of consequences.

“Fuck,” he snarled against her neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“You’re going to have to put me back down, first.” Her voice was hoarse. Had she screamed? Or had she hallucinated that? She wasn’t sure.

She disentangled her hands from his hair and coat, and he eased out of her, the hot rush of liquid mostly pooling in her underwear, somewhat lamentably. He set one leg down so she could get her bearings and then the other, and she slumped against the door on shaky legs. She pulled her dress down, and he zipped his pants up, and the pall of regret cast its shadow over them, neither of them looking at the other in more than quick glimpses as they straightened hair and wiped away stray lipstick.

Finally, there was nothing left to fiddle with, just the awkward gulf that had opened between them sometime when she hadn’t been looking. She smoothed the dress down to pull the wrinkles out and looked into his angry eyes. That put iron into her spine. What right did he have to be angry? How dare he look at her with any of the loathing she was feeling herself?

He stepped back, and she pushed away from the door. She picked her wrap up from the ground and shook it out before pulling it up around her arms like a shield. He stared at her for a long, long moment before he raked his hand through his hair, opened the door, and walked back inside. She waited several minutes, plucking at her clothes and making sure everything was straightened nicely before she stepped back inside.

No one seemed to have noticed her absence, except for the dark pair of eyes that she could feel on her from across the room. She swept out with as much grace and aplomb as she could muster, carefully not making eye contact with anyone so no one felt like they could stop her. Until, of course, a hand grabbed her wrist only steps from the exit. She was getting really fucking sick of men physically stopping her from going where she wanted to go.

“Are you leaving already? I had hoped to ask you for a dance, if you’d have me.” She turned to see the warm golden eyes and cunning smile.

She smiled at him and gripped his hand until he released her wrist. His smile widened hopefully, as she reached up to touch his cheek.

“Fuck off, Zarbon,” she said sweetly.

Bulma turned on one heel and left, treasuring the expression on his face as she did.

Chapter Text

Bulma woke up late on Friday with what sure as hell felt like a rotten hangover, but that seemed impossibly ridiculous from only two glasses of champagne at a party. She rolled over, evidently still in her dress from the evening, and judging by the smears of makeup on her pillow she hadn’t even splashed some water on her face. That was immaterial to the way her head was pounding and the nausea churning angrily in her stomach. When she got all the way over on her side she spied the mostly empty bottle of wine on her nightstand and recognized it as the culprit for her predicament.

Well, that’d do it. Five years ago, when she was partying regularly, a bottle probably would have barely scratched the surface on an evening for her. She would have rolled over, still in her party dress, and taken a few swigs from the bottle to get her morning started. Today, though, the thought made her stomach lurch uncomfortably, and she pushed that thought away before she could make even more of a mess of her dress and bed. She struggled her way out of bed to her bathroom to try to salvage something of her day.

She tried not to look in the mirror when she went into the bathroom, but she was pleasantly surprised that the devastation wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Evidently most of her makeup had wiped off on her pillow. Or maybe you sweated most of it off before you fell asleep. She peeled out of her dress, feeling sore, and she reached for a bottle of pain reliever, swallowing a couple down with water from the tap.

As she turned away from the mirror she caught sight of abrasions on her shoulders and back. What..? She looked at them more closely, trying to remember how she could have gotten scratched up, when her mind drifted back to the party last night and she remembered being slammed up against a heavy wooden door and vigorously thrust against it several times. Hard.

She stared at those scratches, covering her mouth with a hand. That had all actually happened. She hadn’t blacked out or anything, although perhaps she’d tried to drink it away when she’d gotten home, trying to drown a confusing mess of feelings in cheap wine that snobby assholes like Zarbon might not appreciate but she sure could. She had regretted not taking that slimeball home and showing him who was in charge between them, she had regretted not dragging Vegeta home and begging him to fuck her again, she regretted going to the party in the first fucking place and making a mess of everything.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? She didn’t know, and her reflection didn’t come up with any helpful answers, so she started a bath. A bath would help. She tossed in scented bath salts to help ease her pain and relax her mind. She had no idea where her bra had gotten to or why she wasn’t wearing it or even how she wasn’t wearing it when she’d still been in her dress, but at least she still had her underwear. She slid her panties down, wincing at the mess that had been made of them.

Her cheeks flamed as her mind treated her to the memory of him saying her name over and over, the texture of his hair in her fist as she had come, the feeling of liquid spilling out of her as he’d withdrawn from her. Fuck, they hadn’t worn a condom. She wasn’t worried about getting pregnant, since she was on birth control, but it was still so absolutely reckless of them both. Nothing about it had been planned or controlled. He’d kissed her again, this time without the excuse of it being a gift for his birthday, at an event he’d been paid to be at by someone else. What did it all mean? They’d broken every rule, gleefully and with reckless abandon. Could he get fired for that? Probably. Not that she was planning on telling anyone.

She scrubbed a hand down her face and sighed. She tossed her ruined panties aside and grabbed a clip so she could clip her hair up. She eased into the bath, wincing at the sting on her back and shoulders but letting herself relax into hot water scented with lilacs, breathing in deeply. She leaned her head back against the tub, sinking lower into the water and letting it cover her up to her neck. Hopefully this would ease some of the pain.

She felt like she was trying to think through cotton batting, and the painkillers were taking an agonizing amount of time to kick in. Probably getting into a hot bath wasn’t the smartest move for her head specifically, but she couldn’t give a shit about being smart right now. She just needed to work her way through this problem, pulling at threads until something gave. Work the problem. Find a solution. This was her bread and butter. She could definitely do this.

What were they going to do about any of this? It was clear that something was going on with him. He’d kissed her on his birthday and said it was only because of that, but last night he’d kissed her like it was the only way for him to breathe. Did that mean he had feelings for her? Maybe he was just frustrated with Maron, or jealous of seeing her with Zarbon. But if he was jealous, that also meant he had feelings for her, right? Unless it was some weird macho bullshit where he felt like he was staking his claim or something. That didn’t exactly seem right for him. Jealousy wasn’t really something she could picture from him.

A dark voice in her mind wondered if he’d had sex with Maron after they’d fucked up on that balcony. Had he showered before sticking his cock in her, or just rolled a condom on like it didn’t matter? She wrapped her arms around herself and sank lower until just her nose stuck out. She told herself it didn’t matter. That was his job. He fucked whoever paid him enough. Maybe he’d just been trying to keep her loyalty after seeing him with Maron. For all she knew, it could just be a carefully orchestrated manipulation. A unique perspective on customer retention.

Bubbles rose and disrupted the surface of the water as she breathed out through her mouth. She watched them rise and pop, breathing in through her nose and pushing more out. It was better than crying, which she was also doing. Finally, she just slumped all the way under the water, heedless of the fact that she’d put her hair up to avoid it getting wet.

She looked up from the bottom of the tub, the heat and salt in the water stinging her eyes, looking at the morning light playing across the ceiling in her bathroom. Just call me Ophelia, she thought bitterly. Drowning myself over a stupid man when there are so many more important things to be worried about. A few bubbles escaped her mouth, and she watched them rise. If only it were that easy.

She sat up out of the water, pulling her hair down from its clip and trying not to imagine that she looked like a drowned rat. She certainly felt like one. She breathed the cool air in, blinking stinging water from her eyes, and reminded herself that she was smart, independent, and capable. She was smarter than falling for some guy just because they’d had sex. She was in control of her actions, and she should put a stop to this. She would put a stop to this.

And then she remembered that they were supposed to meet up tonight.

“FUCK!” Her voice echoed through her oversized bathroom.

She flopped back and let herself wallow in her bath a little longer, thinking about all the ways in which she was too clever to be in this situation, and all the ways she could get out of it. By the time she stood up and dragged herself to the shower, she’d managed exactly zero ideas. Normally she would have had three different plans carefully laid out, but today she had nothing. She had so little data to work with, and she was uncertain about what was real and what was perception colored by emotion.

Taking a shower was nice, at least, and her headache had quieted down to a dull roar by the time it was finished. She scrubbed at her skin, only letting her fingers stray for a moment over places where he’d touched her the previous night before she snapped herself back to reality. After her hair was clean she hurried through the rest of it to avoid temptation.

After her shower, she glanced at the time. She’d taken the day off of work before she’d tried to schedule last night with Vegeta, and she had decided to leave it that way even when his appointment got pushed back to tonight. Now she wished that she hadn’t done that, because she had to face an entire day before seeing him and dealing with stupid emotions and bullshit anxiety.

She pulled on a soft pair of pajamas and decided that an old-fashioned burrito day was warranted. She gathered up plenty of snacks, including a huge bottle of water that she wanted nothing to do with but knew she had to get her brain working somehow, and piled them on the table next to the couch. She grabbed her fluffiest blanket, rolled up in it like a Bulma Burrito, and put on trashy Reality TV.

Mid-morning, she glanced at her phone and wondered whether he’d even show up. The idea gnawed at her. She picked up her phone and checked, only to see that she hadn’t had any messages recently. She hesitated for a long moment before she typed up a quick message.

Bulma: Will I see you tonight?

She immediately threw her phone across the room onto a plush chair. She burrowed down in her little blanket nest and hid her face, terrified that he might say no. What if she never saw him again? What if he blocked her and blacklisted her? She supposed she still might run into him, especially if he kept seeing Maron, and if that thought wasn’t enough to make her want to vomit she didn’t know what was.

A couple of hours later, her phone chimed. She’d temporarily forgotten about the message, currently being wrapped up in Danny’s utter betrayal of Sascha in this episode of The Real Housewives of Orange City. When her phone chimed, she stared at it for a couple of seconds until she remembered and she shot up from the couch, immediately tripping over all of her blankets and winding up crawling over to the chair to escape them. She picked up her phone with shaking hands and checked the message.

Vegeta: It’s on the schedule.

“It’s on the schedule”? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? That wasn’t a yes, although of course it wasn’t a no, either. It was like it was almost a yes without actually being committal. Or maybe this was his not-very-subtle way of reminding her that he would be there, but it wasn’t a date. It was an appointment with someone that she was paying, because she was one of his clients. That sounded right. That sounded like something he would do to try to create some distance.

She stomped back over to her nest and carefully reconstructed her burrito, rewinding the episode so she could be angry at Danny all over again. She grabbed something suitably chocolatey and tore into it with her teeth, annoyed at all of the men in the world. Why did they have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t the Saschas of the world prevail? It was all such bullshit.

Hours later, she realized it was finally time to scrape herself together into some sort of human shape for her evening plans. She didn’t know what to expect. She hadn’t planned anything for them tonight, and she didn’t know how he was going to act when he showed up. Would he be all smiles like nothing was wrong? Would he throw a fit and then fuck her over the dining room table? Maybe he’d chicken out and not show up at all. It was tough to decide which option she hated the most. None of them felt good.

She decided not to go with an evening gown. Instead, she kept it simple. Light makeup, dressy but simple sundress, terrified expression just barely covered up with an awkward smile. It was the best she could do. They could order room service if he wanted to stay. If the food wasn’t there yet he’d have a harder time dumping a glass of wine on her and storming out. On the other hand maybe getting drunk beforehand was a power move. This was going to be a nightmare.

She showed up to the hotel enough in advance to get to the suite so as to not have an awkward elevator ride between the both of them. Being stuck in an elevator with him right now seemed intolerable – she was quite sure they’d wind up fucking or tearing each other into little shreds. She sat at the table, fiddling with the bracelet she was wearing until it finally happened.

Three sharp knocks.

She shot up from the table, almost knocking over the chair in the process. She grabbed it just in time, righted it, and then ran her hands down the front of her skirt. Don’t be nervous. Treat it just like any other night. With the guy you’re paying to sleep with you and might have feelings for. Fuck.

Steeling herself for anything, she opened the door. There he was, in the navy suit she’d first met him in, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding his bag. That was good, right? He’d brought the bag, so he must be planning to stay. Unless he’d brought it out of habit. She looked at him and his serious face, and he didn’t smile at her. That made her stomach hurt. It all felt wrong, somehow.

“Hi,” she said, feeling stupid.

“Hi.” She didn’t know how much she could infer from one spoken word, but his voice was quiet. Rough.

She hesitated. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.”

His jaw worked. “Well, you made the appointment, so…” he trailed off, watching her. She didn’t know what to say. “Do you want me to come in?”

“Oh,” she said, feeling even more stupid. She stepped aside, holding the door. “Yes, of course.”

He set his bag next to the door, and glanced around the room, his glance lingering on the table and the couch. He turned to face her, his hands in his pockets, and watched her as she plucked at the fabric of her skirt. The silence stretched on uncomfortably before he sighed.

“What do you want from me?” It came out less like an accusation and more of a plea. It also felt uncomfortably like he was asking for orders, like some kind of dog. It twisted at her insides. This was just as awful as she thought it would be.

“I just…I thought we should talk.”

He snorted. “What’s there to talk about?” As though he couldn’t think of a single thing of consequence for them to discuss.

She reeled back, her brows knitting together. Her nervousness vanished, replaced by irritation. “Uh, okay. I don’t know what that tone’s about, but I thought you might want to talk about last night.”

He shook his head. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

She stared at him in shock. “A mistake? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I wasn’t there with you. It never should have happened.” His voice was flat, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Indignation filled her. “Okay, but it did. It did happen, and while you may feel it was “unprofessional” or whatever, we still have to talk about it, and why it happened.”

He shrugged, which looked ridiculous with his arms still crossed. “I don’t see why we do. We just accept that it happened and move on. Lines were crossed, and we agree not to cross them again. End of story.”

White-hot fury bloomed in her chest suddenly, and she felt a tingle ripple down her skin. “Oh, is that how it is? We just pretend that nothing’s happening here?” He looked away, and she stormed up to him, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “You practically ignored me for a week after you kissed me, and then when I tried to talk about it you pretended like nothing happened. And when I tried to walk away you pinned me to the wall and fucked me like it was the last sex you’d ever have. We’re just going to pretend that all of that never happened?”

Her voice had risen as she spoke. She wasn’t quite shouting, but it was close. His jaw clenched so hard that he looked like he could chew through titanium. His voice was rough and quiet.

“Yes, okay? We’re going to pretend it never happened.”

It was everything she could do not to slap him. She threw her hands up in disgust. “It’s not that easy! You can’t just do these things and then act like it was nothing! Like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing to you!” Now she was shouting.

“Yes I can!” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes flashing in a warning she couldn't be bothered to take.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you? Why do you think I’ll let you get away with this?” She hated how shrill she sounded.

“Because!” He shouted back. “It’s the only way–” He cut off abruptly, teeth snapping shut so hard she though he might have chipped something. He unfolded his arms and turned away.

“What?” she snarled, following him so that he couldn’t look away from her. “It’s the only way that what? The only way you can sleep at night, pretending you don’t have feelings?”

His hands shot out, wrapping around her shoulders and crushing her against him, his mouth pressed to hers. She leaned into it for a moment but then placed her hands on his chest and pushed back against him, breaking the kiss and creating some space between them.

“No,” she shook her head. “You don’t get to just shut me up. Why are you doing this?”

His face was agonized, and his voice was low and husky. “Because if we can’t stop doing this, we have to stop seeing each other. Period.”

She recoiled in horror. “What? Why?”

“Because this doesn’t work with feelings.” He released her shoulders and turned away, going to stand by the fireplace and look into the flames. It felt both wildly melodramatic but also appropriate. “That’s the point of it. There are rules for a reason. It has to be professional, impersonal.”

She stepped closer to him, not quite next to him, rubbing her upper arms. “So, what? You’re just not allowed to have emotions? You can’t get involved with anyone? That’s a pretty fucking stupid rule.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said bitterly. “It’s in everyone’s best interests.”

“Being alone and not being allowed to care about anyone is not in your best interests. It’s not in mine, either.” It was her turn to sound pleading.

He looked at her sharply. “How many times have you thought about what I did with Maron last night?” She blushed and looked away, and he stabbed an accusatory finger towards her like a weapon. “That’s why. I wasn’t lying when I said that there’s not a lot of women who want to date someone who sleeps with people for a living.”

“Don’t pretend like I’m some fragile thing. I’m an adult and I can handle a lot.” Her face was hot, and her stomach was fluttering with nausea.

His smile was cruel, and he stepped towards her. “Really? You can handle having a boyfriend who’s out fucking a different woman every night? Someone who’s paid to smile and simper and make them feel valued? How many times can you stand across a room or table and pretend not to know me?”

Her chin rose in defiance. “Try me. I’m tougher than you think.”

“You don’t even know me.” His laugh was a harsh thing.

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, suddenly furious. “You know a polished fantasy. You know the lies you’ve been sold.”

Her blood boiled at the emphasis on the last word. “Oh, so I can’t possibly know you because I’ve paid for your company? You’re trying to tell me that everything you’ve ever told me is a lie? I don’t believe that for a fucking second.”

He shook his head, his eyes wild. “You’re too smart to be this naïve. You pay to get an experience, and that’s what you’ve been getting. You have no idea who I really am, or what I’m really like.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit!”

He glared at her, and she stomped up to him. He braced like she was going to slap him, unprepared for her to fist her hands in his lapels and drag his mouth to hers. She expected him to push her away as she’d done to him, but instead he pressed against her, forcing her back against the wall. Her shoulders struck the wall as his tongue frantically met hers, and her mind drifted to the night before. Would this end the same way? Were they doomed to repeat the same cycle? Did she even fucking care?

He was already hoisting one of her legs, pressing against her with urgency. She was so inclined to let him, to indulge in the same madness they had sampled last night, to drink from that fountain one last time before whatever this was imploded completely. Why not have one more taste? It could be the last time, or maybe the first of many more. She just had to be willing to keep her mouth shut and let it go.

“Vegeta,” she gasped, tearing her mouth away from his. He kissed his way down her neck, and she breathed hard. “We shouldn’t–”

“Shh,” he hissed into her neck, but he paused, hesitating with his face against her skin. They stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, until he finally let her leg go and pushed away from her, turning away and scrubbing his hands through his hair furiously.

She pulled her dress back down, mentally chastising herself for not stopping him sooner. But it was the right thing to do. If all they did was fuck any time they tried to talk about their feelings, they would never have a successful conversation. They had to work through this for any of it to be possible.

“Vegeta.” Her voice was quiet, but it was like she’d struck him a blow with the way he flinched at the sound of her voice. “Vegeta we have to talk about this.”

He straightened up, his back still to her. His voice was strangely calm. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“Oh, come on.” She fought to keep the exasperation from her voice. But a creeping sense of dread started to fill her when he continued facing away from her.

“I’ll have the agency refund your fee for the evening.”

Panic started bubbling in the pit of her stomach. “What? Who gives a shit about the fee, Vegeta? Just talk to me.”

“You’ll need to request someone else going forward.” He started walking towards the door.

“Just wait a fucking second!” she thundered, and miracle of miracles, he stopped moving. “You don’t get to just walk away and disappear! We can figure this out!”

“There’s nothing to figure out.” He looked over his shoulder at her. If she didn’t know him better, she’d say he almost looked remorseful.

“Why do you keep saying that? Am I not even worth enough to try?” She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. Maybe they hadn’t known each other for long, but she thought there had been something between them. She didn’t think it was all some kind of delusion on her part, some grand invention that she'd made from nothing at all. There was something, and whatever it was, she didn't want to just let it disappear without trying to fight for.

Anger flickered through his expression again, but when he turned to face her properly he just looked tired. “And how is it supposed to work, Bulma? Are you just going to never ask me about my work? Pretend it’s not happening? You don’t seem to particularly be a fan of that approach, considering how much you want to talk this out.”

She crossed her arms low over her stomach. “Well, ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away.”

He scowled at her. “Exactly. So, do we talk about it? Do I tell you all the sordid details so that you can have knowledge that hurts you and makes you jealous? Break your heart every time I come home with the smell of someone else’s perfume on me?” The look on his face was cruel.

“That’s not…” she trailed off. “Look, this is my problem. I can find a way to deal with it. It’s just a job, nothing more.”

He shook his head. “It’s not, though. It’s not like it’s completely impersonal, is it? If you’re at a party and I’m telling a woman she’s the most beautiful person in the room, is it just a job? If you overhear some woman talking about how special she feels, about how she’s never slept with someone that made her feel so good, is it still just a job?” He stared at her, unflinching.

She swallowed, and this time she was the one to look away. “What if you had a different job?”

He sneered, voice dripping with disdain. “Ah, so I should quit the most lucrative job I’ve ever had? Instead of doing well for myself for once? Crawling my way out of poverty for the first time in my life, and I should just go back to that, right?”

Her face burned with shame. Sure, she didn’t know what it was like to struggle with money, but that seemed like a low blow. “I have plenty of money. More than I could spend in a lifetime. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, so you’re going to be my boss? Buy up every time slot and keep me for yourself like a little pet on a leash. Don’t worry, I’ll be the best full-service employee you’ve ever had.”

She shuddered. “No, not an employee for fuck’s sake. But I could take care of you, give you money, whatever you wanted.”

“How very generous of you,” he scoffed. “I’ve always wanted to be a kept man, having all of my autonomy taken away by someone with enough money to put me up on a shelf for my whole life.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so thoroughly humiliated in her life. “And you know I wouldn’t treat you like any of that.”

“Wouldn’t you? You’re the kind of person who pays for everything all the time. Generous with your money, always caring for others and wielding your credit card like a weapon.” It was so irritating how right he was about that. “And then what happens to me four months from now when the novelty wears off and you decide you want something better? Something a little more…well-bred?”

“Oh, fuck you!” she spat, instantly furious again. It took everything she had not to stalk over and slap him across the face for real this time. “You fucking know I would never do that!”

“Maybe.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe not. I know what I think you would do, but I’ve only known you for a few weeks. Is that enough to quit my job and rely on someone else entirely? Can you guarantee me that we won’t fall apart three weeks from now? Three months?”

She crossed her arms in front of her stomach again. “Well, what do you suggest, then?”

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “That’s the point! I came here to tell you that we had to keep it professional, but neither of us seems to be capable of that. We can’t make it work professionally, and we can’t make it work personally. That means we’re only left with one option, and you’re having a meltdown over it. I can’t change the facts, Bulma.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hated it with an intense passion. She’d always cried easily when she was upset, and too many people looked at tears as a sign of weakness. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of him, but she just felt so…helpless. She curled her hands into fists and tried to maintain her anger, but all she found was emptiness.

“So that’s it then? We’re just…not even going to try?” It was almost a whisper.

He watched the tears tracking down her face impassively, the bastard. Like he didn’t even fucking care about how this was ripping her to shreds. “There’s nothing else we can do that won’t end in disaster.”

She managed to find anger again. “Fine, then. If I’m such a waste of your time and effort, you should probably just get the fuck out.” Her voice was cold, even as tears continued to drip from her chin.

His jaw worked as though he was going to say something, but instead he turned away. He walked over and picked his bag up, opened the door, and walked out without looking back.

She watched as the door closed and stared after it for a long moment. Then she sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sobbed until she was hoarse.

Chapter Text

Bulma spent the next two days in bed. She didn’t wallow in a puddle of wine, but she also didn’t do anything else. She barely ate or drank anything. The TV was left on to whatever happened to be on at the time, and she stayed buried under a pile of blankets. She just couldn’t summon the energy to manage anything.

When Monday rolled around, she should have gone to work, but she didn’t really seem to care. She didn’t even bother calling out. What were they going to do, fire the CEO’s daughter? She really fucking doubted it. She idly thought about quitting and just going on a yearlong sabbatical around the world or something. Anything to get her out of her apartment and out of this city. But that would take effort, and all she could manage right now was occasionally changing the channel when something she really disliked was on for too long.

Her phone chimed, and she looked at where it lay just out of reach on the nightstand. There was a reasonable chance that it was someone looking for her since it was after lunch already, but she wasn’t sure if she cared enough to let people know she was alive. Probably her parents would come knock on the door or send the police over if she didn’t, though, so she sort of wiggled that direction until she could just barely get her fingertips on the corner of her phone.

She very carefully pulled it closer, working to get more purchase on it until she could actually grasp it. It probably would have been less effort to just roll over, but whatever. She pulled it over and looked at her messages. There was indeed an email from work, and her mother had just texted her to make sure she was okay. She sent back some kind of response that could roughly be interpreted as an affirmative to the fact that she wasn’t a corpse somewhere.

Just as she went to drop her phone on the floor and bury herself under the blankets for another nap, her phone buzzed a couple of times in her hand. With a heavy sigh she activated it again. No doubt her mom was offering to send her food or trying to drag her out of her den of self-pity. She glanced down at the screen and almost dropped her phone for real when she saw it.

Vegeta: Tonight, 7pm. Meet me at this address.

Vegeta: No sex.

Vegeta: And you’re not allowed to pay for anything.

She stared at those messages for a long time. As she watched, she saw him start and stop typing several times. She wondered what else he might say, but nothing else came through, so she responded.

Bulma: How should I dress?

Vegeta: Like yourself.

She snorted. Leave it to him to not answer a simple fucking question. He could have told her anything about it, but instead he had to be vague and make it complicated. He couldn’t just tell her what they were going to do like a normal person. The thought made her smile softly.

She glanced back up at the messages. No sex. She wasn’t allowed to pay. It seemed like he was trying to set some kind of boundaries. It certainly wasn’t a booty call, that was clear, and if he was trying to set boundaries, that was probably a good sign. Maybe he was trying to see if they could make a go of it instead of just never seeing each other again. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before sending a response.

Bulma: It’s a date.

Vegeta: Yes that would be the point.

For the first time in days, she felt a little spark of hope lighting up in the darkness that had settled over her. He was being withholding and annoying, and entirely unhelpful. It was nice to see him acting like himself.

She sat up, wincing at how sore she was from laying in bed for the better part of three days. She supposed that if she was going to go see him tonight, she should probably take a shower and brush her teeth. Maybe get a light snack so that she didn’t get violently ill in front of him by eating for the first time at dinner, or whatever they were doing.

She tossed the covers back and stood up with all the confidence of a newborn deer. She could do this. She would do this. Any chance was better than nothing.

~~~

At 7pm, she pulled up in front of the address she’d been given and parked, wondering what she was about to walk into and practically shaking with nervous energy. Sure, she could have looked the place up, but she felt like it was better to go in blind. This was his show, after all, and if she didn’t know anything about it, she couldn’t try to control it. And clearly he needed to feel like he was in control of this one. She got out of her car and walked up to what appeared to be some sort of brightly colored restaurant.

She’d decided on a cute but casual top and jeans. With no idea of what they were doing, any kind of dress felt risky. It had also seemed a pretty safe bet that he wasn’t going to take her somewhere fancy, given what they’d been through together. The likelihood that he would be taking her to a gala or somewhere black tie was incredibly low. Besides, he’d told her to dress like herself, and this was honestly as close as it got.

She dressed up like the future CEO when she went out for society events because that was what was expected of her. Truthfully, she did enjoy high fashion and some of the trappings around that lifestyle. She knew that she was privileged, and she leaned into it often enough. She didn’t try to deny that part of who she was, because that would be disingenuous. She was always going to be the little girl who grew up in a house with maids and personal chefs and every gift she ever asked for.

At the same time, however, she was also the little girl who had grown up at her dad’s knee, working in labs and crawling through engines, getting covered in grease and grime as she took things apart to understand how they worked. She still loved instant ramen and old movies and she drove around in a classic car she’d restored herself as a project in high school. She was every bit that person, too. And tonight, she’d decided to dress to honor that Bulma, down to the sneakers.

As she walked up to the door it opened, and he walked through it. She was used to seeing him in incredibly well-tailored, expensive suits. Nice ties, fancy cufflinks, a bag that probably could be sold to make a down payment on a decent car. Now he stepped out in dark jeans and a tight blue shirt and looked every inch as regal as he did in his more extravagant raiment.  If anything, dressing down added to the effect, allowing her to focus more on his bearing than what covered him and see the man beneath it.

When their eyes met her mouth went dry. She didn’t know how he managed to stop her with just a gaze, but it was both impressive and infuriating. He regarded her with his dark eyes, his expression carefully neutral. She saw a flicker of something there, but she couldn’t identify it before it was hidden away again. She raised her right hand, holding out what she’d brought for him, willing it not to tremble.

“This is for you.” He looked down at the pink peony she was extending towards him. His face twisted into a scowl, and she held up her other hand. “Look you said I couldn’t pay for anything, and I’m not. I’ve read up on all the latest dating advice and the experts are quite insistent that it’s good form to bring flowers on a first date.”

He slowly reached out to take it, his scowl dissolving into petulance, and she knew she had him. “Fine. Since you did all that work typing “first date” into your search bar, I guess I can let it slide.”

She grinned, relieved. “Just wait until you see how casually I put my arm around you while yawning during a movie. I’ve been practicing.”

He rolled his eyes, but she could see him trying to hide his amusement. “Unlucky for you. We’re not seeing a movie tonight.” He turned and held the door open for her, and she stepped into a cacophony of sound and light.

This place appeared to be one of those restaurants that was also an entertainment center – there was a huge arcade, and she could see bowling alley lanes and pool tables from where she stood. There were also signs for laser tag and blacklight mini golf. It seemed to be oriented towards adults, at least, because she didn’t see any kids running around and there was a plethora of alcoholic beverages everywhere she looked.

She glanced over at him in time to see him pulling the flower away from where he had obviously been smelling it. His cheeks were pink and she wondered if anyone had ever given him a flower before. Probably not, judging by the way he was clearly hoping she hadn’t noticed. It definitely wasn’t worth teasing him about.

“So, this is our date?”

“Yup. I figured getting your ass kicked at some arcade games and laser tag would be pretty humbling for you.” He had the audacity to sound so casual about it.

“And you’re just a complete model of modesty, I take it?”

“Please,” he scoffed. She laughed and pretended not to see how pleased that made him. Something warm had settled in her chest where those little sparks of hope were blooming, and she tried not to look at them too close.

He led her to a table where they were able to stash their stuff, and he requested a glass of water for his peony. Then he led her over to the arcade. It was surprisingly comprehensive – it had everything from old-style cabinet games and newer driving and shooting games to midway-style games where you could win tickets to get cheesy prizes, just like when she was a kid. It had been a long time since she’d stepped foot in an arcade and she looked around with wonder, dazzled by the lights and sounds of it. It kind of felt like going home to her childhood, in a way.

Bulma turned to see him watching her, and she grinned at him. “Okay, date guru, what are we doing first? Where do I find my first slice of humble pie?”

He smirked at her and led her over to an older cabinet game. “I hope you’re hungry.”

She looked at the game he had chosen, Street Fighter II, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “I am absolutely starving.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed at her response, but he queued up the game anyways. He very confidently selected Ryu, his first mistake, and she pretended to waffle for a bit before selecting Chun-Li. He scoffed again, and she knew it was because she’d picked the girl, and her grin widened, which seemed to unsettle him more. Good, she thought. He should be worried.

It didn’t take very long. He was actually pretty good at the game, no question, but he hadn’t expected her to be as good at it as she was. His face morphed from concern to utter disbelief as she steadily managed to get around his defense and pummeled him with kicks and devastating flips attacks. Two rounds of getting his ass kicked was more than enough, and he didn’t try to start another one, just turned to stare at her. She smiled innocently, rubbing her stomach.

“I don’t know, that didn’t really fill me up.”

He scowled at her. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Oh, but I do, because you were so dramatic about kicking my ass at this.” She grinned and his scowl deepened. She leaned in towards him conspiratorially, loading her voice with innuendo. “How does that pie taste? You didn’t even let me get a bite in.”

His cheeks turned pink, and he looked away. “I didn’t realize she got the stupid backflip attacks in this version.”

She tapped the cabinet with a finger. “That’s because this is the retooled version of Turbo, not the original Street Fighter II.” He glanced back at her, eyebrows raising. “Since this is a date and we’re supposed to get to know each other, I guess this is where I tell you that I spent a ton of time in arcades as a kid. It was one of the only ways I got to just be a normal kid, and I went there every chance I got. Kicking the asses of snotty boys who thought they were better than me at games that are all about strategy when they look like they’re just about button mashing.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I hope you’re not one of those boys who pitches a fit when he loses to a girl.”

A few emotions flickered through those dark eyes, but he finally settled on something that looked like he was impressed, if deeply annoyed. “As a kid, maybe. But I’m an adult and I can handle losing.”

That made her laugh. “No, you can’t. It’s all over your face.” He shook his head and she grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the game. “Come on, let’s see if you can kick my ass at skee-ball or something.”

It turned out they were pretty evenly matched at skee-ball, but she got a nasty shock when they tried a motorcycle racing game and he beat her handily. He pumped his fists in the air like a child, and she bitched about the controls being nothing like a real motorcycle and he gloated and tried to get her to go for another round, which she declined and stomped away to go find something else she could beat him at. She definitely preferred the games where she could beat him easily, but only because he was such a grump about losing that it was funny.

After playing an assortment of games for a while, they had accumulated some tickets and they went to look at the extensive prize store to see what they could win. They’d played a lot of competitive games that didn’t give out tickets, so the pickings were slim. Vegeta wordlessly handed her his tickets, and she waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Why sir, are you trying to buy my affections? I’ll have you know I’m not that kind of girl.”

That earned her a snorted laugh. “I didn’t think you were. But I said I’d pay for everything, so that means you get to pick out the stupid five cent prize.”

She grinned, glad that he’d taken the joke well as she looked over all the prizes. “Well, I could get the little thing that you flip inside out so that it pops up in the air, or a sticky hand that will stick to things before it gets covered in dirt and hair in five seconds. Choices, choices.”

He glanced over at the cabinet she was looking through. “I used to think this stuff was so cool. I spent so much time in the arcade as a kid, trying to save up tickets for whatever the big prize was at the time. I had that hopeful optimism only kids can have of being able to collect tickets a few quarters at a time.”

She felt her gaze drawn over to the big prize cabinets, looking at what they had to offer. She could probably just buy–

“No.” His voice was serious, and she looked at him innocently. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”

“You’re no fun,” she sighed. Of course, he had a point.

She gestured to something in the cabinet at an attendant and offered him their stack of tickets. He didn’t even bother counting it. She turned around and offered it to Vegeta, who took it to examine it. It was a pencil, but this one had the constellation Scorpio on it in bright colors. His face slackened and it looked like his will to live was completely leaving his body, and she howled with laughter as he tried to hand it back to her, which she adamantly refused.

“Nope! I didn’t buy this, so I can give it to you. It’s all yours!”

He glared at her but pocketed the pencil all the same.

They made their way back to the table and ordered dinner. She selected the greasiest burger she could get her hands on and a milkshake. After a moment’s consideration he did the same.

“So, what do you want to do next? I can pretend I’ve never played pool, if you want to get spanked in public.” His eyes widened and his cheeks turned bright red, which made her laugh. “You really do turn such a pretty shade of pink when you’re embarrassed.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s nice to know that this is just how you are all of the time,” he grumbled, gesturing at her.

“Charming? Devastatingly beautiful?” She grinned.

“Vulgar.”

She laughed. “Yes, I’ve been told I have quite the mouth on me.” He eyed her, clearly trying to decide if that was supposed to sound as dirty as it did. She smiled with all the innocence of a newborn babe, and he frowned at her, clearly drawing the correct conclusion.

“So I’ve…heard.” He looked away, and she relished the thought of him replaying the blowjob she’d given him.

She held up a hand. “Look, I’m not going to apologize for who I am. I’m loud and crude, and I’m not here to be anyone I’m not. If I want to pretend to be a perfect princess I can do that any day of the week.”

“Hardly,” he snorted. “I’ve seen you at one of those functions, and you weren’t exactly ladylike.”

Vegeta seemed to realize too late that he was referencing something dangerous, and her smile was slow as it spread wickedly across her face. “I seem to recall I had some help being inappropriate in a public space.” She reached under the table with one foot and dragged her toe up his calf. If he had been red before, now he was crimson.

“I didn’t mean that,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you didn’t. You know, for a guy who’s all about appearances you sure do have some freaky kinks.” She thought he was going to dissolve and sink into the floor. “Not to kink shame, or anything. Oh look, there’s our food.”

He perked up a little after food was delivered, even though the pink shade to his cheeks lasted for a while. They both scarfed their food with abandon. She was amused to see that there were no perfectly cut bites on his plate this time, only ravenous mouthfuls as he took down his burger like it had done him a personal injustice. It was actually pretty hot to watch him eat like that.

He gave her a scandalized look when she dragged one of her French fries through her milkshake, until she did it again and offered him the drippy concoction. With the delicacy of handling a ticking bomb, he took it from her and carefully popped it in his mouth. The thunderous frown she got afterwards made her laugh as he picked up another French fry and dragged it through his own milkshake. It all felt so normal.

When they were finally sated, she sat back with a hand on her stomach and sighed happily. “That was amazing. I haven’t had a burger that good in a long time.”

“They do okay here.” He sat back, pushing his plate away and watching her with that intense look he always had.

“I think something about nostalgia makes it taste better. It’s also kind of like having a meal after you’ve just done a really hard work out.”

He considered that. “We could go play laser tag. They have an arena.”

She groaned. “I mean eating after running around. Do you really want to go get all sweaty on a full stomach?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” It was his turn to grin at unintentional innuendo.

And so they found themselves listening to a safety briefing while wearing silly plastic vests, surrounded by a mix of young adults and people their own age out on date nights. Most of the latter made sure to stay on the same team, cozying up to each other and talking about strategy. Bulma pulled on her orange vest and gave him a vicious grin as she held up her gun.

“I hope you’re ready to be humiliated again.”

He pulled on his own blue vest and smirked at her. “It’ll have to wait until after the utter disgrace you’re about to suffer.”

They filed into a dark room full of obstacles and fog, lit only by strategic black lights as some kind of loud electronic music was piped in overhead. The teams separated and she ducked into a little room to wait for the round to start. A horn sounded and she was off, prowling along and looking for anyone in blue that could shoot at. She shot at everyone she could, scoring some good hits, but she knew she was really seeking only one specific prey.

There was a shot behind her, and she dodged to the side, whipping around to see nothing, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly who had fired at her. She jogged around an obstacle and put some distance between them and took a few extra turns for good measure. He wouldn’t be in the same place he’d shot her from, so it became a slow game of cat and mouse, stalking each other by the glow of plastic laser guns.

Peeking through a window, she could just see the edge of the glow of a vest target hiding in the next room. She grinned to herself, holding her gun ready, and she snuck closer until she was right against the wall, easing up so that she could slowly rise up and shoot at him from the cover of the window. She was shocked when they were suddenly face to face, as he’d clearly seen or heard her and had the same idea.

They stood there for a moment, guns raised, staring at each other from inches away in the darkness as artificial fog swirled between them and bass pounded in their ears. They stared at each other, neither of them moving for a few heartbeats. Impulsively she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, closing her eyes against the sensory chaos of the room and just relishing the softness of his lips.

Slowly he relaxed into it, and she reached up to cup his cheek with her free hand. It was soft and gentle, something entirely different from the passionate kisses that they had shared in the throes of ecstasy previously. She felt a hesitant hand on her waist, and neither of them tried to push it any further. Just a tender moment where their lips met, moving slightly as people shrieked and ran in the distance. She wondered if some high school kid was watching this on a monitor somewhere, and she decided that she didn’t care. The moment was too strange and perfect. The warmth in her chest was slowly blossoming into something luxuriously hot.

Finally, she pulled back, knowing that her face was red but hoping it was hidden in the darkness of the room and the glow of the equipment. Emotion rolled through his eyes like a storm as he looked at her.

“Bulma,” he breathed. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

The unprompted apology spiked anxiety in her stomach. “For wha–”

ZAP!

His gun went off and her vest flashed as she was “killed”. She stared at him, mouth open in absolute shock. He grinned at her, and her eyes widened with outrage. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning and sprinting away into the darkness.

“Get back here, you slimy bastard!” she swore. She couldn’t get to the room directly, so she turned and darted back the way she had come as her vest started to reboot. His laughter followed her as she raced after him, fury and joy mingling with an odd sense of pride in his utter ruthlessness.

A few minutes later they were hanging up their vests and she eyed him balefully from across the bay. She hadn’t managed to catch up to him successfully again. They’d traded some shots from across a few zones, but he’d always managed to elude her before she could get a good shot in. The prick.

He smiled slyly at her as they walked back out into the light. She shook her head at him. “I should’ve known you’d resort to underhanded tactics.”

“There’s no room for mercy in laser tag. Hesitation will only get you killed out there.”

“That’s what I like about you. You’re such a romantic. You take the phrase “lady-killer” to a whole new level.” She eyed him. “Have I told you how I’ve never played pool before? We should go do that next.”

He laughed as they walked back to their table. “I feel like you might have told me that, but for some reason I’m having a hard time believing it.”

She gave him her most innocent look, eyes wide. “Would I lie?”

“I feel like asking that right after I shot you in laser tag is just a trap for everyone involved.”

She shrugged. “You’re right, of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

He bought himself a congratulatory sundae for “winning” and her eyes almost rolled out of her head. Fortunately, he requested two spoons, so they could share it, which meant that he didn’t get stabbed right at the table. They finished up their dessert, and they both agreed in not as many words that it was getting late and hitting the pool tables would only result in inciting a world war, so they gathered themselves up and headed to the parking lot, and he walked her to her car.

She hesitated with her hand on the door handle before turning back towards him, standing there under the illumination of the blueish lights, holding his flower and looking somber. “Is it too much to ask what any of this means? Or what’s going to happen now?” She tried not to let her voice shake but the nervous energy was hard to dispel.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice sounding sad and lost. Helpless. “It’s not like one date erases any of the complications that put us here in the first place.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it’s something, right? We were both willing to give it a try, and I think we both had fun.”

His smile was bitter and sad. “I don’t know if “fun” is enough, Bulma.”

She crossed the distance between them and pressed her mouth to his for the second time that night. Once more his hand fell hesitantly to her waist as she held his face with both hands, but this time with slightly more urgency. Her tongue slid against his, and he made a desperate noise somewhere in his throat that made her wrap her arms around his shoulders, pulling their bodies closer together. His fingers tightened on her hip.

Need almost overwhelmed her, but there was no way that they could give into that just now. First, they couldn’t just crawl into her car and have sex in a parking lot like there weren’t people walking in and out of the restaurant, and secondly they still had to talk about it. They couldn’t just keep tearing their clothes off any time something serious came up. There was a damned good reason he’d said they shouldn’t have sex tonight. They both needed to see clearly what was between them outside of that. Whatever this was couldn't survive just in the bedroom.

She pulled back, and he regarded her with his serious expression. It was so odd how serious he always seemed to her despite how much she’d seen him laugh. It made him more sincere, somehow. And it made his laughter so much more precious. She ran the fingers of one hand across his cheek.

“Is this enough? Is whatever this feeling is enough to at least try?” Her voice was rough. She was terrified of what the answer might be.

His eyes drifted back down to her lips. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

“Please, Vegeta,” she pleaded. “If it falls apart, at least we can say we tried. Isn’t the chance for something wonderful worth the risk of a little heartache?”

His somber eyes met hers. “The problem is that I don’t think it will be just a little heartache.”

That rang with the clarity of truth. He was right, and they both knew it. It would be so easy to argue that a few weeks and some relatively casual sex wasn’t enough to build a relationship on and interrupt both of their lives. At the same time, wars had been waged for less. She didn’t fancy herself to be a modern Helen of Troy, but it stood to reason that they weren’t exactly strangers, and they knew what they were getting into.

She stood straight, her chin raising. “I don’t care. I’m not some coward, willing to run away because I’m afraid of getting hurt. You can cut me open and I will bleed, but don’t take away my ability to choose my own path. I’m willing to risk my heart for something real.”

Her words hit him like a physical blow. He recoiled a little, and she let him slip from her hands. He looked down at the flower he was holding for a long moment. Her heart thudded in her chest uncomfortably, like it was trying to test itself against the meat-and-bone bars of its captivity. Finally, he looked up at her and nodded.

“Okay.”

Giddy relief filled her. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s stupid, but I’ve never been told that I’m particularly smart, either.”

She took his free hand with hers. “Well, that’s literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, because I’m very smart and I can tell exactly how smart you are. But we’ll have to set some time aside to unpack that later.” She squeezed his hand, and he glanced up at her. “Should we set up another date? I don’t want to leave here without knowing when I’m going to see you again.”

He studied her for a moment. “How far is your place from here?”

She blinked. “About 15 minutes, why?”

“Send me the address. I’ll see you in 15 minutes.”

He walked off, and she stared after him before she remembered to send him her address. Then she climbed into her car and drove home, wondering what he was planning. The drive back was tense as she considered the possibilities. It was all still so new that she didn’t want to curse anything, so she tried to wrangle those expectations the best she could. The warring feelings of hope and dread were proving difficult to wrangle, however.

They met up outside her building, and she walked him in. The ride up to her apartment was quiet. Once inside, she shyly showed him around. She hadn’t been expecting him to come back to her apartment, but she’d hoped for it enough that she’d cleaned up a bit beforehand. It was weirdly nerve-wracking to show him her bedroom, which felt ludicrous yet also somehow very personal. They'd only ever met up on neutral ground before, albeit one that she had paid for.

His eyes flicked to the bed and back to her. “We need to work out some boundaries and figure out how all of this is going to work before we go any further.”

She nodded. “Of course. I wasn’t meaning to imply anything, I was just–”

Somehow he was already kissing her, already pulling her back down into his orbit away from the stars she was floating amongst. Concern for the future melted away under the heat of his mouth and the gravity of his hands anchoring her to this reality, where they could allow themselves to exist in a singular moment instead of across the entire span of their lives. She didn’t have to stretch forward to look at every potential possibility, not when he was kissing her like this, as though he had thought he would never kiss her again. Right now was just fine with her.

After a heated exchange, he ran his hands up under her shirt, reaching for her bra strap, and she pulled away to give him a reproachful look. “Hey, you said no sex tonight.”

He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, reaching for hers. “Yeah, I’m clearly not good at following the rules when it comes to you.”

She laughed and let him pull her shirt up and over her head. He kissed her again, hands wandering her body, and she ran her hands over the muscular planes of his stomach and chest. She let one hand drift downwards, giving him a gentle squeeze through his jeans, and he shuddered. His hands were suddenly pulling at her pants, unzipping them and pushing at them as he almost knocked her over in his zeal. She laughed again and pushed him away so that she could slide out of her pants and underwear without getting knocked to the ground.

He was pushing his own clothes to the ground, and it was so strange to see him just toss them aside. There wasn’t enough time to contemplate it as she was twisting her hands behind her back to take her bra off and he was already wrapping his arms around her, dragging her towards the bed. There was no fighting him with her hands twisted up behind her and by the time she’d released the clasp they were at the bed. He pulled her bra off unceremoniously and pulled her down to the sheets with him in an untidy heap.

Her giggles were swallowed by his mouth hot against hers. They fumbled around until he wound up on top of her, between her legs, already nudging against her. She tilted her hips as he pulled one of her legs up to help position himself against her, and she dug her fingers into his back to encourage him onward.

Suddenly he stopped, freezing in place but pulling his head back to look at her, his eyes wide. “Shit. I just realized I don’t have any condoms. I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t have anything here. I haven’t had a reason to need them in a long time.” She looked around as if that would make some magically appear. He looked pained, but he eased back from her, breaking contact. She gripped him tighter, winding her legs around him to keep him from moving. “Wait, it’s okay! I’m on birth control and you’re the first person I’ve had sex with in much longer than since I’ve been tested.”

He looked like he was in a particularly terrible kind of agony. “Bulma, I’m a sex worker. I can’t just–”

She overrode his protest. “You get tested regularly, right?”

His expression was all chagrin and regret and doubt. “Yes, but I still–”

“Have you ever had sex with one of your clients without protection?”

“Once,” he whispered, a desperate plea. “Just once.”

She pulled him closer, her voice dropping. “Just once?” He nodded, and she leaned in close. “A few days ago?” He nodded again, helpless as her lips ghosted over his. “Why?”

“You make me crazy,” he breathed. “Can’t think straight.”

She used her legs to guide him closer. “Good.” She pressed herself against him as their mouths met again, and the last of his restraint snapped. He thrust into her, sucking in a sharp breath as he did, but she spurred him onwards with hands and hips and legs, and he let himself be led.

Maybe they should have taken their time and drawn it out. They definitely should have taken the time to be smart and safe and make better choices, but neither of them had patience for any of it. It wasn’t quite the madness of the party, driven to an intensity where everything stopped making sense, but it was close. She’d woken up that morning certain that she’d never see him again, and she was too impatient to have every part of him that she lapped it up eagerly, deliberately crying out into his ear to make him shiver as he thrust into her and made her come undone beneath him. He followed her soon afterwards, hips jerking and body shaking until he lay still, wrapped in her embrace and cradled within her in every sense.

He rolled over only a few minutes after they’d started, both of them breathing like they’d run a marathon.

“I swear,” he panted, “I usually last a lot longer than that.”

“Yeah, well,” she panted back, “me too. We’re just both too excitable today.”

A few more heaving breaths. “That was really stupid. We can’t do that again.”

She turned her head enough to look at him out of one eye. “Have sex? I think you’re out of luck if you think you can stop either of us.”

He looked at her. “I mean without a condom. I’m serious. There’s a reason it’s a required part of the job. If I brought something home to you I’d never forgive myself.”

Such a small word, “home”. He probably didn’t even realize he’d said it. They were a long way off from anything like that, but it still meant something to her, and she smiled, which made him stare at her incredulously.

“You need to take this seriously, Bulma!” That only made her laugh, and she could see he was getting deeply offended so she held up her hands in surrender.

“I am, I promise. I’ll go buy a giant bulk pack of condoms if it makes you happy. I’m sure you already have an entire warehouse set up at your place.” He grunted something like agreement and she laughed, reaching down to thread her fingers between his. She lay there for a minute, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “Have you ever thought about making online content?”

“What?” She looked over at him, and he was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “You know, making videos or whatever for people. You’d get to do the same kind of work, get to be your own boss without being beholden to an agency.”

“Hm,” he grunted softly. “I mean I’ve joked about it, but never seriously. I guess I could consider it.”

She shrugged. “It’s an option. I don’t know how the pay would look compared to what you do now. You’d probably have to build up a fan base before it got really lucrative.”

“That wouldn’t bother you?”

She snorted. “Why would it? Hell, I could probably help you.”

His eyes widened. “You…want to help?”

“Sure,” she said, rolling over onto her side so they could talk properly. “I mean, I’m not the foremost expert on social media engagement but I know a thing or two.” He looked almost disappointed, and she raised an eyebrow in confusion. He blushed and looked away, and it clicked for her. “Oh! You thought I meant…oh.” She considered that for a moment. The thought was intriguing. “I mean, maybe. I’m not saying yes, but we could talk about it, if you’re seriously considering that.”

“I don’t know. I’m willing to take suggestions.” He rolled on his side to face her, and he ran his fingers down her face. “Although I’m not going to lie, the thought of recording you is...” He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. “Enticing.”

He opened his eyes and let his thumb drift across her lips, and she smiled as she captured his thumb with her mouth. His eyes widened as she sucked on it, running her tongue over it suggestively. His breathing was speeding up as he stared at her, and she worked her mouth down to where his thumb met his hand before letting the digit slide out of her mouth completely. He stared at her, wide-eyed.

“You’re already going to break your rules again, aren’t you?” she asked with a sly smile. He rolled on top of her, his mouth already covering hers as he settled back in between her legs. She giggled as he grumbled something halfheartedly telling her to hush, and she threaded her fingers into his hair.

They would figure something out, because this was definitely worth fighting for.