Exposure

By The 41^st Maguanac

 

Bulma ran.

 

Her heeled shoes clicked across the pavement, as she ran as fast as possible down the darkened street, the street lights casting long orange pools of light which flickered as Bulma ran through them. It was severely cold. Her long creamy scarf flew out behind her, looking as though it would fall at any moment, and curl on to the pavement like a cat at its master’s heels. There was no way that this thin, chiffon piece of material could have provided Bulma with any significant heat, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t see it.

 

Finally, she tripped. Her ridiculously high heels caused her to find a crack in the pavement, and she fell forward. Her little black dress offered no protection against the rough grit on the road. She lay, motionless on the pavement, burning tears trickled down her cheeks, one after the other, and disappeared between gaps in the brickwork.

 

She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to lie there all night, and freeze in the cold. In the morning, they’d find her dead from exposure. Then he’d suffer. He’d know what it felt like, and maybe, just maybe, they’d hate him too.

 

‘Why?’ she thought, bitterly, ‘Why him? Why her? Why me? Why anything?!’ She tried to think about why she had chosen to call on him that evening. She had convinced herself that it was because he looked lonely, and stressed out… but maybe she had been kidding herself. What was she trying to prove? The fact remained that she knew why she’d gone.

 

Him. Vegeta. That damn baka.

 

‘He had no right,’ she had told herself, ‘No right to say what he did.’ But what worried her more was the fact that she’d actually cared. He’d actually hurt her feelings. How? How had he managed to get through to her?

 

“You can smell the guilt on him,” he’d said. “That man is less faithful than Roshi in a whore-house!”

 

“He is NOT!!” she’d yelled back, on the verge of tears, “He loves me, and I love him, and one day, we’re going to be married!!”

 

The words still echoed in her head, but not as heavily as when Vegeta had done the most hurtful thing. It wasn’t what he said, it was what he did. He had laughed. It was a deep, horrible laugh, which reverberated in the kitchen. It was the kind he saved for Goku when he had the upper hand in sparring, and it burned. It burned like nothing else she had ever felt. It burned through her clothes, and into her heart like a thousand tiny daggers. She had no defence against it.

 

“Shut up!!” she yelled.

 

He didn’t stop.

 

“SHUT UP!!! STOP IT!!” She was screaming now, tears running down her cheeks.

 

But he didn’t stop.

 

“STOP IT!! STOP IT!! STOP IT NOW!!”

 

She ran at him, and thumped his chest with both her fists, but to no avail. He gripped her wrists to keep her still, but kept on laughing all the while as she struggled against him. Finally, he released her, and she’s fallen backwards, knocking her head on the cupboard. She stopped screaming, and fell silent.

 

 “I hate you,” she whispered.

 

Then she ran out of the room, pushing past him and up the stairs. She smashed the vase on her bedside table, and slammed all the wardrobe doors, but however much sound she made, she couldn’t shut out that hurtful laugh, even though Vegeta had stopped.

 

It was then that she’d made the decision. She would go over and see Yamcha, and prove to Vegeta, and to herself that she and Yamcha were meant to be together. She washed her face, put her best make up on, and pulled her new, little black satin dress out of her wardrobe, which she had been saving for a special event. This seemed like it. She stood back, and admired herself in the mirror, and pulled on her little black shoes, with the stiletto heel. She draped a long, chiffon scarf about her neck, then, satisfied with her appearance, she went back down the stairs. Without a word to Vegeta, she left the house, taking her thick, fur coat as she went.

 

It was a brisk evening, and for some reason, she decided to walk. When she got there, the house was dark.

 

‘That’s strange,’ she had thought. She shrugged her shoulders, and used her own key to get in. She hung her coat upon the hook, but left on her scarf. ‘Maybe we can have some fun with that later,’ she’d thought, mischievously. She dimmed the lights, and put on a CD. The threads of music caressed her body, and she swayed a little to the music, before selecting a flower from a nearby vase. She lay down on the sofa to wait.

 

She waited, and waited… and waited.

 

Near eleven o clock, Bulma was almost asleep on the couch, soothed to sleep by the music. She heard the click of a key in the lock, and woke up. She peeped over the top of the sofa to see. The door blocked her view of the entrance, but it didn’t block the sound. There were two voices. One of them was Yamcha. The other was someone else. A woman. Bulma sat up to get a better view, as Yamcha pushed the young woman into the room, and up against the table, kissing her neck.

 

Bulma was absolutely mortified. She got up, and decided that she had to get out. A violent wave of nausea rushed over her, causing her to stagger. She hit the glass coffee table, the top of which slipped, and smashed on the wooden floor.

 

Instantly alert, Yamcha spun around. He stared at Bulma, who stared back at him.

 

“Bulma…” he said, as almost a whisper.

 

She raised her hand to silence him. “I have to go now.”

 

“Wait…” he’d started, and took a step towards her. The young girl behind him just stared.

 

“Don’t touch me, Yamcha. Don’t come near me. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. I have to go now,” she finished.

 

“Bulma, please, I can explain…”

 

“NO!” she shrieked, as his hand touched her arm. “I don’t want you near me! I can’t even look at you!”

 

He made another grasp for her wrist, and gripped it in her fingers. She could tell that he was talking, he was trying to explain, he was trying to get out of it, the way he always did, but she couldn’t hear him. The only words she could hear in her head were ‘Lies, lies!’

 

He tightened his grip, and she grabbed the nearest object available to her hand, which was the vase of flowers. She picked it up, and struck him with it, a heavy blow to the head. He’d fallen over, and the girl behind him screamed. His head was bleeding. She dropped the remains of the vase, and ran. She neglected her coat, and belted out of the door, down the street, and into the night.

 

Vegeta looked up at the clock on the gravity room wall. Bulma had insisted on fitting it, so he’d know when it was time for meals, and she wouldn’t have to ‘bother’ him anymore. It hadn’t changed anything though. Sure enough, every day, Bulma would come and bang on the door, rain insults on him, then stalk back to the house.

 

But tonight, Bulma was the one who was late. Vegeta tried to concentrate on what he was doing. He summoned up energy into five balls, and then flung them, so they circumnavigated the room, before returning to his hands, so he could fight them off again. That was a method he’s learnt from Kakarot. ‘At least he’s useful for something,’ thought Vegeta.

 

He spun around, and blocked each of the attacks.

 

The first was sent flying into the ceiling.

 

The second hit his bunched fist, and dispersed.

 

The third was sent blasting sideways.

 

The fourth Vegeta countered with another blast of his own.

 

Satisfied with this, Vegeta turned around, and picked up a dumbbell. Then it hit him. Literally. Ball number five hit him square in the back, and knocked him into the wall. His back steamed a little, as he pulled himself to his feet.

 

‘Why do I even care?’ he thought, ‘She’s probably over with that baka, Yamcha, having ‘fun’.’ He snarled as he thought about it, then set about punching the air, and back flipping in the heavy gravity.

 

Maybe he’d been too harsh. He often forgot how soft these humans were, with their sentimental rubbish.

 

‘I must be going mad,’ he thought to himself, ‘Now I’m regretting things.’ Did she hate him? Really? They’d argued a thousand times before, but she’d never said that she hated him before. He was used to people hating him. He’d killed countless millions of people, destroying whole civilisations, and heard thousands of final pleas for life. None of this, however, had affected him as much as those three words.

 

Deciding that he was fighting a lost cause, Vegeta picked up his towel, and headed for the house, expecting Bulma to be there. She wasn’t. He sat down at the kitchen table, and waited. The minutes ticked on. The clock counted each second, noisily on the wall. Vegeta had never noticed how loud that clock actually was before, but on the other hand, Vegeta had never known such a silence before.

 

Finally, Vegeta got up, and walked out to the hallway. He would go out, and he would bring her back. He was the master of the household, and when she was meant to be home, he’d make sure she was. She was there to serve him, damn it! He picked up the thick coat that Mrs. Briefs had given him to stop him, “catching the sniffles,” donned it, and walked out of the door.

 

‘I wonder what time it is?’ thought Bulma, still lying on the freezing pavement, her body half numb with cold and fatigue. She didn’t have a watch on, but doubted that she could have moved her hand to see it if she wanted to. Her lips were chapped, and sore, but now was hardly the time for worrying about if she’d brought any lip balm with her.

 

She felt as if she was dying. The icy cold crept in through her clothes, and pierced her. She accepted it’s painful hold as some kind of punishment. Maybe she was at fault somehow. Maybe, in some way, she deserved it.

 

She closed her eyes, and fell gently asleep, unsure whether she would ever wake again, and not caring either.

 

Vegeta hovered across the streets. He’d been looking for half an hour, but he still couldn’t find her. He wished that she had a higher ki, which he could sense. He closed his eyes, and floated majestically in the night sky. He opened his senses, and let them reach out as far as they could go, to the smallest signs of life. He could even sense the people in their houses. He could feel it as their chests rose and fell with their breath.

 

A dying power. Very faint, and definitely on it’s way out. Vegeta let his curiosity get the better of him, and flew down to find a small, dark, huddled figure on the pavement.

 

‘A tramp?’ he thought, but realised that the figure was not dressed in tramp clothes. He crept over, and lifted the figure’s arm away from their face.

 

‘Shit,’ he thought. Bulma lay, still and freezing cold on the pavement. A heavy wave of panic hit him.

 

“Woman,” he said, shaking her a little, “Woman! Bulma!” He leant down, and checked her pulse. It was still there, but a little faint. He pulled off his coat in one fluid motion, and wrapped it around her body.

 

“Stay with me,” he whispered, “Bulma, don’t you dare leave me,” he took off in a blaze of bright golden light, and tore home, across the sky.

 

The door slammed behind him with a crash as he walked through the door, the little bundle of Bulma cradled in his arms. Her lips were blue, and her eyes were a little dark, but he wasn’t willing to give up hope. Not yet.

 

He hurried into the bathroom, and spun the taps on the bath to fill it with hot water. Not thinking too clearly, he pulled off her damp, freezing clothes, and laid her in the bath. When it was almost full, he turned off the taps, and sat down by the edge of the bath.

 

Vegeta felt strange. It was the first time he’d ever seen Bulma naked before, though Bulma had seen him naked before. It was a time not long after the information had come from the Saiyan boy, about the androids. There was no drying cloth, and he had simply walked out of the shower room, totally naked, in search of one. He smiled as he realised that he would never forget Bulma’s expression when he walked into the kitchen. She turned around, and stared. He had noticed with a little smirk of pride that her eyes had wandered in a downward fashion, and he was sure that her eyes had widened a little.

 

After this, she covered her eyes with one hand, and went beetroot red. “Vegeta!” she said, “What are you doing?”

 

“Looking for a drying cloth. What does it look like?”

 

“Vegeta! You can’t…”

 

“Can’t what?”

 

“You can’t just… wander around like that!”

 

“Why not? I’m a prince, I can do as I please!”

 

“But… it’s embarrassing!”

 

“To who? You?”

 

“Well, I…” Fortunately, Bulma was saved, as she reached into the laundry basket behind her, and fished out a towel. “Here you go!” she said, waving it out in front of her, blindly, trying to resist the urge to peek from between her fingers.

 

Since then, Bulma had always made sure to check that he had a towel before he went into the shower. ‘Humans and their modesty…’ he thought, ‘What a strange thing.’

 

Bulma’s ki was rising, as warmth started to flow through her veins again. Vegeta softly touched forehead, then glanced down at her again. She was beautiful he had to admit. She had long, flowing curves, dainty feet, and her long turquoise hair floated in the water, and wound around her shoulders and breasts. His eyes lingered a little longer here. He couldn’t help it. She looked like some divine mermaid from the deeps of the sea, put on Earth to seduce him, as though no matter how rich or important he was, he could never have the money to own her.

 

He felt himself tighten within his pants. What was she doing to him? He resisted the urge to touch himself, but still couldn’t think of a way to alleviate the growing pressure in his underwear.

 

‘Hell!’ he thought, ‘I’m in a bathroom here! I’ll have a shower!’ Fortunately, the shower cubicle, and the bath were separate, and Vegeta quickly stripped off, closed the shower door, and switched it on. The freezing cold water hit him, and for a while, he could forget about things. He could forget about the girl, lying in the bathtub.

 

Satisfied, he emerged from the shower, and picked up a fluffy white towel, with which he dried himself thoroughly, before dropping it, and redressing himself. Whenever he felt his eyes or mind wander, he would think of something else… like Kakarot. ‘That’s enough to turn anyone off,’ he thought.

 

Bulma stirred, and her eyelids gently flickered open. She focussed on the white bathroom ceiling. The first thing she noticed was the warmth, and the second was that she was naked.

 

‘My God, I’ve been raped,’ was her first thought, a cold wave of panic travelling over her. She tried to sit up, but still felt dizzy. Then she felt a cold hand touch her back, and she looked around to see Vegeta sitting there, looking at her with concern. She almost shrieked, but no sound came out of her throat. She was scared, she didn’t know what was going on, she was depressed as memories of earlier came back to her, and, most importantly, she was naked in front of an alien. All this quickly translated in her brain to anger.

 

“What the HELL do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled at Vegeta, her voice returning, and her hands trying to cover as much of her as possible.

 

“Saving your worthless life!” retorted Vegeta, “I found you lying in the street. You could’ve died, so I brought you back here, and put you in the bath to warm up!”

 

“Why didn’t you leave my clothes on?!” she yelled.

 

“I…” Vegeta realised that he didn’t know. It wasn’t like it mattered that her clothes were wet, she was about to get drenched in the bath anyway, so why had he done it? Was he turning into a hentai, or something?

 

Bulma stopped shouting, looked at Vegeta, and then started sobbing quietly. She felt vulnerable in front of him. She didn’t want him to see her this way. This was not the way it was meant to be.

 

She felt sick again. Forgetting her nudity, she leant over the side of the bath, and vomited violently into the toilet, which was, fortunately, next to the bath. Sobs wracked her body until she was finished. She reached out, and flushed it, then she pulled herself back into the bath.

 

Vegeta watched all this, unsure as how to help her. He worried that if he touched her, she’s tell him to leave her, but he didn’t want to go with her in this condition. Instead, in a mix of confusion, and another emotion he couldn’t quite describe, he leant forward, and kissed her on the lips.

 

Bulma didn’t stop him, but when he was finished, she said, “How can you do that? I stink of sick.” She started sobbing again.

 

“Then, let me help,” said Vegeta. He picked up a sponge, and poured some of the fragrant bath soap on to it, then took Bulma’s foot in his hand. He lathered it in foam, cleaning between each one of her dainty toes. Bulma watched him in fascination, as he devoted all his care and attention to this task. He washed her legs with the same attention, passed her womanhood, and used his firm, unyielding strokes to wash her little waist. He was about to stop as he reached breasts, but Bulma reached out, and took his hand. She pulled it to her, running circular motions around her curves. She released him, and watched him continue, until the sponge was running circles around her nipple, which hardened a little at his contact.

 

Vegeta was having trouble thinking clean thoughts. He tried thinking of Kakarot, then Frieza, and even Nappa, but he couldn’t block the thoughts of lust, which interrupted them. He felt that familiar tightening in his groin again, and hoped that Bulma didn’t notice.

 

Bulma gently pushed his hand away, and lowered herself a little more into the water, washing off the suds. He backed up a bit, and she climbed out of the bath, standing before him, totally naked. He thought how she must’ve looked as Aphrodite looked when she was born of sea foam, the goddess of love, and the most beautiful of all.

 

He offered her a towel, and she took it. He was convinced that she’d wrap it around herself, and tell him to get out. She didn’t. She allowed it to drop from her fingers, and it coiled up on the floor, discarded. Bulma’s mind was running on autopilot as she took a step towards him, and ran her hand over his chest. She ran her hand under his shirt, and trailed a finger across his muscles. Vegeta almost shuddered with pleasure. She raised her lips to his, and gave him a long, languid kiss. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, and caressed his tongue with her own.

 

No longer able to stand the tension, Vegeta lifted Bulma into his arms, and carried her into her bedroom, where he laid her on the bed. Bulma shifted to get comfortable, the soft, cool cotton a pleasant sensation on her back. As he climbed to get over her, she grabbed his shirt, and started to undo the buttons. Frustrated by how long this was taking, she grabbed it, and pulled it up over his head, exposing his chest. She ran her hands across it, and around his neck as he kissed her again, then started nipping her neck and chin with his teeth. Slowly, he moved downwards, taking one of her nipples in his mouth, and suckling there.

 

The pleasure for Bulma was intense, as a low moan escaped her throat. Vegeta’s hand stroked and teased her other nipple as he ran his tongue over the other, then he switched, paying the same amount of attention to the other. He slipped his hand down between her legs, and felt the moist heat there with his fingers. He was urged forward by an appreciative groan from Bulma. He slipped one finger between her folds, and played with the tangled centre of nerves there with his thumb. Then two fingers, stroking inwards and outwards. He moved his head from Bulma’s breast, much to Bulma’s dismay, until she saw where he was heading.

 

It was incredible. Vegeta ran his tongue up and down the length of Bulma’s womanhood, never quite touching the place where she wanted his mouth the most.

 

“Please,” she whined, “Please, Vegeta…” Finally, his tongue touched her sensitive spot, gently massaging it with long stroking motions. Vegeta took in the incredible collage of tastes and smells, and savoured each of them. Bulma ran her hands down into his thick black hair, pulling him closer into her.

 

“Vegeta… please! PLEASE!”

 

Vegeta smiled a little, and flicked the little bud with his tongue. She could feel herself nearing the razor white edge, desperate to reach it, but at the same time, wishing that she could stay forever in this sweet agony.

 

With another flick of his tongue, Bulma exploded, groaning as she climaxed, waves of pleasure washing over her muscles, right to the end of her fingers and toes. Vegeta wrapped his arms about her waist as she shook, and finally took a deep sigh. Vegeta pulled away from her, and stood.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” said Bulma, who was not going to let it end that way. She got up, and walked over to Vegeta, and took his trouser belt in her hands, and undid it, throwing it to the floor. She took hold of the top of his trousers, and pulled these down in one go, along with his underwear.

 

Vegeta watched her do all this wordlessly, and allowed himself to be pushed down on to the bed. Bulma crawled over him, and started kissing his chest. He smelt muskier, and so much more masculine than Yamcha ever had. ‘It must be all that training,’ she thought. She moved her head upwards, and kissed his ears, which caused Vegeta to emit a low moan. Of course! It made sense! How could someone with such large ears not have an ear fetish?

 

She ran her tongue around the edges, and kissed the lobes, causing Vegeta to moan again, and lower his mind to a new, acceptable key of tolerance, before he embarrassed himself.

 

Bulma pulled herself downwards to where his full manhood was. It was a very impressive sight. ‘Much bigger than Yamcha,’ she thought, unable to suppress a smirk of self-satisfaction. She took him in her mouth, and ran her tongue up and down his length, causing him to growl. It was an amazing sound, right from the back of his throat. It made her think of an animal. She liked the sound of that.

 

She continued her task, and massaged every inch of him with her tongue, exploring him, and taking in his slightly salty taste. Vegeta felt himself nearing the edge, and lowered his hands, and pushed Bulma off him. Bulma frowned, but Vegeta just smirked, pulled himself up, and tossed her over, so once again he was above her. He got himself into position and with a single thrust entered her, causing them both to groan with pleasure.

 

Bulma was incensed. It was the most incredible feeling she had ever had. He seemed to fit her perfectly, filling her entirely, so that she could almost feel him in her throat.

 

Then he started to move, slowly at first, with deep thrusts, moving inwards and outwards above her. She looked up, but he had his eyes shut in concentration. He gradually sped up, and the room began to spin. Bulma was swept up in the depths of his motions, and thrust her hips against him, wrapping her legs around his back to drive him into her further.

 

“Harder… please, Vegeta, harder!” Vegeta obliged. He drove his full length into her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge once again. His movements became more and more frenzied as he neared his climax, and his growls and her moans ran into each other like some kind of erotic symphony of sound. With a last thrust, Vegeta and Bulma simultaneously hit the blinding razor hot edge of climax. Bulma’s shriek was drowned out completely by Vegeta’s roar, which seemed to the make the whole house reverberate. For a little while, neither of them could even move. Exhausted, he drew out of her, and laid himself to the side, so as not to crush her fragile body.

 

When he was done panting, he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close to him, kissing her neck gently, as she recovered. He shifted position, so as to get hold of her blanket, and pulled it across them, so that it cocooned them in warmth.

 

“Vegeta?” whispered Bulma, as she was about to drift into slumber.

 

“Yes, onna?”

 

“I love you.”

 

Vegeta was stunned. It wasn’t so much the fact that Bulma had said these words, as the fact that he had found out the only three words that could affect a person more than, “I hate you.”

 

“I love you too, onna.”

 

Vegeta wasn’t sure if she heard him, as she fell asleep, and closed his own eyes, feeling sleep envelope him.

 

A little smile crept over Bulma’s lips as she drifted off…

 

 

~The End~