Chapter Text
Deep down, he knew his weakness in comparison to Kakkarot didn’t mean anything to Bulma. But on the surface, his Saiyan blood waged war on his psyche. If Bulma were Saiyan, she’d leave Vegeta to throw herself at Kakkarot, a much more powerful male. Of course, his mind flashed an image of naked Saiyan Bulma, her heated yearning for a darkly different version of Kakkarot who might have been, once. Vegeta shook his head to rid the rising revulsion. Bulma was his mate, and not Saiyan, thank the Kais, but certainly the greatest Earthling female. She deserved to be the wife of THE most powerful Saiyan in the universe. The old annoyance irked him something fierce. He felt a twinge in his tail spot. If the appendage still grew, he'd be flicking it in anger, like a riled cat. His mate was married to second best. She would be queen of Vegeta-Sei in another life. No, preposterous. There was little about his childhood home, or any alternate imagined future, which he craved. Without Freiza and the death of everyone and everything the Saiyan Prince once was, Vegeta would be living without Bulma today. He offered quiet respect to the ghost of the old fey for that much, at least. Ugh. Merely thinking of Frieza made Vegeta's skin prickle with past anxieties. He lingered in the kitchen, faltering on whether or not to go upstairs to her at all. Would it not be better to head to the gravity chamber? Clear his mind in the sweat and silent focus of extreme physical endurance? He didn't know if he could look at Bulma right now. But still he didn't move one way or the other. He took a swallow of water from the near-empty jug she'd left behind.
Worst of all, she was quieter ever since they left the beach. Silence was suspicious in the Briefs household. Everyone knew it. Despite always saying he wanted her to shut up, Bulma's silence was disconcerting and worrisome to Vegeta. It usually meant something was wrong and tension begins to build. Vegeta had enough tension for one fucking day. Yet, when she left the kitchen, Bulma looked inviting, as always. And he could no longer deny his fatigue. Plus, she'd taken all the most accessible snack food with her. The water sloshed in his empty stomach. And Vegeta was not about to make himself something to eat.
As she stripped to get into bed, munching on grapes and cheese, Bulma began piecing together exactly what she needed to say to him. The 'Goku thing' was always like this. She had to make sure not to trigger any of his butt-hurt rivalry bullshit, while also making him feel better. It was especially difficult when he was angry, but she hoped the comical scene in the living room calmed him down, some. As water and food finally began lubricating her synapses, Bulma tried to consider her timing. Was tonight, now, after his ‘soft’ confession, appropriate to remind him what she thought of his lifelong rivalry? Was Vegeta ‘done’ with sentimentality for the evening? Would he resent her efforts? So many factors her brain rolled over like complex calculus, weighing scenarios and solutions.
She finished off the sleeve of cookies she'd been devouring and slid into a short satin nighty of a robe with ribbon ties at the bust. It wasn't for him. She loved this thing. The cool fabric soothed her dry skin like all the lotions in the bathroom she didn't feel like putting on. Similarly, she had some "squishy" socks, as she called them, like wrapping your feet inside a warm teddy bear. She bent over to put one on when Vegeta walked into the room behind her.
"Nice view."
"Not bad yourself, Mr. Flyover," she straightened and wiggled her toes in her blissful socks, "You've really got to try a pair of these, Vegeta."
He didn't respond, of course, but closed in on the food tray hovering next to her: "Did you eat all the cookies?!"
"I saved a sleeve just for you," and she produced it from the bottom of the pile, tumbling a few things off onto the bed. Vegeta turned up the sleeve, smacking five of the soft chocolate chip delights in a single mouth full. She tried a feeler to see how talkative he might be: "Thanks for helping with the living room." Over a large bite of cold meat bun, he gave her the look of knowing she was up to something. Then turned his back to toss off his tank top in preparation for bed. She shrugged, undeterred, and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. He motioned to the food platter as he sat down and it obeyed, hovering over the center of the mattress. He sat up straight against the headboard, casually stuffing his face, waiting for Bulma to tell him what the hell bothered her. He had no desire to share his internal vexations. It was up to her to initiate. Time was on his side, if she waited too long, a full belly would have her snoring despite any of her intentions.
Bulma's teeth brushing was noticeably aggravated. Vegeta smirked at her discomfort in a situation of her own making. He didn't feel any of the tension he expected, so whatever she stewed over, it wasn't his fault. Meaning he could sit back and enjoy the show. Unfortunately, as she exited the bathroom in a noticeable huff, he was out of spectator food.
Bulma swatted the tray away and marveled at its emptiness. "Did you eat the wrappers too?"
"Of course not." He shifted over as she got into bed. Laying down out of his lounge, he hit the button on the edge of the headboard, turning off the light on his side, trying to avoid further discussion.
Bulma switched her own light off, luring him into a false sense of security. After settling in and shimming her head down into her pillow, she turned her face towards him: "I thought you might be rage eating?"
Vegeta's eyes had been on the ceiling, but when she spoke, he sighed, more out of boredom than anything, "You will not bait me, woman." To prove the point he rolled over with his back to her. But sensing this might be a sign of weakness, he continued just to win the exchange: "You've been quiet since we left the beach."
Exasperated, she slapped her hands down on either side of her, jostling the mattress: "I'm worried about you, of course!"
"Foolish and irrational. There's nothing wrong with me." Vegeta closed his eyes. Time for sleep.
Bulma huffed. "Yeah right!" she beat his shoulder with a throw pillow, "You've been angry ever since talking to Goku!"
"He interrupted us!" Vegeta burst, sitting up and twisting around, he snatched the throw pillow from her hands. The 'I was right!' look on her face annoyed him and he sprang from the bed. It wasn't his fault. It was fucking Kakkarot's fault. She should know that!
"So, are you still sparring tomorrow then?" It was a simple enough question, but it set Vegeta pacing.
“Of course I’m going to spar with him!” gripping the throw pillow in both hands like a head he might crush, "But why does he want to spar at all?" clearly talking to himself now, Bulma just listened and watched him pace. "Kakkarot has nothing to learn from me. If we are to face a new adversary, we need a new master to train us…"
"Are there more gods?" Bulma broke in. Vegeta glared at her. She pressed through: "I mean, I didn't know about any others besides Kami and the Kais. But Beers was this 'god of destruction'. Could there be others like him to train you?"
Vegeta considered. But grew annoyed at the impossibility of it all. "Regardless, despite all I achieved today, he..." Vegeta's fist clenched, balling up the pillow, turning away from Bulma, "he quickly surpassed me." Deep in the knotted mess of his soul, the voice of his defeated and dying self on Nameck strangled up to his mind: and he always will. Vegeta couldn't stand the four walls confining him here anymore. There was no way he'd be sleeping now.
Bulma planned for him to shut her out and try to run. Fortunately, she felt rejuvenated after eating and knew just how to keep him in this room as well as quiet his mind so she could talk him down. Vegeta was preparing to announce he’d have to train to exhaust himself if he wanted any sleep at all. She'd played this game before. She wouldn't see him for two days. As he opened his mouth, she interrupted him:
"Who said I was done with you, my Prince?" and she rose from the bed, shedding the loose nightgown over naked shoulders as she did so.
"What are you...?" but Vegeta knew exactly what was about to happen when she kneeled in front of him. And as much as he wanted to argue, there were only two ways to get out his frustration right now. Bulma's solution was certainly preferable to exploding a few dozen training bots. He handed the throw pillow down to her and she looked up at him, questioning. "For your knees," he groused.
Bulma smiled, securing the softness between her joints and the floor: "You've even fluffed it for me," she chuckled and before he could bite back, she rubbed both hands up and down his inner thighs, then back up to the softness where they met. Massaging the entirety of his package through the fabric, she paid attention to his scrotum, like rubbing the scruff of an animal's neck, it seemed to relax all surrounding muscles at once. Except for one, of course. As it hardened, she divided her hands to separate tasks: one gliding along and extending the length of him, the other continuing to massage his inner thighs and balls. One of Vegeta's hands clutched her shoulder in approval and she looked up to see his eyes closed, but brow knit down, as if concentrating. That wouldn't do. She needed considerably more relaxation out of him.
She rose up a little and nipped at the brim of his shorts, tugging them outward with her mouth, not losing a beat of palpitation with her hands. As her teeth played with the fabric, she breathed deliberately on the skin of his lower stomach, humming as it tightened and twitched. His grip on her shoulder pushed her backwards just enough for his free hand to banish the offending garment and set her to task. He impulsively pushed her back down to face him fully.
Vegeta wasn't just a mouth or a hands man, he liked both in good supply. This was to Bulma's advantage, as she'd just eaten and wouldn't be deep-throating right now without making a huge mess. So, she spit in her hands, the sound of which made his member twitch up at her, and dialed her moist digits around the shaft with varying pressure as her mouth languished each of his testicles in turn as though they might be decadent candies with a melty center she just had to suck her way to enjoying. Vegeta's breathing grew satisfyingly ragged above her. The loose skin coating his orbs tightened in her mouth. He tasted like sea water and sand, which reminded her of earlier and made her ache for him to take her again.
But right now wasn't about her. Right now, she was on her knees revering the Prince of Saiyans with all the adoration she truly held for him. Her mouth moved upwards, slow and luscious, her slick palms back down to the tightness at the junction of his thighs, one on each half of his pelvic V. Her mind strayed to imagining herself as a slave girl in his harem on Vegeta-Sei. Bulma would convince him to make her his queen. She was that good. The fantasy expressed itself in her tongue and lips as they passed over the head of him, not sucking at all, yet. Just enjoying the feel and taste as he throbbed. Vegeta's musk was grainy, like warm wheat dough in the sun, or the inside of an old bakery. Rising and falling with slow, meaningful tongue curls, she covered most of him in her mouth, using one hand to complete the strokes to his base. Her other hand now clung to his hip for support, the pads of her fingers digging in with only the slightest of occasional nail grazes.
He vocalized for the first time and she knew they were getting somewhere. His rear leaned back against a dresser, his knees no longer supporting him fully as he was taken over by the sensations when she commenced breathing through her nose and sucking in earnest with her mouth all the way up and back down, tongue flicking, twirling and lapping in surprising variations, so that each stroke was slightly new and unexpected. He began to thrust and she stopped moving her head, knowing it was better to control his pace with a steady mouth than to fight it with her head and neck. His palm rose from her shoulder to the crown of her hair, not pushing her face, but holding it in place. It was mostly lip, tongue and hand play now as he fucked into her mouth of his own accord. Now to avoid gagging by gripping around the base of him with her full hand, stroking in time with his thrusts, to control how far into her throat he intruded.
She felt veins throb under her tongue, then the surge of that single swollen internal tunnel as his orgasm rushed the length of him and she pulled back just enough to not choke on his cum as it spurted against the roof of her mouth. She opened her eyes upwards and saw him looking down at her, relaxed brow at last, so she pulled her lips slowly over and off his smooth cap to let the last twitches of ejaculate hit her lips, chin and dribble downward. His body shuddered appreciation at the sight and she smiled up at him, satisfied he was putty in her hands, she licked the icing bits of him off her lips and purred when he clenched his eyes with a "Damn."
"Thank you, wife," he exhaled long and throaty, cradling the back of her head in his wide palm, "how is it you always know..."
"When you need that?" standing up to meet his eyes, wiping her nose and mouth in one long swath along her wrist, "You become a testy, whining little baby?" He snorted a laugh, smirking as much with his hazy, moist eyes as his crooked lips. She chuckled at his sex-drunk face, pinching his bicep, "it's like knowing when Trunks needed to be burped. You Saiyans are so fussy!"
"Bold words." He squeezed her rear as she walked towards the bathroom, "Must be all that Saiyan juice coursing through you," he huffed at his own joke: "top to bottom."
She laughed a single: "ha!" bending over the sink, to splash her face with water, "the day I need your cum to make me bold, you better kill me! Cause I've gone senile," she rose, wiping her face with a large makeup removal cloth, paying particular attention to the already drying, crusty bits caking on the tip of her chin. "Will you come to bed for real, now, finally?"
In answer, he flopped onto the mattress, rolled on his side and patted the vacant spot, looking up at her with wide expectant eyes. Gods, he could be so fucking cute. How was this the same guy? His multi-faceted depths enthralled her.
She crawled up and under the sheets. Cuddling into his chest, she swirled her fingernails along his collarbone and sighed. He knew what she wanted.
"Say your piece, wife," he yawned, "before your efforts sedate me completely."
Fine. He asked for it: “Vegeta, you’ve beaten Goku already.”
That got his attention. Then he cringed, thinking Bulma might've slept with the third class trash sometime in the distant past. Was she about to say ‘don’t worry, you’re a better lover’ or something?! Because, of course, that’s where Saiyan pride took his mind. The air in the room thickened as he looked at her, expecting the worst.
She leaned higher on her forearm and looked down into him: “You’re a better husband and father, in every way, than Kakkarot will ever, or could ever be.”
His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then squinted sideways at her, demanding an explanation.
She smiled and began, “Chi Chi is younger than me, in the prime of her life..."
"She looks ten years your senior!" It was Vegeta's turn to rise. He leaned back on the headboard. Vegeta started to pride himself in judging the years of humans, who aged radically differently than Saiyans. It'd never occurred to him that Kakkarot's mate could possibly be younger than his own.
"She's miserable in her marriage," Bulma's voice mourned the death of her friend's youth, "That'll age a woman faster than smoking!”
Vegeta shook his head once in disgust, "I never could imagine that boorish oaf keeping a woman happy.”
“Exactly! Vegeta, he’s one of my oldest, dearest, friends, but Goku is not a grown man. He's the same kid I met 30 years ago. He’s still got this innocent, lackadaisical vibe all the time! He takes no responsibility for those kids of his…”
“Gohan grew to be such a wretched disappointment,” Vegeta venom-ed.
“Right?! If he could've fought Buu, you might not have had to sacrifice yourself," she noticed the darkening of that defeat on his countenance and shifted gears: "Goten will never be as powerful as our Trunks,”
“Damn right!”
“What I’m saying, lover,” her voice softening to all seriousness, “You’ve won this competition with Goku you’ve had your whole life. He may get 20 minutes of glory every time there’s a battle, but for the other 364 days a year, you’re better than him,” she rose to kiss him and just above his lips: “In every way, my Prince.”
It was not the way he wanted to defeat Kakkarot. But she was right. The prince’s quality of life was infinitely better than his rival’s. And he knew something else just then, for certain:
“I will overpower him,” looking down and into her, “because of you. Because I have what he doesn’t. You are all I’ll need to surpass him. I just have to wait," his smile and eyes growing a touch manic as he spoke, "Without the partnership of a fiery, challenging woman like you, that pitiful Kakkarot is missing one of the greatest strengths we Saiyans have found at the end of our time in this universe." He beat his side of the bed with a fist: "Ha! Even his worthless son bested him on that one!" Vegeta's voice rose to a wicked rasp: "It’s only a matter of time before the burst of power I amass when you’re in danger is more than anything he could ever achieve!”
Vegeta cackled a small success. Then kissed her, closed mouth, but fierce. Hugging her tight, he slid back down onto the pillow to sleep, at last. Bulma smirked up at him. Of course this is where he’d take her sentiment.
But he wasn’t disagreeing with her.
He believed these good things about himself as a husband and father. That her Prince could finally, for the first time, see himself through her eyes, was the best birthday present of all.