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A Losing Battle	By : BlazeEBlake_TD Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female > Vegeta/Bulma Views: 2121 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z nor do I own any of the characters. I make no money whatsoever by writing this story.

Chapter List
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Vegeta stood in the open field that surrounded the Briefs’ compound, watching his son a short distance away. Several weeks had passed uneventfully at Capsule Corp. In these intervening days, Trunks was able to make large strides in his rudimentary training. Now, under his father’s vigilant gaze, he ran across the back yard on tiny, steady feet. Once he had picked up a fair amount of speed, he jumped into the air, hovering briefly before toppling back to the ground. The child’s lip quivered for a moment, and he seemed on the verge of tears until he glanced over to the elder Saiyan. With a loud sniff, Trunks stood up and walked over to Vegeta, eyeing him expectantly. The man returned his son’s look with an appraising one of his own, before nodding and beginning his walk back to the house. The young half-Saiyan followed closely behind, beaming at the scant sign of approval he had received and doing his best to keep up with Vegeta’s longer strides. Mrs. Briefs met them at the door, eyes nearly squeezed shut as her usual smile spread across her face. Sometimes Vegeta wondered how the woman could even see.

“There’s my handsome grandson!” she cried gleefully, “I was just coming to get you for lunch! I bet you’re hungry after playtime with daddy!”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, not bothering to remind her that he was training a future warrior not frolicking about uselessly like some pathetic fool.
“Will you be joining us Vegeta?” Mrs. Briefs asked brightly, “I made tons of goodies for you boys.”

“I must see to my own training first,” he said dismissively, walking past her and into the house.

“Ok! Well it’ll be waiting for you! Maybe Bulma will be back when you’re done and you can eat together! Wouldn’t that be cute?” Vegeta scoffed as he made his way to the gravity chamber. Since their conversation in the kitchen, the woman had been oddly… Cooperative. He had expected her to lash out and attempt to rein him in in her usual loudmouth way, but instead she had remained silent on most matters. His training with Trunks had resumed without a single protest, and her attempts to seduce him into compromise had ceased with his initial forceful assertion against such behavior. In place of any combative response, for reasons he couldn’t be bothered to understand, she had chosen to spend a great deal of her time assisting Kakarot’s widow as she prepared to whelp what was sure to be another low-class half-breed. For the most part, he was satisfied with his easy victory and the peace it had brought him; no screeching, no distractions, just as he had wanted it. Yet, something about all of it didn’t completely sit right with him. There was a disquietingly familiar feeling, a nagging sense that the battle, though seemingly quelled, was far from finished. After all, in the short time that he had known her, she had only ever ceased in her various forms of pestering and fussing when she lapsed into silences that she believed, for some inane reason, would punish him. As if a moment of respite from her shrieking could be anything but welcome. And even then, these periods of quietude were short lived. This time, she appeared to truly take his new stance in stride, remaining calm and pleasant in their brief exchanges. Surely she was up to something.

He frowned as he came to the gravity room. Even in her absence she managed to irritate him. With a sharp shake of his head, he entered the chamber and worked to shift his focus elsewhere.

* * * * * * *

Bulma’s car sped into the Briefs’ driveway, coming to a stop a few feet away from the main building’s entrance. She hopped out of the vehicle, a prototype of the new line of Capsule Corp models they would be releasing later in the year, and sealed it back in its capsule. She smiled to herself as she walked into the house, having thoroughly enjoyed the morning she had passed with her old friend. Initially, she had wanted to bring a Capsule Corp doctor to the Son’s home for a house call, but ChiChi had insisted on a no frills obstetrician in the city. In accordance with these wishes, the two women had spent the morning downtown at the physician’s modest office, where ChiChi and her unborn child had received a clean bill of health and several prescriptions that Bulma filled herself, in spite of the widow’s protests. Then, before returning home to an assuredly anxious Gohan, they had spent a few hours shopping for the first of many baby related purchases. Bulma had been happy to see her friend coping well in spite of her loss, and she suspected that the distraction of her unexpected pregnancy was doing her good. She herself had found a great deal of comfort in filling her mind with various preparations when faced with her own child’s unplanned conception.

Bulma arrived in the living room, where her father sat reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette on the couch. Beside the oversized loveseat, Bunny kneeled on the floor, tickling a boisterous Trunks amidst a scattering of toys.

‘Ma!” he cried when he saw her, rising quickly and knocking Bunny over as he ran for his mother.

“Trunks!” Bulma admonished gently, scooping the boy into her arms, “Be careful! You don’t wanna hurt Grandma!”
“Gwmma!” He cried, glancing back at the toppled older woman.
“It’s fine dear,” her mother said with a laugh as she came to her feet.

“He’s getting rather strong isn’t he?” Dr. Briefs mused, turning to another page of his paper.
“He sure is!” Bulma agreed, giving her son a squeeze. The boy giggled and wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck, giving her an impressively tight squeeze of his own.
“Are you hungry dear?” Bunny asked, taking a seat on the couch next to her husband, “There’s tons of food in the kitchen. Unless you wanna wait for Vegeta to finish training and join you.”

“Now mother, you know how Vegeta is,” Dr Briefs cautioned, “If Bulma waits on him there’s a good chance she’ll starve before he comes out of that room.”

“I’m gonna have to agree with dad on that one mom,” Bulma said with a smile, “Come on Trunks! Help mommy find something to eat.” With a firm nod reminiscent of his father’s stiff gesturing, Trunks leapt from his mother’s arms and headed toward the kitchen. Bulma followed him slowly, trying not to let the surprise show too much on her face. It was amazing how far he had come in so little time. A month ago he was barely able to get around on his own and now he was walking with ease. Lately, it was all she could do to make sure he didn’t escape his crib or the lenient eyes of her parents when she left him in their charge. If he started flying, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

When she entered the kitchen she found her son standing at its center, pointing toward several full platters on the counter.

“Foo!” he exclaimed.

“Thanks Trunks!” Bulma replied, stooping to kiss his forehead before walking to the counter to take stock of her options. After a few moments deliberation, she grabbed a plate and loaded it with a few halved sandwiches.

“Da!” she heard the child cry behind her. Bulma took a deep breath and relaxed her expression into one of neutrality, keeping her eyes forward. As Vegeta sidled up to her, she turned on her heel and left the room without a word.
“Aren’t you going to eat together?” her mother asked as she passed through the living room.

“No,” Bulma said with a shrug, “I think I’m gonna have lunch on the balcony.”
“Ok dear!”

Bulma climbed the stairs to the house’s upper levels and went out onto the small dining terrace. She sat down at the round metal table at its railed edge and glanced out at the cloudless sky, absentmindedly picking up a sandwich and biting down on its corner.

When Vegeta had left her in the kitchen weeks ago, she had been momentarily stunned. She had expected silence or bitter insults, nearly anything but his cool rejection. Of all the things she had envisioned, the Saiyan Prince cutting her off physically hadn’t been one of them.

Her first instinct had been to chase after him and argue against not only his refusal to even listen to what she wished to say, but to remind him that she was far from someone he could resist. But then a thought had occurred to her: if she wanted to have her way, she would have to play by his rules, beat him at his own game. So she had relented, giving him his space, keeping their interactions brief but civil, and allowing him to spend time training their son. It hadn’t been terribly difficult, particularly once she admitted to herself that she truly had overreacted and that Vegeta would never hurt her son as she had feared. It hadn’t shown at first, but after about a week she could tell that her apparent compliance made him uneasy; she had counted on that much. Between the two of them the absence of bickering could be oddly unnerving. She calculated that it was only a matter of time before he gave in and came to her demanding to know what she was plotting, at which point she would find an opportunity to enter into the negotiations he had so hastily refused, his discomfort the bargaining chip she had lacked in their initial confrontation. And if he needed any extra incentive, she could always shut down the Gravity Machine, though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

She smiled faintly at the thought of him bursting into her office, scowling and insisting she explain herself. Though he could be extremely pig-headed, his intensity was also part of what attracted her. A vision of the Saiyan taking hold of her roughly, clearing her desk with a swipe of his sinewy arm, and laying her down on the empty workspace flashed across her mind. Feeling a slow heat rising in her lower abdomen, she quickly brushed the fantasy away, knowing full well that nothing that dramatic was likely to happen when he finally decided to hear her out. Although, it wasn’t unheard of for their arguments to devolve into something sexual. If she remembered correctly, such an occasion had led to the birth of their son.

“Bulma!” her father’s voice called, breaking through her less that pure thoughts, “There’s a courier here for you! He needs your signature!”
“Probably the designs from our fashion division,” she called back, “Be right down!” She got up from the table, hurried into the house, and descended the stairs, coming to the door just a little out of breath.

“Delivery for Ms. Bulma Briefs?” the young man asked

“That’s me!” she sighed, fighting against her rapid breathing. The courier smiled and handed her a thin tablet to sign. As she took hold of the device, she noticed his eyes wandering away from her face and down her body.

“Ahem?” she said, stylus poised over the screen, a look of annoyance clouding her features. The man’s eyes snapped back to hers, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

“Sorry ma’am!” he said quickly.

“Just learn some manners ok?” She said, signing the pad’s face and handing it back to him. “And don’t call me ma’am. As I’m sure you noticed I’m not old enough for that yet.” The courier opened his mouth to respond when Vegeta appeared between them.

“On your way human,” he growled

“Hey dude, chill out,” the man said, holdings his hands up defensively.
“You have five seconds to disappear or I’ll crush your bones to a fine powder.”

“Wha-”
“Five…” The man’s eyes widened and he ran for his motorized scooter. He jumped onto the small vehicle and sped away as fast as it would go.

“Vegeta!” Bulma began. He whirled to face her, a dangerous expression darkening his countenance.

“What’s your game woman?” he spat

* * * * * * *

Vegeta stared down at the Earth woman, seething quietly, Earlier, sitting in the kitchen and shoveling handfuls of food into his mouth, his son watching him in awe, he had barely registered the doorbell or the brief conversations that followed. People were always coming and going and the petty concerns of these transient humans were of little importance to him. When the woman came to the front door, only a few feet from the kitchen’s entryway, he had continued eating in silence for a few moments more. And then he had smelled it.

At first, he had simply written it off, attributing the odor to the human male. It was not uncommon for these Earth men to desire her, to display their weakness shamelessly. But there was no mistaking the potent scent of the woman’s own arousal. He had paused, crumbs tumbling from his lips, and it had felt as though a cord had been struck within him. This pathetic human male’s desire was nothing, but for her to lust after him, to deem this insect just as worthy of her body a Saiyan elite, after he had assented to her physically, after she had birthed his child and he had taken her into his protection… It insulted his honor. With that final thought he had jumped up, inserted himself between the two humans, and driven the offending male off.

“Well? he asked venomously

“What game?” she returned, frowning in confusion.

“Has this been your plan all along? To feign defeat and then assault my pride by debasing yourself with that… that beta male?”

“Hold on, debasing myself? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, I could smell it!”

“Smell wh-” the woman paused, a look of realization spreading across her face.

“So you don’t deny it then?” he asked, looking down his nose at her. She sighed, grabbed Vegeta’s arm and pulled him back into the house.
“Dad,” she called out, “I need you to watch Trunks for a sec!”
“Of course sweetheart!” he replied from another room. Bulma began to move toward the stairway that led to the laboratories, her office, and the gravity room, still clutching the Saiyan’s arm.

“Unhand me woman,” Vegeta growled, yanking away from her grasp.
“If you want answers, you’re going to have to wait until we’re out of earshot of my parents and our son!” she shot back, continuing down the steps. Clenching his fists, Vegeta followed her down into the lower levels and into the gravity chamber. Once inside, she turned to face him, leaning against the control panel.

“I am at the limits of my patience woman,” he warned.

“OK,” she said evenly, “What you sm--noticed, had nothing to do with that guy.”
“Do not attempt to deceive me. My nose is very sensitive.”
“Apparently. But I swear, that I want nothing to do with that creep.”

“Then explain.”
“I… I was up on the balcony eating lunch and-”
“Out with it already!”

“I was thinking about you, you dweeb! About… Us.” She said this last word quietly and looked away from him with a frown. They stood in silence, Vegeta scrutinizing her carefully. Everything about her was complicated. He had thought the were waging a silent war. Perhaps they still were.

“Is this another of your tricks?” he asked finally.

“I wish it was,” she said, laughing humorlessly, “Especially since, by the looks of it, I almost had you.” Vegeta raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Admit it,” she said with a faint smile, “Before that courrier showed up, you were this close to giving up on your no negotiations plan and hearing me out.” She held up her finger and thumb to his face in a pinching gesture.

“I knew you were up to something!”
“What? You thought I was just gonna roll over and take it?”

“Considering your thoughts as of late, I’d say that’s exactly what you would do.” He smirked at her deviously.

“Hmph,” she huffed, “Not like it would matter to you anyway, your highness. Remember? You’re not giving in to my ‘vulgar distractions’ anymore. Maybe I’ll go find that courrier after all. At least he was interested.” She walked past him and to the exit, nose in the air. As the woman was raising her right hand to the door controls, he shot over to her, grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him once more. He grabbed her other wrist and pinned both of her arms to the wall.

“Let me make something clear woman,” he growled, his face inches from hers, “I am the Prince of all Saiyans and I will not share. Do not toy with me.”

“Hmmm,” she replied, tilting her head, “Sounds like a lot of talk, Prince, and not much a-” He closed the distance between them and covered her mouth with his own. She returned the kiss in earnest, squirming against his grasp in an effort to wrap her arms around him and press her body closer to his. He held her fast, enjoying his control over her almost as much as the taste and feel of her mouth. As her struggling continued, he stretched her arms above her head, bringing her her wrists together, and clasping them with one hand, freeing up the other to hike up the hem of her short dress and deftly slide beneath it. His fingers grazed past her public bone and came to rest on her left breast, his rough hands tenderly kneading her soft flesh. She broke their kiss with a deep groan.

“I want you inside of me,” she demanded throatily, “Now.” All at once he released her wrists and lowered his hand to the waistband of her lacy underwear, yanking them down her hips. She wiggled the rest of the way out and kicked them away while he stripped off the tank top and sweatpants he had trained in. Just as she finished pulling her dress over her head, he parted her legs with his knee and cupped her backside with one hand, hoisting her up against the wall. Leveling her eyes at him, she rested one arm on his shoulder, the other trailing languidly along the scarred muscles of his chest and abdomen as she crossed her legs behind his back. Bracing his other hand beside her head, he entered her with a sharp forward thrust. She cried out pleasureably as they buffeted against one another, his solid, velvety member sliding in and out of the silken heart of her arousal with mounting speed. Before long, she threw her head back against the door, crying out his name when her orgasm overtook her and caused her to spasm uncontrollably around him. He drove into her a final time as he came to his own climax, letting out a loud moan that echoed through the chamber.

Still buried deep within her, he lowered himself to the ground and laid back on the cool metal floor, pulling her on top of him. She nuzzled against his neck, fingers of one hand twining in his hair.

“Your conditions,” he began against his better judgement, absentmindedly resting his hand on the small of her back, “What were they?” She glanced up at him, surprised.
“I-I mean,” she stammered, “They weren’t conditions, more like suggestions. Really just one actually.”

“And that would be?”

“I thought it would be nice if we spent more time together.”
“Well that was rather simple. If I had known this was all-”

“No! Not like this. I mean, like.. like a date.”

“A what?”

“Like, an evening out. Together.”
“For what?”

“For food or a movie. Something like that.”

“Do you not have all of theses things here? Why go anywhere else?”

“It's just what people do. Couples anyway.”

“Like you and that weakling?”

“Never mind, forget I said anything.” She started to look away when he caught her by the chin as gently as he could manage, recapturing her attention.

“Say I were to participate in this confounding human custom,” he reasoned, “Would you cease your plotting and give up your plans of interference?”

“Can we forget about the whole ‘no vulgar distractions’ part?”

“I think we can safely assume we are past that.”

“Can you stop throwing our baby thousands of miles into the air?”

“At this rate he’ll be flying on his own soon anyway.”

“Great.” She rolled her eyes and laid her head back down on his chest.

“So? Have we come to terms?” He asked.

“One date,” she confirmed, “and I reserve the right to more if this works out.”

“And I reserve the right to never do it again once it proves to be utter foolishness.”

She sat up in response, inner muscles flexing tightly against his appendage.

“You don't seem to mind my Earth foolishness too much,” she purred.

With an imperceptible speed he rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists once more. As they began their carnal sparring with renewed vigor, Vegeta couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into.
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A Losing Battle