#day4striptease

[ladyvegeets]

Letting Go - 4 Striptease

for @tpthvegebulsmutfest

He stood in her lab, eyeing the equipment and half-put together machinery. He had seen similar rooms before on Frieza’s outer stations. He did not much care for them. The room smelt unpleasant, of strange chemicals, motor oil, and burnt wires among other things. Bulma had asked him to take a seat but Vegeta remained standing, waiting for her to return from wherever it was she had ducked off to. He didn’t know why he was humoring her.

[Read more under the break or over on AO3. Read from part one here.]

Well no, he knew perfectly well why. He was here because it meant putting off another day of self-inflicted torture that would result, like all the others, in nothing. Another futile day where he didn’t become Super Saiyan, where no matter how much he hurt or sweated or bled or screamed, nothing he did made a goddamn difference.

“Ta da!”

Bulma returned from a side room carrying a long rectangular box. She bounded up to his side and handed it to him with a beaming smile, her face flushed in expectation. Her expression threw him. Her smiles were normally more mocking, or so he thought, as if she were privy to some amusing secret that he wasn’t. But now she looked so genuine, so radiant. 

He distrusted it. It needed to be crushed.

“Here,” she insisted, thrusting the box as this chest. “It’s for you, dummy. Go on, open it.”

Vegeta didn’t like surprises but he also didn’t like secrets, so he took the box and cautiously opened the lid.

Bulma couldn’t stand still for her impatience. “Well? What do you think?” she gushed.

“It’s… my suit,” he said, staring at the familiar blue fabric. His battle suit was neatly folded in the box with a pair of pristine white gloves on top.

“Pfft, please!” she scoffed. “Your suit, if you remember correctly, was a complete wreck. But I used it to formulate you a new one. A better one. See? This is lighter, stronger, more breathable and weather resistant. It won’t stain or tear easily, and it’s totally seamless for maximum comfort.”

She leaned in, digging under the suit to reveal his white and gold chest armor. 

“And look here! I made you a new breastplate too. It’s also lighter and more flexible, and way more durable than your last one. You’re really going to have to work hard to break this sucker.”

Vegeta stared dumbly at her gifts. She was giving him battle armor, the same that he had died in while attempting to defend his people’s pride. She hadn’t just fixed it, she had recreated it and made it better. So much of his heritage had been taken from him over the years, so much lost, but with this gift Bulma had given him the chance to fight again in his royal uniform. His hands tightened on the box.

She was still prattling on about her improvements. “—it’s even impact resistant and—”

“No,” he said, cutting her short.

Bulma blinked at him, bewildered. “No? What do you mean, no?”

He threw the lid shut and shoved the box back at her. “No to this.”

Bulma caught the box on instinct, her face paling in shock. 

Vegeta crossed his arms. “Is that all?” he asked curtly. If she had nothing else to show him then he had no further need to stick around.

Her cheeks flushed and her gaze narrowed. “Is that all?” she repeated, her voice rising dangerously high. “I’ve worked my perfect ass off to make this for you, and that’s the thanks I get? ‘No’?”

“I never told you to,” he said coldly.

“You’re not supposed to. It’s a gift, you jerk!” she snapped back.

“A gift?” he sneered, his temper rising to meet her own. “More like a debt I’ll owe you. Isn’t that your thinking?”

Bulma threw the box on the ground between them. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Because if you want to play the debt game, how about the debt you owe for my hospitality, huh? You’re living in my house, eating my food, using my inventions and equipment, taking up my time and barely being civil to my parents. But have I once asked you for anything in return?”

Vegeta thinned his lips and looked away, having nothing to say in his defense.

“Well?” she demanded, not letting him get away with silence this time.

“You invited me, remember,” he replied sullenly. 

“Well if you can accept that, then you can accept one stupid present!” she shouted with exasperation. 

Vegeta kept his eyes down, refusing to meet hers, his arms tightening over his chest defensively. An awkward silence stretched between them. It was abhorrent. He needed to leave.

“Enough of this nonsense,” he spat, and tried to step around the box for the door but Bulma side-stepped in front of him. She put her hand on his arm, and though her strength was minimal, something in her touch kept him in place. 

“Vegeta,” she said, trying to catch his eyes.

He looked away, feeling suddenly queasy. Claustrophobic. Trapped.

“Hands,” he snapped, desperately latching on to anything to regain some control of the conversation. “You promised no touching.”

Bulma let her hand fall away, but she didn’t back down. “I don’t think that’s the problem, is it?” she asked, her tone unnervingly soft. “Vegeta, why won’t you accept the gift?”

He stayed silent, refusing to talk.

“Why aren’t you training today?”

Still silent. Why couldn’t she fucking leave things alone that weren’t her business!

“Why won’t you even look at me?”

Goddamn her. To prove her wrong, Vegeta looked up.

And instantly regretted his decision. 

Her blue eyes shone with worrisome concern. The thought that she, a mere human, would pity him was more than he could bare. He mustered what pride he had left and took a threatening step towards her.

“I owe you no answers.”

“Vegeta, what are you afraid of?”

How dare she. 

“I AM AFRAID OF NOTHING!” he screamed at her, his anger kicking in from 0 to 100 within nanoseconds. “The only one I was afraid of is dead, defeated at the hands of two men who are more jokes than Saiyan, yet somehow they achieved a legendary power that I, the last true surviving Saiyan, haven’t been able to achieve no matter how much I bleed for it!” He bent down, snatching up the blue suit and shaking it in her face. “So what fucking good is this, Bulma? I don’t even have the right to wear it. They’re not the jokes, are they? I am.”

With that, Vegeta threw the suit at her feet and stormed out.

~xox~

 The sky was painted in pinks and oranges by the time Vegeta returned to Capsule Corporation having finished his not-so-little temper tantrum against a few mountains in the middle of a desolate desert. Or if it hadn’t been desolate before, it certainly was now.

Covered in dirt and sweat he headed straight for the bathroom to wash off, then for bed, too drained to even muster the energy to eat.

With only a towel about his waist, his skin still warm from his shower, Vegeta paused when he entered his room. A suspicious looking long box lay on his bed. He approached it slowly. Sure enough, when he reached inside he found the blasted battle armor. That cursed woman. Was she mocking him by leaving this here?

He grabbed the blue suit in his fists and wrenched but the fabric merely stretched accommodatingly.

Someone laughed. 

“I told you it wouldn’t tear easily,” Bulma teased, leaning in the doorway.

Vegeta glared at her over his shoulder. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, holding up the suit in accusation.

“Who else am I going to give it to?” she asked, letting herself into his room. “It’s made for you.”

“Tch.” 

He dropped the fabric back in the box and headed onto the balcony to escape both suit and woman. The soft pat of feet on tile told him he was only half successful.

“You know what I think?” Bulma announced, bracing her arms on the railing next to him and looking out at the backyard. Vegeta grimaced, preparing himself for her lecture. “You’re trying too hard.”

Come again? He looked at her suspiciously from the corner of his eye. Of all the things he expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them.

Maybe it was weariness. Maybe it was knowing that Bulma wouldn’t leave unless she had said all that she came to say. Whatever the motivation, Vegeta found himself asking her, “…What makes you say that?”

“Buddha.”

“What?”

“Not what, Vegeta. Who. The Buddha is a very wise and holy man. Do you know what he says?”

He glared at her. Of course he didn’t fucking know.

She smiled and turned to watch the colors of the sunset. “You only lose what you cling to.”

Vegeta frowned, trying to process that. “Is this another stupid Earth lie you tell children?”

Bulma laughed and turned to face him straight on. “No. In your case, I think it means the harder you try to control something, the more it’s going to control you.”

Vegeta didn’t much care for that logic. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

She shrugged. “Well, I thought you might like to think on it. After all, your method isn’t working, is it?”

“My method?” he sneered.

“Mmm.” Her eyes roved over his half-naked physique appreciatively. “You’re in great shape, Vegeta, and if the gravity readouts are anything to go by, you’re stronger than Son was when he transformed. So it really makes no sense that you can’t. That leads me to believe there must be some mental or emotional component you’re overlooking.”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking over what she said. It sounded plausible, except for one matter—

“Are you suggesting that Kakarot is mentally superior to me?”

Bulma laughed again. She looked so carefree it hurt. “Oh my god, no. Don’t get me wrong, Goku understands fighting like I understand quantum physics, but you and I both know he’s about as mentally complex as a peanut when it comes to anything else.”

Vegeta’s mouth twitched, almost smiling. His esteem for Bulma went up a few notches. 

“So what then?” he asked.

“So, what I’m saying is, Son transformed, not because of this,” she tapped her temple, “but probably because of this.” She tapped her chest. “It just… happened. You’re overthinking things. You need to embrace the moment, not strangle it. Just… let go.”

“Let go of what?” he huffed.

Bulma shrugged. “Who knows? That’s the mystery, isn’t it? But maybe it’s worth experimenting. It’s got to beat throwing yourself around in the gravity room for 18 hours every day, willing something to happen that won’t.”

She had a point. They stood in contemplative silence for a while, the sky bleeding red to purple to blue. A soft breeze cooled the lingering water on his skin and tugged at her curls.

“…What do you propose I do?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t easy for him to ask for help.

Bulma turned over, leaning her back against the railing so that she could get a good look at him. “Well, maybe you should start with something small. Ease yourself into the habit of letting go a bit. Let’s see… What’s something you’ve been denying yourself? Dessert? A rest day?”

Did today count as a rest day? Not exactly. Today had been more about giving up than giving in. But she was right, he needed to try something different because the more he struggled to stay in control, the less he felt he had.

Letting go, giving in, embracing the moment. Was that really the answer he had been missing?

“Oh!” Bulma announced, flashing him a cheeky look. “I know. You could start by accepting a present from a certain smart, beautiful lady-friend? And telling her how amazing she is, and…”

Her voice trailed off as Vegeta approached, placing his arms either side her on the railing. He leaned over her, biceps flexing powerfully.

“I have a better idea of how I could ease myself in,” he suggested in a low voice.

“Oh,” Bulma stuttered. There was just enough light for him to see her blush. When she did not push him away, he inched closer.

Her soft curls danced in the wind, beckoning him, so he pressed his nose against her temple and breathed deeply. His eyes fell half-closed, and he allowed himself the luxury of enjoying her scent, sampling it, burning it into his memory until every cell in his body thrummed from her. She was a woman, young and fertile and blooming open just for him, growing sweeter by the second. She wanted him, and fuck if he didn’t want her too.

Bulma’s breath caught in her throat. She tilted her face to meet his, her petal-soft lips brushing sensually against his cheek. The tiny caress sent sparks of electricity right down to his cock. Pressing his advantage — and his body against her — , Vegeta carefully drew her in. He cupped her face in his palms so that he might relish her scent more. She was overwhelming, like a fruit he wanted to sink his teeth into, and without meaning to he found himself mouthing the pulse in her neck. Her skin tasted like sunshine and syrup.

Bulma whimpered. He swelled in victory when she titled her head to the side, letting him do as he pleased.

Clever fingers soon found the towel at his waist and tugged. The fabric fell to the ground between them, releasing his pent up need.

“I have a confession,” she moaned, stroking his hips, her breath hot against his cheek. “I was hoping for a striptease when I made you that suit.”

He should have known. The sneaky wench. He growled against her throat as if to reprimand her, but it came out far too playful to be threatening.

When the scent of her arousal was so thick he could taste it, Vegeta picked her up and carried her inside. Bulma wrapped her limbs around him and crushed her mouth to his.

Letting himself go, Vegeta kissed her back.

 ~xox~

 AN: I heard you guys like cliffhangers.