Cold Comfort

By Trynia Merin

 

A sort of PWP

Pairing: Bulma/Vegeta Yamucha/OC

Rating: R for swearing and adult situations, in other words Lime and Lemon!

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, Popsicles or any trademarked stuff here. Toriyama created DBZ, and I'm borrowing the characters for this fanfiction. I don't get paid for this peoples! Don't sue me, for this means no harm to the series. Only Shasta, Ginger and Chopsuay are my fanchars.

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Act 1

 

Hercule sport drinks were just what Vegeta needed after a long day in the GR. Unfortunately he had opened his last bottle in the small fridge in his bungalow. Instead of living in the house like Yamcha did to train, Vegeta took up quarters in a small bungalow that adjoined directly with the Capsule Dr. Briefs had constructed per his request. This enabled him to limit his contact between the humans and himself to an absolute minimum. It ensured their safety because the less he was annoyed by foolish human behavior the less likely he was to blow the entire planet into the next dimension.

 

Just why he agreed to stay he kept a mystery from everyone, even himself. First it was to challenge Goku to that duel to prove his supremacy. Secondly he postulated it was because he had no other place to go since he had been resurrected against his will and better judgment. Fate had dropped him into the midst of the Namekians, and like a fool Vegeta had reluctantly agreed to the Woman's invitation to live and train with him.

 

She was the least likely being that he would kill if she got under his skin. Also, he secretly enjoyed pissing off the scar face and Baldy. Even though Scar Face wasn't resurrected till after he returned from searching for Kakkarot, Vegeta knew that if Scar Face knew he was living and training at Capsule it would deal a huge blow to Yamcha's ego. Scuttlebutt did not escape Vegeta's sharp ears, for he had overheard the conversations between Bulma, Gohan and Krillen when he had been `napping' on Namek. He learned all sorts of things about his enemies, things to file away to use in his usual banter of insults to make their lives as miserable as his once was.

 

Pissing the Woman off was fun, but invited trouble. So it was simplest to keep well out of the way of her shrill tongue and deal solely with her doddering old father. He was average by Saiyan intelligence standards, but his inventions were the best technology the backward planet had to offer. Secretly Vegeta knew that the Woman was the main reason a regen tank and an advanced craft like Goku's space ship he'd taken to Namek even existed.

 

From his capsule and bungalow Vegeta emerged, tossing a towel around his shoulders. The yellow main sequence star burned down with tropical heat, for it was summer. Vegeta enjoyed the extra light pouring down on the lawn, for he knew it would cause consternation with the Capsule inhabitants. More fuel to annoy them and play his usual game.

 

At about this time, the Woman would be chatting on the phone with one of an array of social friends. Vegeta had observed her coming and going when he would fly around Capsule at top speeds. He deemed her an enigma from that first time she'd led him to the damn showers. Food and cleanliness were more inviting them blasting Yamcha to smithereens. The scar face made a good source of entertainment.

 

Lately he wondered why Yamcha had left and arrived with females other then the Woman. Vegeta referred to Bulma Briefs as `the Woman' as a slight joke to a popular earth detective series called Sherlock Holmes. Of the earth literature he'd picked up in Capsule's library, SF and other works were the most amusing. Somehow the ruthless cold detective struck a cord with Vegeta, showing him that not all earth fiction was rife with stupidity like Bulma's Harlequin romances.

 

A few steps took him into the back door, which he opened silently. Entering the kitchen he watched the Woman chatting inanely on the phone. Her fingers twisted the cord while she babbled about all manner of things feminine and not so feminine. Was it his imagination or did she just chuckle at a dirty joke? The Woman wore cutoff jeans and strode back and forth across the kitchen floor. He sauntered in towards the nearby fridge, walking past the center island.

 

He heard the conversation that had initiated between her and someone else on a phone. Mumbling with annoyance he realized he'd missed half of a private conversation with his musings of his slaves.

 

"Yamucha, it's not like it's the end of the world, but I just need someone to talk to," she whispered.

 

Vegeta slowly opened the fridge, following his nose. Jackpot, he grinned, fishing out two large one liter bottles of Kiwi and Cranapple Hercule SP drink which were frosty with condensation. Carefully he slipped both into the towel like a sling, and then hunted for the raw hamburger he smelled nearby.

 

"I'll be RIGHT over babe. Don't worry I'll take you for some ice cream and you can cry over my shoulder," Yamucha said softly.

 

Vegeta grabbed the thawed meat in its plastic wrapped Styrofoam tray. He tore open the plastic, and dropped the meat on the island. Not wanting to wait he tore the cap off the first Hercule drink and downed it with only two bobs of his Adam's apple.

 

"Terrific, I'll be ready in an hour,” Bulma chuckled, untangling the phone cord. Out of her peripheral vision she saw she was not alone, judging from the empty bottles sitting lined up on the island, and a certain Saiyan Prince wiping his lips with the back of one hand.

 

“Do you mind if I bring some friends? They've heard all about you, and I was wondering if you'd like to meet me at that new Club Tropic in downtown West City?”

 

“The one with the pineapple margaritas?” Bulma frowned.

 

`Yeah that one. Shasta and Ginger have been dying to meet you, because they saw you in Cosmo.”

 

“I thought it would be you and me, Yami,” Bulma said.

 

“You need to meet some new people. They're great fun. C'mon Babe, what's the harm in sharing Friday night with some good buddies? They're cool,” Yamcha wheedled.

 

Wandering over to the fridge, Bulma reached up on tiptoes to open the freezer door while she cradled the receiver between chin and shoulder. She extracted a box of popsicles, and then tore a grape one out of its wrapper, still talking on the phone the whole time.

 

“Fine, you win. I guess it won't hurt to meet them,” said Bulma with a small sigh of disappointment.

 

"I'll be there in half the time. See you later. Love you," Yamucha answered before she clicked the end button on her phone.

 

“Love you too, Yami,” she nodded.

 

An inelegant burp punctuated the sudden silence. Bulma whirled around at the source of it smirking in her face. Vegeta continued to tear off morsels of bloody hamburger while chewing each bit. Overdramatically he licked the blood off his fingers, smacking his lips. Bulma groaned, knowing he was just doing it to piss her off like he usually did. Secretly she was grateful because it distracted her from the sudden disappointing amendment to her plans with Yamcha.

 

“Are you nuts?” Bulma glanced at Vegeta. She was attacking the solid sugar treat reduced to colored purple fluid oozing down her fingers.

 

“What? Do you mind, I'm eating,” Vegeta glanced at her wrinkling her nose in disgust.

 

“How can you eat RAW hamburger like that!” Bulma snorted, resting her hands on her hips. She bit the rest of the grape Popsicle off the stick then threw it into the trash.

 

“Excuse me but I like my meat raw,” he chuckled.

 

“Don't you know ANYTHING, your Whyness?” Bulma shook her head. Striding over to him she grabbed a salt shaker and grabbed a hunk of raw hamburger. To Vegeta's surprise she dashed a few crystals of table salt then popped the bit in her mouth.

 

“It tastes the best with salt,” she said as he rested his chin on his hand, watching her chew. He caught sight of her tongue which had changed bright purple from her desert consumed seconds before.

 

For once Vegeta was speechless. Bulma mentally tallied a mark on her side for shocking the Prince. He rolled his eyes, and then grabbed the salt shaker for his own next piece of raw meat.

 

“Showoff,” he growled.

 

“You're not the only one who does weird stuff,” she glanced at him.

 

“Who cares?” Vegeta mumbled, finishing off the whole two pounds. “Any others?”

 

“Deep freeze. I'd offer you some ice cream but if you want raw stakes, there's a few left over from last night's barbecue.”

 

“Fine, better then that high fructose corn syrup and Red #4 dye you're so fond of consuming,” Vegeta said, grabbing the Popsicle box she forgot to put back.

 

“Maybe I should freeze some of this raw burger and put it on a stick then, your Majesty?” she mock bowed.

 

“You're an idiot,” Vegeta chuckled. He replaced the box back in the freezer, and then grabbed two more trays of frozen hamburger.

 

“You're complaining about me eating synthetic food and you're drinking that crap?” Bulma asked, tossing the emptied sport drink bottles into the trash.

 

“I just like to blow your little excuse for a mind, Woman,” Vegeta snickered, carrying his frozen treat out the back door. Bulma saw him grab the last two bottles of Hercule drink along with what was going to be dinner for that night.

 

“Whatever,” Bulma mumbled, closing the door behind her houseguest and hanging up the phone. She had more important things to think about rather then the strange customs of the Saiyan Prince. There was a whole host of outfits to pick from upstairs and the newest bar and club to try. Tonight would be a good time to kick back and relax with Yamcha and two friends.