Four in the morning. Propping herself up with her arms, Bulma tilted her head to have a better view of the man she had just made love with. Vegeta stood quietly beside the open window, wearing a thick, dark blue robe. The flapper shivered. It was unusually cold. Reaching for her own robe, and wrapping it around her nudity, she gingerly rose from the bed and stood beside her lover.

"Hey," she stated softly. "What are you looking at?"

"The snow," was the prince’s calm reply. The woman turned to see the specks of white that floated towards the ground. Winter had finally come to New York. Crossing her arms around her body, she rubbed her shoulders with her hands in order to warm herself up. A sudden breeze sent chills through the couple, forcing them to retreat from their vantage point.

"We better go sit by the fire," Bulma suggested after the boxer had closed the window. The man scratched at his still disheveled ebony strands before sitting down on the carpeted floor beside the singer, watching as she held up her hands against the orange flame, hungrily taking in the warmth from its glow. He recalled the events that had taken place only a few hours ago. He hadn’t been able to sleep, knowing that this woman was only at arm’s reach. He had told himself over and over again that he wouldn’t touch her that night; but her image had played around in his mind, his physical yearnings made stronger by her presence. He hadn’t been thinking straight when he walked out of his bedroom and past the sitting room, towards his oak door. He had decided then that he was just going to look in on her secretly, but instead, he found her right in front of his door, all the resistance fleeing from him upon the sight of her.

A long stretch of silence blanketed the room; the eerie light from the blaze giving the four walls an old century look. Through the glass, the snowflakes could be seen continuing their descent from the skies above.

"Vegeta," Bulma started. "You told me you wou—"

"Hey! You were the one who came at my door in the first place!" Vegeta blanched.

"Huh? But I…"

"You know I’m only a man! Could I really help it if your standing there looking so eager and vulnerable?!"

"Eager? Vulnerable? But Vege—"

"Don’t you blame it on me, woman! I’m sorry that you hadn’t wanted to make out with me tonight bu—" the dark-haired boxer was cut off at the feel of the European girl’s finger on his lips.

"Vegeta…I wanted this to happen…" she whispered softly, making the prince’s cold eyes widen in surprise.

"W-What do you mean?" he asked. "What do you mean?!" he repeated, more vehemently this time. Bulma, quite accustomed to his behavior now, simply sighed and gave him a penetrating stare.

"I…I’m saying that…uhurm," she cleared her throat, her heart pounding as she begins to build up the courage to speak. "I’m saying that I’ll be your mistress or whatever you’d like to call it."

This response left Vegeta speechless, his eyes as wide as saucers. All he could do was blink constantly, his emotions in complete disarray as he tries to decide on a response.

"Oh…" he swiveled his head away from the lady, trying to hide his beet-red face.

"So…" Bulma pressed her lips together, a little disappointed by the boxer’s simple reply. "Where would you be setting me up?"

"Setting you up?"

"The apartment you said you’d give me. Where is it located?"

"Nowhere."

"What?!"

A head of emerald locks followed the prince, who had begun to pace beside the fireplace. After a few moments, he stopped right in front of the flapper, blocking the blaze behind him, darkness covering his face.

"I’m not giving you an apartment," he stated flatly. Bulma’s heart began pounding against her ribs. She hadn’t expected this. This man was indeed unpredictable. The thought of living with her relatives again ate away at her. Before she could even open her lips to speak, her lover spoke first.

"If I am to give you an apartment, I’ll have to pay your rent," he began. "Then, I’ll have to spend money for fuel whenever I’m to pick you up."

"You’re not making sense! If you were to leave me with my relatives, you’d be spending a lotta dough on gas!"

"I’m not leaving you with them. You’d be living here with me."

Now, it was Bulma’s turn to gape in awe. She continued to stare at the man whose personality was as complex as the composition of the champagne that he had begun drinking once more. When the last drop of the yellowish liquor disappeared into his mouth, he set down the wine glass beside the half-filled dark green bottle on the dresser before meeting the woman’s sparkling azure eyes with his icy jet-black ones. Finally, the German lass stood up.

"You mean…I could have that room beside yours?!" she gasped.

"No. That would mean more money spent on rent. You’ll be staying here in this room," taking off his robe, Vegeta slipped under the silken covers. "Tomorrow, we move your things here."

Bulma was at a loss for words, her brows meeting in the middle. She twirled her fingers around the streaks of jade that nestled upon her crown. The prince’s change in demeanor was so fast, it was making her head spin.

"Well? Aren’t you gonna try to get some shut eye?" the boxer groaned, poking his head from under the blanket.

"There?! With you?!" the singer pointed at the king-sized bed.

"Where else? If you want to sleep on the floor, that’s fine with me," he pulled the covers up to his neck and turned to his side. Bulma sighed heavily. The thought of sleeping beside him throughout their relationship appalled her. With her previous beaus, she always had her own room. But at the same time, it pleased her to know that this man would want her close to him. It made her feel important: valuable. Gingerly, she slipped under the blanket turning her back towards her lover. She was still quite uncomfortable with his presence, being that they’ve stayed together for only three days, their relationship made official only minutes ago. After a while, her lids began to grow heavy. She would have fallen asleep right away if it had not been for the warmth of a hand on her thigh, causing her to lay flat on her back, her turquoise eyes meeting a pair of dark ones. Vegeta lowered his face towards the woman’s, his lips trailing wet kisses upon her pearl-complexioned face, his hand groping inside her robe, searching for what gave him pleasure.

"V-Vegeta…ssstop…" Bulma moaned, as she tried to squirm away from the man’s tight embrace.

"What?" he paused reluctantly and frowned.

"I’m very tired now, Vegeta. Would it be okay if…we do it some other time?" she squeaked, a tinge of fear clutching her throat.

"Fine," the muscle-bound man shrugged before lifting himself away and back to his original lying position. This left the flapper totally bewildered. She had been frightened, for she saw a lustful glint swimming in the inky lakes that were her new sheik’s eyes. She had seen that look in Yamcha’s eyes before and more often than not, her former boyfriend would force himself upon her. But the way Vegeta handled her protest both shocked and amazed her. It nagged at her until she was unable to take it. She reached out and laid one hand on his bicep.

"Fine?" she asked. "Is that it? You’re giving up without a fight?"

"You said you didn’t want to," he replied impatiently, covering his head with a pillow. "Now, pipe down! I want to sleep!"

Bulma stared at him for a little while longer after which, she lay back down, a small smile dazzling her cherry-red lips. She slept soundly, admiring the way he had respected her decision, contented to have at last, found something good in the man she once disliked.

* * * * *

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Slang Guide*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Beau = usually referring to one’s boyfriend; plural: Beaux/Beaus
Flapper = A stylish, brash, hedonistic young woman of the 1920’s with short skirts and shorter hair
Pipe down = stop talking
Sheik = One’s boyfriend esp. one with sex appeal