Touch
By: Constance

a.k.a. Much Kneaded Affection
(horrible, horrible, punny title...shameless really)

Touch. The fierce indiscriminant need for touch, that was the worst thing that Yamcha had left her with. More than the pain of his betrayal, more than the loss of his sweetness, his crooked grin, his stupid sense of humor—it was the touch, the feeling of another body, entangled desperately with hers. Because it was only that feeling that seemed to stem her loneliness, to burn it from her completely, if only for a brief time. That was what she missed the most when she lay awake at night.

It had been two weeks since she had thrown him out of her life in a screaming torrent of tears. She heard that morning from her office assistant that Yamcha had been seen romancing another woman the night before at a restaurant in West Capitol. She had confronted him about it and he had admitted to his infidelity easily, almost casually. It was not like the other times before when he had confessed and then apologized, begging for her forgiveness. This time his face showed no regret, only sadness, and that look of sadness terrified her more than she could say.

"Tell me you’re sorry Yamcha," she spat; shuddering with rage and the force of the tears she refused to shed. "Tell me you’re sorry," she whispered with deadly softness. But Yamcha did not flinch, he didn’t blanch with horror like he would before when she was angry with him. He simply lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek gently in his palm as he looked at her solemnly and said,

"You know it’s over Bulma, you know it is. I can’t be the man you want me to be, and I know now that I don’t want to be him. You deserve someone better, someone else."

A single slow tear escaped the barrier of her will. She knew that he was right, that things would never be the same. But Kami help her if she would let him see her cry, if she would let him pity her pain, the pain that he had given her. She couldn’t let him see that she cared, that she even gave a damn. She inhaled slowly, gathering the strength it would take salvage her dignity. If he can be so casual about it, then so can I.

"Fine then. Leave," she said in a voice that betrayed too much of the hurt. "Bulma. . ." he whispered as he looked down into her eyes.

Pity. There it is, in his eyes, she thought. Goddamn it. Goddamn you Yamcha! How dare you feel sorry for me. Suddenly she felt words exploding from her mouth, roiling upwards from the cool furry growing in the pit of her stomach,

"Get out! Get the hell out of my house Goddammit! I never want to see your face again," and then she ran, ran away from him for fear that he wouldn’t leave quickly enough, that he would see her break down completely. She cursed herself softly for the shame of running away, but it would be far worse for him to see her, of that she was sure.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks for her to learn not to miss him. To learn not to breathe his name when she touched her body in the night. And to her surprise it hadn’t been so hard, not at all, not as much as she expected. She could see now that it had been too good when she had first returned from Namek and he from the dead. They had been so happy simply to be alive and together again that for a while that joy was enough to make them forget all the bad times, all the hurtful scars of words and misdeeds that lay between them like a gulf. But after a few blissful weeks the euphoria wore off; they cooled down again. Life became as it was before, and before wasn’t good, not good enough to last. She had only been too stubborn to admit it.

After all, wasn’t he her Prince? Her man? Wasn’t he the one she had wished for quietly every night as a child, when she would lean out her window and ask the first star she saw for the love of her life? Oh but Kami, he wasn’t. He wasn’t. And he was gone now, gone for good. And for the first time in a great many years, she was alone. But it’s better this way, she consoled herself. It’s better not to live your life with a man who can only pretend to love you.

And she found, day-by-day, that it became harder and harder for her to miss him. The only thing that was stuck in her maw, the only thing that his absence seem to inspire in her was an unquenchable hunger for touch that swallowed her up, that shook her in its teeth like a wild thing. She felt sure now that she needed it to live, that with out the feeling of another on her skin to anchor her, she would just float away.

It was easy enough abet her ravenous need during the day, but at night it consumed her and her dreams. Fantastic dreams of hips and lips and legs intertwined that would leave her aching when she awoke. She had awoken this morning like that, breathing heavily, bathed in a soft sheen of sweat and cursing all the Gods imaginable for the desire that now plagued her.

"Oh Kami, why me?" she groaned as she looked at the clock. 4 am, it read. "Bulma, I’m going to have to get you fixed," she sighed as she rolled over onto her side, escaping the maleficent glare of her bedside alarm. "Thank God, Julio’s coming today. If it weren’t for him I think I’d lose it completely."

* * *

Teeth. Teeth, he thought. That man’s teeth are entirely too white. There was something vaguely askew about the man that stood before him, but Vegita couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the wide set of his shoulders, his full head of slick curly hair, or the unnatural gleam of the too-clean smile he flashed him as he exited his Chikyuu-jin vehicle with what appeared to be a padded table under one arm and a handbag in the other.

"Hi," the dark muscular man piped as he ascended the steps to where Vegita stood. "Where’s Bulma? I’m here for her massage."

Oh, he grumbled inwardly. That’s why. Another one of her lovers. Wonder if Scar Face knows about this one? Vegita thought as he tried bitterly to suppress the uncomfortable jealous rumble that the smiling buffoon before him invoked in the pit of his stomach. Why the hell should I care if she has lovers? She can fuck whoever she wants. It’s all the same to me. Instead of answering the smiling man, Vegita shot him a baleful glare and stalked away.

He had been returning to the house for a late afternoon meal when he heard the humming of the land cruiser on the gravel road leading to the Brief’s family compound. He had hoped that the car’s occupants would prove to be Bulma’s parents. They had been gone inexplicably for a few days, he hadn’t asked Bulma about where they were lest he be accused of caring. He didn’t care; he knew that. He just wished Bulma’s mother were around. Despite her obnoxious prattling, the woman could cook, and Vegita was sick of scrounging through the scraps left in the kitchen. Bulma ate like a bird, and was seemingly unalarmed by the absence of red meat in the family larder.

I’ll have to go hunting if this continues, he resolved as he thawed the slab of animal matter he had unearthed from the freezer. God knows I can’t ask her to get more. I’ll never here the end of it. He ate the meat unseasoned, and nearly raw, with none of the Chikyuu-jin frippery like "barbeque sauce." Such things spoil the real taste; he thought to himself as he sank his teeth into flesh. Why would you want it any other way? He was awoken from his beef induced reverie by the noise of Bulma greeting "Teeth Man" at the door.

"Ugh, Julio! You don’t know how good it is to see you. I’m so grateful you’re willing to do house calls."

"Oh Bulma, don’t be silly. You know it’s always a pleasure to come to you. You have such a beautiful home, and you’re such a lovely girl."

Vegita felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to bristle. What a shameless kiss ass, he fumed as he listened to the man’s smooth tenor reverberate through the house.

"So where should I set up, honey?"

"How about in the living room? I have the big windows open and the breeze is delicious. My parents are gone for the week so we wont have to worry about interruptions."

You’ve got that right, woman. To hell if I’m going to be anywhere near you and that man while you’re cuddling, Vegita thought as he began to chew more quickly.

"My mom just adores you, ya know. I’m surprised she doesn’t see you as well. I think she feels it’s too indecent—taking your clothes off and having some strange man rub your back. I guess it is scandalous to some people. But then again she doesn’t know you like I do."

Wait a minute. Clothes off . . .Rubbing . . .Mother? Vegita’s jaw had gone slack mid-chew. And they were going to do this in his house? He swallowed hard and stormed out the back door, all hunger forgotten for the moment. He ignored the small twinge of curiosity he felt. The guilty urge he had to go back and peak into the living room. He tried to credit the desire to mere clinical inquisitiveness. He had a long unsettled debate with himself about whether or not her hair was that color everywhere...

Never mind that, he berated himself furiously. The nerve of that woman! I would have at least thought she would have the decency to enact her depraved sex rituals in the privacy of her own bedroom.

* * *

"Mmm...Julio, you are fabulous," Bulma sighed as Julio’s firm expert digits worked their subtle magic on her neglected muscles. "You know I think I’ve been going crazy since I broke it off with Yamcha? So much of the loneliness I’ve been feeling is just touch, you know? Just feeling someone else. Kami, who knew that it would make such a difference?"

"I understand what you’re saying, girl. Touch is important. We’d all whither and die without it. If a child isn’t held enough when they’re young, it stunts their growth."

Huh. Maybe that’s why Vegita’s so short. Bulma mused. Saiyans hugging Saiyans... She tried to envision the fierce Saiyan no Ouji receiving affection in chibi form and came up short. The best she could manage was a twisted vision of Son Kun, arms outstretched, chasing Vegita around and narrowly evading lethal blasts from a seriously affronted Saiyan no Ouji. Yeah that’s probably it, she chuckled to herself.

"I gotta tell you girl, I’m so happy you lost that Yamcha guy. He may have been good looking, but he was not good to you."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she murmured contentedly.

"So is there anybody new in your life? Anyone on the horizon? How about that fine moody man I saw darkening your doorstep today?"

"Who? You must mean Vegita. No, he wouldn’t have anything to do with me." Unfortunately, she thought.

"Seriously? Damn. Well...An ass like that should not be wasted. So, you wouldn’t mind if I took a swing at him would you?"

Bulma laughed quietly at the unknowing irony of what Julio had just said. If Julio did indeed proposition Vegita, it was most likely Vegita who would be taking a swing at him. A fatal one. Hmmm...Best not to encourage this, she thought. Despite the potentially humorous implications.

"I would steer clear of Vegita, Julio. I’m pretty sure he’s straight and probably homophobic to boot. Believe me, he’s one irritable son-of-a-bitch too. Don’t get yourself tangled up in that one."

"Hmph, one of those boys, huh? Too bad. What a waste."

"You know I could say the same thing about you Juli baby."

"Oh Bulma, you know I love you," Julio chided.

Yeah right, she thought. A beautiful man with talented hands. Why are they always gay or...black haired, brooding, asshole monkey spawn from outer space? Oh well, she sighed. It’s too much for one simple girl to comprehend. I guess I should just enjoy...

* * *

Damn it. Damn. Damn. Vegita silently cursed himself for being so distracted by yet another midnight forage into the fridge. He had hoped to avoid her completely after the afternoon’s "incident." He had returned late that evening after he was convinced that she would be asleep. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of the other man, still hanging in the air like noxious vapor.

In the living room, he sneered. He had gone through the back door straight to the kitchen this time, strategically avoiding the scene of the crime and went straight to the refrigerator. He was too absorbed in its contents to hear her coming down the stairs until it was too late to bolt. He refused to let her see that he was trying to avoid her.

"Hey Vegita. You’re in late tonight," Bulma murmured as she hoisted her self onto the counter and began to swing her legs idly. He’s probably going to be digging for awhile. Might as well make myself comfortable.

"Leave some grub for me, okay?"

He had hoped that once she saw him digging in the freezer that she would think better of it and go back to bed. Feeding himself was a serious enterprise and she usually avoided him while he was doing it. She said once that watching him shovel food into his mouth at such a fast rate was enough to make anyone lose their appetite. She must be too hungry to let that discourage her tonight. Damn, he reiterated. This confrontation could apparently not be avoided. So Vegita loaded an arm full of foodstuff and slowly extricated himself from the fridge.

The sight of her smiling at him from the counter in the too thin, gossamer shift she called a nightgown was enough to make his pulse jump. But his initial lustful image was quickly replaced by another darker one, the sight of that meat fisted Teeth Man with his fingers all over her. His usual half-grunted greeting for her was replaced by a low snarl issued from the back of his throat.

"Damn. You’re in a pissy mood tonight. It’s because I haven’t gone to the grocery store yet, isn’t it? Look, I’ll go tomorrow. You don’t have to get your panties in a bunch." Bulma took advantage of the Saiyan’s ignorance as to the true meaning of the word "panties" for the sake of taking even a small jab at the Saiyan no Ouji’s masculinity.

Vegita’s brow twitched minutely. Somehow that woman was making fun of him; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. But never mind that, it was time for him to lay down the law. There would be no such fornications as the one this afternoon happening under his roof. He would have to make that clear to her.

"Does that baka yaro boyfriend of yours know about him?" Vegita murmured, low and dangerous, focusing his attentions on the meal he was preparing. Looking at her might cause him to loose his nerve, although whether his reaction would be brutal or passionate, he could not say.

"Who?" Bulma responded, genuinely confused. Does he honestly think I’m still with Yamcha?

"Him. That man," Vegita blurted in annoyance. He inhaled slowly, vying carefully to corral his anger. "The one who was here this afternoon. The one that had his hands—all over you."

"What? You mean Julio?" Bulma laughed lightly seemingly unaware of the emotions churning through Vegita like raucous storm. And then it dawned on her. Ha ha. He thinks I’m cheating on Yamcha. That’s hilarious. "Oh Gods Vegita. It’s not what you think! He’s just a masseuse. I hired him, and he was nice enough to make a house call for me."

"You mean you pay him?" For the second time that day, Vegita’s face went limp with shock. A woman like her actually has to pay for sex??? What the hell is wrong with this planet?

"Well, duh. He can’t afford to work for free, you know. Not all of us can freeload like you do." Then she grinned slyly, contemplating the risks and merits of her next move as she slowly uncrossed her legs and stretched out one gorgeous gam to rest on the counter that Vegita was working at. "Why, Vegita. Don’t tell me you’re looking for employment?"

Bulma stared in wonderment as a broad track of crimson burned a path stretching ear to ear across Vegita’s face. I don’t believe it, he’s beet red, Bulma mussed. I didn’t know Saiyans could blush. Man this is great! Vegita was only incapacitated for a moment before recovering with a blunt, angry retort.

"Well woman, I knew you were ugly but I didn’t know you had to pay for your attentions. So tell me, is Yamcha a "masseuse" too? I should have known him for the sort man that would sell himself." He spat angrily, saying the word "masseuse" with virulent revulsion, as if it made him feel dirty just to say it.

"Yamcha? Wait a minute. You mean Yamcha a male hoar? No, he’s not." Although that would explain some things... "Look Vegita. You got it all wrong. Julio isn’t a prostitute. I am not buying sex. A masseuse is someone who just rubs your back and stuff. It’s not sexual at all. He’s kind of like a doctor that way. So calm down already! Besides he’s not even into women."

Vegita could feel the tension in his chest ease slightly at the thought of the man laying hands on her doing so in a merely clinical way. The idea that he was actually homosexual helped a little too. Although he wouldn’t trust a man not to say that merely to get a woman like Bulma to let her guard down. A moment of uncomfortable silence ensued between them before Bulma finally gave up and decided to return to bed.

So much for ice cream at midnight, she sighed. "Well, anyways, it appears I’m done enlightening you for one evening. So I think I’ll go to back to bed." She began to strut her way out of the room, placing her legs with careful grace to accentuate the movements of her posterior. Eat your heart out Monkey Boy. And then she stopped, considering her next gambit, and its likely hood of getting her maimed, or worse. What the hell... She pivoted on one heel and was rewarded by Vegita’s brief expression of unguarded admiration before it was swallowed up by a sneer. She smiled slyly and tilted her head downwards so that she was looking up at him, flirtatiously flashing her long lashes.

"Oh, and Vegita. Julio does exquisite work but...I’m always open to new applicants," she said before turning tail and strutting the rest of the way out of the kitchen.

She was almost to her room now, and she was beginning to feel a little disappointed. Not so much as an insult. Not a word, not a sputtering gush of rage from him. I must be loosing my touch. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what hit him. Too fast for her to feel, for her mind to even register it, he was upon her. She was pinned against the wall, although their bodies weren’t actually touching. His arms were on either side of her, fisted against the plaster of the wall, blocking her escape.

His face was inscrutable as always, but the air around him boiled with tangible energy. His eyes poured into hers with a black intensity that made her intestines buckle and knot. A dizzying mix of excitement and raw fear leeched into her body, setting every nerve on end. Oh Kami, you really did it this time girl. You just had to cross the line. And there’s no one around to even hear you scream... What to do? What to do? Should I beg for my life? Or should I try another tactic? Consider carefully Bulma. He could very easily have your neck for this.

Very, very slowly, Bulma lifted her arms from her side and knotted her hands in a loose embrace around his neck, resting her arms casually on his shoulders. She had never been this close to him before, ever. She had only dreamed of it and the affect of his body actually touching hers was positively intoxicating. She gave him a slight smile and shot him the same flirtatious glance she had used in the kitchen.

She dared to lean forward so that they were standing cheek to cheek, almost close enough to feel the fine hairs of his face upon hers. "So," she whispered lowly. "Have you considered my offer? Are you here to apply?" His body seemed to relax infinitesimally, and she leaned back to look into his eyes again. To her surprise he was smiling, well, a Vegita smile—half-sided and restrained, but still there nonetheless.

"Yes," he intoned, his smirk widening. I’ll play this game with you, woman. Although I’m not so sure you’ll survive it.

Bulma schooled her expression into a mask of mock sobriety and asked in the best disinterested business like tone she could muster,

"Do you have any references?"

References?? Vegita thought. What the hell are those? Huh, no matter... "Do you mean these?" He purred as he ground his already throbbing groin into her hips. His bold move was reinforced with a sharp intake of breath from Bulma.

"Ungh...ah...no," she managed. "That’s—not exactly what I meant. But I’d say you’re amply qualified for the job," she said as she took his right ear lob into her mouth, biting it softly before she began to suck on it slowly. Vegita hissed in impatience, trying to muster his wits and his sense of control.

"So tell me Vegita," she whispered huskily, making sure to exhale deliberately over his now moistened ear lob, invoking an eruption of goosebumps all over the back of his neck. "What positions are you interested in?"

With that the Saiyan no Ouji’s shallow smirk broke into a full-fledged grin. He began to hitch up the hem of her nightgown as he whispered to her in return, punctuating each word with an ever-descending kiss.

"Every...

Single...

One...

Of...

Them..."