The grand cruise had finally come to an end.
One by one, the fighters and their families disembarked, returning to the quiet routines of their separate lives. Yet beneath the surface of every goodbye lingered the same unspoken certainty: the next battle was not a question of *if*, but only of *when*—and how much stronger they would need to become to survive it.
Late that night, the Capsule Corp compound was silent except for the low whisper of wind moving through the open balcony doors. The room Vegeta and Bulma shared was wrapped in near-complete darkness, lit only by the faint silver glow of the crescent moon and the distant city lights far below. Neither of them had bothered with clothes after their showers; there was no need for pretense between them tonight.
Vegeta stood motionless at the wide window, bare feet planted on the cool floor, arms folded tightly across his broad chest. The night breeze slid over his skin, raising faint goosebumps along his shoulders and back, but he didn't move to close the doors. His eyes were locked on the stars—cold, distant, indifferent. His jaw was set, every line of his face carved with the same ruthless determination that had carried him through a lifetime of war.
His cock stood rigid, thick and heavy, pulsing faintly with the restless energy that never quite left his body anymore. It wasn't lust alone; it was frustration, hunger for power, fury at the gap that still existed between him and Kakarot. Pride and need twisted together until they were almost indistinguishable.
"Starting tomorrow," he said quietly, voice rough and low, "I'm entering the Hyperbolic Time Chamber again. Longer this time. I won't allow that idiot to pull further ahead. I'll become stronger… even if it tears me apart."
Bulma stepped up behind him without a sound. Her bare arms slid around his torso, palms flattening against the hard planes of his abdomen. Her full breasts pressed warmly into his back, nipples already peaked from the cool air and from the simple nearness of him. She rested her cheek between his shoulder blades, feeling the slow, powerful thud of his heart.
"Vegeta…" Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "You don't have to destroy yourself to prove anything. I don't want to wake up one day and find my husband gone—burned out in some endless quest for strength. I don't want to be left alone again."
She tightened her embrace slightly. "Trunks is so much like you, you know. That same fire, that same stubborn pride. The only difference is… he actually lets me see it sometimes. He lets me hold him when he's scared. He says 'I love you, Mom' without choking on the words."
Vegeta snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. "You talk too damn much, woman."
But there was no real venom in it.
He turned in her arms, movements deliberate, controlled—until his mouth crashed down on hers.
The kiss was slow at first, almost punishing in its intensity. His lips moved against hers with bruising force, tongue sweeping in to claim her the way he claimed everything he wanted. Bulma answered him without hesitation, fingers threading into his dark, spiky hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl low in his throat.
His left hand dropped to grip the full curve of her ass, fingers digging in possessively, pulling her hips flush against his. His right hand slid up the length of her spine, cradling the back of her neck as though she might try to escape (she never did). She whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another deep, languid kiss.
They moved together toward the bed without breaking contact—small, shuffling steps, mouths never parting, breathing ragged and shared. When the backs of Vegeta's knees hit the mattress he let himself fall backward, pulling her with him. Bulma climbed over him immediately, straddling his hips, knees sinking into the sheets on either side of him.
She reached down between them, fingers wrapping around his straining cock. He was already leaking, slick at the tip. She guided him to her entrance—hot, swollen, dripping with want—and sank down slowly, taking every thick inch until her ass rested against his thighs.
Both of them moaned at the same moment, the sound raw and unguarded.
For several long heartbeats they simply stayed like that—connected, still, breathing each other in. Vegeta's hands roamed up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, then higher until he cupped them fully, rolling her nipples between calloused fingers. Bulma shivered, head tipping back, silver moonlight painting her throat and collarbones.
Then he began to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips—measured, almost torturously controlled. Each thrust dragged along every sensitive place inside her until she was trembling above him. She braced her hands on his chest, nails digging faintly into his skin, and leaned down to kiss him again. Open-mouthed. Messy. Desperate.
The worries that had haunted them both—the androids, the gods, the endless climb toward unreachable power—slipped away for these stolen minutes. There was only heat, only skin sliding against skin, only the slick rhythm of their bodies and the broken sounds they made against each other's mouths.
Vegeta's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her down harder now, faster, chasing the edge they both needed. Bulma's thighs quivered; her breath hitched in sharp little gasps every time he filled her completely.
"Vegeta—" she whispered against his lips, half plea, half prayer.
He answered by flipping them in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath him without ever breaking their connection. Now he drove into her with purpose—deep, relentless, claiming. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him even closer.
They kissed through the rising pleasure, messy and breathless, until the tension finally snapped.
Bulma came first—back arching off the mattress, a choked cry muffled against his shoulder. Vegeta followed seconds later, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside her with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through both their bodies.
For a long time afterward they didn't move.
He stayed inside her, softening slowly, while she traced lazy patterns across his scarred back. The night breeze drifted in again, cooling sweat-slick skin. Outside, the stars continued their indifferent watch.
Tomorrow the training would begin again—brutal, merciless, solitary.
But tonight… tonight they still had each other.
And for now, that was enough.