Katchan It's hard to think of terribly hokey titles for fanfiction [I know the moderators are going to throttle me for this one ^_^] Anyhow. This is a quick lemon, and I thought it appropriate to be posted by Christmas Eve. Just FYI...in case you missed the [Lemon] tag up there, that means there's sex in the story. Yes, sex. So don't read the story and then send me email telling me that there was sex in the story. I know there was sex in the story. I *wrote* the sex in the story ^_^ If ya don't wanna read about sex, don't read this story. For those of you who are left...get on with it ^_- Katchan ******* Christmas Eve. Bulma pulled the quilts up to her nose and watched the snow falling outside her window and tried not to cry; she hated Christmas. At least, she hated Christmas when she was *alone* at Christmas, and since she'd broken up with Yamucha, this was the second Christmas for which she'd been alone. Granted, she and Vejiita had taken up on a regular basis -- but Vejiita was no Yamucha, and he would never spoil her with kisses and presents. As though aware of her thoughts, Vejiita's silhouette darkened her window. Bulma half-closed her eyes and watched as he slid her window open. The wind whipped inside with him as he climbed in, carefully, quietly; Bulma suppressed a shiver as the cold permeated the blankets. Vejiita turned around and silently shut the window, shutting out the howl of the wind, shutting out the cold. He turned back to her and watched her for a moment as he shook the snow off his head and shoulders. Baka, Bulma thought, keeping her eyes half-closed, and bit her tongue before she said anything. He wore only a jacket, and that half-open; his gloves were no doubt soaked with sweat and snow; and on his feet were only his well-worn sneakers. Bulma stretched, pretending to be asleep, and rolled so her back was to him. She heard his sneakers thump to the floor, followed by his gloves, and then his jacket. Soft footsteps approached the bed, and Bulma listened to the sound of cloth moving against skin; and then Vejiita knelt on the bed. He slid beneath the covers and reached for her and Bulma shrieked as his icy hands slipped under her pajama top and pulled her toward him. She heard Vejiita's wicked laughter, and tried to reach back and hit him. "Quit that," he snickered, turning her to face him, pulling her tight against his cold body. "I came in here to get warm." "If you'd dress properly," she snapped, "you wouldn't get so cold in the first place." His face grew suddenly serious, and Bulma scowled at him. "And don't think you're going to come in here and put your cold hands on me and hope that I'll jump you in a sexual frenzy, either." "You've never jumped me in a sexual frenzy," Vejiita said thoughtfully -- regretfully? Bulma sighed. She would never change the man, and had never really tried, outside making him dress decently. "Shut up," she countered, and sulked. "Good one," he said affably, and bit her nose. His hands slid around to her rear, pulling her tightly against him, and she could feel his growing hardness. With his teeth and tongue and lips he nuzzled her throat, then pulled Bulma's pajama top over her head. She opened her mouth to speak, gasped instead as Vejiita ducked his head and caught one of her breasts in his mouth. His tongue traced around her nipple, his teeth grazed her skin; he sucked lightly, his eyes closed. He wriggled further down beneath the quilts, his mouth never leaving her skin as it trailed down her body, following his hands as they tugged down her pajama bottoms. He pushed her to lie on her back, his strong hands grasping her hips, and Bulma closed her eyes. Vejiita's tongue danced around her navel, tickling, teasing her. Though his hands were still cold, his mouth was not, and its warmth mingled with her own as he moved even lower on her body. Bulma grasped two fistfuls of blanket as Vejiita's tongue began its explorations between her thighs. She had asked him, long ago, during one of their frequent arguments, why he bothered to pleasure her; the appeal, he'd responded, was the challenge. "I can always get myself off," he'd told her, calmly. "It's making you shriek loud enough to wake the dead that offers me any sort of contest." At which point he'd proceeded to throw her to the floor and make her shriek loud enough to wake the dead. He sucked gently, now, distracting her from all thought. Bulma lifted her hips slightly to allow him better access, and he chuckled against her skin, tickling her. His tongue slid between soft folds, entering her slowly; he continued to suck on her, making little satisfied slurping sounds as he quite literally drank her in. He withdrew his tongue with excruciating languor; he licked light circles around her clitoris, then, until she reached down and caught his wiry hair in her fingers and thrust against his face and clamped her thighs on either side of his head. Her climax was quick and it was fierce, and Bulma knew it was only the first, for Vejiita never settled for giving her just one, unless that one took hours to build up. He moved up and over her body, and slid into her before she'd stopped trembling. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him and thrust rhythmically, and he began to make sounds that were not his usual pleasured sounds, in Bulma's ear. She opened her eyes, puzzled; it was a sort of crooning sound, a low, soothing hum, rather like a growl. And its effect on her was more remarkable than the sound itself. Her body grew faint and lazy all over, and her skin was warm despite the fact that Vejiita's was not. Her thoughts became cloudy, and she closed her eyes, aware only of the sensation of Vejiita's body against hers. She hooked her legs around his and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him make love to her, made no effort to move or to intensify his pleasure, as was her wont. He moved slowly in her, never breaking his rhythm, and all the while his mellow voice lilted in her ear and Bulma was helpless against his song. When Vejiita finally came it was as though he were holding back, as though he didn't want to break whatever spell he'd woven over her; he thrust only slightly harder into her, and gasped just once before relaxing on her. And then he kissed her. Bulma's eyes snapped open, surprised. Vejiita had never kissed her mouth, not once, since they'd started sleeping together. He watched her, amused. "What's wrong?" he wondered. "N-nothing," she stammered, her body still reacting to the memory of the sound he'd been making. "Only -- " He reached beneath her and grasped her buttocks and held her tight to him as he rolled to his side, expertly keeping himself inside her. "Only what?" he wondered, thrusting experimentally. "That sound -- " "What sound?" he wondered, his teeth scraping her neck. Bulma closed her eyes and inhaled. She smoothed her palms over his powerful shoulders, down over his muscled back. His body was beautiful, increasingly so as he trained constantly in preparation for the coming of the cyborgs. He was all hard muscle; there was not a soft spot on him, except -- And even that was not soft, she discovered, as he thrust gently again. "Vejiita," she grinned, looking at him. "You horny bugger." He smirked at her and closed his eyes again and his hands -- each covering one of her cheeks -- began to massage her rear in time to his slow strokes. He nibbled at her skin and Bulma tilted her head toward him. His hot tongue darted into her ear and suddenly her head was filled with that mellow song once more, as Vejiita resumed his humming. Bulma gasped, inhaled, tried to say something; but her body melted and her mind went with it, focusing only on the spot where their pelvises connected. He was slower this time, and just as gentle; it was unusual for him, but Bulma could not claim to dislike it. She moaned when he came inside her, aroused by his rocking movements; she whimpered a protest when he withdrew from her. Vejiita laughed softly and reached down with one hand and easily brought her to orgasm with practised fingers. Bulma sighed and leaned against him, closing her eyes. She dozed, knowing that while she was asleep, he would extricate himself from her embrace, get dressed, and be gone before morning. It was this habit of Vejiita's that distressed her most, and reminded her once more that it was Christmas Eve, and that she would wake up alone. He did not leave immediately, however, and Bulma wriggled around so her back was to him, and Vejiita spooned up behind her, tucking his hand over her hip. Bulma smiled to herself as she fell asleep. She woke up to indescribable pleasure and stretched; she was aware suddenly that Vejiita was still behind her; but more than that, he was _inside_ her, from behind, rocking their bodies slowly together, humming again. "Vejiita," she chuckled, reaching back to rest one hand on his thigh. "What are you doing?" "What does it feel like?" he wondered, breaking his song for only a moment. His hand slid over her hip and down between her legs. Bulma lifted her knee slightly to give him access, and closed her eyes as Vejiita's thumb began to stroke her in time to his own movements, bringing her to orgasm in moments. She gasped and arched back against him, but Vejiita was not finished yet, and his fingers continued to play with her, gently, as he thrust inside her and still sang into her ear. She came again, harder this time, and Vejiita finally let himself go, finally cried out his pleasure, finally slammed his hips against hers and held her still so she could not move away from him until he had finished. As their heartbeats slowed, Vejiita pressed his lips to Bulma's shoulder, panting slightly. She moved to turn, to face him, but he held her where she was. "Sh," he said softly, wriggling to keep himself inside her. He pulled the quilts up and over them both, taking care to tuck them around her. He drew his arm beneath the blankets and draped it down the side of her body, his hand resting just above her knee. Bulma closed her eyes and sighed, thoroughly relaxed, and slept again. When she woke in the morning, Vejiita was still with her. She turned to look at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, yawning. "I was sleeping," he told her. "You?" "You never stay the night," she informed him. "Why now?" "Do I have to explain everything I do?" he wondered, glancing down at her body. She quivered, remembering their lovemaking. Vejiita smirked and reached for her again. He was not gentle this time. He rolled her to her stomach and lifted her hips to him and thrust hard and fast into her. Bulma drew her thighs together and arched back toward him and did not mind that he paid her needs little attention for the moment. Vejiita howled his pleasure to the world and whoever cared to hear; and he lowered himself to her when he had done and bit her shoulder, leaving the mark of his teeth on her skin. He withdrew from her and pushed her down to the bed and rolled her to her back and dove hungrily between her legs, slurping at her wetness and chuckling as she shrieked and hooked her legs together over his shoulders and crushed his face against her when she came. They lay together on the bed, panting, and Vejiita grinned at her. "It's Christmas, ne?" he asked. Bulma nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaned forward and bit her nose. "Merry Christmas, then," he said. Bulma blinked. He watched her. "A-ano -- " she began. "Hn?" "Are you -- would you like to join us? To open presents, and for breakfast?" He made a face. "We _did_ get you presents," she hastened to assure him. "I don't need gifts," he told her, yawning and stretching. He rolled off the bed and stretched again, affording her a perfect view of his body. Bulma sighed. He looked at her over his shoulder, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I suppose," he said, "you wouldn't believe me if I said I had something for you." She blinked at him from where she lay. "Really?" He turned to face her. "You won't notice it right away," he went on, casually. "I don't get it," Bulma told him. "You already did," he assured her. Bulma rolled her eyes. "What, my Christmas present is you? While it was nice of you to stay the night -- " "Not me," he interrupted, moving to kneel on the bed. He put his hand on her belly and circled his palm on her skin. "Him." Bulma frowned, not comprehending right away. Vejiita smirked. "I'll need a shower before I leave," he said. "I'll use yours, since you're not." He got to his feet and headed toward her ensuite bathroom. "Wait a minute," Bulma snapped, scrambling out of the bed and trotting after him. "You think that because you stayed the night with me and screwed my brains out I'm pregnant?" "No," he said, turning on the hot water and stepping into the shower stall. He turned to face her. "I think that because I stayed the night with you and screwed your brains out while you were at the most fertile point of your cycle, you're pregnant." His powerful arms shot out and gathered her up and drew her into the shower with him, and they washed off the night's lovemaking and then Vejiita lifted Bulma and held her against the tiled wall as he made love with her again, and they washed again and finally got out of the shower. Vejiita dried her off and then dried himself quickly, then stalked to where he'd dropped his clothes the night before and began to dress. "I'll see you at breakfast," he told her, pulling on his socks. "How do you know?" Bulma asked, pulling on her robe. "Because I know when breakfast is, and since we all -- " "I mean," she snapped, "how do you know for sure I'm pregnant? Or do you know for sure?" "You smell pregnant," he told her, straightening and tucking in his shirt. "That's how I know." "But -- I mean -- " She looked down at her flat belly. "Will it be all right? I mean, if I am, then this baby's half-alien -- " "Chichi did all right," he reminded her shortly. Bulma watched him as he tied his shoelaces and fastened his jacket, and she felt suddenly like crying. He looked up at her, sharply. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "N-nothing," she said, blinking rapidly. "It's just that -- I don't know. You were so -- last night -- " "Feh," he snorted, and moved to stand in front of her. He leaned down and bit her nose. "I'll see you at breakfast," he repeated. With that, he was gone, out the window. Bulma looked at the bed. She would definitely have to change the sheets; they were still damp. She looked at the window, where he'd gone, and she smiled. She looked down at herself. "Heh," she said. "So he thinks this is a good present, does he?" She grinned. "If you're in there," she said, to the group of multiplying cells that might be making itself at home in her womb, "lemme tell you something. Your father's a bastard, but I think I'm learning to like him." She skipped downstairs to wake her parents -- for, after all, it was Christmas morning. *** end ***