Reconnaissance: a preliminary survey to gain information; especially: an exploratory military survey of enemy territory.

It all started when Bulma ran into the wall.

Well, no, it really started when Vegeta wouldn't freaking put a shirt on ever when he was training, or preparing to train, or after he had trained, AKA all the time. Bulma was fairly certain there was no time in Vegeta's day-to-day life that was not pre-training, post-training, or training proper; thus, by Saiyan logic, full clothing was optional 24:7. From the outfits Raditz and Nappa wore to Earth back in the day, Bulma figured that nudity, by and large, was not a concept Saiyans cared much about at any given time.

So it was really her own fault - she should have known better - when she was walking with her dad through their home compound, talking in that bright, energized, incessant sort of way she had when she was on the tip of a breakthrough, and suddenly he was right. There. Or - okay, he clearly wasn't doing it on purpose, he was just walking from room to room, from gravity chamber to kitchen like every other day, but he was doing it without a shirt and only wearing those damn skintight shorts and sneakers. He wasn't even dressed for the gym. Bulma was pretty sure even gyms would ask him to wear a shirt through the front door. So she was there, and then he was there, and then her dad was walking through the door and she was walking decidedly into the wall right next to the door, because where her eyes really were was on Vegeta's ass as he went by. Ironic, considering it was one of the only clothed parts of him.

What the fuck, she thought. No, seriously, what the fuck.

And then there was the other day when she ran into him - like, literally ran into him - on her way out of the kitchen. He had a shirt on, thank God, or rather a full battlesuit or whatever it was he called it, but it was pretty much just as good as being shirtless for all it left to the imagination.

"Watch where you're going, woman," he snapped at her, shoving past to where he was surely about to demolish the contents of her kitchen. Bulma turned to snap at him, what with all the shoving and woman and everything about him that just grinded her gears, except then she saw him leaning over - no, leaning down - to open one of the lower cabinets. She glared at the muscled line of his back through his skintight shirt, at the shift of his ass and thighs, and she felt blood rushing to her head and maybe somewhere else in such a way that kind of made her pissed more than anything else.

Shit, she thought. I need to get on that monkey dick.

NOTES: Welcome! This fanfic is being mirrored here from its home on Archive of Our Own. If you prefer reading there, you can look me up as Roz and find it. (Links to my profile there are on my profile here!) AO3 is also where the, ah - eventual uncensored chapters will be. You know how it is.