The air felt as sharp as glass and smelled like Christmas morning.
Bulma hugged the back corner of the rink, watching the man glide about on the ice. It never got old. In the figure skating world where androgyny and beauty rang supreme, the Prince of Ice was a steadfast tower of raw masculinity. Unshakable. Unfailing. Uncompromising.
Where most preferred sleek strength and slender lines, Vegeta laughed in the face of convention and made it his personal vendetta to work every single muscle in his body to swollen perfection. And it showed. Oh boy, did it show. How could it not underneath his skin-tight leggings and top that licked over every ab and glute like blue melted chocolate? It was almost a shame that come competition time he would need to wear regulation trousers instead.
Vegeta was working up a sweat despite the frigid temperature. He moved about the ice in a frenzy, spinning and skating with a grace more fierce than elegant. He was no ballerina, but a demon, moving through his routine like a warrior on the battlefield, slaying spins instead of enemies, landing jumps instead of blows. His eyes glowed with a demonic light.
[Read more under the break, or over on AO3 or FFnet.]