Chapter 1: Say hello
The air in Gohan’s apartment was always still, faintly smelling of old books and the lemony cleaner Videl used in a futile attempt to combat the lingering scent of teenage boy that seemed baked into the walls. She shifted under the thin cotton sheet, the restless heat in her limbs at odds with the cool, dull room.
“You okay?” Gohan murmured from beside her, his hand stroking her arm with a rhythm that felt more habitual than hungry.
“Yeah. Fine.” She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. In the dim evening light filtering through the blinds, he looked sweet, soft around the edges. His scholarly glasses were on the nightstand, and without them, his face seemed younger, almost too gentle. She felt a pang of something—fondness, but threaded with a frustration she couldn’t quite name. She reached for him, pulling him into a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened, a spark trying to catch in dry tinder.
He responded, his hands moving to her hips, his touch familiar and safe. Too safe. As his mouth traveled down her neck, she let out a sigh that was meant to be encouraging, but it sounded thin in the quiet room. His fingers fumbled with the button on her jeans. The sound of the zipper going down was loud, clinical.
“I missed you,” he whispered against her stomach, his breath warm.
“Show me,” she said, her voice lower than she intended. She threaded her fingers through his hair, not guiding, just holding on.
He did. He moved with a diligent earnestness, his mouth and hands working over her body like he was studying for a test he was terrified to fail. She felt the pressure of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the careful circles of his thumb. It was technically correct. It was boring. She arched her back, a performance of pleasure, and squeezed her eyes shut, conjuring images of stronger hands, rougher textures, a desperation that wasn’t so damned polite.
He entered her with a gentle push, a sigh on his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster. His rhythm was steady, a metronome of affection. The headboard tapped a soft, annoying beat against the wall.
“Harder, Gohan,” she breathed into his ear.
He tried, grunting with effort, his muscles tensing. But it felt like he was holding back, afraid to break her, afraid to lose control. The heat building in her core was a distant, flickering thing, threatening to gutter out with every measured stroke. She clawed at his back, her nails digging in, trying to pull the animal out of him. He just winced and slowed down.
“Sorry, sorry,” he panted. “Don’t be sorry, just fuck me,” Videl growled, the curse word jagged and foreign in their bedroom. Gohan tried again, his movements becoming frantic, uneven. She could feel the tension coiling in him, his own finish rushing up while hers felt miles away. The frustration was a physical ache, a hollow tightening in her gut. This was it. Again. The polite, earnest near-miss. There was a soft pop of displaced air, a subtle shift in the pressure of the room. “Hey, Gohan! Chi-Chi said you might have some of those senzu beans I left here, I—whoa!” The voice was cheerful, oblivious. Videl’s eyes snapped open over Gohan’s shoulder.
Standing at the foot of the bed, scratching the back of his head with a look of mild, uncomplicated surprise, was Goku. He was dressed in his usual gi, his hair as wild and black as ever, his body a compact blueprint of power that made Gohan’s earnest frame look like a rough draft. “Dad!” Gohan yelped, freezing instantly, his body going rigid. The soft, eager part of him still inside Videl went utterly, completely limp.
Goku just grinned, completely unfazed by the scene of his naked son atop his equally naked girlfriend. “Oops! Sorry, guys! Didn’t mean to interrupt your… uh, training! Heh. I’ll just… check the kitchen!” With another faint pop, he was gone. The room felt suddenly, vacuum-silent. Gohan collapsed onto her, his face buried in the pillow next to her head. His breath came in short, ragged gasps that weren’t from exertion. He was shaking. Not with passion. With total, abject humiliation. “I… I can’t,” he mumbled, the words muffled and thick. “I’m sorry. I just… I need a minute.” He didn’t move. He just lay there, a heavy, deflated weight.
The hollow feeling in Videl’s gut turned into a cold, hard knot. The flicker of heat was gone, extinguished completely, replaced by a clear, razor-sharp focus. She looked at the door. Then she looked at Gohan, who was now softly crying, a broken thing beneath her.
Wordlessly, Videl pushed Gohan off. He didn’t resist, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. She swung her legs out of bed, the cool air hitting her skin. She didn’t reach for a robe or the sheet. She stood up, naked, the failure of the last twenty minutes still cooling on her thighs. Videl walked out of the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. The hallway light was off, but a yellow glow spilled from the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway.
Goku was rifling through a high cabinet, his back to her. The orange gi stretched across shoulders so broad they seemed to carve the space around him. His waist was narrow, his stance balanced and easy even as he stretched. Every line of him spoke of a pure, untamed physicality. The opposite of the careful, anxious energy now weeping in the other room.
He sensed her, or heard her breath. He turned, holding a small brown pouch. His dark eyes took her in—her flushed skin, her nakedness, the defiant set of her jaw. There was no leering, no judgment. Just a calm, open acknowledgment, like he’d found her looking for a cup of tea.
“Find them?” she asked, her voice steady. She leaned against the doorframe, not hiding herself.
“Yep! Right where I thought.” He grinned, tossing the pouch lightly in his hand. His gaze was direct, innocent in a way that felt more dangerous than any leer. “Everything okay? Gohan seemed kinda… stressed.”
“He’s taking a break,” Videl said, and took a step into the kitchen. The linoleum was cool under her feet. “He couldn’t finish what he started.”
Goku’s brow furrowed slightly, not quite getting it, then his expression cleared. “Oh! That happens sometimes. Too much in your head, you know? Training’s the same way.” He nodded sagely, as if comparing failed sex to a botched kamehameha.
“Yeah,” Videl said, moving closer. She stopped an arm’s length away, well within his personal space. She could feel the sheer, radiant warmth coming off goku, like a sun-baked stone. “He’s in his head. You don’t seem like you’re in your head much.” He laughed, a bright, unselfconscious sound. “Nah, thinking just gets in the way of doing!”
She reached out then, not for the pouch, but placing her palm flat on the center of his chest. The fabric of his gi was rough. The muscle beneath was immovable, a bedrock. She felt him go still, not recoiling, just… attending. “So just do,” she said, looking up into his face. His eyes held hers, that same calm, curious look in them. He didn’t move away. He just watched her, waiting to see what she would do next, as if she were a fascinating new technique.
Videl slid her hand up, over the thick column of his neck, and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him. It wasn’t like kissing Gohan. There was no hesitant softness. His mouth was warm, and he kissed her back with a pure, uncomplicated responsiveness that made her spine tingle. It was a yes without a question.
When she broke away, his grin was gone. His eyes were dark, focused. A predator’s patience. “The beans can wait,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He dropped the pouch. It hit the floor with a soft rustle. In one smooth motion, his hands—hands that could shatter mountains—closed around her waist. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and set her on the cold, hard surface of the kitchen counter. The shock of the cold against her bare skin made her gasp.
He stepped between her spread legs, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing them wider. He looked at her, the whole naked, wanting length of her, and there was no apology in his gaze, no hesitation, just a frank, hungry appraisal.
“Gohan—” she started, a last ghost of conscience.
“Is taking a break,” Goku finished, echoing her words with a finality that brooked no argument. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Now… what do you want me to do?”
She grabbed the front of his gi, pulling him against her. “Fuck me,” she said, the words a raw, clear command. “Don’t think. Just fuck me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. There was no fumbling with clothes. A quick, efficient tug at his waist and he was free, thick and heavy and already ready. There was no gentle push, no asking permission. He drove into her in one relentless, claiming stroke, filling the unbearable hollow emptiness Gohan had left.
Videl cried out, a sharp, gasping sound that was pure relief. It was too much, a stretch that bordered on pain, and it was perfect. He didn’t pause to let her adjust. He just started moving, setting a deep, piston-like rhythm that had her scrambling for purchase on the slick countertop. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her steady for the brutal, perfect impact of him.
Each thrust slammed the small of her back against the counter’s edge, a bright counterpoint of pain to the blinding pleasure building in her core. He grunted with each drive, a raw, animal sound. No words, just the slap of skin, her ragged cries, the creak of the cabinet doors behind her with every jarring impact.
She came suddenly, violently, her body seizing around him with a force that shattered her vision into stars. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow his relentless pace. He fucked her right through the shattering waves, prolonging it, twisting it, until she was sobbing, her nails raking down his arms.
Only when the last tremor had subsided did his rhythm fracture. His grip on her hips became vise-like, and with a final, deep grind that pressed him against her very core, he let out a choked, guttural roar. She felt the hot, insistent pulse of him filling her up, claiming that deep, empty space.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing, mingling in the steam-filled air between them. The kitchen smelled of sex and sweat and him.
Slowly, he leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face, utterly uncomplicated. “Wow,” he breathed, the word a puff of warm air against her lips. “That was way better than finding those beans.”
From down the hall, faintly, they could both hear the sound of Gohan’s bedroom door clicking shut.