Chapter 14

Brought to you by Boboleta and Gue22

...

So much for confession, goodness, and bloody stinking souls.

Her secret was finally offloaded, confessed and gouged out like a bullet on a surgeon's table. And yet, there was nothing good about this moment. Nothing.

In fact, there had never been a worse moment. Never had there been a longer, heavier stretch of time as her confession sat heavy and pregnant in the tiny space between them.

Chancing a glance at his face, Videl wrung her fingers while releasing a long slow breath, squaring her shoulders in anticipation of his reaction. Which... as the passing seconds testified, turned out to be more of a non-reaction.

He remained exactly as he'd been: a hair's breath from her face, hands frozen in her hair. Close enough to kiss, or inhale the same air. Except, his chest had frozen solid, holding itself like a cold and untouchable but exquisitely carved ice sculpture.

Her throat constricted as she counted a few more seconds of trying to convince herself that nothing had changed; of forcing herself to believe that his stiff throat was bobbing from desire and not from the corrosive lump of betrayal. And that the hand frozen in her hair was there as a premeditated extension of affection, not just by mere happenstance. Definately. In the face of his none reaction she most certainly could pretend that everything was exactly as it'd been a few minutes ago, when he'd declared his commitment with an indomitable conviction that had made her want to weep.

She could almost pretend to all that... except for that look in his eyes. Gone was the tenderness of earlier. The tightness in them, the taut set of ridges on his forehead and the locked set of his jaw did her in where his continued silence had failed.

"Say something," she forced the words through the constriction in her throat.

"You're really his daughter." His chest contracted as he blew out a breath. A lamentable statement, not a question.

"I am," she said tightly, shrugging out of his embrace. And to her horror, this time he let her go. She considered all the times she'd tried to free herself from his hold, and recalled how her attempts had met with him clamping down on her. Yet now that the truth of her was out, he showed no qualms in letting her go. In fact, his hands had dropped from her hair with such swift and relieved abruptness that they'd left her sick and weary, right through to the bone.

"You're Videl Satan. Wow," he gusted out, raking his recently freed hands through his hair. "Just... wow."

Her fingers curled into a fist as his words threw her back to the days of Sky24 and every other idiot she'd ever dated. Only, whereas they'd said it with reverence, his tone couldn't have been more damning. God... would it have ended the universe to have just one guy, just one lousy guy not go "Wow" on her? Would it have really brought existence to its knees? Is that why she was cursed to endure it for the rest of her blasted life? Hearing those clichéd words coming from his mouth like that... His mouth! Ugh! It was as if a stone was tied to her feet and she was sinking into a whirlpool of disillusionment that filled her ears and roared with noise.

"I can't believe it," he proceeded to add, just to throw salt as he shook his head to stare at her. And he did stare. Intently. Like he could read her genetic makeup with his very eyes.

Throat tightening, it was as if she was being strangled as she began to berate herself for being so stupid, stupid, stupid! Stupid to think she could actually get away with a relationship that wasn't tarnished by her father's name. Stupid to have believed him when he'd said "no matter what". Yeah, right!

The strangled feeling moved swiftly to her chest as she watched him shake his head, raking his scalp like the truth of her was an infestation of stone-sized nits that he could somehow shake out of his hair. Gouge out of his head. His life. Did he despise her father that much? That much! So much so he couldn't even see her anymore?

She'd known it would hurt, his rejection. She'd known it. But she hadn't even come close to anticipating how much. It hurt so much that she was suddenly everything that had ever been torn or tattered and sewn together in all the wrong ways. A rag that wasn't even fit to clean the floors.

Ungracefully, with her stupid, stupid fractured leg and her even more stupidly fractured heart, she began to scramble away. Videl Satan was who was and if he couldn't see past the name then... then...

"What are you doing?" He caught her elbow.

"Leaving!" She yanked - hard. But apparently his grip was made out of steel again. "What does it look like?" She grit her teeth against the clog in her throat. It wouldn't do to let him see her cry.

"Whoa!" His arm slipped around her middle, spinning her until she'd turned to face him. Both of her wrists found themselves captured under the grip of his left hand while his right hand tipped her chin up to face him. "Leaving?" His eyes were different somehow. Hazy. Confused.

And it hurt to look at them. To look at him. Every line on his face was forcing her to relive every moment they'd shared together. Every exquisite smile, each rib cracking laugh. Every touch... kiss. And it was too cruel to be forced to relive it when it was about to be taken away. "Yes, leaving!" She forced her eyes away from his face and threw herself into another futile attempt to yank free of him. "I'm removing myself from your sight."

"W-Wha... why?"

Because you hate me now! was what she didn't say. "Because!" she snapped instead, stepping on the thorny head of the hurt as she allowed her temper to soar. "If you think I'm going to apologise for who my father is then you're sadly mistaken."

He opened his mouth to speak but she didn't let him. "Should I have told you sooner? Maybe. But I never lied about it! Never," she stressed the word. "But..." A dry swallow. "I can understand if it's too much, if you want—" The words stuck horribly in her throat. "If you want to... break...things...off," she finally uttered, her tongue coated in a bitterness that crusted all the way down her esophagus. "But if you think," she exhaled, "even for a second!" She raised her index finger. "That I'm going to sit idly by while you vent out your anger?" Chin up, eyes flashing in dangerous sparks of fury. "While you... you..." she faltered at the look on his face because gone was the quiet, almost eerie face of earlier. Now he was just... well... gaping at her.

His mouth hung open with his eyes so dilated they almost reached the corners of his face. Hell. Even the pores on that beautifully sculptured chest seemed to be agape at her words.

"Break... up?" His eyes roamed over the contours of her face in alarm. "No! I would never—" He shook his head, the pressure holding her wrists hostage evaporating as he let go. Only to reach for her shoulders, fingers curling gently around the lean flesh of her arms. "Your father," he exhaled. "I don't really care about that. I mean I care, but not—"

"Of course you care! You would rather I was some—" she paused, gathering the words, "reforming criminal than—" Her head shook, deflated. "You really hate my father," she concluded quietly, the combination of hate and father like the taste of ash in her mouth. "And by extension... me."

He winced, like her words were a match she'd struck against his face. "That's not—" he began to say, but her next words were already tumbling out of her mouth.

"Just admit it, Gohan. You can't stand what I am, who I am." And it hurts, because I was so hopeful! she bit down so as not to say.

"Kata." He paused, his breath gusting lightly against her lips. "I don't know where you came up with that idea." His hands adjusted their grip on her shoulders, his fingertips running down the dead cotton of her vest. "Your father, it could get... complicated along the road, but it's nothing we can't handle."

"Handle? You wouldn't even look at me! I saw your face Gohan. You were angry."

"I was, but—" Why was he taking her in circles? It's either he was angry or not!

"But what?"

"But not at you. Never at you. I wouldn't be that much of a hypocrite."

Her head shook. Now he wasn't even making any sense. Who else was there to be mad at? It was just the two of them in this room, in this almost-empty house!

"There are... things," he began then. "Many things I haven't told you about myself as well."

Oh, God. Once again her heart began to fix a hitch on the wings of dread.

"So I understand why you didn't tell me right away," he went on to say. "There's nothing wrong with just wanting to be you for a while. Just you. Without anyone's shadow following you. Without any pre-judgements and expectations about what you should be, weighing you down."

There was a crease in his forehead as he spoke that suggested he was talking from experience. It cringed her heart.

"So I do understand," he added sincerely. "Believe me. And I would never, ever break up with you for wanting that."

Air. Clean precious air filled her lungs and cleared her soul at the unwavering conviction in his words. And just like that, the anxious riot of emotions sprinting in her chest began to calm. But then she remembered what he'd just said about keeping secrets of his own and the too-many-times-burnt part of her began to stir.

"Wait. What things?" she asked woefully. "What things haven't you told me?"

He sucked in a long breath, making her stomach tighten in apprehension. "Well..." The corners of his mouth surprised her by curving into a smile. "For starters: my last name."

"Oh." Relief like the soothing caress of a gentle massage brushed against her. "I did wonder," she added truthfully, and cracked her own little smile. "Though I didn't dare ask in case you asked for mine in turn."

He chuckled. "So we had the same reasons for keeping our last names to ourselves. I was really dreading the day you'd ask 'cause I wanted to postpone that eventuality for as long as possible."

"Why?"

"Remember the print out of Anonymous and Son Goku you showed me at Erasa's house?"

"How could I forget? I went to all that trouble to surprise you," she pursed. "And you turned me down flat."

"I know. And I'm sorry about that. It's just... it would have felt so awkward, being so attracted to someone dressed as my mom... Yeah, real awkward."

"Dressed as your what?" Her turn to gape. Jaw, eyes and all.

A quiet smile. "Anonymous and Son Goku are my parents." He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips. "I'm Son Gohan." He graced it with the brush of an old fashioned, gentlemanly kiss against her knuckles. "And it's a pleasure to make your full acquaintance at last, Ms. Satan."

"Well, shit." Not the most ladylike of responses but... "Your parents?" She gaped at him once again, truly and utterly stunned. " Really?"

"Yeah." A diffident smile, a hand sneaking behind his head to rub self-consciously at a doubtful itchy spot.

"Wow." The word left her mouth before she could think better of it. "That's just... Wow..." How she wished she had another word.

Still smiling, he shrugged it off nonchalantly like it was no big deal, which it definitely was.

"No. You don't understand," she said hurriedly. "Like… did you know that Anonymous—" She cleared her throat, urging to correct the slip of a flush. "I mean, your mom. Did you know that she's the only female fighter to ever make it to the semi-finals of the World Martial Arts tournament?" Excited eyes turned up at him. "And I still don't understand how she lost that match! He didn't even touch her and the next thing you know, she was flying out the ring!" A sudden thought knocked on her forehead and she gasped. "Did they... stage it? I mean, if they were together and all..."

He chuckled. "Of course not. And they weren't together then, though my mom would have something to say about that."

"Then how?" She'd seen the tapes and she'd never been able to make sense of it. Her dad had insisted it was just another cheap trick, but the little girl in her that had wanted to one day reach the semi-finals and win as the first female WTA champion had been dying for it to be real.

"Not sure," he said with a thoughtful frown. "My dad could have used any variation of this—"

"Wha..." A gentle force began to push at her, lifting her off the mattress and forcing her backwards as he made a stop sign with his palm. She was... floating! Floating! How on—

"No," he furrowed his brow. "Not quite. Maybe it was this—" Her eyes flared wide as a gust came out of nowhere and sent her sailing across the room, her heart coming to a stop at the anticipated pain of crashing against the rapidly approaching wall.

"Oops!" He was between her and the brick structure in the blink of a second, catching her like a weightless frisbee. "Uh..." He scratched his head as he carried her back to the futon one-armed, and placed her back on the mattress. "Sorry. Wasn't meant to be that strong."

"How did you...?" Her pulse raced. Shocked. Excited. "How are you doing these things?"

"Using the same concept as everything else I've taught you. Our bodies' natural energy. Ki."

"Like earlier," she breathed. Recalling the shimmering globes of light that she'd been too distraught to take the time to examine. "So all these things are real," she marveled, "all of them." She allowed the truth of it to sink in, her heart leaping at all the possibilities. But then... "Oh," she added dolefully as the truth of it really did sink in. "No wonder you hate my Dad."

"I don't hate him. I just... uh... don't exactly... approve of—" He cleared his throat.

She nodded, understanding smearing her face with a thick red coat of shame. "All the accusations against your dad, all the name calling," she winced, thinking of all the names he was prone to throwing around: trickster, punk, fraud and so much more. She bit her lip. "I-I don't know what to say. Oh, God, your father will hate me, won't he?" Sickness spread through her system at the thought of him getting into trouble with his family because of her. Dating the daughter of the man who took every opportunity to disgrace his legacy...

"My dad will love you. No question."

"Gohan," she began to protest. As happy as she was at his acceptance of her, she didn't want to downplay the possible consequences of—

"He'll love you. Both my parents will," he insisted with conviction. "They'll be as crazy about you as I am." His confession poured over her like thick delicious honey as he drew her in, his forehead taking rest on hers. "Which is a lot crazy," he added, smoothing her cheek with a calloused thumb, making her so aware of him that it hurt.

"So crazy that... when you initially told me who you were I—" he continued, but then stopped with a sigh, pulling back to run a hand through his hair. "I couldn't breathe, I... all I could think—" His voice dropped to a low, pained murmur. "You wouldn't understand." He sighed again, wrapping his arms tightly around her, face pressing into her neck.

"All you could think was what?" She pulled back to stare at him. He was so confusing. If not her father or her, then who was he getting himself all worked up over? "What did you think?"

"That they're all obsessed with my girlfriend!" he blurted. "And being the schmuck that I was, I didn't even know about it. God, I'm such an idiot."

"W-Wha..." What was he talking about?

"You don't understand! They talk about you like..." He shook his head. "When I think of all the times I sat in my cubicle, quietly while they... oogled you, and fantasized about you... and described in crude detail all the lewd ways that they'd—" The words could barely make it out with how heavy his breathing had become.

"W-What?" Was he kidding? That was the sum and total of what was bothering him? While she'd walked on hot coals waiting for his reaction to her parentage, he hadn't even given the subject a second thought. The nerve! "Let me get this straight." She pinned him with a narrow gaze. "While I was worried sick about being torn a new one for keeping secrets," she huffed, "you were working yourself up over something as useless as some random ooglers?"

"They zoomed in on your cleavage!" he blurted, eyes wild and indignant. Like zooming in on her cleavage was some kind of capital offense. So adorable. She sighed, wrapping her arms around him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I'm a public figure," she explained as gently as she could. "I'd meet my grave way too early if I worried about every little pervert that zoomed in on my pictures. Unfortunately, those kind of things come with the territory."

The cutest pout in all of Blue City crawled up his chin and camped on his lips. "I don't care. I don't want them to look at you. I wish them all blind."

She laughed. "And I'm the cruel one?"

A double-edged smile. "Well..." He surprised her by pulling out of their embrace and climbing to his feet. "I should at least know the extent of the crime before I go wishing people blind. Just how many pictures of you can there be?"

She didn't even want to breach that one as he returned to the flat mattress with his laptop. They settled together amidst a mountain of fluffed pillows, where she sat between his legs with her back and head resting against his chest.

He made quick work on tethering his laptop to his phone so he could piggy-ride on its internet connection, and as soon as he typed her name into the search box, a staggering 2 billion plus results popped up to greet them. She almost laughed at his fashed expression.

"Well," she teased, snuggling into his shoulder, tiredness knocking hard and fast now that she was relaxed. It had been a long, long day. "Still feel like investigating the extent of the crime?"

"Over two billion?" His tone was incredulous. "That's like... and these pictures of you... and these ones here as well. Even these ones, in almost all of them you're... you're fighting with armed criminals!"

"Yeah," she said tiredly, nuzzling her cheek into a particularly comfortable spot on his chest as he went on to browse more pictures of her. How in the world could muscles so hard feel this soft? So comfy and perfect...

"This is you pulling people from the bridge," he said quietly. "Here too. And in this one you're—" He inhaled sharply, an arm snaking around her midriff. Tightening. "You're covered in blood and bruises."

"All in a day's work."

A long sigh was the only response he gave before he moved on to other pictures, the periodic click of the mouse-pad going a long way to lulling her to sleep. So comfy… And just as her eyes were ready to close, the gentle tones of his subdued voice brought her back . "You're all dressed up in this one." The screen filled with an image of her with one of her least favorite people. "Who's the guy?" he asked.

"Sai Jaku." It irritated her that they looked so cosy in that picture given the zero civility that existed between them.

"The inventor? Holo-T? That Sai Jaku?"

"Yeah," she scowled to herself. "Same idiot."

"You mean genius. Holo-T is the leading backbone across hundreds of simulation applications."

"Meh... he's still an idiot. We dated for a while and then he got all pissy 'cause I wouldn't let his design team emulate me for the creation of Crane."

"Crane?"

"One of his stupid Holo-games. The heroine 'Crane' is based on a documentary they made about me."

In a few short clicks, he'd searched for and found a link to various documentaries linked to her name. "This one?" he prompted. The pointer moving over: Videl: Satan City's crime-fighter extraordinaire. Fearless, daring and tough as nails, meet the young woman known as The Unstoppable Crane of Justice.

"Yeah, that one." She yawned, eyes drooping to a heavy close as a blue circle began to spin around the screen as the video prepared to load. So comfy...

...

The place wasn't that hard to find if one knew where to look, though it certainly would've been much easier back in the day when the whole mountain was ablaze with unquenchable fire. For Yamcha it was a breeze, since the place was just an hour or so away from his former desert crib—a place he still visited from time to time whenever life just got too overbearing back in the city.

An hour by car, of course; only a few minutes if he took the scenic route.

As he flew over the rocky formations he once called home, he couldn't help but think back at that particular time in his life. A boy acting a man, mostly, but now, with that inner-peace that came with maturity unclouding his thoughts, it turned out to be nothing more than an acute case of loneliness. He had been on his own for such a long time before Puar appeared in his life, and by then he had already turned into a socially-impaired fourteen-year-old with mad delusions of grandeur. Until Goku came along, a couple of years later. And Bulma…

He caught himself smiling as the large castle came along from the horizon—unpretentious unlike most he'd seen—but it wasn't her name, or her image, or the memories of them that tugged at his lips and at his spirit. It was the feeling, the one only Bulma had managed to provoke in his belly ever since those days long lost in the past. The bubbling warmth and the radiating waves of pure happiness; there they were again, after all these years.

And for someone else.

Bulma would always be one of a kind, but she lived a full, happy life now, with her less-than-charming prince, so he was entitled to his princess also, to what she had. Even if the struggle of having been replaced by a stronger, more aggressive man had been a hard one to swallow, things were fated to be different this time around because he was different; not a hot-headed kid anymore, with too much to lose and not the slightest idea about it. He knew very well what was at stake now because it'd slid through his fingers once before: a palpable, precious thing he'd held that turned into sand, and ended up marking him in a way he'd never envision while leaving a scar in his ability to find it again, as much as he tried. Hopping from one girl to the next might have been fun those first few months, but it became an empty existence soon enough. No more.

Another try… He was gonna do it right this time, slow and steady, all the steps and one at a time. It was the reason he was here.

He'd heard from Krillin about what'd happened with Goku's place, and that they'd been staying with the Ox King since the fire and subsequent Kamehame attempt to put it out—where had he see that before?—so it was the obvious destination to come meet Gohan. The hour might have been a little too early, though, but the Sons had always been early-birds, so he wasn't too concerned. He'd been tossing and turning all night, fidgety to the extent of skipping breakfast in the morning and everything, so he made way at the first rays of sunshine that ambered the sky.

Today was a special day, but before anything else could happen, before he could tell that special someone just how much she filled his heart with the warm chocolate of her eyes, he had to put this issue to rest. As with any soldier that'd seen action, these guys became his brothers more than his friends, so if the young man said that he couldn't have her… it'd empty out his heart, but he would respect his wishes.

The knot at his throat tightened. He gulped it in.

Flying over the outer walls of the surprisingly large village—this place had grown!—Yamcha sharpened his senses and canvassed his surroundings for Gohan's signature. Suspicious eyebrows scrunched down when he didn't find a single thread of it. Did he leave already? The sun had came up barely half an hour ago! Sighing, he searched for the second best source of familiar Ki and found Goku's not too far away to his left, spotting him immediately in the distance, sitting at the highest point of the castle's peaked roof. Meditating, surely, if the crossed legs and arms were any indication. He approached the Saiyan within mere seconds.

There was a special kind of hate he reserved for those people who purposefully interrupted his meditation, so there was a twinge of guilt arresting his words for a moment, but he couldn't bare to return home empty handed. Softly, he called, "Hey, Goku."

There was no response.

"Goku?"

Nothing. Good heavens, when the guy meditated, he meditated. Yamcha touched the other's shoulder, wishing that Goku wouldn't react by instinct and punch the threat away. Still nothing. Was he even breathing? … Yes, he was; he could hear his breaths, heavy and consistent, and... Wait…

Sigh. He was sleeping…

"Goku!"

The Saiyan sat up straight in a jump, eyes extending as much as their droopy lids would allow. "Huh? Wha-? What happened?" He looked around himself, all jumbled up while rubbing his left eye to re-attach himself to reality. It didn't take him long to produce that familiar grin. "Oh! Hey, Yamcha!"

"Hey, Man! I thought you were meditating."

Goku laughed, scratching the back of his neck as expected. "I was. I guess I fell asleep there."

Yamcha chuckled. Typical Goku. "Been training that hard, huh?"

"Nah, I just didn't get much sleep last night," was his answer in a much more serene tone, his smile having upped the ante into a sly, roguish grin. I guess someone got his Valentine's day present already, were his immediate thoughts, though he wouldn't ask for specifics; that lesson had been learned and thoroughly assimilated many years ago. Goku's lack of decorum was less and less an issue as he grew older, but it was still a major trait of his personality. Add extreme honesty to the mix, and details of the intimate nature would be just a tad too intimate to bear. The guy could be particularly graphic… "So," Goku continued to ask, "what brings you here this early in the morning?"

If the blushing hadn't taken over his cheeks already from the nasty thoughts, it was definitely there now. How would he go about this? Well… first things first, he guessed. "Is Gohan around?"

"Gohan? Oh, no, he didn't sleep here tonight."

"He didn't?" Odd… He thought their house had been completely turned to ashes; where would he have slept?

"Nah, he has his own place now. In the city."

"Wha-? Really?" Yamcha's eyebrows skyrocketed at the new information. Little nerdy Gohan? His own place? But most ludicrous of all: Chi-Chi had actually allowed him to live away?... Wow.

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?"

"You can say that again." Where did all the time go? Gohan was five when he first met him—a little shrimp!—barely grown out of a sheltered and scared crybaby he surely had been before Piccolo knocked it out of his system. Now he had a nice job in the city and a house? Truth be told, though, that'd been almost twenty years ago, hadn't it? God, he was getting old...

Goku's voice dropped a tone. "Ya seem concerned about something. What's up?"

"Hum… Well…" Incoming teasing in three, two, one, "I met this girl, you see."

"Ooooo, a girl, huh?" There was that sly grin again. So weird seeing it on Goku; the image of his primitive twelve-year-old self would always pop-up whenever he acknowledged those friendly black eyes of his. That version of his friend was way more innocent and childish-pure than this one, no doubt—like night and day—though he couldn't make up his mind which he liked better.

"Yeah…" Yamcha confirmed through sheepish jitters. "She works with Gohan, actually. But, anyway, I kinda mentioned to her how he and I go way back, and…" And she was under the impression that Gohan's sentiments towards her were slightly above that of simple business colleagues. I hope it doesn't make it awkward, were her words, but it went much deeper than that for him. He couldn't have "awkward" with Gohan after all they'd been through together. "I just don't wanna be stepping on anybody's toes, ya know?"

"Whaddya mean?" Goku asked, tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy.

"If he's into this girl, if he likes her, or wants to date her or anything, I don't want to come over and get in his way by getting involved with her."

Goku frowned a bit, looking to the side as if in careful consideration. "Well, I don't know who that girl is, but I know Gohan is really into this one girl he's seeing, and I'm almost certain she doesn't work with him." Then he looked up to the sky, nodding confirmation of his own conclusion. "Yeah."

A beam of light smiled upon him and his crumpled heart then. It was short lived, however, by the remembrance of Goku's sub-par attention to these sorts of details. The guy could pinpoint flaws and missteps in someone's defense from miles away, or make up brilliant attack techniques that would shatter the most impressive of guards, but if it hadn't anything to do with food or fighting, it was the same as a desperate gamble for his attention. Who knew if he'd memorized it or if the information just went by him and vanished with the breeze. Could he really trust those words? Maybe if he knew, "What's her name?"

The Saiyan widened his eyes, though the rest of him didn't move a single inch. He looked away again. Thinking. Still thinking. "Goddamit, I knew it…! What was it again? I even told Chi-Chi the other day…" And with that, his entire face became alive with the solution, right fist pounding on left palm. "I'll go wake her up. She'll remember it."

Oh, no! "No, no, no, don't do that." Yamcha had never taken part in that particular type of annoyance towards the woman, but if he knew her well enough, he'd be meeting the most painful side of that doomed frying-pan of hers if his name would ever be associated with any intentional blemish on her beauty sleep. He didn't need that particular headache, especially today. Heck, he didn't even need to know the name of the girl Gohan was seeing, he just needed to rule Kirsty's out, so he asked, "Just tell me, was it 'Kirsty'?"

Goku's hand surrounded his thoughtful chin, rubbing it for the answer, but it quickly became clear that he didn't have it. "That… doesn't seem right," he concluded, "but I can't be sure. You should just ask Gohan about it."

His spirit slouched with an internal sigh. Wish as he may, hopeful as he might have been given Goku's impression that Gohan's love interest didn't work at the same office as him, it appeared that his aching gut would have to wait a little while longer to make or break his day. "Yeah, I guess," he answered with added disappointment. It wasn't something he looked forward to, to be honest, because the younger Son unknowingly held the power to make his mess of a heart soar or crash with a simple clarification of his intentions. The anticipation was sickening.

Yamcha sighed again, though externally now, loud verging on pitiful. No point in postponing the inevitable when it was as unavoidable as tomorrow. Even if he knew Kirsty didn't care for the young man that way, and even if she didn't nurture or encourage any romantic behaviour from him, if the guy had a single beat in his heart for her… If Kirsty was that girl he was "really into", as according to Goku... Dammit, he was getting tired of all the ifs.

"Where does he live, again?"

...

Spying down through the sky-light and reaching out with golden rays, even the mighty sun was jealous enough to want in on her tiny piece of heaven. She could feel its longing through the soft rays of heat that fell enviously on her skin as she basked in slumber. She didn't begrudge its intrusion though; perfection would always attract envy, and God knew this moment was as close to perfect as it got.

It was simply snug at its very best. Warm, cozy and swaddled in a pair of sinfully sexy arms.

Really, the sun could attempt its worst and she'd still have no complaints. Why would she when every inch of her was luckily circumferenced by some part of him? When her chest and belly were tightly encircled in his arms. To utter even a peep of protest when her head—nest of bed hair and all—was cocooned in the crook of his neck? Her back curved into the bare heat of that exquisitely carved torso? Nuh, complaints were nowhere in the region this morning. Especially with the steely prod of his erection cushioned so snugly in her bottom, his powerful legs draped over hers.

Indeed snug was but an understatement. What she was, was luxuriating in the plush cocoon of her boyfriend's bed.

Now, if only that incessant buzzing grating at her ear would stop, then she'd happily hand over her passport of contentment and cross back over to the side of spooning bliss.

But of course, she was who she was, and being who she was meant that something almost always came to bite her in the ass whenever she was lax enough to let go of daily worries. And this morning was apparently no exception. Having so easily forgiven the sun's intrusion was apparently a mistake on her part, because now the elements seemed to be under the impression that her piece of heaven was a free-for-all. An altogether buzzing, irritating noise hatched from some audacious device to harp and grate at her ears, and worse, with its arrival the deliciously male-covering she was encased in began to disentangle from her limbs.

Ugh, no! Her body began to protest the minute his arms lifted, pitifully mourning the debilitating loss of body heat. She groaned unhappily, wiggling back to try to salvage her cosy little nest, but it was already too late. Her human blanket of choice had already shifted away from her reach. Typical.

Scowling, she turned her neck in his direction, dark hair spilling into her face with the movement. Pushing the strands out of her eyes, she stilled. Oh, my… the view. She balanced her weight on her elbow, using it to pivot the rest of her body so she could perve the scenery indiscriminately.

He lay on his side, half his broad back hovering off the edge of the futon in a play of hard muscle beneath his skin. His arm was sinewy and taut as it stretched out over the floor, straining in beautiful definition as it reached out for something. Her eyes couldn't help but scan down his back, following the beautiful line of his spine to where it disappeared into the hem of his boxers. God... how her fingers itched to reach over and touch him, to pull down on the fabric and—

The sudden clinking, clanking and clattering forced her eyes to his outstretched fingers where they bumped car keys, house keys and office tags in his sloppy scrounge for his phone. Right. So that was the source of that irritating buzz.

A string of muffled curses promptly followed, and it was all she could do not to fan herself as the lines on his arm rippled with tension as he stretched even further outwards.

"Hello?" He finally succeeded in picking up and answering the offending device. But, oh God… that 'hello' was just so low, so throaty. Hearing that gritty baritone first thing in the morning was a guarantee to make a girl's stomach flip.

"Oh, hey. Um," he rumbled, all groggy and husky. "Yeah, she's here. Still sleeping though."

She bit her bottom lip. Fuck. What was with that butter-rum huskiness that made her want to throw herself at him? Seriously, mother-nature was one clever woman. Imbuing the male species with that sexy rasp upon waking up was a fail-safe for the continuation of the species. Who wouldn't want to spread'em and have a go when waking up to all that gruff sexiness?

"I see," he went on to say. "No worries then. I'll be sure to tell her." He bid his polite farewells and hung up, tossing the phone back to the clatter on the floor. An opportunity she used to swivel back into a spooning position.

Much to her disappointment though, he didn't fall back into his. Instead of curving his body into hers like before, she felt a shift in her hair as he pushed it gently aside from behind. Then he proceeded to run his fingertips up and down the curve of her spine.

She sighed, a lazy, content sigh as she turned her neck to face him. Her stomach made an acrobatic flip at the sight of him. He was lying on his side in his boxers, his head propped on one hand.

"Morning," she greeted and smiled, using the weight of her elbows to turn full-bodied towards him.

"Morning." Dark hooded eyes drank her in. "Thought you were still asleep."

"I was," she yawned, propping herself up to stare at him. "And I was nice and snug too, until someone deserted me for a shiny electronic gadget."

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as he scooted over, slipped his arms underneath her and drew her up against his bare hardboard chest. Pinned inside his, her arms tightened around his back as heat from their proximity slid sinuously through her veins.

"Better?" His voice brushed against her ear. Was it ever! God… She could feel her nipples hardening beneath her vest where they pressed against his chest. Entwined, her face to his shoulder, her abdomen to the stony feel of his crotch, her hands dug into his back.

"Much better," she murmured into his shoulder, soaking up the warmth of his beautiful toned body. "And, I've just decided. This is how I want to wake up every morning from now on." She sighed. "So nice and comfy."

A deep masculine chuckle. "Hmm… I think I could be persuaded to accommodate that request." The words caressed the top of her head just before a peck or three.

"Per... suaded?" She pulled out of the hug and fixed narrowed eyes on him.

"Persuaded," he affirmed, amusement lighting his eyes, curving his lips.

"I see." She pursed. "Seems I'm at a disadvantage then," she added on an exaggerated sigh. "How can I bargain when all I have with me is this vest?" She pinched the grey fabric bunched up below her ribs. "And these PJ bottoms." She pointed further south her tummy.

In mock contemplation, he gripped his chin and raked said pieces of clothing with a thoughtful glance. "Hmm... not very practical." His eyes seemed to linger on the exposed belt of her stomach. "Still," he flashed a devastating grin. "Since they're all you have... I'll take them. Hand them over and you have yourself a deal."

She gaped at him, laughing. "You'll take my pajamas?"

"Well," he said looking over her shoulder, "your slippers won't do me any good. They're tiny."

"Right. Because my pajamas on the other hand will be a perfect fit, right?"

"Perhaps," he rumbled, low and deep, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile as he dropped his gaze to her chest. The vibrations of his voice propelled shockwaves throughout her body. Tentatively he fingered the grey fabric of her vest, pinching it slightly to twirl in his fingers. "At least they have the potential to stretch." And stretch it he did, just a bit.

My... His smile did crazy things to her. Such crazy things.

"So?" His arms left the stretching and wound their way back to her again. "Do we have a deal, Ms. Satan?"

God. To hear her name. To hear the syllables of her full identity so beautifully shaped into audible pulses of airflow by his mouth? No star-struck reverence. No condemnation. Just an everyday, normal "Ms. Satan". That... that did things to her as well.

Though sticking "everyday" and "normal" to that husky morning voice was a serious misrepresentation...

"It's a deal," she agreed, smiling up at him. Sweetly. Innocently. Just before she wiggled out of his arms.

At the upturn of his eyebrow, she swiftly pulled herself up to a sitting position, the edge of the white fluffy pillow behind her nudging softly into her spine. "Well then." Boldness became her as she reached for her vest. "A deal's a deal." She bunched the hem and pulled it up, slipping the stretchy fabric past her ribs, over the curve of her chest and pulled it over her head.

But then...

Vest bunched in hand, she was fixing to pass it over to its new owner nonchalantly when she stared down at herself. She swallowed, biting back a shiver as blood rushed ardently to blush her cheeks, as she quickly came to realize that in her haste to play strip-tease, she might have overlooked one tiny little detail. The detail being that of her bra. Or more accurately, lack thereof, as evidenced by the huge disbelieving eyes staring back at her from the suddenly crimson-faced individual she'd been lying with.

Staring at him, her own eyes equally as dilated, she could just feel her bare nipples staring just as fiercely. Oh God, what she wouldn't give for a ten second re-do...

Heart exploding, she squirmed, so feeling exposed under the scrutiny. His eyes darted like a tennis spectator between her face and the naked protuberances on her chest, his own rising and falling with the the deep breaths he was struggling to get into his lungs, infecting her with their breathlessness.

It had seemed like such a good idea in her head. So much so, she'd initially planned on stripping off and handing him her bottoms too. But now... God! The way he was looking at her. The way his eyes had transformed from wide to dark... yeah, suddenly losing her pants didn't seem like the way to go.

He cupped them, suddenly, and without preamble. And it was like dipping her body into a heated pool. The pads of his thumbs swiped back and forth at the hardened tips causing low delicious voltage to pulse beneath her skin, forcing a helpless noise from her throat. Slightly, his lips parted, eyes riveted to the response invoked by his touch.

As to how and when he'd risen from the mattress to kneel between her legs? She had no idea, but he was there alright, knees embedded between her parted legs as she sat, bottom firmly on the futon, her back arching and pressing further into the cushion behind her as he continued to fondle her breasts with the fascinated focus of a connoisseur presented with a new shiny gadget.

Groaning, she must have lost a few seconds of her life to a mantra of deliria as nerve endings jostled to life, because the next thing she knew, she'd dropped her vest on the futon, yanked his head down to hers by the locks of his hair, and was kissing him. Fervently. Ardently. Her mouth urgent and fast, her breaths coming in gasps as the rough pads of his hands continued to rub and knead at the twin places of his new discovery.

His response was equally urgent, the antithesis of his usually easy and gentle kisses. His sudden ferocity stunned her, for he'd always been so hesitant with her, always treading carefully and slowly. Not now though. God! She never suspected how irresistible it would be for him to lose control like this. She was shamelessly reveling in the sensation, intoxicated by the knowledge that she was driving him into this frenzy of desire. She gasped when he lifted her effortlessly by the rib-cage, depositing her almost roughly to the edge of the futon where it met up with the wall. Something like pain shot up somewhere as her back mashed against the orange-peeled texture, but it was quickly forgotten as the hot trail of his fingers glided back up to cup and knead her swollen breasts. Her head thudded against the wall, heat pulsing through her blood as his mouth drove her mad.

That the mere sight of her breasts had done this... damn... she should have flashed him days ago.

Really, she'd never been kissed quite like this before. Not even last night when she'd had her hands in his pants. Hard and fast, he ravaged her mouth. Kissing her like he was breathing and drinking her in. Hell bent on possessing her. Their mouths fused, their tongues rolling and colliding as his fingers did the same to the heavy and aching flesh of her breasts. The taste and feel of him permeated her and she shivered with pleasure as he sucked her lower lip, nipped it, and traced it so deliciously that she wanted to beg him to do the same to her nipples.

She ran her hands over his perfect back, feeling his muscles contract and tense as his mouth plundered hers. Oh God... she was drowning in him, in the taste and feel of him so much so her body throbbed in demand for more. More touching, more kissing, more of anything at all that he wanted to do to her. More of everything that she wanted him to do to her. Everything, anything, all the things and then some.

Then suddenly he broke away, leaving her mournful and panting. In orbit, she was literally holding on to her balance and sanity by the mere dig of her fingers in his spine. Not even in her most intensive exercise regime had her heart thrummed quite so furiously, thumping in tune to the feel of the violent rise and fall of his chest as it pressed heavily against her breastbone. Thank God for the wall behind her, for that wonderful and sturdy anchor of plaster that had taken on the burden of supporting her back and the burden of her dizzy head. 'Cause frankly after that kiss, her own bones had been rendered useless at their primary function.

"God, Kata," he groaned, resting his forehead against hers while his hands roamed restlessly along her sides. With his eyes clenched shut, he looked every bit like a man in pain.

Good. Because she too ached in places she would never admit to anyone but Erasa.

The rough pads of his palms moved from her chest to cup her face. "So beautiful..." His features tightened as he opened his eyes, pinning her with a heavy-lidded gaze that sifted from heat to vulnerability, and in that moment she could only think how wrong he was about her. He was the beautiful one. In, out and in all the hard places in between.

Mouth dry, a tribal drum broke out in her chest - loud and rampant. What was he playing at? Going around heating up her skin like this with that kind of look? Because in her books, that definitely translated to a whole new level of wonderment. Like he couldn't quite believe that the moment was real. That she was real. And wasn't that just so ridiculous given how he was the miracle here? And she just a lucky freeloader who'd had the sense to lurk on the internet at just the right time?

And who in their right mind would be fool enough to take a miracle for granted? Not her, never her. And just to be sure that it didn't pass her by, she wasted no time in propelling her hand forward, over the hard planes of his chest, down the perfect definitions of his abdomen until she was skimming lightly over the tent-like rise of his boxers. Indeed these miracles were definitely hard to come by.

At her touch, a trembling moan escaped his throat and whoa! Hot and harsh his mouth meshed with hers. Pilfered the breath from her so much so she was gasping for oxygen that came in short supply. And without so much as a warning he hauled her roughly against his ragged chest, bringing her down with him, as he let his body flop backwards onto the flat cotton-stuffed mattress.

Fuck. She tore away from the kiss, wincing as pain shot up the bandaged leg. His impromptu and rather passionate tumble had unfortunately ended with both her feet knocking into the mattress via their inner ankles, as they'd fallen astride him. She'd have to be sure to let Erasa revise the saying if she ever got around to attacking the manuscript. It shouldn't be said that only love hurts, because according to the lip-biting pain cracking up her leg, passionate embraces hurt too. Very much indeed. Give or take a greenstick fracture or two.

But shucks, the way the blood immediately drained from his face as he cursed, "Your leg. Shit," then proceeded to roll them over so she lay flat on her back... One would have thought he'd done it some permanent harm, like severed it, not merely nudged it. But thank goodness that he did though, 'cause the blessed relief to her ankle in this new position was instant.

"I'm sorry," he apologized from too far away. Hovering, he was stretched out on top of her with his entire weight supported by his elbows. And here she was thinking that her new position was going to come with the added advantage of having him where she wanted him - right on top of her. So what the hell was he doing all the way up there then? Giving this intrusive airstrip room to separate them?

"Are you okay?" His voice forced her to take pause and marvel at the worry lines between his brows.

Was she okay? She sighed, allowing her good leg to answer for her. She curved it around his back and forced it down, instantly killing the needless strip of air. And blessedly, without any fuss at all, his elbows happily gave in and gave her what she'd been gunning for: all of his his body meshing onto hers. Much better, she revelled. "Nothing a little kiss can't fix." Or a hundred, or a thousand. She meant to wait for him to oblige, to dismiss the concern over his delicate little flower and her leg, but the need was just too massive, the desire too intense. Her lips were the ones to fly to his, her teeth to his lower one in a bite a little too harsh, maybe, but she couldn't have him pull away again, not even an inch. He gasped faintly at the pain, but it was his fault anyway. He was the one that'd brought her this high with his touch, and his taste, and the electricity of his mere existence shocking her into this new state of awareness. His sherpa all the way to nirvana… and he played the part so well.

The pecks became softer, but still so delicious and sweet, though his hands didn't get the same memo. They grabbed, and slid, and clawed their way to wherever, to everywhere. He growled then, a sound that was almost definitely not a word as he slowly trailed those kisses from her lips, to her jaw, and across her shoulder. And then the velvet softness of his tongue - so hot, so wet - moved and circled round her nipple. She gasped from the shock, bowing her back from the jolt of heat shooting down her belly.

"Sorry," a ready apology burst from his mouth for some absurd reason, a deep red mottling his cheeks as he began to move away yet again. Breathless, and too far gone to string a coherent verbal plea, she could only dig into his scalp and shove his face back to the spot in urgent demand for more. Obediently, his mouth re-surrounded the throbbing tip, the sheath and flick, the nibble and suck, so good it made her stomach contract as it called to a mist of perspiration that beaded on her skin. She could do nothing but groan at the explicit sensations, digging further into his scalp as she arched, offering herself up like a tray of twin hors d'oeuvres. And then he really got into it. Alternating between her two breasts, he teased her, tormented her, invoking wanton, shameless sounds she didn't know she could make.

As his mouth worked one breast, his hand on the opposite side slipped down and rubbed at the smooth skin of her stomach. It then began to tease and finger the dip of her navel in tune to the hot strokes of his tongue on her nipple.

Moaning, she was acutely aware of the exact position of the rest of his hand. His palm lay comfortably below her navel while the rest of his fingers lay splayed and unmoving atop the V between her legs. Just a tiny wiggle and the tips of those deliciously hard fingers would have no choice but to press into that spot.

So she wiggled. And writhed. Greedy for the contact. Eager to feel his hand inside her pajamas. Dying to have him teasing and fingering not just the dip of her navel, but deep inside the throbbing spot underneath her panties.

Well, anyone that knew her thought she was pushy. So be it.

"By the way," she forced words from her ragged throat, "Let's..." Breaths came in short supply. "Let's not," she could hardly speak with his tongue and his hands doing all that they were doing. So she tugged at his hair and used it to pull up his face, a dissatisfied nipple popping out of his mouth. "Let's not," she finally managed to articulate, "get too carried away and um... forget about item B, okay?"

"Item B?" Confusion waltzed in triple time on his face.

She nodded. "Uhuh. Item B on the Persuasion Package. Can't have our deal falling through 'cause you didn't take it, now can we?"

"Persuasion... Pa-" His eyes stretched for the shortest moment. Ah yes. There it was. Understanding at last. It must have been hard for it to claw its way out from the bottom of what was undoubtedly a boob-infested rut. But the way his eyes slitted in a sly agreement and the way his mouth curved into yet another one of his daring smirks, she was pretty sure they were back on the same beat.

But just to be sure—one could never be too careful—she took his hands and guided them down her sides, forcing each one to settle on her hips, right on top of the thin red fabric of the the item in question.

Swallowing, she held her breath as she watched his gaze drop to his hands. It was so searing that it burned through her like a scorching touch. And then something seemed to click in his head, something that came with a touch of amusement because the next thing she knew, his face was transformed by the hatch of a sudden conspiratorial smile. With a suspicious glint in his eyes, his fingers began to move.

They glided with exaggerated strokes over the satin that ran all the way down her hips, up and around her bum, and over and inside of her thighs. "Wow, so smooth," he marveled with a grin, his hands roaming as they pleased and none too sparingly either. "Don't think I've ever owned something that feels so soft against the skin." Funny. They felt so scratchy and horrible, now that she'd been introduced to his touch. "Polyester?" he considered. "No, too fine. Silk maybe."

"Satin," she ended up correcting between breaths, a whisper mostly, since clarity kept slipping away from her. His hands were just too big and overreaching.

"They're so silky though," he mused once more. "So glad I bargained for them." A finger traced the stitching of the waistband, his knuckles inadvertently grazing just below where her crotch pulsed unattended and needy. "Now..." A lazy smile, accompanied by a bite of wicked assertiveness that somewhat surprised her. He was usually so... hesitant, so shy even. "What to do with them, I wonder..." His index finger playfully wrapped around the drawstring, his other hand stroking her inner thigh leisurely, but he made no move to pull at it. In fact, he made no move to dispense of item B at all.

"Well…" Her pulse leaped out her throat. She was so aware of how wanton her position was—lying naked from the waist up with her boyfriend kneeling between her legs. "The pajamas are yours now so..." She swallowed by force. "You can do anything you want to them." Especially with me inside them, was what she didn't say. Well, at least not with her mouth. Her body language on the other hand...

"Anything?" Her eyes didn't leave his, not even for a second as he scooted forward, his own eyes growing dark and turbulent as his hands slid appreciatively along the contours of her inner thighs. How could she have missed how sensitive that area was? She'd had countless varieties of full body massages over the years and none of the masseuse's hands had left such a burning path of helpless want.

"I think I'll just keep touching them," he continued to speak as his hands roamed away from that area, venturing further north until there was no more thigh to tease, only a dead end that came in the shape of a triangle. A spot that must have been exhausting to reach because that's where the hot finger trail decided to stop and make camp.

"So soft." The triangular spot met with a firm pressure that began to spread itself to the tune of the back-and-forth movement of his hand while she continued to stare at him, wondering when it was that her own game was turned against her. "I'm so lucky that all this..." She moaned as he cupped the entirety of her crotch in his hand, "is mine."

Shocked and scandalized by such bold words, she could do nothing about the blush that swarmed her face; not that she protested the claim or anything... He smiled down at her with a dark predatory gaze as he began to rub the area with a bit more pressure. "So I can touch as much as I want." And he did just that, trailing a line up and down her centre, though just missing all the right spots. She had no idea if it was deliberate or not—he had such antithetical sides. Shy and uncertain one minute, then bold and self-assured the next. Something must have ratted out her lack of satisfaction with that particular mode of touch because he soon proceeded to change it.

"Like this then?" He began rubbing the area in slow circles using his index and middle-fingers. It was jerky and a little clumsy at first, but he kept such a close eye on her face, changing pressure and rhythm with each nuance of her expression that he soon nailed the right rhythm. And she was shamelessly affronted by helpless noises spilling from her throat as she arched into his hand, heat flooding her face at the dark stain that would certainly be spreading down her crotch. She was so aroused now that she was seeping through her panties and coating the red satin with her moisture.

"Or maybe," the playful voice of before fell into a guttural rasp. He dropped to his forearms, pushed his knees back to lie flat on his stomach with his face poised just... there. Eyes wide, shock echoed along her body as his nose began to nuzzle the area, tickling and—

She gasped, stomach contracting as his hot mouth pressed firmly against the satin, then began to deliver minute feather-light kisses that she could barely feel through the barrier.

"Maybe I'll just kiss them instead," he murmured, continuing to do just that. Blood rushed to her face then, she just couldn't believe he was kissing her there, through her clothes. Or that he was kissing her there, period. The barely-there sensation was just enough to get anticipation coiling in her belly. Her breathing was rough, but then again, so was his. She could hear the mirrored throb of desire in it, the same one that pulsed right to the depths of her core.

And then he pulled her good leg over his shoulder and began to suck between her folds, soft and provocative pulls that sent her reeling. Her hands fisted in the sheet, her chest heaving as he circled the hard bud straining through the wet fabric with the tip of his tongue. She threw her head back as he proceeded to suck harder through the satin, deep pulls that echoed in the clenching of her centre.

She sobbed, her hips moving restlessly into the devious torment, her muscles tightening with the clawing need for release. Even with two sets of fabric between them—the pj's and her panties—his mouth and tongue were killing her. The suction and shallow plunges were giving her just enough friction to intensify her need, to make her writhe for more but not nearly enough to get her over the edge.

Sweat misted her skin as she bucked into his mouth. "Gohan, please," her plea was a hard gasp, a desperate moan as her hands clawed at his hair, her fingers digging into his scalp. "A little... harder."

Sweet boy that he was, he wasted no time in delivering. He slipped both hands inside the hem of her panties, his knuckles grazing at her curls, and with one yank, he tore through both panty and pajama, ripping them in half like he was splitting delicate tissue. And then he gave her harder. Gave her faster as a bonus even, and... Oh God, it had been bad enough with the flimsy layers between them but now... She almost screamed when his tongue, thick and hot made its first naked contact with her narrow, soaked slit. Then it found the tiny bud that was throbbing for attention and a sweet agonizing pressure began to build as it repeatedly began to stroke over and around it incessantly.

Going just a bit mindless, she abandoned his hair and fisted the sheets with bone white knuckles, whimpering as everything tightened, sweet tension culminating from the wet suction of his mouth. She was panting and frantic, bucking her hips shamelessly. And then she cried out when the first hard tremor hit, then another, and another until she was helpless from the throw of the spasms that rippled through her body like the rush of a sudden thunderstorm, flooding her senses.

Unable to cope with much more, she pushed his face off her a little more violently than required, and allowed the the last of the tremors to fade. Panting, she flung her arm over her eyes and threw her head back.

Holy shit.

No wonder Erasa had been relentless in trying to force her to come on board this train of licentiousness as fast as possible. She was only on the platform of the damn thing and already she was... she was... This kind of thing... this kind of sensation... God! Even now she still felt it. It pulsed restlessly inside her, lingered mercilessly in her veins, and walked all over her in hot white fingers of fire.

Smoothing the splayed hair from her face she fought to drag in enough air to clear her head, anything that might make her fake a semblance of the control she desperately needed.

And need it she did. For crawling up her body from the red tatters previously known as her pajamas was a set of eyes that mesmerized her. They were so deep, so dark and so filled with naked desire that she knew that her virginity was about to become a thing of the past.

Her hands slid down the definitions of his back, her legs parting a little more so he could settle comfortably between them. The weight of him against her, the heat of his skin meshing with hers... all that just made her heart sigh.

"Hi," she greeted, eyes lazy and slumberous. She was so content right now, she could sleep the whole day away.

"Hi." He brushed her jaw with his knuckles, his voice anything but slumberous. Thick and throaty, it pulsed with the same heated arousal reflected in his gaze. A gaze that raked over her with threat to an intense ploughing that would leave the garden ripe and ready for seed implantation.

So much for sleeping the day away...

Just thinking about a certain part of his anatomy implanting itself... The same part that was twitching and straining against the trap of his boxers as it sat thick and heavy on her stomach. Just thinking about reaching down and setting it free to do as it pleases... it was enough to rouse the need that had clearly been stalking below the surface.

"You have a lot to answer for," she heard herself say. Anything to distract herself from the nipple hardening and core tightening need that pulsed hungrily through her body as she fought for breath.

"Do I?"

"Yes." She squirmed against him, indelicately trying to maneuver herself closer, lower. All in the hopes of bumping that part of her that was even now libidinously throbbing against his hard one. "You definitely do. You ruined my panties."

Color. Red hot and plush painted thickly across his cheeks. What? She couldn't believe he was blushing! Really, after the way he'd teased her, cupped and claimed her crotch as his? After turning her mindless with his tongue, that he could still blush at something as inconsequential as her panties...

"I promise to replace them," was his answer through the crimson, his hands gliding leisurely along the sides of her near feverish flesh. If they'd meant to console her over the loss, they were doing a shitty job. All they managed was to swarm her with a thousand bolts of more need pulsing through her blood. "And you should know," he went on say, and she figured that whatever it was that she should know was a rather pleasant thing because it seemed to bring a touch of amusement to his otherwise predatory gaze, "that a Son never breaks his promises."

How he could bring her to her knees with a look encased in a blush she would never know. It shouldn't be possible, but there it was.

"Never, huh?" Her restless hands continued to roam all over him. "That's good to know." They glided down his sides. "Until then though..." They slipped into the waistband of his boxers, "we should both be equally disadvantaged, no?" and began to push the unwanted garment down.

Only a few inches down the sides of his hips and his erection sprang out. Hot and hard, it twitched against her navel, which was unfortunately not quite the right opening.

She touched it, closed her hand over it, while she circled the moist crown with her finger.

His lips parted, his breathing harsh as a shudder went through him. That he was watching her... that she was watching him as he watched her touch him in that intimate place...

She had nothing to compare it to, but she was convinced that the palpable sexuality spiraling between them had reached some kind of all time high. And with his dark and turbulent eyes looking back at her, she began to slowly pump it. Up and down, this part she knew. It was the rest she needed help with. Dammit, she should've paid more attention to Erasa's reports concerning her sexcapades…

Sloppily, she grabbed his lips in a couple of lazy kisses that she somehow wished would pave the road to everything else to come. It was so clear, what she wanted, she was being told of it repeatedly through the deafening shouts out of every cell in her body. But how to get there? Just grab a hold of it and slide it in?

It wasn't in her nature to ride shotgun, but she figured it'd be best to let him take the wheel on this one. Inexperienced as she was, the ride was due to be bumpy and treacherous, and she couldn't have that for her first time. Not on her account, anyway. "Gohan," she whispered ardently into his ear. "I… I want it. Please." It came out as too desperate, but pride be damned, that was exactly what she was.

He stared at her in a panic, his whole face told her so. "I d-don't… I don't have a…" A what? His expression rearranged itself once more. Embarrassment this time. "A... condom."

Oh, that. She smiled and kissed his gorgeous blushed cheek. "No worries. I'm on the pill." For years even. Thank you, hormonal imbalance.

His throat bobbed once from a dry swallow. "R-Really?"

She nodded, too frantically. His uneasiness was sweet and everything, and it was respectable of him to think of consequences when the need was so pressing and urgent—it was for her—but, "Come on. Please. Right now."

It was his turn to blitz her with wet, sloppy kisses, but in his defense she couldn't think straight either. Accuracy? Pffft, yeah right. So what if their teeth were clanking together, or if there was too much saliva dripping from their mouths? As long as the end result was the same, the finish line, the shiny, beautiful trophy. God, she wanted it so badly. How could that even be? Something she'd never even experienced before, and yet it was as essential to her life as the air weighing down her tired lungs.

Gohan didn't speak. He stopped the kissing, the ragged breaths, the delicious motion of his hips that she was mostly sure had been involuntarily so far. He only looked down, to his hand and the other part of him that it held. She felt the broad tip touching her entrance and then a nervous shudder up her spine. Everything grew so quiet, so still, the silence of anticipation drowning her breaths and the buildup of moans that she needed to set free. It was too big. Oh God, just too big. Shamelessly, her legs fell open even further.

The slippery head nudged a little bit more, stretching her as it probed for admittance. And at the third nudge, she mewled, a whimper of distress as she attempted to re-adjust, hips and thighs squirming in an effort to let him in. Something as deep as her joints ached with an acute yearning to be filled, but either he wasn't pushing hard enough or she wasn't wet and open well enough, because her muscles instinctually bored down on him, resisting the steely intrusion.

"I... Uh... I don't think I can... go any further, " he said, his words threaded with delicious agony. And that's when she noticed his shaking as as imperceptible as it was. Bouts of small tremors ran down his body, more so when he furrowed his brow at another hesitant push. "I can't." He bit his lip.

It was so palpable, his desperate desire, his agitation as he struggled to forge through. She was worried now. Nervous. Maybe it wasn't possible to do it with her leg like this. Maybe she needed more berth to... to open herself wider or... something. Or maybe he was being too gentle vis a vis her being a virgin and all?

"Um, maybe you should..." Just great. Here she was again, the inexperienced one giving directions. Shouldn't he just... shove it in there or something? "Maybe you should try pushing in just a little harder?" And there it was, a bloody fire-torch of blunt mortification burning through her cheeks. "I mean, how do you usually, eh... do it?" So not the sexy repertoire she'd envisioned for this moment. But then... Oh, wow. Apparently the torch of mortification was indiscriminate in dishing out its flame, because the look on his face...

"I've never actually done it before."

Say what? Her head spun. It was her turn to borrow one of his poleaxed expressions. She could just feel her eyes popping out. "That's not possible." It wasn't! It wasn't!

"Videl, I'd never even kissed a girl before you." Her common sense wanted to reject the notion outright. It can't be! It can't! It roared. But memory proved to be the corroborating factor; that first kiss at the hotel... As much as she'd enjoyed it, it had been chaste and innocent, completely giving over to her lead. Every minute of it hesitant, and so had been most of the ones that had followed. How could it be? He was so beautiful, so perfect! What was wrong with the female population of Mt. Paozu?

"We could wait—"

"No!" She clamped him before he could make his escape. "We're… " She swallowed. "We're already there," and I want you so much it hurts. "I don't want to wait, just—" She bit her lip. "Just... We'll... improvise since I've never done this before either."

Ah. They were really playing this shocked and panicked tennis match to the fullest weren't they? His court, her court. They kept pendulating like a yo-yo. The wide eyes were definitely back in his side now. "Never?" He was hard pressed to believe it, his whole face told her so.

"No, never. So just... gently, maybe." She flushed at the words. It felt blasphemous somehow, asking for such a thing. She, Ms. Crime-Fighter Extraordinaire, the Unstoppable Crane of Justice. The supposed Ms. Fearless, daring and tough as nails, but right now she felt none of those brave things.

But then he was on her again, lips descending down on hers. His mouth was hot and fast, urgent in its pursuit to kiss her for distraction. His lips slid to her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin with a gentle abrasion that had her panting. The moist roughness, the sandpapery rasp had her tilting her head further, exposing more of the vulnerable curve.

He kissed and licked and nipped and nibbled on her until she started to forget what it felt like to not have kisses raining down on her. He kissed himself into the memory of her cells, imprinting her flesh with the design of his strokes and his scent, so much so she was clutching to him, breathless and struggling to stay afloat.

Tough? Her? Yeah, right. Even his pillows, fluffed and filled with the softest goose down were tougher than she was. What she was, was soft, malleable putty in his hands.

Lost to his touch, the rigid tightening of his abs should have registered as a warning as he surged forward, a cry tearing from her throat at the sharp slice of pain that exceeded her expectations, overriding all that deliciously built-up pleasure as he finally breached through.

He stilled immediately, trembling. "God, Videl." He choked, his voice thick and throaty, his face grimaced with agonized pleasure. Remorseful for enjoying what must have been an unrivalled sensation in the face of the pain it was clearly costing her. And right now, it really was costing her.

"Should I... s-stop?" His voice was jagged and strained, his palms moist as they sought hers, covering and interlacing with her fingers where they fisted the sheets.

"N-No. Don't stop." Now to convince her resolve of the same...

He lifted his head then, looking at her in the faint streak of the skylight. "I—"

"Kiss me," she pleaded, not trusting her will-power. The fullness of him, the burn of the torn breach as her muscles tightened around him... she needed a distraction before she changed her mind.

Kissing her, his entire body hardened, the muscles of his chest and arms straining as he pulled out, swallowing her gasp as he pushed back in again, completely throwing her into a place between agony and pleasure.

Breathing rough and slow, he began to move gently in and out of her, building a steady rhythm that matched the sensual glide of his tongue. His mouth worked a slow slide from her lips, to brush against her jaw, to her ear as he murmured words—deep and husky in her ear. The guttural words vibrated with such exquisite sensation against her skin that she only caught them as unintelligible sounds.

She closed her eyes, focusing and savoring each movement—how it felt as he slid out, biting her lip as the pain began to blend with coils of pleasure as he slid back in again.

"Gohan," her voice called out without her consent, pleading as her hips began to rise, slowly began to buck to meet his movements. Something was changing, building... pain pulsing to an ache, morphing to something that demanded just a little harder, and just a little faster. "Oh, God," she urged, pitchy, mousy, but with raring demand. "Please, don't stop. Don't… Ha—" Cries echoed to the walls, and the heavens, and the world, letting it know she was being reborn through the most primitive of acts, through the most simple of touches and yet so explosive and real.

Screams had always been enemies of her ego, expressions of pain, usually, unfitting for the unworthy ears of the common trash that would normally cause them—and that she helped clear off the streets in return... but these were different. Screams, yes, but statements of pleasure in a foreign dialect she didn't need to understand. As long as he didn't stop.

Like a baby casting first words, her voice fell unfamiliar, though too overpowering to tip the scale to the side of embarrassment for being so loud and so vulgar. Vulgar like the slapping sound of their skins and flesh, drumming stronger, quicker, deeper. Shit, so much deeper, poking her belly on the inside.

Between gasps for air she made out a hungry groan and a, "God, Kata…" that she was unable to savour entirely, senses at full capacity, roller coaster reaching the top. Never had she heard such power—from herself, from him—basal needs translated into spoken non-words impossible to contain. Something was being pulled from her with every push of his passion further inside; something was bursting, something was releasing, birthing, shattering. No more screams; squeaks now, tiny and speedy, her voice drawn out to wherever the rest of her was being taken. And just like that, just with one more push that was just like the others before it, something was punctured. Voice gone. Air. Strength. Consciousness, for a second or two. Or so much more, she didn't count nor care.

A kiss on her parted lips gave her life again, her vision cleared, her hearing came back. He'd stopped rocking them with his thrusts somewhere along the line, pecking sweet passions all over her face as if in thankfulness or apologies, or both or neither. His breath tickled at her ear when he whispered a groggy tone that she didn't make out as words, but there was no need to, since she was well aware of what they told. They were of something sweet and delicate, without a doubt, singing the same song as the ethereal numbness of all her muscles, heart included. Nothing like the throbbing mess that was still happening down there, though, where they were still connected, the rashy fire raging louder now that the motion had stopped. It wouldn't matter; not these flames, not this burn.

No way a little fire was gonna keep her from her Phoenix.

…

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