Chapter 1: so what if i like bugging you?
Chapter Text
Goku is definitely late.
Not in the catastrophic way – no screaming daycare workers or panicked phone calls – but late enough that he feels guilty. Goten had begged him over the phone last night to get to daycare a little earlier today, just so he could squeeze in a few extra minutes of play before heading inside. And Goku had promised. Sworn up and down, even.
He taps the steering wheel with the edge of his thumb as he coasts gently under the speed limit, eyeing the clock on the dashboard. They’re cutting it close now. He hopes Goten won't be too disappointed. At least he won't be as disappointed as a certain someone who's probably going to ream him out for being late – again.
He hadn’t meant to lose track of time. It just… happened. Chi-chi had laid into him when he picked Goten up from her place – going off about how Gohan was spending too much time with his friends, not enough studying, and how Goku was letting it slide like it wasn’t a big deal. To her, it was a big deal. She was convinced it was the start of some downward spiral, like hanging out with friends automatically made him a delinquent. Goku tried to tell her it was normal teenage boy stuff, but she wasn’t having it. And honestly, he knew how overprotective she could be, so he didn’t have the heart to fight her on it.
Besides, it’s not like the world ends if they’re five, maybe ten minutes late to daycare. Right?
He’s never been good at driving – never liked it, never trusted himself behind the wheel. He failed his driving test more than once, and even now, years later, the memory still makes his grip tighten on the steering wheel. But he didn’t have much of a choice. With two kids to help support, Chi-chi made him figure it out eventually – how else was he supposed to get to work, earn a paycheck, and feed an entire family? So he keeps it slow on the road. Careful. Especially when he's driving the boys.
From the back seat, a small, urgent voice pipes up.
“Dad,” Goten says, in that earnest tone that always sounds like a very important announcement is coming. “Can you go faster?”
Goku glances in the rearview mirror. Goten is kicking his legs idly in his seat. His face is serious, brows drawn tight under his messy hair. It always surprises Goku how much Goten looks like a little him.
“Why?” Goku asks, feigning ignorance.
“Because you promised!" Goten shouts. "You said I can play before going inside."
"Sorry, sorry. I'm going as fast as I can," Goku says as he presses down on the gas pedal a little harder.
"I gotta show Trunks my new spin kick before I forget it,” Goten says. “I just thought of it in my head. It’s super strong.”
Goku smiles as he creeps to a very complete and unnecessarily long stop at a stop sign. “Oh yeah? Better test it out on me first. I’ll tell you if it’s cool enough for Trunks.”
Goten shakes his head. “I can’t do the move in the car, Dad. That’s dangerous.”
“Good point,” Goku says, nodding. “You’re right. No new moves in the car, no matter how cool or strong they are. It’s dangerous. And Mommy would be very mad if you got hurt.”
Honestly, it’s a good thing Goten got Chi-chi’s sense of reason. If it were up to Goku, he probably would’ve let him try the move in the backseat just to see it.
“We’re almost there, right?” Goten leans forward as far as his seatbelt allows, peering at the road ahead like he can force the daycare to show up in front of them.
“Yep. Just around the corner. And then you can fight with Trunks as long as you want.”
Goten giggles. “I’m not gonna fight him, Dad. I’m just gonna show him.”
Goku hums in agreement, stomach twisting with, dare he say, a little fondness. He knows exactly who’s going to be standing outside the daycare right now. The very embodiment of disapproval, snark, and pride. Come to think of it, probably his favorite person to bug right now.
Sure enough, as he pulls into the narrow lot and eases into a space – crooked, but not too bad – there he is.
Vegeta.
He’s got his arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his head, and the world’s deepest scowl carved into his face. His son, Trunks, stands beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching their car eagerly.
The second Goku and Goten step out of the car, Vegeta’s glare sharpens like a knife.
“About time, Kakarot,” Vegeta says, voice clipped. “You’ve kept us waiting for over twenty minutes.”
Goku laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Yeah, okay, he’s really late. But Vegeta’s tone is real rude. He always says Goku’s name like it’s a problem.
“Relax, Vegeta,” Goku says with a smile. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”
Vegeta scoffs and rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to be this late, why even bother showing up?”
“Trunks!”
“Goten!”
Goten and Trunks are already running to each other like they haven’t seen each other in years instead of yesterday.
“Watch this! I just came up with it in the car!” Goten immediately starts miming his spin kick, a tiny whirlwind of flailing limbs and sound effects. Trunks watches excitedly, hands curled in little fists.
Goku and Vegeta stand side by side, watching their sons with expressions of tired amusement. Goku appreciates times like these. He loves being a dad. He wonders, does Vegeta feel the same way? Out of the corner of his eye, Goku catches the smallest curve of a smile creeping on Vegeta’s face. It’s barely there – just a flicker – but it’s soft in a way Goku doesn’t usually get to see. It's a little surprising, but he doesn't make a show of it.
He tries not to think about how much he wants to see Vegeta actually smile.
Instead, he smirks. “You know,” Goku says, folding his arms to mirror Vegeta’s stance. “If you smile too hard, your face might crack.”
Vegeta startles a little – just a flicker in his eyes, like he didn’t realize he’d been smiling at all. His expression shutters almost instantly, that faint trace of softness wiped clean before it can settle.
“Very funny,” Vegeta says flatly. “I fail to see how you’re qualified to critique anyone, given the disgraceful way you drive. Frankly, I'm surprised your brat hasn't ditched you to walk here on his own.” He turns to level a look at Goku. "At your age, isn't that a bit pathetic, Kakarot?"
Goku grins. He can’t help it. Vegeta being pissed off is half the fun. “Aw, were you waiting here this whole time just for me, Vegeta?”
“I was waiting on behalf of my son,” Vegeta snaps immediately, turning red slightly. “Not that you’d understand punctuality if it hit you in the face.”
Before Goku can come up with a comeback, the daycare door swings open and the worker calls the kids in. Goten and Trunks yell quick goodbyes – Goten’s spin kick demonstration still unfinished – and race inside.
The air between Goku and Vegeta settles for a moment, just long enough for Goku to catch the way Vegeta watches Trunks go inside. He lifts a hand instead of waving and again, that small hint of softness tugs at his otherwise rigid face.
Goku almost says something not annoying.
But then Vegeta turns that look on him instead, softness replaced with sharpness. “Try being on time tomorrow. For once.”
“Sure,” Goku says, smirking. “But only if you try saying good morning without sounding like you hate my guts.”
Vegeta doesn’t skip a beat. “I do hate your guts, clown. I just try to be civil for the sake of our children.”
The words hit a little harder than they should. Goku knows Vegeta's always like this - sharp-tongued, blunt, mean when he wants to be. And most days, Goku can take it. Hell, he usually enjoys it. But sometimes it cuts a little deeper than he expects.
“That’s not very nice,” Goku pouts automatically, the words slipping out before he can help it. He’s halfway through thinking of a snarky comeback, something witty and stupid to keep the rhythm going – but before he can land it, Vegeta checks his watch and curses under his breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he scowls. “Now I’m late for work.”
Goku raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Me existing made you late?”
“No,” Vegeta snaps, already turning on his heel, “you being an idiot made me late.”
Vegeta’s already halfway to his car, middle finger barely restrained by the twitch of his hand.
“Nice. Real mature, Vegeta!” Goku calls after him.
Goku watches him go with a small frown on his face. Vegeta’s such an asshole. But there’s something weird about the way his chest feels – light, tight, annoying. That flutter again, like a small bird flapping in his ribcage trying to get out.
Not attraction. Obviously.
That would be crazy.
It’s just… Goku likes getting under Vegeta’s skin. Something about the way Vegeta’s whole face clenches when he talks to Goku – it’s entertaining. Like poking a cat who pretends not to like being petted.
And really, it’s been like this from the very start.
It was just few weeks ago. Orientation day at the daycare. They piled the parents and their kids into a small room with laminated welcome packets, lukewarm coffee, muffins, and juice.
He hadn’t expected to see another solo dad there, much less one who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Vegeta had stood stiffly in the back corner of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight, dressed too nicely for the occasion – pressed slacks, a dark button-down, and a permanent scowl. Shorter than Goku, but built like he could throw someone ten times his size, with black hair spiked upwards like flames caught mid-flicker. His kid stood next to him, completely different in terms of color palette – lavender hair, bright blue eyes, but the exact same furrowed brows.
Trunks was holding a muted purple and gold action figure that made Goten’s eyes go huge the second they walked in. Goten had tugged on Goku’s hand. “Dad. Dad, that’s Clean God. He’s holding Clean God!”
Before Goku could say anything, Goten had already taken off, stopping a few feet from the other kid. “Hey! Is that a Clean God action figure?”
Trunks looked up from the figure in his hands, like he was judging whether Goten was worthy of speaking to him. Then gave a sharp nod. “Yeah. It’s the special edition version that comes with his broom.”
“Whoa,” Goten breathed. “Mine doesn’t have his broom, and his arm fell off. My dad tried to glue it back but now it doesn’t bend.”
Trunks frowned like that was the gravest injustice he’d ever heard. “You’re not supposed to bend the arms on that one.”
“…Oh.” Goten looked down at the toy in Trunks’ hands, suddenly very serious. But Trunks didn’t give him time to dwell. He held the figure out in front of them with both hands, eyes bright.
“Wanna see all the cool poses this one can do?” Trunks asked, grinning wide.
“Okay!” Goten’s face lit up again, like flipping a switch.
And just like that, they were off, bonding instantly in the corner of the room while the parents droned through introductions and schedules.
Goku had smiled and wandered over to the kid’s dad, figuring he’d make conversation. Vegeta looked too stiff. Too quiet. Maybe he just needed a friend.
“Hey! I’m Goku,” Goku had said, offering a small wave and a lopsided grin. “Looks like our kids are already friends.”
Vegeta didn’t even look at him. He was still staring at his kid like Goku wasn't even there. “Great.”
Goku blinked. Okay. Cool. He had no idea what this guy’s problem was - maybe he was one of those parents who hated small talk. Or maybe he was just naturally rude. Either way, Goku wasn't used to being brushed off like that.
But he kept trying. “I mean – it’s kinda cute, right? Yours seems cool. It looks like they have a lot in common already.”
This time, Vegeta did look at him. Up and down. Slowly. Like he was trying to decide if Goku was worth the energy it would take to insult him. Then his eyes flicked to Goku's nametag.
“Your name's not Goku,” Vegeta said flatly.
“It's what I go by."
"You came in late," Vegeta added, like he was ticking off all the ways Goku had already disappointed him.
Goku shrugged, unbothered. "It's just daycare."
“I don’t care if it’s ‘just daycare,’” Vegeta snapped. “Some of us have jobs and schedules and don’t have the luxury of showing up whenever we feel like it.”
“Wow. Okay. Now you’re just being mean.”
Vegeta scoffed. “Well, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here for my son.”
Goku’s jaw tensed. That got under his skin. Not just the brush-off, but the implication. Like he wasn't taking this seriously. Like he wasn't a good dad.
“So am I,” Goku said, voice a little sharper.
“Then why don’t you act like it?” Vegeta snapped.
For a second, Goku was ready to snap back, because who the hell did this guy think he was? But then he looked at the way Vegeta was glaring at him, all sharp-eyed and scowling, and the sudden intensity of it did something weird to him. The frustration twisted into entertainment.
“Jeez, man!” Goku had laughed, surprised. “Anything else you wanna complain about, or do you want my number so we can really get into it?”
Goku didn’t know what made him say that. It just slipped out – too easy, too fast. But he held his ground, eyes locked on Vegeta, half-expecting a punch to the face.
Vegeta froze. His brows twitched like they were trying to knit themselves into one dark, judgmental line. Then he scoffed, short and disbelieving, and muttered, “Tch. Like I have time for clowns.”
But he didn’t walk away immediately. Not yet. He hesitated for a second, eyes narrowing, lips pressed in a tight line – like he was trying to decide whether Goku was joking or just that stupid. Then, finally, he turned on his heel and stalked back over to his son with a huff.
But Goku had been grinning the whole time.
He didn’t know what it was about that moment – about this jerk of a man – but something about that interaction had felt weirdly… natural. Like sparring. Like banter he didn’t realize he missed. Someone who didn’t smile politely or nod along. Someone who pushed back. It just felt easy, even if Vegeta clearly hated his guts. Or maybe especially because Vegeta clearly hated his guts.
Ever since then, it’s been the same. Dropping their sons off in the morning, picking them up in the afternoon, bickering like an old married couple.
They’ve fought over everything. Parking technique, what counts as a proper breakfast, and once about which one of them would win in a physical fight. Trunks and Goten had been play-fighting in the grass nearby, giggling and shouting about superhero moves while their dads play-argued like it was the real thing.
“I bet I could beat you in a fight, Vegeta,” Goku had nudged Vegeta’s shoulder with the back of his hand, smirking.
Vegeta scoffed, arms crossed, smug. “Oh, please. I’ve run that scenario in my head a dozen times. You wouldn't stand a chance, Kakarot.”
“Oh yeah?” Goku raised a brow, still grinning.
“It’s obvious I would win,” Vegeta closed his eyes, a low, amused laugh slipping out. “You’re far too sentimental. You're not merciless, like me.”
Goku snorted, shifting a bit closer with a crooked grin. “You think about fighting me often, huh?”
Vegeta blinked like he hadn’t meant to say all that out loud, then scoffed and looked away – too fast. Goku could swear he saw a hint of blush in his cheeks.
“Don’t worry,” Goku had added, teasingly. “I’ll go easy on you when the time comes.”
That made Vegeta mutter something under his breath and scowl at the sidewalk for the next ten minutes. He even refused to watch the boys play.
Goku laughs to himself just remembering that moment. Maybe it’s childish, but whatever. It’s better than silence. And for some reason, Vegeta keeps responding. Every time.
He unlocks his car door and slides into the front seat, still thinking about that little smile Vegeta had before he noticed Goku watching. He doesn’t know what it means that he’s thinking about this. It’s probably nothing…
No, it’s definitely nothing!
Whatever.
He’s got other things to worry about, like the stack of divorce papers sitting on his kitchen counter. Final signatures. He and Chi-chi are making it official. They’ve been apart for over a year already, but something about the last formality makes his chest hurt.
They’d married too young. High school sweethearts who got caught up in each other, convinced that being in love was enough to keep a life together running. Then came Gohan – smart, obedient, but never easy. He questioned everything and challenged boundaries. Then, ten years later, came Goten – a kind-hearted boy with a wild streak, too brave for his own good, and way too enthusiastic about fighting for someone his size. Chi-chi always said Goten was too much like Goku. Same spark in his eyes, same refusal to back down, same reckless heart.
Somewhere between diapers, chores, sleepless nights, and years of trying to stay afloat, they realized they didn’t love each other that way anymore.
Not that they don’t love each other at all. They do. Just… in that weird, quiet, familial way now. Like siblings, or best friends who argue a lot. Chi-chi still lets him crash on the couch when he comes over to visit the boys – though she’ll yell at him every time for forgetting to call ahead. Sometimes he helps Chi-chi cook, although he’s terrible at it and mostly just gets in the way. She threatens to kick him out of the kitchen when he steals one too many samples of dinner, but never actually does. Sometimes they sit and talk at the dining table, about the simpler days, back when they were in high school and all they had to worry about was sneaking around Chi-chi’s dad.
Chi-chi has full custody, and Goku doesn’t mind. He’s never been great at the routines. He forgets to check the calendar, loses socks in the dryer, burns frozen waffles. But he’s good at stories, and building pillow forts, and play wrestling in the living room. He’s good at being a dad in the ways that matter to him.
He starts the car. It’s time to go home.
And maybe… try not to think about Vegeta’s small smile again.
–
Vegeta’s going to be late. And it’s all his fault. That idiot Kakarot.
He grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary as he pulls into the parking garage under Capsule Corp, teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches. The digital clock on the dash clicks over to 8:17 AM. Damn it. He needed to be here thirty minutes ago. At least. The meeting’s at 9:00, but he has slides to revise, notes to finalize, and now, thanks to Kakarot dragging his feet like a lazy clown, he’s behind.
The second the car is parked, he’s out and moving fast. The sound of his shoes hitting concrete is edged and aggressive. He jabs the elevator button and glares at the numbers as they ascend. His reflection stares back at him from the elevator’s mirrored interior – hair exactly how he likes, brows drawn into a scowl, shoulders squared in his charcoal-gray suit. He adjusts his tie, smooths out his lapel, and brushes an invisible speck of lint off his chest.
He looks fine. Controlled. Sharp. Like someone who belongs in the upper levels of a multimillion-dollar company. Not like someone who got delayed by a too-handsome, too-easygoing mess of a man who thinks “on time” means “eventually.”
God, Kakarot gets under his skin. Always smiling. Always too casual. Always saying stupid things with that lazy drawl like he’s flirting – or maybe just doesn’t know how not to flirt when he looks like that. Vegeta should be immune to it by now. But he’s not and it pisses him off that he doesn't know why.
He hates how warm Kakarot makes him feel sometimes. It’s ridiculous. Infuriating. The way he leans in when he talks, all close and smug like he’s trying to get a rise out of Vegeta. Which he does. Every time. And Vegeta lets him. Every time.
He exhales sharply through his nose, closes his eyes, and empties his mind.
The meeting. He has to think about the meeting with the senior directors. Bulma is going to be in that room, and if even one person glances at him like he doesn’t belong, he might lose it. People already assume he got this job because of her – CEO of the entire corporation, daughter of the legendary Dr. Briefs. Because they share a kid. As if one mistake and a co-parenting arrangement somehow earned him a Vice President title. Never mind that he interned here at nineteen, survived the toughest departments, led two major product launches, and personally wrote the proposal that landed them the highly sought-after MRI machine contract.
He earned this. And nothing will change his pride about that.
He and Bulma never even dated, not really. Just friends who hooked up too often and one night forgot to use protection. She didn’t want to get an abortion. He hadn’t wanted her to either. And now there’s Trunks – his stubborn, smart, intense little boy who frowns just like him.
They raise him together. Sort of. Vegeta handles most of the outside stuff – drop-offs, field trips, errands. Bulma keeps the house running like a well-oiled machine. They make it work. It’s not romantic love, but it’s something solid. Respect. Trust. Friendship.
The elevator dings. He steps out, already smoothing the irritation off his face and swapping it for the cool, collected mask he wears to work. But the edge of frustration still buzzes under his skin.
Vegeta doesn’t stop moving. He advances down the hall with purpose, footsteps sharp, jaw set. His expression is a warning – Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe near me unless it’s relevant to the meeting and under thirty seconds.
Nappa, his secretary, gives him a mock salute as he passes. The man looks like a retired cage fighter shoved into a corporate uniform two sizes too small. Muscles bulge under a baby-pink dress shirt that can’t button properly over his chest. His tie is purple today, and his mustache gleams like it’s been shined with oil.
“Morning, Vegeta,” Nappa says. “Looking as sharp as ever.”
Vegeta throws him a curt nod and mutters, “Not now.”
He doesn’t slow until he’s in his office. The door shuts behind him with a little more force than necessary. He yanks out his chair, drops into it, and snaps open his laptop too harshly. The screen flickers to life with the slides he’s been tweaking for the past week, but he barely sees them. His eyes scan, but none of it registers.
All he can think about is Kakarot.
Stupid, late, aggravating Kakarot. Always “Oops!” and “Sorry, man,” and “It’s not a big deal, Vegeta,” like those empty words make up for wasting other people’s time. He has a job. A demanding one with deadlines and deliverables and real consequences. What does Kakarot even do all day?
Vegeta’s fingers hover over the mouse, still.
Wait – what does Kakarot do? He doesn’t know. He knows he has a son, knows he’s some kind of hot mess, knows he wears stupid shirts and always smells like sunshine and vanilla. But beyond that?
Nothing.
It irritates him more than it should. He should know what kind of man his son’s best friend’s father is. What kind of man Goten sees as a role model – because whether he likes it or not, kids pick up things from the adults around them. And what the hell does it say about Vegeta if he doesn’t even know what the guy does for a living?
Neither he nor Trunks should be associating with strange, clownish men who might not even have a stable job.
He leans back, drags a hand over his face.
And then there was that conversation.
Trunks had cornered him last night after dinner, standing on a kitchen chair like he was a king giving a speech to the masses.
“Dad,” he’d said, hands on his hips. “Can I go to the park with Goten sometime? Pleeeease? I promise I’ll be good.”
Vegeta had raised an eyebrow over his glass of water. “Didn’t you kick him in the face last week?”
Trunks shrugged. “He bit me. But it was a game.”
“Sounds like a fight, not a game,” Vegeta said as he put his glass down. “Are you letting Kakarot’s brat get the best of you?”
“We’re best friends, Dad,” Trunks had insisted, eyes wide, earnest. “And best friends go to the park together. Everyone does it! Except me.” He huffed and crossed his arms.
Vegeta had exhaled, trying not to react. Trying not to show just how much he hated the idea of spending an entire afternoon with Kakarot in a park. He pictured him there – lounging next to him on the park bench, asking questions, eating with his mouth open, laughing too loud, getting too close.
He hated it.
But Trunks had looked so hopeful. And despite how much Vegeta wanted to say no, the kid didn’t ask for much. He didn’t whine, didn’t complain. He just looked up at him with those same sharp eyes and waited. Vegeta had to face reality. It would just be a day at the park.
So Vegeta had sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll talk to his father.”
The way Trunks had beamed, bright blue eyes going wide like Vegeta had just granted him eternal happiness with a single sentence – Vegeta could still feel the tight twist of guilt and warmth in his chest.
And now? Now he has to talk to Kakarot. On purpose. Be civil. Maybe even… friendly.
He scowls and starts his slide deck over.
A day at the park with Kakarot. That’s going to be the worst day on earth.
But – if it makes Trunks happy… he’ll ask. This afternoon, he supposes. When he picks him up from daycare.
Vegeta sighs and finally glances at the time glowing in the corner of his laptop screen.
8:54.
Fuck.
He was supposed to be ready ten minutes ago. His talking points are barely rehearsed. He hasn’t checked the final slide for formatting. He hasn’t even looked over the projection numbers for Q3 that Bulma’s going to ask about. She always asks.
No time.
He snaps the laptop shut, tucks it under his arm, and marches out of the office like it’s a battlefield. Nappa glances up from his desk, grinning.
“Good luck, bossman,” Nappa says. “Don’t let the sharks smell fear.”
“I am the shark,” Vegeta mutters, not breaking stride.
The boardroom door is already open when he gets there. He steps inside and is immediately hit with the smell of cologne, coffee, and cold ambition. Half a dozen directors in gray and navy suits look up as he enters. Phones and tablets click off. Conversations stop. Bulma stands at the head of the table, perfectly poised, one manicured hand resting on the back of a chair.
She’s in a cream blazer today, tailored to flatter, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her blouse is a soft pink silk, her makeup subtle. The bangs of her teal pixie cut are swept to the side, framing her unique beauty.
“Let’s get started, everyone,” she says, clapping her hands together. Her tone is smooth, her voice just commanding enough to hush the room. “The agenda’s on your tablets. Vegeta, the floor is yours.”
He nods once and starts talking. His voice is calm, practiced. He scrolls through the slides as he goes, improvising in places, skipping the fluff. They don’t need fluff today – they need decisions, clarity, direction.
Halfway through, one of the older directors raises a concern about the cost of a new imaging prototype. Vegeta doesn’t flinch. He pivots, counters, points to two data points that show long-term savings. By the end of the meeting, the director changes his vote.
It goes well. Better than expected.
As the suits begin filtering out, murmuring amongst themselves, Bulma lingers by the head of the table, tapping her nails lightly against a tablet. When they’re finally alone, she walks over to him.
“You were late today, Vegeta,” she says, teasingly. “That’s not like you. Did you die and forget to tell me?”
“I know,” Vegeta mutters, setting his laptop down.
She gives him a long, appraising look - half judge, half annoyed sister. Then sighs, a dramatic exhale like he's made her day harder. “But you still pulled it off. Nice work.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
She crosses her arms, tablet clutched against her side like a clutch bag at a gala, and tilts her head. “How was Trunks this morning? Did he cry again because you wouldn't let him bring his toy?”
“He's good,” Vegeta says. “But we spent most of the morning waiting for Goten. He refused to go inside without seeing him first.”
Bulma shakes her head, smiling. “Those two are really something else. Trunks is just obsessed with him. I don't think he talks about anything else.”
Vegeta grunts in agreement. “He's been begging me to arrange a play date.”
Bulma perks up like he just said the gossip was about her. “Oh? And you said yes?”
“I said I’d talk to his father.”
The conversation dips for a beat. Bulma watches him, expectant. Vegeta feels the heat crawl up the back of his neck - because now that the topic's on Kakarot, his irrtation's starting to simmer again.
She stares at him. “And?”
Vegeta exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “His father is the single most aggravating man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Chronically late. Always smiling like life's a joke only he understands. Speaks in nonsense half the time - like an overgrown child. In fact, that clown is precisely why I was late today. Bulma, you wouldn't believe what I put up with –”
Bulma throws her head back with a laugh, cutting him off completely. “Oh my god. You hate him already?”
“I loathe him.”
She gives him a long, amused look. Her eyes are bright, mouth twitching like she's barely holding back. “Vegeta. That's how you talk about people you're obsessed with."
He freezes.
She lifts her brows, smug. “You only get that pissed off over people you like.”
“I don’t like him, woman," he grits out. "He's unbearable. I want to strangle him."
“Mmhm," she says sweetly, already turning to leave. “So you just want to get your hands on him? Whatever you say, Vegeta.”
"Bulma -"
She waves him off. "Whatever you say," she singsongs, disappearing down the hall.
He glares at the empty doorway after she’s gone, cheeks burning.
He doesn’t like Kakarot.
He can’t like Kakarot.
How in the hell could anyone like someone that infuriating? That loud, that smug, that recklessly cheerful? Kakarot lives like nothing touches him, showing up late, talking like every sentence is a joke.
So, no. Vegeta doesn’t like Kakarot.
He also just doesn’t understand him.
But what Vegeta really doesn’t understand – what truly baffles him – is how Trunks chose Goten to be his best friend when Goten has a dad like that. Trunks has good taste, usually. Good instincts, just like his dad. Where did he go wrong?
Vegeta scrubs a hand down his face. He needs to stop thinking about Kakarot. He has the rest of the day ahead. Meetings to finish. Reports to sign. Emails to ignore. He has until the afternoon to be Kakarot-free.
And that blissful Kakarot-free period lasts all of what feels like five minutes.
The second he pulls into the daycare parking lot, he sees them. Kakarot is already there. Early. Which should be impossible.
He’s crouched on the pavement next to the boys, one hand braced on his knee, talking to them like they’re the most important people in the world. Goten's leaning in with wide, eager eyes, practically bouncing where he stands, while Trunks nods seriously like he's taking mental notes. Both of them are staring up at Kakarot like he's a real life superhero. There’s that stupid soft expression on his face – eyes warm, mouth curved just slightly. His hand reaches out and ruffles Goten’s hair, then Trunk’s, like they’re both his.
He’s wearing the same thing he was this morning, a black t-shirt and grey joggers, the fabric clinging just enough to make Vegeta notice how unfairly perfect his body is. Smooth firm skin, solid physique, wild black hair sticking out everywhere like he just rolled out of bed and made it look intentional. He looks like someone who shouldn’t be good with kids. But he is. In fact, he's great with them, and that just makes it worse.
Vegeta’s heart stutters, a strange hitch in this chest that he swallows down hard.
No.
He gets out of the car and shuts the door a little harder than necessary.
“Didn’t think you knew what punctual meant,” Vegeta says coolly as he walks over.
Kakarot doesn't glance up yet, but he's already grinning. “Didn’t think you knew what smiling meant. Oh wait," he lifts his head, eyes meeting Vegeta's. "Still don't."
Vegeta grits his teeth. Of course.
“Do you practice those little comebacks in the mirror, or do you actually have enough brain power to think of them on the spot?”
“I improvise,” Kakarot says with a wink. “Want me to teach you sometime?”
Vegeta hates how easily Kakarot says things like that. He scowls, shoving the odd feeling down before it can settle.
Then Kakarot stands up, dusting his palms off on his pants. “So. We’re going to the park this weekend, huh, Vegeta? For a play date?”
Vegeta blinks, caught off guard. “What?” Did Trunks really ask Kakarot before he got here?
Trunks shrugs up at him, casual as anything. “I guess we’re going to the park with Goten, Dad. You said you’d talk to his dad.”
He did say that. He did think that. And now it’s happening, like he doesn’t have a choice anymore.
"Please, Mr. Vegeta?" Goten begs with quivering lips.
He takes a breath. Then another. He looks at Trunks, whose big blue eyes are shining with excitement. Then he looks at Goten – standing close to Trunks, their shoulders bumping, also staring at him with big doe eyes. Then he looks at Kakarot, who’s just standing there with his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his feet like he's already sure Vegeta’s going to say yes. Like it’s obvious. His absurdly big, hopeful eyes lock on Vegeta's, and the tug in Vegeta's chest tightens unbelievably.
Vegeta exhales, a mix of reluctant surrender and something softer underneath. “Fine. This weekend.”
The boys immediately start jumping up and down, their faces lighting up with pure excitement. Kakarot grins and takes their hands, bouncing along with them, all three of them laughing and smiling. It's so innocent and cute it almost makes Vegeta want to scowl harder and punch Kakarot in the face. He absolutely hates the warmth spreading in his chest.
Then Kakarot stops jumping and turns to Vegeta, beaming at him like he's the best thing in the world just for agreeing to go on a stupid little park date. Vegeta feels heat rise to his cheeks and quickly looks away.
“Great!” Kakarot says, still smiling. “You bring the snacks.”
“I’m not bringing snacks.”
“Sure you are!”
Vegeta clenches his jaw. Now he has to get snacks.
This is fine. He can survive this. He’s just doing this for Trunks.
Just for Trunks.
Chapter Text
Goku makes sure they’re on time. Early, even. Okay, only by a couple of minutes but that still counts.
If Vegeta’s bringing snacks – because Goku made him – then the least Goku can do is show up when he’s supposed to.
He packed too, sort of. Not anything useful, really. There’s no sunscreen or wipes or bandaids. He doesn’t have that kind of stuff in his place, and there wasn’t any time to swing by Chi-chi’s. But Goten slept over last night and that made the morning easier. Less running around, less driving. And even if the bag’s not practical, it’s packed with care. Goten’s favorite action figure is nestled safely, right next to a worn deck of his favorite trading cards and the folded comic page they tore out together last week. Just in case.
Goku opens the car’s back door and leans in, grinning when he sees Goten swinging his legs in his seat, sneakers untied and tongue sticking out as he tries to loop a lace.
“Here, Goten,” Goku says, crouching down to help. “Let me.”
“You always tie them too tight, Dad,” Goten complains, but he lifts his foot anyway.
“Oh really?” Goku says as he double-knots them out of spite. “Well, we can’t have you tripping on the playground.”
Goten smiles and wiggles his feet. “Trunks says there’s a new tunnel slide. We’re gonna race.”
“Whoa, sounds like serious business,” Goku says, ruffling Goten’s hair. “You gonna win?”
“Duh!”
They’re walking up the path to the playground when Goku realizes – he’s excited too. Not just for Goten and not really for the playground. And okay, sure, maybe part of that excitement has arms that cross too tightly, a mouth that rarely smiles, and the kind of eyes that look like they’ve seen too much and trust too little.
Maybe part of that excitement is currently on a bench with a resting glare and a perpetual stick up his ass.
Vegeta’s already at the playground – of course he is – sitting on the bench like it’s a throne, arms crossed like always. His posture is annoyingly perfect. There’s a bag beside him. Probably full of carefully portioned healthy snacks, like granola bars and fruits, no junk like chips or chocolate bars.
He looks… really good. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, that navy long sleeve stretched just right across his thick chest. Goku doesn’t know how he looks that put-together all the time. He catches himself staring, then quickly looks away, ears warming. Weird. He doesn’t usually think stuff like that about other people… But his heart's beating a little faster now, and it’s not like he’s not gonna notice when someone looks like that.
“Trunks is up there!” Goten shouts, already tugging free and sprinting toward the jungle gym. “Trunks!”
Goku’s arm pulls in the direction of his son before he lets go, the sudden jerk pulling him out of his head. “Whoa – Goten!” he laughs, jogging after him. He follows the path and stops in front of the bench.
“Yo, Vegeta,” Goku says, a little breathless.
Vegeta doesn’t look at him right away. He just smirks slightly and says, “Looks like I got here first. You're so predictable, Kakarot.”
Goku huffs a laugh, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Please. I'm, like, two minutes early."
"And I was five," Vegeta says.
Goku grins, nudging Vegeta with his elbow. "Try not to hurt yourself bragging about it. Anyway - you brought the snacks, right?"
Vegeta jerks his head toward the bag next to him. “You forced me to. I didn’t have a choice.”
His tone is sharp, clipped – like he’s mad. But he doesn’t look mad. Not really. If anything, he looks resigned. Like he’s already accepted that Goku’s presence in his life comes with a certain amount of chaos, and resistance is futile.
Goku leans in a little, eyes bright as he grins. "You say that, but I never forced you, Vegeta. You just did it. Kinda sweet. Almost like you don't hate my guts."
That gets him.
Vegeta scowls like he's in physical pain. He whips his head to the side, muttering something under his breath that definitely sounds like idiot. Like just looking at Goku is going to ruin his entire day.
Goku watches, smug and delighted.
Sure enough, Vegeta turns back a moment later with a heavy sigh, like he knows he’s not going to win, but he’s still going to try. "I only brought snacks because Trunks needs to eat," he says stiffly. "Don't flatter yourself."
Goku just laughs.
They fall into silence for a bit, watching the boys climb and yell and pretend the ground is lava. Goku leans back, arms spread over the back of the bench, and flicks his eyes sideways. Vegeta’s still frowning, technically. But his mouth is softer than usual, and his eyes track Trunks with warmth. It’s not the steel glare Goku’s used to. It’s gentler... unguarded. Even softer than what he saw at the daycare a few days ago. And there’s something about it that makes Goku’s stomach turn over, and over.
Weird…
Now it’s his turn to look away. He looks up at the sky, then to the side, then picks at the hem of his sleeve. What the hell is this feeling? He doesn’t get shy. He doesn’t do shy. Especially not around Vegeta.
And yet, here he is - nervous, fidgeting. Goku hates this feeling, the way the silence between them suddenly feels too loud. There's a subtle heat rising to his cheeks, and his throat goes dry. He swallows, shifts on the bench. Figures now's as good a time as any to break the quiet.
“You always look like you’re about to punch someone,” Goku says. “But right now you almost don’t.”
Vegeta snorts, glancing sideways. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Goku shrugs. “Just sayin'. You look pissed off and unapproachable most of the time.”
That gets the smallest twitch at the corner of Vegeta’s mouth – like he’s fighting not to smile.
Goku watches the boys playing for a moment. “Goten really likes Trunks, you know. Keeps calling him his best friend.”
Vegeta hums. “Trunks says the same.”
They sit for a beat longer, the air between them stretching. Then Goku adds, more casual than he feels, “He also told me Trunks still lives with both his parents.” He pauses. “He’s lucky, you know. Having two parents who get along.”
He says it lightly but his mind is already turning. He's only ever seen Vegeta alone, never a second parent in sight. And yeah, he's not proud of it, but some part of him is wondering - hoping - Vegeta is single.
Vegeta scoffs and shakes his head. "We're not together."
Goku hums softly, heart ticking up a notch. He nods, playing it cool - but he can't help but feel a little relief and... interest.
“Still,” Goku says, nudging Vegeta's knee with his own. Huh. Vegeta's not pulling away. “I think it’s cool. You guys make it work. Chi-chi yells at me whenever we’re in the same room together.”
Vegeta lets out a dry huff. "Try getting yelled at through the walls. Or over dinner. Or while you're getting ready in the morning."
Goku winces. "Yikes."
Vegeta finally glances over, mouth tilting just barely. "I guess we both have a taste for strong women." Then he shifts beside him, arms still crossed, but his eyes move back to the boys. “Bulma handles most stuff at home,” he says after a while. “Feeds him. Dresses him. I do the pick-ups, drop-offs, appointments, and,” he nods toward the snack bag, “apparently now snack duty.”
Goku raises his brows and nods. “Sounds kinda domestic.”
Vegeta cuts him a look. “We’re not –”
“I know,” Goku says, laughing. “I know. No need to convince me.”
“Just making it clear.”
Goku stretches his legs out in front of him, sneakers nudging a pebble near the bench. “So, you guys aren’t together. You never got married?”
Vegeta doesn’t answer right away. His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s chewing on the question, weighing how much he wants to say. He looks back to the kids.
“We slept together a couple of times. That’s all,” Vegeta says finally, blunt as ever. “We made one mistake and had Trunks. We never did it again.”
Goku whistles. “Wow.”
“It wasn’t messy, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Vegeta adds quickly, like he needs to defend it. “We weren’t trying to be together. We just made a decision to raise him together. It works. We both show up for him.”
Goku tips his head back to look at the sky, brows slightly drawn. He’s quiet for a moment, letting it sink in – this glimpse into Vegeta’s life. And he’s surprised, honestly, that Vegeta even shared that much of his life with him. It makes him wonder what else is buried under there.
“That’s actually… kinda awesome, Vegeta,” he says, and means it.
Vegeta gives him a suspicious look, like he doesn’t quite believe Goku would think that. His brow tics, his mouth tight. “Well, what about you?”
“Me and Chi-chi were married for a while,” Goku says, shrugging, “We got together when we were in high school, but it didn’t really work out.”
Vegeta’s actually looking at him now, with curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Hm. Why not?”
“We just stopped being in love, I guess,” Goku says. “One day it felt more like… family. Not partners. And we were both okay with that. Still are.”
Vegeta hums low in his throat, like he’s trying not to pass judgment too quickly. “Are you two close?”
“Yeah,” Goku says. “I see her basically every day. She’s got full custody of Gohan and Goten. She’s a great mom. I mostly handle the fun stuff.”
“Predictable.”
Goku smirks. “Hey, Gohan and Goten remember the fun stuff. They hate when Chi-chi forces them to study or do chores. I’m winning in the long run.”
Vegeta snorts, unimpressed. “You think parenting’s about winning?”
“Everything’s about winning,” Goku says, playful again. “You just pretend it’s not because you know I’m beating you.”
“Of course you’d think that. But I'm clearly the better father.” Vegeta shakes his head again, but Goku sees the way his mouth lifts, just a little. It’s barely there, that almost-smile. The one that does something weird to Goku’s chest.
There’s a lull. The boys are running back toward the jungle gym after a detour to the water fountain. Trunks yells something about Goten being “it,” and Goten screeches in delight, sprinting away.
Then Vegeta asks, “So, what do you even do for work?”
Huh. Goku didn’t expect that one. He turns to look at Vegeta and catches something just barely hidden in his tone. Interest. Like he’d been holding onto that question for a while and finally gave in.
Goku grins. “You’ve been dying to know, haven’t you?”
“I just –” Vegeta cuts himself off, frowning as he looks away. “Forget it.”
Goku huffs a quiet laugh. He’s not letting him off that easy. “Nah,” Goku says, scooting slightly toward him. “I own a gym. Martial arts mostly. And I do some training on the side. Classes, private lessons, that kind of thing.”
Vegeta looks shocked, like he can’t believe Goku doesn’t just sit around at home all day. “You?”
“Yeah,” Goku says, mock-offended. “What, you think I’m just out here jobless?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Vegeta mutters, but there’s something a little more thoughtful behind it now.
“You hurt me, Vegeta,” Goku pouts, placing a hand over his chest.
Vegeta rolls his eyes, but Goku can tell he’s processing it, filing it away somewhere private. That little furrow between his brows deepens, thoughtful in spite of himself.
“Explains the arms,” Vegeta mutters, almost too quiet to hear.
Goku’s smile freezes.
Wait. What?
He leans in. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Oh my god, Vegeta, did you just compliment me?”
“Shut up.”
“You totally did.”
“I didn’t.”
Goku bumps his knee into Vegeta’s again, gentler this time, almost playful. He can’t help it – he’s giddy, almost bouncing. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it get to my head.”
Vegeta snorts. “You already have.”
They sit like that for a little longer. The boys shriek and tumble through the plastic tunnels, and the sun hangs lazily in the sky. Goku tries not to think about how easy this feels. How good it feels. They’re sitting kind of close – closer than they probably need to. Not touching, but there’s just enough space between them to notice the warmth. Goku can feel the soft brush of Vegeta’s knee every time one of them shifts.
It’s almost… perfect?
–
Vegeta hates to admit it, but this… isn’t awful.
He had fully expected to be counting the seconds until he could get the hell out of here. He’d braced for noise, chaos, and at least five instances of wanting to strangle Kakarot. Instead, things have been… quiet. Not peaceful, exactly – Kakarot talks too much for that – but manageable. Bearable. Pleasant, even.
Which is confusing.
He learned more about Kakarot today than he ever meant to. Not because he cared, of course. He was just making sure the guy wasn’t some unemployed, irresponsible dumbass lurking around his kid. Due diligence. That’s all.
So. Kakarot owns a gym. Trains people. Martial arts. Somehow that tracks – too well, really. Sure, this means Kakarot could actually beat him in a fight. But Vegeta knows better. He could still take him. Probably ...Maybe.
Vegeta glances at him again out of the corner of his eye.
White tank top, snug over that ridiculously sculpted chest. Casual khaki pants cinching that tight waist that Vegeta knows is all hard muscle. And god, those arms - bare, clearly strong and solid. He’s just sitting there like it’s normal to look like that at a children’s park, like half the moms on the far bench aren’t staring at him and whispering.
Vegeta scowls and forces his eyes back to Trunks on the jungle gym. Honestly, what kind of person wears a tank top like that in public? It’s borderline indecent. Distracting. Kakarot should stop. He should just take that off.
But Vegeta’s eyes wander back anyway. Just one more second won’t hurt.
Then – “Dad!”
Trunks’s voice cuts through the air, loud and panicked. Vegeta’s heart drops instantly.
He grabs the bag and is already halfway to the jungle gym before he even knows he’s moving. Trunks is on the ground beneath one of the bridge platforms, his lip trembling, both hands clutching a scraped, reddened knee. Goten is standing beside him, unsure, looking back and forth between their dads like he’s waiting for someone to fix it.
Kakarot gets there at the same time Vegeta does, dropping into a crouch on the other side.
“Are you okay, Trunks?” Goten bends down once he sees his dad do the same. His small hand is on Trunks’s shoulder, steadying his best friend.
Trunks is trying not to cry in front of his best friend. That stubborn little set to his jaw, the way his eyes shine but don’t spill over – it guts Vegeta. He knows it’s just a scrape but he hates seeing his little prince like this.
“Trunks,” Vegeta says gently, brushing hair out of Trunks’s face. “You’re okay. Let me see.”
Trunks doesn’t say anything, but he lets Vegeta move his hands. As Vegeta expected, the scrape isn’t deep. But it’s raw and angry-looking. Definitely stings. He glances up at Kakarot. “Did you bring any bandaids?”
Kakarot winces and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh. No.”
Vegeta’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wipes?”
Another sheepish, stupid look. “…No.”
Vegeta stares at him. “You brought nothing?”
“I brought Goten’s favorite action figure,” Kakarot says, as if that’s a valid substitute.
“Useless idiot,” Vegeta snaps, digging into the bag beside him. “Good thing I’m here.”
He pulls out a small pack of wipes, then the bandaids. The good kind. Trunks’s favorites – the colorful ones with superheroes on them. He always pretends not to care, but Vegeta knows they help.
Across from him Kakarot lets out a low whistle. “Look at you, all prepared. I’m impressed.”
“Well, one of us has to be.”
Kakarot grins. “I mean it. You’re good at this, Vegeta. Maybe you are beating me at parenting.”
Vegeta glances up sharply, expecting sarcasm – but there’s none. Just that warm, dumb expression again. A little sincere. A little… admiring?
He looks back down quickly, wiping the blood from Trunks’s knee with careful hands. “Don’t say strange things, Kakarot. I don't need your compliments.”
Trunks sniffles, finally leaning into Vegeta’s side.
“Almost done,” Vegeta murmurs, applying the bandaid with slow, practice fingers. “You handled that well, Trunks. Like a proud warrior. You didn’t even cry this time.”
Trunks nods into him. Goten crouches close, hovering protectively.
Kakarot watches all of it like he’s seeing something sacred. And Vegeta hates the way that makes him feel – like he wants to say something else. Like he wants Kakarot to keep looking at him like that. Instead, he says nothing. Just checks Trunks over one last time – a sweep for anything he’s missed. No swelling, no deeper cuts, just a scrape and a shaken kid trying hard not to show it.
Vegeta nods to himself and stands, then pats Trunks on the back, firm and warm. “Off you go.”
Trunks beams at him, pride swelling back into his little chest. “Thanks, Dad!” Then he throws his arms around Vegeta’s legs in a tight hug before tearing off with Goten like nothing even happened. Vegeta watches them go, heart tugging in a weird, soft way.
“You’re such a good dad, Vegeta.”
The words float up beside him, like he can see them. Feel them. Annoyingly sincere, unabashedly honest. Vegeta turns to see Kakarot standing there, arms crossed, smile lopsided and stupid and… way too fond.
Vegeta flinches like he’s been physically struck. “Wha – shut up,” he mutters. “I’m just… doing what any father would.”
“That’s not true,” Kakarot says easily, like it’s a fact. “Some dads suck.”
Vegeta’s ears burn. His whole face, probably. “Never mind that,” he snaps, desperate to change the subject. “Where’s the food? Didn’t you say you were hungry?”
Kakarot said no such thing, but he says, “Yeah,” with a shrug. “I guess I could eat. And it doesn’t look like the boys’ll come down any time soon.”
They make their way back to the bench, the afternoon sun a little too warm on Vegeta’s shoulders. He sets the bag down in between them and sits. Kakarot does the same.
They both reach for the bag at the same time.
And their hands touch.
It’s not much, just knuckles and fingers grazing. But it feels like static. Startling. Sudden. Like grabbing a live wire. Vegeta freezes. His heart gives an alarming skip and he knows now that the heat crawling up from his neck isn’t from the sun. He yanks his hand back like he just got shocked by lightning.
Kakarot doesn’t move his hand. He just looks at Vegeta with those wide, curious eyes, as if he’s wondering if Vegeta felt it too.
“Don’t touch the bag,” Vegeta barks without meaning to. “...I’ll do it.”
Kakarot raises his eyebrows, amused. “Huh? Okay, Vegeta..."
Mortified, Vegeta grabs the bag and moves it to the other side of him. He doesn’t need Kakarot sitting there, looking all soft and fluffy and annoyingly handsome while Vegeta’s still recovering from that stupid accidental hand graze. It felt so shocking that it almost hurt. And why it even felt like that, Vegeta has no idea. He focuses on the food. His hands feel clumsy, but he keeps going, setting everything out like he’s setting a table at a five-star fine dining establishment. A plastic tray of cut-up fruit and veggies, whole grain crackers, a little container of hummus, napkins, water bottles.
When Vegeta finishes arranging the snacks, Kakarot bursts out laughing, head tossed back with his mouth wide open.
“What now?” Vegeta grits out.
“I just knew you’d bring healthy snacks,” Kakarot says, still grinning. “No candy, no cookies, not even any chips.”
Vegeta glares at him. “What exactly are you feeding your brat?”
“You do know I’m a trainer, right?”
Vegeta gives him a flat look. Why is Kakarot saying that like being a trainer is an excuse to eat junk? Should I call child services on him for feeding garbage to his brat? Wait - Why do I care about this so much? What does this have to do with me?
But he says it anyways. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a trainer if you’re saying it’s perfectly fine to eat junk.”
Kakarot shrugs and pops a baby carrot into his mouth. “I eat whatever I want. I burn it all off anyway.”
“That’s not how it works, Kakarot. Junk food –”
“Don’t care,” Kakarot cuts him off, talking through a mouthful of carrot. It’s disgusting. “Save the lecture for Trunks. Goten and I are getting ice cream after this.”
He finally swallows the carrot and shoots Vegeta a look – half daring, half uncertain. Like he’s wondering how far he can push before Vegeta snaps.
“You can come too,” Kakarot adds after a beat, more tentative this time. “If you want.”
Vegeta blinks, caught off guard.
He looks at Trunks, who’s busy running up the slide. The kid would probably lose his mind over ice cream with Goten. And if Vegeta’s being honest – really honest – he wouldn’t hate tagging along either. Maybe he'll learn even more about Kakarot. Not that he wants to. He still has to make sure Trunks is safe around this idiot. It's not like one park date - play date - changes anything.
“Maybe,” he says after a moment. “We’ll see.”
Kakarot just smiles. That same smug smile, like he already knows Vegeta will end up coming along.
They bicker while picking at the food – Kakarot trying to sneak more of the crackers, Vegeta smacking his hand away when he double-dips the hummus. All while their kids reenact some dramatic scenario on the jungle gym involving superheroes, lasers, and at least three pretend deaths. Goten shouts something about saving the galaxy. Trunks shouts back about being the villain.
And through it all, Vegeta finds himself… almost smiling.
This shouldn’t feel good. He shouldn’t enjoy this. Not this much. But with Kakarot next to him – stupid but somehow disarmingly kind – and the boys playing like they’ve never known a bad day, Vegeta feels the strangest, tingliest thing bloom in his chest.
He thinks, against all logic and resistance, I could get used to this.
He doesn’t say it. Of course not. He’d never hear the end of it.
But he doesn’t push it away either.
–
Goku stretches his arms behind his head as he and Vegeta walk side by side, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the sidewalk.
Goten and Trunks are a few steps ahead, practically vibrating with excitement, their little legs kicking into high gear as soon as they spot the colorful sign for the ice cream shop at the end of the block.
Called it, Goku thinks, glancing sideways at Vegeta. He knew he’d get him here.
The bell jingles overhead as the boys push through the door, and the rush of cool air inside carries the sweet smell of waffle cones and syrup. Goten and Trunks sprint straight to the freezer case, plastering their hands and faces to the glass like it’s the best thing in the world.
“I’m getting chocolate,” Goten declares like it’s non-negotiable. “Because it’s the best.”
“You always get chocolate, Goten,” Goku says. “You should try something new.”
“But I like chocolate,” Goten pouts, hands on his hips, already winding up for a fight.
Goku lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Chocolate it is.”
Trunks leans in closer to the glass, scanning the bright tubs of colors. “I’m getting birthday cake. It has sprinkles. That means it’s better.”
Goten snorts. “Chocolate doesn’t need sprinkles to be the best.”
Trunks crosses his arms. “Chocolate is boring.”
Goku steps up to the freezer case, hands on his hips like he’s considering a high-stakes decision. “Whoa, whoa – easy you two. Chocolate’s a classic. Birthday cake’s a party. You both made strong picks.”
Trunks huffs, appeased. Goten gives a smug little nod like he won anyway.
Goku examines the flavors, then he turns toward Vegeta, who’s lingering a few feet behind with his arms crossed like he’s guarding government secrets instead of standing in an ice cream shop. He looks so out of place. So stiff. So –
Cute.
Goku nearly chokes on the thought.
Cute?
He blinks hard, like he can shake it off. Nope. Still there. Still thinks Vegeta’s… cute. And not in a harmless way. In a problematic, heart-flipping, might-have-a-crush kind of way.
He clears his throat, trying to play it cool as Vegeta’s brow twitches, like he’s already annoyed before Goku says anything. “What about you, Vegeta? What are you getting?”
“Nothing,” Vegeta says flatly.
“You’re not getting anything?”
“I don’t eat this junk.”
“You were serious about that at the park?” Goku raises his eyebrows. “No ice cream. Ever?”
Vegeta shoots him a pointed look. “I’m surprised you’re eating it, Kakarot. Trainers should care about what they put in their bodies.”
Goku grins. “Why are you so worried about what I put in my body?” He tilts his head, teasing now. “Or are you just thinking about my body?”
Vegeta’s so red it looks like he’s about to pass out. “That’s not what I –” He cuts himself off, scowling deeper, and reaches for his wallet. “Just let me pay.”
Goku watches him head to the register, lips twitching as he watches Vegeta exit a moment later, stiff and annoyed, receipt crumpled tight in his fist. He waits until Vegeta’s out of sight, then turns to the teen behind the counter.
“Can I get one scoop of strawberry on a cone?”
With their cones in hand – chocolate for Goten, birthday cake with extra sprinkles for Trunks, and cookies and cream for himself – Goku heads out the door, holding the fourth cone carefully in one hand. He spots Vegeta sitting at a table on the patio, arms crossed, glaring vaguely at something on the other side of the street. Goku grins widely as he approaches.
When Vegeta sees the extra cone, he frowns. Deep.
“Here, Vegeta,” Goku says, swinging the cone toward him. “You deserve ice cream too.”
Vegeta looks at it like it might explode. “Don't screw around with me. I said I didn’t want –”
“Yeah, yeah. But I figured you’d be too proud to order one yourself.” Goku shrugs, then adds casually, “Besides, you look like a strawberry guy.”
Something flickers across Vegeta’s face – offense? Confusion? Maybe betrayal – but he takes the cone anyway. Reluctantly. Goku sits down across from him as the kids settle next to their dads, happily licking their ice cream choices.
“Nuh-uh, flying is way better than super speed!” Goten says, licking faster.
“No way,” Trunks argues as he chews on the sprinkles. “Flying is harder. What if you hit a bird?”
“I wouldn’t hit a bird. I’d dodge it.”
“Not if you were flying at super speed!”
Goku laughs softly, watching them argue as if they were on a debate team. Goten has ice cream all over his nose, and Trunks’s cone is slowly dripping onto his hand – but neither of them seems to notice. He glances across the table.
Vegeta’s watching too, silent and still, except for the slow bite he takes of the strawberry. His expression is blank as always, but there’s a gentleness there – so faint it might be missed by anyone else. Almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. But Goku’s getting real good at reading Vegeta. Well-versed, even. He’s been studying that face ever since they met, if he’s being honest.
Goku turns back to watch the kids, absently licking his cone, enjoying the creamy vanilla and cookie bits melting on his tongue. He’s just starting to relax when Vegeta’s sharp voice cuts through the boys’ chatter.
“You’ve got ice cream all over yourself,” Vegeta says dryly. “What are you, a toddler?”
“Huh?” Goku blinks, looking down, trying to see the smear at the corner of his mouth. “Where?”
Vegeta sighs like this is the most tragic thing he’s ever witnessed. “Seriously, Kakarot? You can run your own gym but can’t eat ice cream without getting it on your face?”
Before he can move, Vegeta reaches over –
– just as Goku sticks out his tongue to wipe it off himself.
His tongue brushes against Vegeta’s thumb.
They both freeze.
Eyes locked. Breath caught.
Neither of them moves.
Goku’s pulse stutters. He doesn’t know what he’s doing – doesn’t care. His lips part just slightly, and he lets his tongue drag slow across Vegeta’s thumb, tasting the lingering sweetness of ice cream and something warmer underneath.
He feels Vegeta’s thumb twitch. And then, it presses forward, slipping deeper into Goku’s mouth.
Goku’s breath catches. He glances toward the kids, panicked for half a second – but Goten and Trunks are still deep in their own world, now debating with wild gestures.
“No way, a tiger would totally beat a bear!”
“Not if the bear’s, like, HUGE. With claws!”
Goku looks back at Vegeta, and the look in his eyes nearly knocks the breath out of him – sharp and burning, like he wants this. Like he’s wanted it.
So Goku closes his lips around Vegeta’s thumb and sucks – just once, slowly, deliberately, like he’s curious how far he can push this. Still, Vegeta doesn’t pull away. Goku’s eyes flutter shut. His tongue swirls around the pad of Vegeta’s thumb, warm and wet. He hears Vegeta suck in a breath like he’s been punched and it sends a rush straight through Goku’s chest.
God, he wants to hear that sound again.
He licks again. Sucks just a little harder. It goes on – too long to be innocent, not long enough to satisfy – until Vegeta finally jerks his hand back, like he just woke up from a spell.
Goku blinks his eyes open and smiles, easy, like he hadn’t just sucked on Vegeta’s thumb like it was a lollipop. His heart is thudding but the words slip out before he can stop them. It's second nature with Vegeta now. Teasing. Flirting. His mouth always moves before his brain catches up.
“Mm,” he says, licking his lips slow. “You taste better than ice cream.”
And it's true. Every word of it.
Vegeta’s staring at him like he’s suddenly turned bleach blonde. Or sprouted a tail and transformed under a full moon. Like Goku’s just gone full alien on him. He grabs a napkin and wipes his thumb with unnecessary force.
“Don’t do that again,” he mutters, low and rough.
Goku tilts his head, smile lingering. “You mean the thing you started?”
Vegeta glares at him, but there’s no real bite. Not anymore. Just something unspoken and burning under the false anger.
Goku turns back to his ice cream, heart pounding under the surface of his easy grin. He doesn’t know what the hell that just was. He shouldn’t have done that. It was weird. It was stupid. It was –
– nice.
He liked it.
Judging by the look on Vegeta’s face, he thinks Vegeta liked it too.
He’s red. Not just a little pink in the cheeks – full-on red. His eyes are trained firmly on anything that isn’t Goku. The table. His ice cream, which he’s barely touched. The edge of the napkin he’s now folding and unfolding in one hand like his life depends on it.
Goku stares at him for a moment as he takes a lazy lick of his own cone.
Huh.
Watching him flustered and avoiding eye contact, Goku can feel a shift. He does find Vegeta cute. He kinda likes that Vegeta is like this – tightly wound, easy to rile up, always pretending he’s unaffected. Maybe that’s why he likes to bug him so much. He wants to make Vegeta all hot and bothered again.
Maybe he kind of… likes him?
The kids are nearly done with their ice cream now, Goten chomping enthusiastically on the point of his cone while Trunks crunches his with a look of determination. Their cheeks are sticky and full, voices loud with energy as they keep tossing animal battle scenarios back and forth.
Then, out of nowhere, Vegeta says stiffly, “The fair’s in town next week.”
Goku turns to look at him.
Vegeta’s still not meeting his eyes, his expression pinched like he already regrets opening his mouth. “Maybe we could take the boys.”
For a second, Goku’s not sure he heard him right. But then the boys hear it and immediately explode with joy.
“The fair?!” Goten gasps, practically bouncing in his seat.
“YES! With the giant slide!” Trunks shouts, fists in the air.
“And the spinning ride that makes you wanna throw up!”
“And cotton candy!”
Vegeta winces. Goku can’t help but grin.
“That sounds like a great idea, Vegeta,” Goku says, watching Vegeta’s face. “They’ll love it.” He doesn’t add I will too, but he’s pretty sure Vegeta already knows.
“Next weekend, then,” Vegeta says, turning to Trunks – who’s somehow managed to get ice cream on his cheek, nose, and one eyebrow. Vegeta sighs and digs around in his bag for the wipes.
Goku watches as Vegeta peels one free, folds it, then licks his thumb to catch the smudge of ice cream near Trunks’s mouth.
Goku swallows. Hard.
It’s dumb. It’s not even a big deal. It’s just Vegeta being a dad. But something about it – the casual intimacy, the tenderness, the effortless competence – makes Goku’s stomach feel funny. Not to mention the way Vegeta’s tongue flicked out just for a second, fast enough to miss if Goku weren’t so stupidly aware of everything Vegeta does.
Vegeta glances over, eyes narrowing as he notices Goku staring. “Catch.” He tosses the wipes at him. Goku catches them easily.
“Clean your own brat,” Vegeta says, deadpan. “He looks like he’s covered in mud.”
“Hey, mess builds character,” Goku replies, wiping chocolate off Goten’s chin.
Vegeta rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
They finish up and start the slow walk back to their cars. Trunks and Goten run ahead, arguing about which of them can eat more cotton candy at the fair.
“See you on Monday, Vegeta,” Goku says as they reach the curb. “Bright and early at daycare.”
Goten and Trunks are still lingering between the cars, clearly not ready for the day to end.
“Bye, Trunks!” Goten calls, waving a little too hard, like he might launch himself off the pavement if he tries any further.
“Bye, Goten,” Trunks says, casual and cool like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly stalling. “Don’t forget I beat you at tag.”
Vegeta unlocks his car, opening the back door for Trunks, who hops inside. “We’ll see if you’re early this time, Kakarot.”
“I will be. Just to impress you.”
Vegeta huffs, securing Trunks’s seatbelt like it’s suddenly very complicated. When he's done, he stands and closes the car door.
Goku steps closer, voice dipping low like a secret, “Y’know, if you keep inviting me to all these play dates, people are gonna think you like me or something.”
Vegeta doesn’t flinch like Goku wanted him to. Doesn’t blush either. He just lifts a brow, cool and dry as ever, but his eyes give him away. “I don’t care what people think,” he says. “They can think whatever stupid thing they want. They’d be wrong anyway.”
Goku grins. “Would they?”
“You’re not that special.”
Goku laughs. “Then why are you still looking at me like that?”
Vegeta’s mouth twitches – but not into a frown. It’s that almost-smile again, the one Goku’s been chasing for days. He doesn’t answer. Just gets into the driver's seat and shuts his door. As Goku finishes buckling Goten in, he swears he sees Vegeta glance back at him in the rearview mirror before driving off. It's quick - barely a flicker, but the heat in Vegeta's eyes - it's like fire. Goku blinks, thrown off, pulse ticking faster. His hands are still resting on the buckle. Goten is babbling beside him, swinging his legs, completely oblivious as he recounts his jungle gym adventures with Trunks.
And Goku's just crouching there, heart racing, cheeks warm, tongue still tingling with the taste of Vegeta's thumb.
Damn, he thinks, I like Vegeta.
Notes:
Yeah, they're crushing HARD.
I can't believe I wrote almost 6,000 words about these two just going to the park and having ice cream. I'm an insane person! Also, as I was writing I realized this is not the first time I've included thumb sucking in a fic. Didn't know I was into that...
And not to get ahead of myself, but I am so excited to share the next chapter :))
Chapter 3: i really, really like you
Notes:
Sometimes I’m shocked by what I’m able to come up with when it comes to these two?? I’m making them so cute and hot in this that I might explode?
Also I listened to a lot of Carly Rae Jepsen as I wrote this chapter, especially "I Really Like You" (if that wasn't obvious by the title of this chapter LOL), soo if you were looking for music to listen to while reading…
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The air smells like popcorn and fried dough, sweet and greasy and way too thick. Neon lights buzz overhead even though the sun hasn’t fully set, and kids scream like banshees every time a ride jerks to life or someone wins a stuffed animal the size of a grown adult.
Vegeta could do without being here. There’s too many people. It’s too loud, too sticky. He doesn’t know what possessed him to suggest the town fair of all things.
That’s a bold-faced lie.
He knows exactly why.
The park date – play date – was supposed to be nothing. Just one afternoon for Trunks to spend time with Goten outside of daycare. That’s all it was supposed to be. But then Kakarot had to go and be… like that.
Annoying. Talkative. Kind. And, as much as he hates to admit it, dazzling.
It’s infuriating how much Vegeta enjoyed himself. Even more infuriating that he keeps thinking about it – hasn’t stopped thinking about it. About Kakarot.
Especially the thumb-sucking incident.
He should’ve shut it down. Should’ve pulled away the second Kakarot stuck his tongue out. Should’ve yanked his hand back and told him off. But no – he let him do it. Worse, he was the one who reached out first. Vegeta wasn’t thinking. It was second nature – he saw ice cream on Kakarot’s face and leaned over to wipe it away, just like he would with Trunks. He didn’t think, just acted.
But this wasn’t Trunks. This was Kakarot. Stupid, sexy Kakarot.
Vegeta’s thumb had pressed a little too close, slipped between Kakarot’s lips, and – God. He doesn’t know why. It was like he wanted to see what would happen. Like he wanted to feel the inside of Kakarot’s mouth. Feel his lips around him.
And ever since then, he couldn’t forget it.
It doesn’t help that all week, at daycare drop-offs and pickups, Kakarot’s been more obnoxious than usual. Getting all up in Vegeta’s space. Smiling that dumb clownish smile that only a naïve idiot would smile. Touching his arm during conversations for no damn reason. Bumping him with his shoulder and rubbing it while they watch the boys roughhouse. Making comments with too much warmth and way too much intensity in his eyes.
And Vegeta – pathetic, hopeless Vegeta – hasn’t told him to stop. He keeps catching himself responding to Kakarot’s incessant flirting, leaning into Kakarot’s touches, staring at Kakarot’s mouth.
He presses his thumb against the seam of his pants as they walk, like he’s checking to see if it’s still damp with Kakarot’s spit. It isn’t. But it might as well be. The memory’s been scorched into his skin – how warm Kakarot’s mouth was, the flick of his hot tongue, the stupid smile afterward. Vegeta had to pull back before he did something actually insane. Like lean in and lick the ice cream off the corner of Kakarot’s mouth.
He would’ve. He wanted to. But he didn’t.
That’s what really pisses him off.
He scowls to himself, barely paying attention to the argument unfolding just a few feet ahead.
“My dad would totally win,” Trunks insists, arms folded across his tiny chest. “He’s way stronger. He’s so strong that he can’t make omelettes ‘cause he breaks all the eggs!”
“Nuh-uh!” Goten fires back, already climbing up onto a bench to make himself taller. “My dad’s faster. He can run so fast it’s like he teleports! Your dad wouldn’t even see him coming!”
Vegeta hears them. He really does. But they’re just background noise right now.
Because he’s walking next to Kakarot, trying not to stare but failing miserably. Kakarot’s shirt is offensively bright – red-orange and covered in random black triangles, draped over a plain white tee – and it should look ridiculous. It should look ugly, clashing. But it doesn’t. It fits him too well. The collar hangs loose enough to show off the nape of his neck, and his jeans cling in all the right places, low on his hips, tight around his thick thighs.
Vegeta sneaks another glance and instantly regrets it.
Goddamn it.
He’s crushing. Hard.
He clenches his jaw and looks straight ahead, ears burning so hot he’s positive they’re bright red. If Kakarot notices, he doesn’t say anything. Which somehow makes it worse. Because Vegeta kind of wants him to notice. Wants him to say something teasing and unbearable, the way he always does. But Kakarot’s too busy gawking at the fair like a little child – whipping his head this way and that, eyes lighting up at every booth they pass, pointing out deep-fried monstrosities like they’re miracles.
“Oh man, they have deep-fried cheesecake,” he mutters, mostly to himself, peering around Vegeta toward a stand with an obnoxious sign. “And is that – chocolate-covered pickles? What the hell!”
Vegeta rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of his head.
God, he’s absolutely ridiculous. Immature. Loud. Embarrassing. The kind of person Vegeta normally avoids at all costs. The kind of person Vegeta hates. And yet here he is, walking next to him like it’s normal. Like this is what two single dads do. Go on fair dates –
Play dates, Vegeta corrects himself again, a little too late.
He sighs under his breath, then finally tunes back into the boys’ argument.
“Your dad got ice cream all over his shirt last time,” Trunks says smugly, pointing a finger at Goten. “Mine would never do that!”
Goten stomps one foot. “Yeah, well, your dad’s too grumpy to win anything!”
Vegeta’s head lifts at that. Excuse me?
His pride rears up so fast he nearly chokes on it. He sweeps his gaze ahead, locking onto the row of carnival stands like a hunter spotting prey – cheap prizes, rigged games, flashing bulbs, and all.
Vegeta narrows his eyes then turns to Kakarot. “You’re not going to let your brat keep lying like that, are you?”
Kakarot swings his gaze back. “Oh, I dunno,” he says, infuriatingly cheerful. “He’s kinda right, you know. You are too grumpy.”
Vegeta’s eye twitches. “Fine. How about this? We each pick a few games. Whoever wins the most gets bragging rights.”
“Bragging rights?” Kakarot hums, pretending to think it over. “Nope. Not enough! If I win, I get to pick where we go on our next date.” He pauses, all fake innocence. “Oops. I mean – play date.” He throws in a wink for good measure.
Vegeta resists the urge to throttle him. Or melt into the ground. He shrugs instead, feigning nonchalance. “Fine. But when I win, you’re shutting up about this forever.”
Kakarot perks up. “About what?”
“This. You flirting. Acting like you have me all figured out,” Vegeta narrows his eyes. “You don’t.”
“I kinda think I do,” Kakarot grins. “You’re the one who suggested the fair, Vegeta. Pretty romantic, if you ask me.”
“Shut up. I only did this for our children.”
“I know it’s only our second date, but you can’t use that excuse forever.”
Vegeta stiffens, but Kakarot keeps going, voice low and maddeningly casual.
“I know you like me,” His grin deepens. “What’s it gonna take for you to admit it, Vegeta? Want me to suck on your thumb again?”
Vegeta’s face flames so fast it’s surprising he doesn’t combust on the spot. His jaw tightens, fists clenching like he’s ready to swing – not from anger, but pure, flustered panic. At least now Kakarot is teasing him like he wanted.
“Shut the hell up,” he snaps, way too loud. “Forget that. Let’s just start the damn games.”
Kakarot laughs, bright and delighted, and throws his hands on Vegeta’s shoulders, nearly making him jump. “All right, all right. Lead the way, tough guy.”
Vegeta mutters something incoherent and stalks forward, ears burning. He’s going to wipe that smug look off Kakarot’s face. He’s going to destroy him. And if he ends up holding his hand by the end of it – well, that’s nobody’s business but his.
They start at the ring toss.
Vegeta cracks his knuckles like he’s stepping into a fight. Easy. This one’s all about angle and precision. He sizes up the glass bottles stacked in tight formation, then picks up a ring and lets it roll between his fingers. Light. Cheap plastic. How hard could it be?
“Watch and learn, Kakarot,” he mutters, lining up his shot.
His first toss sails wide and bounces off the side of the stand, landing with a dull clatter on the floor.
…Disappointing. But it’s fine. He’s just warming up.
“What exactly am I supposed to be watching and learning?” Kakarot chuckles.
“Just be quiet!” Vegeta scowls. “I need to focus.”
The second ring spins just right, but it clips the bottleneck and ricochets off with a taunting little bounce. The third slips out of his hand too fast. The fourth dies mid-air. His fifth ring misses entirely and Vegeta can feel the heat building in his face. He swears under his breath.
“Dad, you’re supposed to win,” Trunks calls out, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. He’s standing beside Goten, arms crossed, eyebrows raised like Vegeta just failed a test.
“I’m working on it,” Vegeta grits out.
Then he hears the soft sound of plastic sliding against glass. Over and over. Effortless.
He turns his head.
Kakarot is barely trying. He’s holding the ring between two fingers and just flicking his wrist with casual ease. The ring lands one after another with satisfying little clinks. Clink. Clink. Clink.
It’s infuriating.
Vegeta’s eye twitches. “What the hell?”
Kakarot glances over, smirking. “You’ve got the wrong wrist action, Vegeta,” he says, like he’s imparting sacred knowledge instead of being an insufferable show-off. “It’s more about finesse. Not force.”
“Are you saying I have no finesse?” Vegeta snaps.
“I’m saying you throw too aggressively, like you’re trying to knock someone out,” Kakarot picks up another ring and flicks it. It lands perfectly. He doesn’t even look smug about it. That’s what Vegeta hates the most. He’s relaxed, totally at ease, like he’s teaching someone.
Kakarot wins a plushy – a fat white cat with a wooden cane – and hands it to Goten, who beams and hugs it tight.
“My dad let you win,” Trunks says, glaring up at Kakarot. Kakarot glances down, clearly about to reply – mouth parting, that usual spark in his eye – but before he can get a word out, Trunks sticks his tongue out at him and whips back around to face Vegeta with deadly seriousness. “You’re just saving your energy, Dad. You’ll beat him next time.”
Damn right, Vegeta thinks. He squares his shoulders and storms off toward the next game, dragging his pride behind him.
Next is balloon darts. Vegeta steps up to the line, analyzing the wall of shiny, colorful balloons like it’s a live battlefield. He takes a dart between his fingers and casts a look at Kakarot out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you ready to lose, Kakarot?”
Kakarot smiles. “Seems like losing’s more in your wheelhouse, Vegeta.”
That infuriating mouth, Vegeta thinks. Always saying things like that, always smiling like he doesn’t know what it does to him. He should just kiss him to shut him up. Not that he wants to. It just seems like the easiest way to get this clown to stop talking. But he squashes the thought – winning is more important right now. He focuses, squinting down the dart like a soldier lining up a target.
“Destroy them, Dad!” Trunks pipes up, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Vegeta breathes slow and throws.
The first dart pops a balloon. The sharp sound is satisfying – clean and triumphant. The second one misses, barely. The third hits a balloon square on, but the dart just bounces off.
He clenches his jaw.
The fourth lands. The fifth misses again.
Two out of five. Not too bad, but will it be good enough to beat Kakarot?
Kakarot steps up and, just like that, his whole energy changes. The cocky smile slips, just slightly. He narrows his eyes at the target. Focused. Serious. Like he’s about to take down a real opponent. His fingers are steady on the darts, and when he throws, it’s with pure accuracy – pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. All five balloons burst clean.
Goten jumps in the air and cheers like Kakarot’s just defeated a bad guy. “That’s my dad!”
Trunks crosses his arms and grumbles, “Whatever. This game’s rigged anyway.”
Vegeta barely hears them. He’s too busy staring, watching Kakarot turn around, annoyingly confident, holding yet another ridiculous stuffed animal – this one a floppy blue frog with googly eyes. He crouches in front of Trunks and holds it out.
“For you, Trunks,” Kakarot says, lightly.
Trunks blinks. His cheeks turn pink as he takes it gingerly, clutching it to his chest. He leans in, still frowning, and gives Kakarot a quick, shy little hug, whispering, “Thank you…”
Vegeta freezes. He should be annoyed – should be grumbling about how easily Kakarot wins people over – but his mouth betrays him. There’s a smile tugging at the corner before he can stop it, and he feels a softness that he doesn’t want to admit feeling. It’s not just that Kakarot’s charming. It’s the way he’s gentle with Trunks – thoughtful, easy, kind. Vegeta’s chest goes warm in a way he doesn’t expect. Because, damn it, there’s something stupidly attractive about a man who’s good to his kid.
And now Kakarot’s walking over, eyes locked on Vegeta like he saw the whole damn thing. “Maybe just stick to grunting and glaring,” he says, a little too warm. “You’re cuter that way.”
Cute? Did Kakarot just call him cute? Who the hell does he think he is, calling Vegeta cute?
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut your mouth?”
But Kakarot steps in closer, close enough that Vegeta can feel the heat of his body. His tone drops. His gaze sharpens. And when he leans down so his face is a breath away from Vegeta’s, licking his lips, there’s nothing playful about it anymore.
“Why don’t you make me?”
It hits Vegeta right in the gut. That voice. That look. That challenge.
He almost does it. He almost grabs him by the collar of that stupidly bright shirt and shuts him up the way Kakarot probably wants – by smashing their mouths together right there in front of the dart wall. He wants to see if Kakarot would kiss him back. And he almost wants to stop pretending this is just a game, or banter, or just play dates.
Kakarot knows, too. Vegeta can see it in the corner of his smile. The way he’s only staring at Vegeta’s mouth.
Vegeta yanks his gaze away. His heart is thudding in his throat, and he’s starting to sweat.
“Next game,” Vegeta growls, storming off with all the dignity he has left.
He can still win this.
They move to the basketball hoops next – one of the bigger, flashier setups near the center of the fair. Loud music blares from overhead speakers, and the game lights flicker in dizzying colors. The baskets are narrow and high up, the balls slightly overinflated – classic rigged setup.
But Vegeta doesn’t care. He’s not losing three games in a row to Kakarot. He shakes out his arms and lines up the shot. The ball leaves his fingers and bounces off the rim.
Vegeta grits his teeth.
“C’mon, Vegeta,” Kakarot says with faux encouragement. “At least hit the backboard.”
Vegeta turns to face him with a glare. “I will end you.”
Kakarot’s grin widens like he enjoys the threat. He probably does.
Vegeta grabs the next ball and throws harder this time. He overshoots. The ball ricochets wildly off the top of the backboard and bounces out of bounds. Next to him, he hears the unmistakeable swish of Kakarot’s shot sinking clean through the net. And then another. And another.
Vegeta turns just in time to see Kakarot sink a fourth shot, this time one-handed.
“Oh, son of a bitch.”
Goten cheers from the sidelines. “Dad, you’re awesome!”
Kakarot just laughs and tosses a ball back to the stand worker, who hands him a truly absurd prize – an overstuffed pig wearing an old-fashioned army uniform, complete with a crooked hat. He walks it over to Goten and drops it into the brat’s arms. Goten giggles, hugging the pig like it’s priceless.
Vegeta, on the other hand, feels his pride crumbling into dust.
“This is rigged,” Vegeta growls.
“Or,” Kakarot says, leaning down until his mouth is practically at Vegeta’s ear, “maybe I’m just better.” His shoulder brushes against Vegeta’s as he says it, lingering just a second too long.
Vegeta freezes. He should move away. He should say something snarky. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He just stands there, blush crawling up his neck, his hands balled into fists.
Fuck, Kakarot is so close. He smells like he always does, sunshine and vanilla, but a little sweatier from the hot afternoon sun. His arm is warm. His breath is even warmer. Vegeta wants to grab that clown face and kiss it stupid. He wants to push Kakarot against the side of the booth and shut him up for real this time. With tongue. With teeth. And both hands in that damn mess he calls hair.
But he doesn’t. He just stares at the scoreboard, jaw tight, face forming an ugly scowl.
Three games. Three losses.
He will not let Kakarot sweep him.
“Last game,” he snaps, already turning away before Kakarot can say something else that’ll make him want to punch or kiss him – or both.
The last booth is tucked near the edge of the fairgrounds – the classic strength tester. Mallet, bell, dramatic signage that promises glory. It’s practically begging for someone to show off.
Vegeta rolls his shoulders, then cracks his neck. Finally, he thinks. A real game. He walks up and grabs the mallet, planting his feet like he’s about to face an army.
“You sure you’re up for it?” Kakarot asks from behind him, voice lilting with amusement. “You’re down three-nothing. This might be your only shot.”
“Those games were cheap scams designed to rob people blind,” Vegeta replies flatly. “This one’s about strength and that’s where I excel.”
Vegeta exhales, gathers all his strength, and swings. The mallet slams down with a deep thunk, and the puck rockets up the track – clang! It strikes the bell dead-center with a loud, satisfying ring that echoes across the booth.
Trunks jumps like fireworks just went off. “My dad crushed it!” he yells, fists in the air.
Kakarot lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Okay. Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Vegeta repeats. “That was perfect.”
“Sure, sure,” Kakarot says, grabbing the mallet from him. “I bet I can top it.”
He swings – good, solid form – but the puck stalls just shy of the bell. It hovers a breath beneath the mark, then slides back down like it’s mocking him.
“Aw, man!” Kakarot cries, tossing his arms in the air before dramatically flopping over like a deflated balloon.
“Ha!” Vegeta barks out a laugh – way too excited – then quickly clears his throat and crosses his arms, trying to play it cool. “No surprise there.”
Trunks pumps both fists and leaps into the air. “He won! He actually won one!”
Goten folds his arms. “Yeah, but my dad won more.”
“My dad won the only one that matters!” Trunks argues.
Vegeta stares up at the outrageous prize the booth worker hands over – an enormous plush dragon, nearly the size of a small sofa. It’s green with gold whiskers and red jewel eyes. It looks like it belongs in a fantasy story, like it makes magical balls with the ability to grant wishes. He grips it awkwardly, feeling stupid and victorious all at once. Then, without knowing what possesses him to do this, he turns and shoves it towards Kakarot.
“Here,” he mutters. “Since you lost.”
Kakarot blinks, visibly caught off guard. But then that slow, stupid grin spreads across his face, wide and way too pleased.
“Is this your way of being romantic?”
Vegeta narrows his eyes. “It’s a consolation gift. Don’t make it weird.”
“Oh. Too late.”
Kakarot steps in before Vegeta can move, close enough that the damn dragon’s plush snout gets wedged between them. And then – light as anything – Kakarot leans in and presses a kiss to Vegeta’s cheek.
Quick. Barely there.
But hot, somehow.
Vegeta jerks back so fast he nearly drops the dragon. His hand flies to the spot on his cheek like he can scrub it off. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Kakarot just smiles, eyes sparkling. “Showing my appreciation.”
“You – you don’t kiss people for giving you stupid stuffed animals!”
“I do when they’re adorable and clearly in love with me.”
“I am not!” Vegeta hisses, face going scarlet.
He jerks his head to the side, scanning automatically for the kids. Did the boys see that? But Goten and Trunks are already tearing off toward the rides, yelling about bumper cars and the merry-go-round. They missed it. Barely.
Vegeta exhales shakily, trying to will the heat out of his face. He pushes the dragon into Kakarot’s arms with a scowl and grabs his wrist without thinking – then his hand, fingers lacing tight like it’s instinct.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, already stomping after the boys. “Before you do something else humiliating.”
Kakarot stumbles a step then grins, holding onto Vegeta’s hand tighter, clearly enjoying every second. “You wanted to hold my hand that bad?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“You’re blushing again.”
“Shut up.”
“I really like it.”
“Shut. Up.”
But Vegeta doesn’t let go. And if Kakarot keeps smiling the whole way down the midway, dragon tucked under one arm and Vegeta’s hand in his – well…
That’s nobody’s business but theirs.
–
Goku trails a step behind, hand still wrapped in Vegeta’s, fingers laced so tight it’s like Vegeta’s afraid he might change his mind. Like letting go would mean admitting it happened.
And Goku’s not letting go either. Not if he can help it.
He’s playing it cool. Casual. Composed. That’s the plan, anyway. But Vegeta’s hand is so warm it’s driving him a little crazy. His heart’s been fluttering in his chest ever since the start of this date. And when he kissed Vegeta on the cheek… Oh, man, the way he blushed, the way he looked away so fast. It was so cute. It was everything Goku wanted.
Vegeta gave him that dragon plush like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Like it just made sense, like of course he’d win something and give it to him. Goku nearly kissed him on the mouth instead. He might’ve, if the kids hadn’t been a few feet away.
He’s been cranking up the flirting ever since he admitted to himself that he likes Vegeta. Really likes him. And now that he knows Vegeta likes him back, it’s game on. Okay, it’s not like Vegeta said he likes him. But there’s no doubt in his mind. Not after the dragon. Not after Vegeta grabbed his hand like it was second nature. Not after all the blushing and glaring and the way Vegeta always looks at him like he doesn’t know whether to strangle him or kiss him.
Goku swears there were even a couple moments today where Vegeta almost did kiss him. He wanted him to. Still does.
Now, watching Vegeta storm ahead like he’s not absolutely spiraling inside, Goku lets himself admire openly. He’s dressed colorfully today. Bright yellow pants paired with an equally bright pastel pink shirt, the word “BADMAN” stamped across his back in bold block letters.
Bad man. Yeah, right, Goku smiles to himself.
He knows better.
The man stomping across the fairground with a grumpy set to his shoulders and Goku’s hand in his is the furthest thing from bad. He’s a softie who packs healthy snacks, remembers to bring bandaids, and wins stupid strength games just to impress a guy he pretends not to like.
And he looks unreasonably handsome in that unexpectedly loud outfit. Goku makes a mental note to ask him if he picked it out himself or if someone else was the mastermind behind the color coordination. Not that Goku’s complaining. It suits Vegeta more than he probably knows.
They trail the boys as they bounce from one ride to the next. Every few seconds, Goten and Trunks scream and point, then change their minds and run in the opposite direction. Eventually, they stop in front of one they like.
“Bumper cars!” Goten shouts. “Let’s crash!”
Trunks cheers in agreement. “I’m gonna smash you into the wall!”
“No way, I’m gonna win!” Goten shoots back, throwing the stuffed toys on the ground and bolting for the ride entrance. Trunks does the same and follows.
Goku’s heart tugs a little when Vegeta pulls his hand away to fish out tickets. He pouts. He can’t help it. The warmth vanishes like it was never there, and suddenly Goku’s palm feels too cold and too light. Vegeta hands over the tickets to the ride operator and when he turns to walk away, Goku hooks his fingers into his elbow, tugging him back.
“You don’t wanna bump cars with me?” Goku says, jutting his lower lip out into an overdramatic pout.
Vegeta shoots him a skeptical look. “You want me to cram myself into one of those tiny deathtraps just so you can ram me into a wall?”
Goku opens his mouth to reply, but the words catch – stuck in his throat. He pictures it. Yeah, the actual bumper car version with whiplash and back pain, but that image barely lasts a second before it turns into something a lot less innocent. Vegeta ramming him into a wall. A sharp gasp. Vegeta’s hands fisting his shirt, dragging him close. Their mouths crashing harder than bumpers. Goku’s back hitting the wall and it hurts, but he doesn’t care. He’s grabbing at Vegeta’s hips, those strong shoulders, anything he can get his hands on, pulling him even closer. Vegeta’s kissing him like he’s absolutely pissed about it, like he’s been holding back for too long.
The image slips straight through his filter.
“Yeah,” he blurts, without hesitation. “Or you can ram me into a wall later. I’m flexible.”
Vegeta makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a strangled wheeze. He freezes like someone just hit pause on him, eyes wide, mouth parted. Then he recovers with a slow blink and a warning glare.
“No. I’m not going on this stupid ride,” he says, ignoring what Goku said entirely.
“Oh, c’mon, Vegeta,” Goku grins, way too pleased with himself. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“You’re a terrible driver.”
“Which makes it more fun!”
“You are the worst, Kakarot,” Vegeta says, ears red again.
“Scared you’ll lose again?” Goku leans in, grin going sharp. “Or scared you’ll like it when I hit you?”
That gets Vegeta again. He narrows his eyes, that familiar flicker of fire catching behind them like it always does when Goku pokes too close to the edge.
“I’ll make you regret saying that.”
Goku bites his lip before he can stop himself. God, he hopes Vegeta does make him regret it. Hopes it’s with fingers in his hair and a kiss that leaves them both breathless. Hopes it’s messy and rough and passionate and hot.
He almost slips but he keeps the grin on his face. “You better keep up,” he says, swagger sliding back into his tone. “I might be a bad driver but I’m definitely not losing to you.”
Vegeta mutters something violently inaudible and marches toward the ride like it personally offended him.
Goku picks the stuffies off the ground and, along with the dragon plush, hands them off to the bumper car attendant with a grin and a “Keep ‘em safe for me, will ya?” before jogging after him.
They climb into the bumper cars, Goku with Goten, Vegeta with Trunks. The ride starts, and chaos erupts immediately. Goten laughs like a maniac every time they hit someone. Trunks tries to strategize, directing Vegeta like he’s in a heist movie. Goku and Vegeta keep slamming into each other – on purpose, mostly. Every time they crash, Goku laughs too hard and Vegeta yells “Watch it, idiot!” but it feels more like affection in disguise.
Just two dads and their sons, in a blur of lights and noise, crashing into each other with the biggest grins on their faces.
Goku’s already thinking about the next ride. And how to get Vegeta to hold his hand again. And maybe get that kiss he’s been waiting for.
The sun’s dipping low by the time they climb out of the bumper cars, streaks of orange and pink painting the sky like something out of a painting. Goten and Trunks are already bolting ahead, shoving and laughing as they race toward whatever catches their attention next.
“Hey!” Goku calls after them, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Wait up! No running!”
They don’t even glance back.
Vegeta groans beside him, one hand pressed to his lower back. “Tch. My spine.”
“Aw, are you sore?” Goku snorts as he grabs the dragon back from the attendant. “That’s what you get for trying to take me out like you wanna kill me.”
“I should’ve been more careful,” Vegeta mutters, rubbing small circles into his back as he takes the cat, frog, and pig plushies.
Goku’s eyes flicker down to the motion, a little too eagerly. “Hope that back of yours isn’t gonna be a problem in bed.”
Vegeta’s eyes snap up to his. Goku braces, expecting a scathing retort, maybe a scoff or an insult, but what comes out surprises him.
“Kakarot, if you don't shut that reckless mouth, I'll show you exactly how functional my back is." He says it roughly, like it slipped past his guard. His eyes don’t dart away like they normally do – they stay locked on Goku’s, and Goku swears they’ve gotten darker. The way he’s looking at him isn’t exactly in a joking way. Even the air feels warmer.
Whoa. Who knew Vegeta could be so sexy?
Goku’s heartbeat stumbles as he tries to breathe easy. He blinks, clears his throat louder than he intends, and forces a casual grin like he’s not seconds from combusting.
“C-c’mon,” he says, turning briskly on his heel to hide the blush. “Race you.”
He barely gets a few steps before excited screeches pierce the air – high-pitched and wild, unmistakably Goten and Trunks.
“Look!” Goten shouts, pointing to the sky. “The ferris wheel! We have to ride that so we can see the whole park from the top!”
Trunks is already halfway to it, yelling over his shoulder, “Last one there’s a looooser!”
Once Goku and Vegeta catch up, the boys are practically vibrating with excitement. Goten throws his arms like he’s making a proclamation. “Me and Trunks are riding together! Just us!”
“Absolutely not,” Vegeta says immediately. “You’re children. You can’t ride unsupervised.”
“We’re big kids now!” Goten insists. “We won’t do anything stupid!”
Trunks nods solemnly. “We’re responsible, Dad.”
“You nearly fell out of the bumper car ten minutes ago,” Vegeta snaps.
“That was a one-time thing,” Trunks says.
“They’re fine, Vegeta. It’s just a ferris wheel,” Goku says with a shrug. “Besides,” he slides a look towards Vegeta, eyes glinting. “You get to ride alone with me.”
Vegeta scoffs, but his eyes are a dead giveaway – there’s sharpness and hunger. He’s excited to get some alone time with him. Goku knows it.
They both watch to make sure the kids get into their own cart safely. Goten and Trunks scramble in, laughing and shoving, and Goku’s stomach flips with warmth when he sees how proud they look. Like they’ve just been handed the keys to the whole world.
“Bye, Dad!” Goten shouts, waving wildly as the cart door clanks shut.
“Don’t rock the seat!” Vegeta calls after them, sounding more dad than he probably realizes.
Trunks sticks his tongue out while Goten keeps waving back like they’re on a parade float. Goku matches his energy, waving an arm overhead. Beside him, Vegeta lifts one in a more subdued wave, watching the cart rise slowly up into the air.
Then they step toward the next free cart. Before climbing in, Vegeta pauses. He’s holding all three plushies bunched awkwardly in his arms. With a sigh, he veers toward the attendant, wordlessly handing them over. Goku watches as the attendant sets them on a bench nearby.
Vegeta turns back. Just as Goku starts to climb in, Vegeta nods at the dragon still tucked under Goku’s arm. “Leave it. We’ll have more space.”
“No way!” Goku squeezes it tighter. “I already named him. Shenron rides with us.”
Vegeta says something under his breath – something, something, child – but doesn’t argue, like he’s already given up.
The cart sways slightly as they climb in. It’s way smaller than either of them realized – more suited for kids or couples, definitely not a gigantic plushie and two grown men who both spend serious time at the gym. The second Goku sits, his thighs knock into Vegeta’s with a hard bump. There’s no room to shift without bumping something else – shoulders, knees, arms. Their legs are pressed tight together now, contact hot through the fabric of their pants, and Goku can feel every breath Vegeta takes in the cramped space. His shoulder brushes against Vegeta’s chest when he tries to adjust, and it’s either be cramped or be smashed. No matter what, it’s a tight fit.
“Jesus,” Vegeta grunts, trying to scoot toward the edge. “This is all your fault, Kakarot.”
“My fault? How’s this my fault?”
“We’re packed in here like idiots because you needed to bring your dumb stuffed animal.”
Goku adjusts the dragon in his lap and shifts sideways, which only makes things worse. “You’re the one spreading your legs like you have a tail in between them. Maybe if you sat like a human being, we’d both fit.”
“I am sitting like a human being,” Vegeta hisses. “You’re the one acting like he needs a goddamn booster seat.”
“Say that again,” Goku bites back. “Maybe I’ll climb on you and really give you something to complain about.”
“Don’t –” Vegeta starts, already tense – but it’s too late.
Goku shifts, trying to wedge the plush between them without squashing it. In the process, his knee slips between Vegeta’s thighs. Vegeta lets out a low groan as the cart rocks under the sudden movement.
“Shit – sorry,” Goku mutters, trying to adjust. But the motion sends him off balance. He stumbles forward, and the next thing he knows, he’s landed right in Vegeta’s lap, legs straddling either side of him.
Their faces are suddenly inches apart.
“Oh,” Goku breathes, eyes flicking down to Vegeta’s lips.
Vegeta goes stiff beneath him. “Get off,” he breathes, but he doesn’t really mean it. He’s looking at Goku’s lips too.
“No,” Goku says, quieter this time.
It happens fast. Like a snap. No lead-in, no warning.
Vegeta grabs the collar of Goku’s shirt and yanks him down. Their mouths meet in a rush of heat and want – clumsy and fevered, a collision of everything unsaid. It’s not sweet. It’s not slow. It’s raw, urgent, messy. Exactly what Goku’s been starving for.
He groans into Vegeta’s mouth, hands scrabbling under Vegeta’s shirt, hungry for skin. He finds it – hot and taut over solid muscle – and makes a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat. He wants to explore every inch, wants to memorize the shape of Vegeta’s body by touch alone. His fingers drag up Vegeta’s sides, nails grazing, and when he shifts in Vegeta’s lap, he feels the sharp catch of his breath, the way his hips twitch beneath him.
Vegeta fists the front of Goku’s shirt tighter, dragging him closer until their chests are flush. Shenron is half-crushed against the wall of the cart, long forgotten. Goku braces his hand against the side rail, anchoring them both as they move together – mouths hot and open, tasting, gasping, pulling. Their tongues lap at each other, thrusting into each other’s mouths, licking all over. His other hand stays on Vegeta’s skin, slipping higher, mapping the lines of his abs and his chest, thumb grazing over a nipple just to feel the way Vegeta shudders.
The world outside is nothing now. Just motion and blur. The sun’s gone and in its place are carnival lights spinning wild in the night, painting everything in gold and red and blue. Like stars on fire. Like the inside of Goku’s chest.
And – God, Vegeta’s biting at Goku’s bottom lip like he wants more. Like he wants everything.
Vegeta’s hands slip down from Goku’s collar, dragging slow over the fabric before sliding beneath the red shirt. His palms find Goku’s chest, fingers brushing over the soft cotton of his undershirt, rubbing gently at his hardening nipples in small circular motions until Goku lets out a soft, broken whine he doesn’t mean to make. His mouth falls open with it, and Vegeta takes the chance to kiss him deeper.
Goku’s whole body arches into it. The feeling of Vegeta’s tongue against his own makes his pulse spike, makes heat pool low in his groin. He kisses back harder, hungrier. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to kiss Vegeta harder, longer, deeper. He wants to see how far he can take it before Vegeta –
Suddenly, the cart jerks.
The world lurches sideways.
They break apart with a gasp, chests heaving, eyes blown wide.
The ride has stopped.
The two of them are tangled in the corner of the cart, shirts wrinkled, hair a mess, breath coming far too fast for just a ferris wheel.
Goku stares at Vegeta – heart still hammering, lips swollen.
Vegeta stares back – red in the face, breathing hard.
For a second, neither of them moves. Then they’re scrambling – fixing their shirts, running hands through hair, adjusting themselves like it’ll somehow explain what just happened. Goku nearly drops the dragon plush in a rush to get out, catching it last second with one arm. They climb out of the cart just in time to see Goten and Trunks already down from theirs, chattering loudly.
“It was so cool!” Goten exclaims. “I could see everything! The whole park!”
“I saw the lights from the bumper cars!” Trunks says. “And the spinning teacups! It was awesome!”
Goku tries to smile like he wasn’t just halfway to dry-humping Vegeta in public. He’s still catching his breath, skin buzzing like it’s still happening. Beside him, Vegeta is tense and quiet – but not cold. More like… dazed. Like he’s still catching up. He’s warm, flushed, and radiating heat like a furnace.
Trunks eyes them suspiciously. “Did you guys fight again?”
Goku hesitates, then shrugs. “No. Kind of.”
Vegeta clears his throat and finally speaks. “It was more of a… draw.”
Goku blinks, surprised. That’s almost playful. Almost honest. Coming from Vegeta, it’s basically a confession. He glances over, expecting a scowl, but Vegeta isn’t looking away. His eyes are fixed on Goku, watching with a simmering gaze. Like he’s still tasting it. Like he wouldn’t mind a round two.
Goku’s grin stretches slow across his face, his cheeks warm and pink – but now he isn’t embarrassed about it. Screw it. He’s already thinking about kissing Vegeta again.
And he knows Vegeta’s thinking about it too.
–
The line for cotton candy is long but Vegeta doesn’t care.
He volunteered to wait in line the second Trunks shouted about cotton candy. He needed space. Needed to step away from Kakarot before he touched him again.
That kiss is still burning on his mouth. His body won’t let him forget it. Every time he swallows, he remembers Kakarot’s weight in his lap. The feeling of his plump ass against Vegeta’s thighs. The heat vibrating between them. The way it felt like the world outside had vanished completely, like nothing existed but Kakarot’s mouth, Kakarot’s hands, Kakarot’s ridiculous teasing smile against his skin.
It was everything.
Too much, maybe.
Too good.
And he wants it again.
He folds his arms tight over his chest, eyes fixed on the spinning steel drum in the stand ahead. Pink floss winds around the stick like magic. A child’s treat. Just sugar and air. Junk, but harmless.
Not like Kakarot.
Kakarot is not harmless.
Vegeta breathes in as deep as he can. Kakarot is an idiot. An absolute idiot.
…But he really likes that idiot. Has for a while now, he realizes, even if he buried it under insults and distance and clenched fists. Now that they’ve kissed – now that he knows what it feels like to finally have the thing he’s been unknowingly circling for weeks – he can’t go back to pretending he doesn’t want it.
He knows what this feeling is.
It’s terrifying. It’s warm.
It’s a little… addictive.
He glances over toward the table.
Kakarot’s there with the boys. Goten and Trunks are leaning in to listen to him like he’s their ringleader, their favorite cartoon character come to life. Kakarot throws his head back and laughs at something – probably a dumb joke only children would think is funny. Vegeta doesn’t even have to hear it. He knows Kakarot’s brand of humor. Idiotic. Loud. Infectious.
And against all odds, Vegeta smiles. It creeps up on him before he can stop it. No scoff. No eye roll. Just… a real smile. The three of them are all crowded on one side of the table, smiles and giggles everywhere, and for one dizzy second, Vegeta sees it. A future. A stupid, chaotic kind of domesticity where he belongs at that table. Where the boys are happy and carefree and Kakarot is looking at him with that clownish grin that Vegeta hasn’t yet admitted he has a huge soft spot for.
Then – shit.
Kakarot looks up.
Their eyes meet.
Vegeta locks up.
Kakarot perks up immediately, his grin going impossibly wide, smug and glowing and stupidly gorgeous. He definitely saw.
Vegeta quickly wipes the smile off his face and turns back to the cotton candy stand just as the vendor calls him forward. He orders three cotton candies, hands over cash and grips the paper sticks with too much force.
When he gets back to the table, the boys swarm him.
“Thanks, Dad!” Trunks chirps, grabbing his and racing to a patch of grass nearby. Goten takes his own and follows, shouting something about how they’re going to make their tongues turn blue. Vegeta nods at them, then hands Kakarot the last cotton candy before sitting next to him.
Kakarot looks at Vegeta as he takes it. “We’re at the fair and you won’t even have cotton candy?”
Vegeta shrugs, still looking toward the kids. “Well… I figured we could share.”
There’s a beat of silence.
When he finally looks over, Kakarot’s looking at Vegeta like he just confessed he’s actually an alien.
“…What?” Vegeta frowns.
“Are you okay, Vegeta?” Kakarot asks slowly. “First you actually smile at me, and now you’re sharing cotton candy with me? Should I be worried? Did I hit you too hard at bumper cars?”
Vegeta exhales hard. “Don’t be stupid, Kakarot.”
But his ears are hot, and Kakarot is still staring at him. He can’t believe he’s about to say this. It’s reckless and embarrassing and way too soon, maybe. They’ve only just had their second play date – but something about tonight, about that kiss in the ferris wheel, about the way Kakarot looks at him like he already knows him – it’s unravelling all of Vegeta’s usual restraint. He tries to logic his way out of it, tries to remind himself that they're still learning about each other, that it’s irresponsible to rush anything when they both have kids. But the thought of walking away, pretending this is just a one-off – he can’t do it. Not when Kakarot looks and acts like that. Not when Trunks leaned into Kakarot’s hug with that shy little frown. Not when every instinct in Vegeta is pulling him forward like he has to do this, like he needs to know everything about Kakarot, like he needs Kakarot all to himself.
They kissed. They're grown men who have children, for God's sake. They can’t just play around and pretend it didn’t mean anything.
So Vegeta shifts, clearing his throat. “I just… want to be clear about something.”
Kakarot quiets instantly. He starts picking at his cotton candy, tearing off a piece and shoving it into his mouth. The sugar sticks to the corner of his wet lips. Bright blue. Sticky. Distracting.
Vegeta stares straight ahead and doesn’t look at him as he speaks.
“We like each other. That’s obvious. So instead of wasting time or pretending that kiss didn’t happen, I think we should just call it what it is.” Vegeta’s voice is tight, controlled. “And it’s not just about us. We have children. We can’t be messing around and confusing them. If we’re doing this, we do it right.”
There’s a moment of silence – a long one. Then Vegeta grits his teeth and forces the words out before he can second-guess them.
“We’re dating.”
He risks a glance.
Kakarot’s eyes are wide, mouth agape, frozen in shock. That pisses Vegeta off. Seriously? He just bared things he never says out loud, made it clear how he felt, and this stunned silence is what he gets? Embarrassment flares up his whole body.
“Don’t just sit there gawking like an idiot! Say something!” Vegeta snaps.
Kakarot blinks a couple of times, then smiles, slow and stunned and so stupidly him. “You’re lucky you're so cute,” Kakarot says softly. “Because that was not romantic at all.”
Vegeta’s already regretting everything.
“I swear to god, Kakarot, if you don’t –”
But Kakarot’s already scooting closer, leaning down until his face is close to Vegeta’s – close enough for Vegeta to feel the warmth of his breath. “So... you like me, huh?”
“Yes. Why are you making this so difficult? I just said that.”
Kakarot tilts his head, eyes soft, gaze locked on Vegeta’s mouth. “Well, I like you back,” Kakarot whispers. “Like… really, really like you.”
Vegeta’s ears burn. His pulse pounds in his chest. He can’t take the look on Kakarot’s face – can’t take how earnest it is, how close he is, how… enticing he is.
Right now, he doesn’t care if the boys see.
He leans up and kisses Kakarot. It starts quick – like a confession, like a solid punch packed with his feelings. He means for it to be short, innocent. But then Kakarot’s lips part under his, kissing back like he wants it to last. Vegeta groans at the taste of sugar on Kakarot’s tongue, at the way he melts into him. Their tongues slide together, sweet and decadent, and Kakarot makes a sound – a little whimper, surprised and needy.
Vegeta almost loses it.
He pulls back fast before he does something that would get him kicked out of the fair. Before he grabs Kakarot by the shirt and throws him onto the table and ravishes him right there.
They don’t look at each other right away. They both take a second to breathe. But the smiles creep in anyway, like they’ve finally exhaled after holding their breaths for too long.
Kakarot nudges his knee. “I was waiting for you to kiss me again.”
Vegeta glances over, wary.
Kakarot’s grin widens, all heat and mischief. “And now that we’re dating, we can kiss whenever we want. Right?”
Vegeta stares at him. Kakarot’s flushed, bright-eyed, licking at his lips like he’s already thinking about the next kiss. God, he’s horny. It shouldn’t surprise Vegeta – Kakarot flirts like it’s his full-time job – but it still hits him like a kick to the gut. And he won’t lie… he wants to kiss Kakarot whenever he wants, too.
Still, he mutters, “You’re unbelievably inappropriate. Think of the boys.”
But he’s blushing. He knows it. And Kakarot definitely knows it too, because his smirk turns soft and satisfied.
They sit together at the table. The silence isn’t awkward – it’s charged with fullness and warmth, like the start of something new, something right. They’re watching Trunks and Goten tear through the last of their cotton candy, faces smeared with pink and blue, chasing each other in circles on the patch nearby.
It’s peaceful and chaotic. Somehow both at once.
Then Kakarot turns, like a thought just hit him. “Oh, that’s right,” he says, licking a dab of blue sugar off his thumb. “I never claimed my prize for beating you at those games.”
Vegeta rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. “Right.”
He had lost three out of four.
Kakarot grins. “How about dinner and a movie?”
Vegeta raises a brow.
“Goten’s been dying to see that new Clean God movie,” Kakarot adds.
Vegeta wants to make fun of him. He tries to. Opens his mouth to say something about capes being stupid, or how Kakarot’s taste in media is as childish as his sense of humor. But Trunks is obsessed with Clean God. He’s been counting the days until the movie’s release date. Vegeta knows – he’s got it marked on his calendar. And sitting in a dark theater where Kakarot’s forced to be quiet, where no one can see what they’re doing… that doesn’t sound so bad either.
“…That’s a good choice,” Vegeta says. “Trunks will love that.”
"Great!" Kakarot lights up. “It’s a date!”
And Vegeta lets himself accept that. It is a date. He leans back in the chair, watching their kids play in the carnival light – faces sticky with sugar, laughter echoing under the spinning glow of the rides.
They’re dating now.
It’s real.
Kakarot is his.
Everything feels quieter in his chest. Less sharp. Less heavy. Like something he didn’t know he’d been carrying has finally slipped off his shoulders. It’s soft and scary, but good. So good it makes him ache with a whole new feeling.
He glances at Kakarot, who’s still watching the boys like he’s got the whole world in front of him. And for the first time, Vegeta lets himself feel it fully – the warmth in his chest, the pull in his gut. He’s looking forward to the movie, too. But not just because it’ll make Trunks happy.
Because they’ll be going together.
Notes:
These are some HORNY dads, like damn, let's settle down boys we're at the fair! But just like how they think about kissing each other all the time, I think about them kissing all the time. I think writing them kissing is my absolute favorite thing to do.
And yeah, okay, it only took 2 dates for them to start dating but can you blame me? It's out of my control. I can't stop them. They're literally obsessed with each other. Sorry, I do not make the rules.
But real talk - I like to believe that in this story they are mature adults who want to take dating seriously!
As always, thank you for all the love!! It's very encouraging <333
Chapter 4: let’s sin in secret
Notes:
So this monster of a chapter went completely off plan. I just started writing and this is what came out. Also I’m on a work trip and I spent my entire 10 hour flight editing this chapter on my phone, right next to my boss. I used MS Word’s read aloud feature to help with proofreading and let me tell you, having a robotic British man read aloud smut in your ear while you’re sitting next to your boss and flying in a giant metal aircraft is kind of life changing.
But I really wanted to post this on Father’s Day so it had to be done.
Happy Father’s Day!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Goten, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”
Goten’s head pops up from a pile of bubbles like a meerkat on alert, splashing pale blue water everywhere. He blinks it from his eyes, then nods with his serious face – the one he uses when staging a battle between his action figures or asking if Goku could, hypothetically, beat a gorilla in a fight.
They’re sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by foamy islands that Goten keeps blowing around like he’s brewing a storm over an imaginary world. The water smells faintly of that overpriced vanilla-scented bubble bath Chi-chi insists on – non-negotiable, she’d said, or else Goten might develop a skin disease. Goku’s sure that regular old soap would be completely fine, but he still buys it.
He dips his hand into the warm water and pours it gently over Goten’s small, sudsy head, lathering shampoo into his hair with practiced care.
He swallows the nerves that have been building in his gut these past few weeks. He’s been putting this off. Every single night since the fair, he’s told himself not yet. That Goten’s too young to understand. That maybe this will quickly fizzle out, like it’s just a game. That maybe Vegeta will come to his senses and realize Goku’s not worth the chaos he brings.
But it hasn’t fizzled.
In fact, it’s only gotten worse – in the best, most terrifying way.
Never in his life did Goku think this would happen, but… Vegeta smiles when he sees him now. He flirts back. He makes moves. Heavy ones. He even texts before bed just to say goodnight; sometimes in the form of pictures – ones that make Goku too excited to finish reading Goten his bedtime stories. This is real. They’re not playing games. They’re in that dizzy, electric honeymoon phase – where it’s all heat and urgency and skin. Where the chemistry’s so loud it drowns out the fact that they still barely know each other. Goku knows Vegeta’s walls run deep, but he’ll get through them eventually. He’s in no rush. Not when Vegeta looks at him the way that he does.
Every morning after daycare drop-off, it’s the same story. They act like horny teenagers who just discovered what sex is. If they’re not making out in the passenger seat of Goku’s car, they’re in the back of Vegeta’s, hearts racing as they explore every inch of each other with inquisitive fingers, roaming eyes, and curious tongues. It’s a miracle they haven’t been caught – or missed work. But the risk just makes it worse. Or better. Depends on the day.
He thinks back to drop-off three mornings ago. They were standing outside the daycare like usual, watching Goten and Trunks chase each other in wide circles across the grass before they had to be called inside.
“I’m just saying,” Goku had teased, shrugging nonchalantly, “if you’re gonna wear pants that tight, you can’t get mad when I stare.”
Vegeta raised a single eyebrow, deadly calm. “If you’re going to drool like a dog in public, at least have the decency to carry a napkin.”
“Oh, I think you’ve got something better than a napkin,” Goku licked his lips, eyes dropping pointedly to Vegeta’s belt with zero shame.
And because Vegeta hates letting Goku win – not even at flirting – he leaned in with a smirk, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Careful, Kakarot. Keep talking like that and I’ll have you on your knees the second the kids go inside.”
He knew Vegeta was serious. It wasn’t just a joke or a threat. It was a challenge. Like Vegeta was trying to outdo him, even here.
Goku tried biting back a smirk, but it slipped right through. I get to suck Vegeta’s cock If I keep talking, huh? So of course he shot right back, “Only on my knees?”
And ten minutes later, sure enough, Goku was on his knees in the backseat of Vegeta’s car, one hand braced on the seat, the other wrapped around the base of Vegeta’s swollen cock as he took it into his mouth. He groaned as Vegeta’s fingers threaded through his hair – not restraining him, just exploring, feeling the strands slip through. All while Vegeta’s other hand reached down to pinch Goku’s nipple just the way Goku likes, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb, as Goku bobbed his head up and down.
It had been quick, passionate, barely any words exchanged – just the sound of their breathing, the creak of leather, the wet squelch of Goku’s mouth, and Vegeta’s praises in his ear, low and trembling with restraint.
“God, Kakarot, that mouth of yours is ridiculous,” Vegeta said, jaw clenched tight like he was barely holding himself together. “Just ridiculous.”
Goku looked up at him, eyes heavy, and pulled off with slick lips. “You always have a problem with my mouth,” he whispered, a smile curling slow against the tip of Vegeta’s cock. “What’re you gonna do, shut me up again?”
Vegeta huffed through his nose – sharp, annoyed, turned on. His hand tightened ever so slightly in Goku’s hair. “Don’t tempt me,” he said in a low growl.
And the whole thing – the rich, deep taste of Vegeta, the way he shuddered when Goku dragged his tongue a certain way, the desperate rub of his thumb against Goku’s nipple, the helpless grunt he let out when he came – was now permanently seared into Goku’s brain.
It should’ve felt sleazy. Reckless. Hell, they were parked in the daycare parking lot. But somehow, it hadn’t. Somehow, it felt… intimate. Close. Like they were still figuring out what they meant to each other, but already trusting enough to fall apart in each other’s hands.
Goku nearly gets shampoo in Goten’s eyes just thinking about it.
So they’re dating.
Officially.
And Goku knows what kind of man Vegeta is. He’s not the type to do anything halfway. He said so at the fair – “if we’re doing this, we do it right.” And doing it right means telling Goten.
Still, his hands falter a bit in Goten’s hair.
The last thing he wants is for his son to think – to wonder even for a second – that this means his mom is being replaced. Goten and Chi-chi have a special bond, one that Goku would never want to mess with. She’s the one who buys him superhero action figures and cartoon bedsheets, who lets him wear his favorite cape to the grocery store. She cheers on his imaginary fights like they’re title matches. She’s there for him when Goku can’t be. Her presence, her love – it’s constant.
Goku clears his throat. He shouldn’t wait any longer.
“Okay,” he says, picking up a handful of water to rinse the shampoo nearing Goten’s eyes. “So you know how you and Trunks are best friends?”
Goten nods enthusiastically, bubbles flying from his hair. “He’s my best best friend. We’re gonna be superheroes together! We’re gonna beat up bad guys just like Clean God!”
“Right,” Goku chuckles, heart warming at his earnestness. “And you know how we’re spending more time with Trunks and his dad?”
“Yeah!” Goten says, excitedly curling his hands into little fists. “We went to the park and then the fair and today we’re watching Clean God!”
“That’s right,” Goku laughs. “Well… me and Trunks’s dad,” he starts carefully, voice quieter now. “We… like each other. A lot.”
Goten squints up at him. “Like… friends? But you’re already friends.”
“Yeah,” Goku says, rubbing a stubborn spot of soap behind Goten’s ear. “But we’re gonna try being more than friends. Kinda like…”
“Like best friends like me and Trunks?”
Goku chuckles nervously. “No, not just best friends. Like… like how Daddy used to like Mommy.”
Goten’s face goes still. Thoughtful. Goku’s heart kicks. He starts rinsing the shampoo from Goten’s hair, carefully tilting his son’s head back so the suds don’t run into his eyes. His hands move gently, but his pulse is anything but calm.
“So…” Goten’s voice is small. “Are you guys gonna get married now?”
Goku splutters a cough, hard enough to splash water onto them both. “Wha – no! No, Goten, not – uh – not…” Not… what? Goku can’t find the words. Not yet?
“Then what does it mean?”
Goku wipes water from Goten’s eyes. “It… it just means that we’re all gonna spend even more time together.” He hesitates, then figures he should prepare Goten for what he might see – better to set expectations now than catch him off guard. “And… I might hold Trunks’s dad’s hand sometimes. And we might hug, or… kiss.”
Goten thinks on it, poking a rubber duck that’s drifting lower with the draining water. “But Mommy’s still my mommy?”
Goku’s chest pinches, but he nods and cups Goten’s face in both hands. His thumbs brush over soft skin as Goten’s chubby cheeks squish his little mouth. The sight almost makes Goku laugh.
“Always,” he says softly. “That’s never gonna change, Goten. Mommy will always be your mommy, okay?”
“Okay,” Goten nods again, but slower this time. “So… is Trunks gonna be my brother now?”
Goku laughs and reaches for a towel. “You wanna upgrade him already?”
“Yeah!” Goten says brightly as Goku lifts him out of the tub and sets him on the bath mat. “Gohan never plays with me anymore. He’s always doing homework or playing with his friends,” Goten pouts. “If Trunks is my brother, then we can play all the time!”
“You guys already play all the time,” Goku says, gently towel-drying Goten’s hair.
“But this means we can all live together and never stop playing!” Goten throws his arms in the air, jubilant, and Goku wraps him up like a burrito.
Live together? Goku hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. But now that Goten says it, the image flickers through his mind: Goku pouring orange juice for the boys while Vegeta flips pancakes, Goten and Trunks in pajamas on the couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons, toys scattered across the floor. It’s domestic and chaotic and nothing like the way he grew up.
And maybe that’s exactly why it gets to him.
He softens. “We’ll see, Goten. Maybe one day.”
They both giggle as Goku swings Goten up into his arms and presses a kiss to his freshly cleaned forehead. Honestly, it went way better than Goku expected – no tears, no confusion, no heartbreak. Still, his chest buzzes with nerves as he carries Goten to get dressed. Because the truth is… he doesn’t know where this is headed. Yeah, he and Vegeta like each other – a lot – but they’re still just beginning. They don’t know the small things yet, the fights that matter and the ones that don’t. They haven’t traded life stories or left the honeymoon stage. They aren’t in love. Not yet.
But Goku wants to get there. And he won’t give up until they are.
He keeps an eye on the clock as he dresses Goten, then himself – half because he doesn’t want to be late, and half because Vegeta would definitely give him shit for it. Not that he’d mind, of course. He likes Vegeta’s shit-giving.
Goten tugs on his Clean God shirt proudly, pointing to the glittery logo on his chest like Goku hasn’t seen it a hundred times before. “Trunks is gonna be so jealous!” Goten announces.
“I’m sure he will,” Goku says, grinning as he slips into a black muscle tank and orange sweatpants. Comfortable, breathable, and perfect for chasing two overexcited kids through a parking lot if necessary.
And even though the whole dinner-and-a-movie date was Goku’s idea, Vegeta had insisted on choosing the restaurant. “If I’m going to sit through two hours of cape-wearing nonsense, then we’re eating somewhere of my choosing.” Typical.
By the time they pull into the restaurant parking lot, the sun is dipping low, casting a soft gold haze over the pavement. Everything feels warm and slowed-down, like the end of a good day and the start of a great evening. Goku helps Goten out of the car and spots them through the window – already seated in a corner booth.
Trunks is practically bouncing in his seat. Vegeta sits beside him, arms crossed, head tilted slightly down as he listens with that focused expression he gets when he actually cares about what’s being said, even if he pretends he doesn’t.
Vegeta looks up the second they walk through the door. His eyes are already on them. On him. And even from here, Goku can see a smile forming. Just a little at first, but then it grows, softens. His eyebrows are still furrowed, of course, like he’s annoyed at being caught smiling. It makes Goku chuckle under his breath, because that’s just so Vegeta.
When Goten sees them, he bolts toward the booth and throws himself into the seat across from Trunks. “Trunks! Look!” he yells, yanking his shirt forward to show the glittering Clean God logo.
Trunks grins like he’s been waiting all day for this. He unzips his yellow short-sleeve hoodie with a flourish and reveals the exact same Clean God shirt underneath. They both lose it – dissolving into chaotic, high-pitched giggles like they’ve just activated a secret handshake. Within seconds, they’re leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, clearly off in their own world.
“Hey, Vegeta.” Goku grins and leans down to press a quick kiss to Vegeta’s lips before sliding into the seat across from him.
Vegeta doesn’t even bother hiding the flush on his cheeks, making Goku’s heart skip a beat. It spreads across his face, complementing the teal of his shirt – a long-sleeve number that clings just enough to show off his shoulders. The collar dips lower than usual, giving Goku a tastefully distracting glimpse of the top of Vegeta’s pecs, smooth and defined beneath the fabric. He almost has to force himself to tear his eyes away when Vegeta starts speaking.
“I hope you’re hungry, Kakarot,” he says smoothly, folding his arms like he’s just announced the start of a match. “I’ve been waiting to show you what proper food tastes like. Not whatever processed nonsense you usually subject yourself to.”
“You’ve been waiting to show me, huh?” Goku grins, rubbing his hands together like they’re about to spar. He loves how serious Vegeta gets about his nutrition – it’s absurd and a little over-the-top, but underneath it all, it makes him feel looked after. It shows Vegeta cares.
“Well, I’m starving,” he adds. “I’m gonna pig out.”
“Not as much as I am,” Vegeta shoots back, lifting his menu like he’s throwing down the gauntlet.
From their seats, the kids perk up immediately.
“I’m gonna eat more than you, Trunks!” Goten declares.
“No way!” Trunks crows back. “I’m gonna win!”
Their energy is infectious. They go back and forth in a dizzying chant of “I’ll eat more!” “No, I will!” while Goku and Vegeta smirk at each other like two generals surveying a battlefield.
When the food arrives, it floods the table. Bowls of rice, plates of braised pork, stir-fried chicken, piled noodles, crispy dumplings. The kind of feast that might overwhelm a normal group of people. But for these four? It’s child’s play. They dig in with competitive fervour. Goku and Vegeta eye each other across the table, hands and utensils moving fast, mouths impossibly full. Vegeta frowns every time Goku reaches for a dish he was eyeing. Goku retaliates by slurping noodles like he’s showing off. Trunks openly steals a meat skewer off Goten’s plate. Goten tosses his fork away and uses his hands to eat instead.
It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s glorious.
The wait staff do double takes. A couple at the next table whispers something under their breath. But Goku barely notices and Vegeta doesn’t even flinch.
By the time the plates are cleared, their bellies are full, their kids are sagging in their seats, and Goku is leaning back in the booth with a satisfied sigh, stretching out like a cat in the warm sun.
“So, Kakarot,” Vegeta says, arms folded like he’s bracing for a critique. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself. What did you think of the food?”
Goku blinks lazily at him, then smirks. The food was incredible – thin chewy noodles swimming in rich broth, pork belly that melted like butter on his tongue, dumplings so crispy on the bottom they made a sound when he bit in – but annoying Vegeta is just too easy. He’s sitting there all stiff and expectant, trying to act like he doesn’t care what Goku thinks while obviously very much caring what Goku thinks. Which makes it impossible to resist.
“Hmm,” Goku says, scratching his chin with thoughtful slowness. “It was… all right.”
Vegeta’s eye twitches.
“All right?” he echoes, voice rising with offense. “You can’t be serious. That broth alone takes twelve hours. Twelve. And the noodles are hand-pulled. Do you know how rare that is?”
Goku shrugs, biting back a grin. “Tasted like regular old noodles to me.”
Vegeta grips the edge of the table. “Regular –? Did you even taste the pork or did you just scarf it down without chewing?”
“Meh. It was kinda fatty,” Goku says, sipping his drink.
“It’s supposed to be fatty.”
“Yeah, but like… it just tasted like soggy bacon.”
There’s a long pause. Vegeta stares at him. Goku can’t help the grin spreading across his face.
“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
God, Vegeta is just too easy.
“So,” Goku leans in, propping his chin on his hand, elbow on the table. “Is this where you take all your dates to impress them?”
Vegeta scoffs, but there’s a flicker in his expression – Goku struck closer to something true. He glances away, fingers tapping once against his glass, then back again. He’s quieter when he says, “Well… I don’t take just anyone here. I haven’t even taken Bulma.”
The grin slides off Goku’s face, just a little. He wasn’t expecting that. He was fishing for something smug or defensive, not… that.
“Oh,” Goku says. It’s all he manages at first. Just that one syllable. He shifts in his seat, suddenly very aware of the warmth in his chest, and the fact that his foot is touching Vegeta’s under the table. He opens his mouth to say something else, anything else, but –
“Dad, are you nervous?” Goten asks, all wide-eyed concern as he puts a small hand on Goku’s arm. Then he turns to Trunks, lowering his voice like he’s explaining something very important. “My dad likes your dad like he used to like my mommy, so I think he’s shy right now.”
Goku stares at his son, stunned.
Across the booth, Vegeta straightens, one brow raised in amusement. “Is that so?” he says, turning his attention back to Goku with a smirk. “He told you that?”
“In the bath,” Goten confirms proudly. “We had a serious talk.”
Trunks chimes in, not to be outdone. “My dad said it’s called dating. Our dads are dating. That’s what it’s called when you really like each other and kiss and hold hands and stuff.”
Goku groans and drags both hands down his face as he slumps back against the booth. Compared to Vegeta’s clearly competent and clinical explanation, his bath-time chat with Goten sounds like baby talk.
Vegeta chuckles, clearly enjoying this. His smile is so gleeful it looks evil. “And what else did your father say?” he asks Goten.
Goten beams. “That Trunks is gonna be my brother and we’re all gonna live together!”
Trunks gasps in delight. “REALLY?!”
Goku bolts upright, red all the way to his ears. “Whoa, hold on!” he says, hands up like he’s trying to contain a fire. “I never said that, Goten! I said maybe. Maybe we’d live together!”
Vegeta doesn’t miss a beat.
“So eager to cohabit already?” His voice drops just a little – low enough to feel like it’s meant for Goku alone. “I wasn’t aware I had that kind of effect on you, Kakarot.”
Goku turns to him, flustered. “Well –” His eyes dart around the restaurant, scrambling for a comeback. They land on the table setup, the scattered plates, the cozy booth, the little candle in the middle like some romantic centerpiece. He seizes it. “You’re the one who picked a restaurant with family-style seating, Vegeta. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to propose.”
Vegeta doesn’t answer right away. He folds his arms again, tilts his chin slightly, and lets out a dismissive little, “Hmph.”
Goku smirks. For a second, he thinks he’s won – got the last word in. Bringing up proposing this early? That should’ve been a kill shot. They’d only just started dating. No way Vegeta would let that slide. Goku fully expects a twitch, maybe a scoff, and definitely a “Shut up, idiot.”
But instead, Vegeta… smirks?
“Don’t make me laugh,” he shakes his head. “You’ll never be able to predict when I’ll propose.”
Goku freezes. “Huh?”
His voice comes out too high, like it tripped over the sheer audacity of what he just heard. His brain immediately conjures a scene it has no business imagining yet. Vegeta, down on one knee, holding a ring box. Goten and Trunks in tiny tuxes behind him. Maybe it’s raining. Maybe there’s fireworks. Maybe Goku says yes before he even realizes what’s happening.
He stares, still trying to catch up, when Vegeta finally turns to him fully – arms still crossed, voice cool, smug, and devastatingly confident.
“In fact… the one who’ll say ‘I love you’ first,” he jabs a thumb toward his own chest, looking annoyingly proud of himself. “Will be me.”
Goku gawks. “What – what the hell?” His whole body feels like it’s overheating. “Are you serious? You can’t just –”
This was supposed to be a joke. A curveball to throw Vegeta way off. But he didn’t even flinch – he met it, smirking like he’s got the upper hand. And now Goku feels it – the spark, the challenge, the need to win. If Vegeta’s turning this into a competition, then Goku can’t back down.
“I’m not letting you beat me at that!” Goku blurts, pointing a finger like it’s a duel. “I’m gonna say it first.”
“Not happening, Kakarot,” Vegeta growls playfully. “I have no intention of letting you win.”
“Too bad. I already have a strategy,” Goku says, finally catching his breath and squaring his shoulders.
“Oh?” Vegeta lifts his chin, amused. “And what makes you think I don’t?”
Goten and Trunks have long since tuned them out, now completely absorbed in their own debate about who would win in a battle between the Great Saiyaman and Clean God. Meanwhile, their dads are nearly nose to nose, locked in their own private war.
“I’m gonna say it when you least expect it,” Goku smirks, leaning in. “When your defenses are down. You’ll be wide open.”
“Unlikely.” Vegeta closes in. “I never lower my guard.”
“Exactly. Which means I’m just gonna have to work extra hard to get to know you better. Learn your weaknesses. Y’know, classic intel.”
“Intel?” Vegeta repeats, deadpan.
“Well, if I’m gonna beat you,” Goku says, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “I have to know more about you. All I’ve got so far is that you hate junk food, never married, and have a kid who’s a year older than mine. Come to think of it, I don’t even know where you work. Just that it’s some… intense job that makes you wear tight suits that show off your – uh –” he falters, glancing toward the boys. “– muscles.”
“Hm. You have a point,” Vegeta says. He pauses for a few seconds, like he’s weighing whether he should tell Goku. “If you really must know… I’m the Vice President of Capsule Corp.”
Capsule Corp? The name rings a bell, but Goku’s not exactly a current events kind of guy. He hears about things if someone’s yelling about them on TV or if a headline makes it into gym banter – but even he knows that name. It takes a second to click, but when it does, his brows shoot up.
“The Capsule Corp?” His eyes widen. “No offense, Vegeta, but… you don’t look like a scientist.”
Vegeta narrows his eyes. “I’m not, you idiot. I manage the scientists.” He takes a sip of water, all too pleased with himself. “I oversee department strategy, budget allocations, development timelines. I interface with R&D, legal, marketing, and the board. I coordinate global branches. I wear tight suits because I have meetings and video calls right after daycare drop-off.”
Goku stares at him, stunned.
Sure, he’d figured Vegeta was a big deal – tight schedules, expensive car, how he always looks like he just stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine. There was something in the way Vegeta moved, spoke, carried himself – like everyone else was a few steps behind and he didn’t have time to wait – but Vice President of Capsule Corp? That’s the biggest medical tech company in the world. The one that makes all the high-tech health stuff – prosthetics, machines, cancer tech, all that crazy futuristic science stuff. He’d just never imagined Vegeta in the boardroom, calling shots like some kind of sexy, ruthless prince.
“Well, that explains a lot…” Goku says, eyeing him with a flirty grin, “the suits, the punctuality. How you’re always paying for everything like it’s no big deal.”
Vegeta raises a brow, unimpressed. “And?”
Goku shrugs casually, but there’s a spark behind his eyes. “And I dunno… it’s just… that’s really hot.”
Vegeta’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Goku leans forward onto the table, voice dipping a little, eyes lowering to Vegeta’s lips. If he had a tail, he might as well be flicking it right now. “I’ve got a thing for powerful men. Especially ones who can keep up with me.”
“Keep up with you?” Vegeta licks his lips, his expression sharpening, amused and dangerous. He leans in. “I’ll be the one setting the pace, Kakarot.”
Goku bites his lip, heart hammering. “I’d sure like to see you try.”
But just as Vegeta opens his mouth to throw something back –
“Dad!” Goten pipes up, tugging on Goku’s top. “We’re gonna miss the movie!”
“Yeah, Dad!” Trunks piles on, hands on his hips, glaring at Vegeta. “If we miss the theme song, I’m telling Mom it’s because you were too busy kissing Goten’s dad!”
Vegeta stands so fast the table rattles. “Trunks!” His voice hits a full octave higher than usual. “Do not tell Bulma that.”
“I’m telling!” Trunks sings. “I’m gonna say you said ‘I love him’ and everything!”
“You little –” Vegeta sputters, face flaming. “That is not what I said! That was a joke!”
Goku snorts, already trying to hold back a laugh – but it’s useless. The sound bubbles out of him before he can stop it.
Vegeta turns to him with a glare, adjusting his sleeves like he’s trying to reassert control over the situation – or at least his pulse. “What are you laughing for? This is your fault, Kakarot,” he grumbles, eyes narrowed. “You just had to start flirting at dinner.”
“Me?” Goku wipes his eyes, still laughing. “You’re the one who said you’d be the first one to say ‘I love you.’”
“I was joking!”
“We’ll see if you’re still joking when I say it first.”
Vegeta looks like he’s genuinely considering launching himself into space and never returning, but instead, he mutters under his breath and stomps toward the door. “Unbelievable.”
Goten and Trunks explode out of their seats, racing for the door like the movie might vanish if they don’t get there in time.
Goku follows at a slower pace, grinning to himself as his eyes trail fondly over Vegeta’s back.
Yeah, he thinks, I’m winning this.
–
Vegeta drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the leather.
The engine hums beneath him, but his mind’s elsewhere – still stuck on the cocky glint in Kakarot’s eye. The way he laughed like Vegeta supplied him with everything he needed to take him down. And, hell, maybe he had.
Vegeta grits his teeth as the memory replays – Kakarot gawking at him back at the restaurant, eyes wide, mouth parted, like Vegeta had just dropped to one knee instead of making a joke. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything – just a quick jab, a counterattack to even the score and throw Kakarot off his damn game for once.
Kakarot’s always flustering him – always teasing, needling, touching him like it’s second nature. And Vegeta, for all his pride, likes it. Expects it. Wants it. So maybe he just wanted to see what it felt like to flip the tables.
But then he kept going. Made a stupid, careless joke. Told Kakarot he’d be the first to say I love you.
He shifts in his seat like that’ll shake the heat out of his face. He didn’t mean it. It wasn’t calculated. It just... slipped out. What was he thinking?
Except… he knows exactly what he was thinking.
It’s been a few weeks of chaos. A few weeks of Kakarot pushing every boundary – kissing him behind the daycare building, whispering filthy things in the middle of daycare pick-up, making him laugh when he’s trying to stay annoyed. They’re locked into this fast, bright, sparking thing that Vegeta’s not used to but can’t stop craving. And it’s not just the heat of early dating. Kakarot’s getting under his skin in ways Vegeta can’t control – and now he doesn’t even want to. He’s leaning into it, in fact. He’s becoming bolder. Louder. Hungrier.
Vegeta flirts back now, every time – smirking when Kakarot gets handsy, dragging Kakarot into the car to make out, amongst other things. He’s the one who texts goodnight first, more nights than not. Sometimes with a single word. Sometimes with a low-lit photo of his hand or his mouth or his cock – just to see what Kakarot will do with it.
And when he’d planned to tell Trunks they were dating, it was the same instinct. Be bold. Be honest. No flinching.
Vegeta meant to bring it up as soon as they left the fair. He was timing it – wait until they were in the car, cruising down the road, then say it simply, that he and Goten’s dad were seeing each other.
But as they pulled out of the parking lot that night, Trunks beat him to it.
“Dad,” he said from the back seat, very seriously. “Why did you kiss Goten’s dad on the mouth?”
Vegeta almost swerved off the road.
He coughed, hard. “What?”
“I saw you.” Trunks’s voice was calm. “You kissed him when we were eating cotton candy. At the table.”
He glanced at Trunks through the rearview mirror, but the kid just stared back – composed, a little suspicious, as if he were already piecing it all together. Vegeta cleared his throat.
“Hm. Right. So… you saw that.”
Trunks nodded. “I saw everything.”
Of course he had.
Vegeta took a breath, hands tight on the wheel. “Okay, Trunks. Yes, I kissed him.” He paused. “Because I like him. That’s something adults do sometimes, when they like each other.”
Trunks tilted his head. “Like how?”
Vegeta’s ears burned. He could hear the smirk in Trunks’s voice, even if he wasn’t looking. “Like… more than just friends.”
Trunks made a thoughtful humming sound. Too thoughtful. “So he’s your boyfriend?”
Vegeta nearly choked. “What? No – I mean – well, not – how do you –”
He cut himself off. Trunks was five, sure. But he wasn’t oblivious. He definitely knew more than he let on. This wasn’t innocent toddler curiosity – it was strategy. The little menace was enjoying this. Poking him on purpose. Probably hoping to weaponize it later.
And boyfriend? How the hell did Trunks even know that term?
Vegeta had a sinking suspicion. Bulma. She probably tossed it around casually. He could just hear her annoying voice – “Are you going on a play date with Goten and your dad’s boyfriend today?”
Infuriating woman.
“Then what is he?” Trunks asked innocently.
God help him.
“He’s someone I’m seeing,” Vegeta said carefully.
“Like with your eyes?”
Vegeta clenched the wheel a little tighter. Unbelievable.
“No,” he ground out. “It’s – it’s called dating. That’s what it’s called when adults spend time together because they like each other.”
Trunks was quiet for a moment. “So… you’re dating Goten’s dad?”
“…Yes.”
Another pause.
“Does Mom know?”
Vegeta rubbed his temple. “…Not yet.”
Trunks grinned. “I’m gonna tell her.”
“Trunks,” Vegeta warned. “Don’t you dare.”
“She’s gonna say, ‘Oh my god, he’s really your boyfriend?’ and then laugh and laugh.”
Trunks was leaned back in his seat, arms crossed like he knew he’d won. Vegeta glared at the rearview mirror. God, he’s just like her. That look on his face? That tone of voice? The impish sparkle in his blue eyes? That sharp little smirk, that impossible calmness when he has the upper hand – Vegeta had seen it a hundred times before.
And it pissed him off. Not seriously. But still. He should have known his own child would be the one to drag him down.
“Do not tell Bulma.”
“I’m gonna.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Am too.”
Vegeta narrowed his eyes. “Tell her, and we’re not going on play dates with Goten anymore.”
“You’re lying!” Trunks shouted.
“I’m not.”
“You are! Because if we don’t have play dates, then you can’t see Goten’s dad!”
Vegeta’s mouth opened. Then closed again. Damn it.
Trunks kicked his feet with smug little bounces. “So if I don’t get to see Goten, you don’t get to see your boyfriend.”
“Don’t call him that,” Vegeta muttered.
“He’s your boyfriend! You kissed him on the mouth!” Trunks said, pointing at him and singing the words.
Vegeta gave up after that. There was clearly no winning with Trunks. They fell into silence – Trunks satisfied, Vegeta defeated – but it wasn’t a bad silence. There was still the scent of cotton candy in the air. Still the warmth of the day clinging to them. Still the memory of Kakarot’s mouth, Kakarot’s laugh, Kakarot’s hand in his.
And yeah, maybe Trunks would tell Bulma. And maybe she’d laugh and make fun of him. But maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Especially now, knowing that Kakarot had fumbled through the same kind of awkward, embarrassing talk with Goten. That he had to sit through the same annoying, curious questions. That made it better, somehow. Evened the score. Took the edge off the humiliation and made Vegeta feel a little less ridiculous for trying.
“Dad?” Trunks says from the back seat, kicking his feet against the back of Vegeta’s chair. “Did you hear me?”
Vegeta blinks. He realizes they’ve already pulled into the theater lot – engine idling, blinker still on. He hadn’t even noticed turning in.
“Sorry. What?”
“I said, I bet Goten’s already got candy,” Trunks pouts. “I told you we should’ve got to the car faster!”
Vegeta rolls his eyes and wonders if this is what he sounds like when he talks about Kakarot. He doesn’t bother answering Trunks. Just parks the car. The second the engine cuts, Trunks is already unbuckled and bolts out the door. Vegeta follows at a more dignified pace, slipping his hands into his pockets as they enter the theater lobby.
It smells like candy and salt and artificial butter. Any rational person would skip snacks after the absurd amount of food they just ate, but not the children. And apparently, not Kakarot, who appears in front of him with a huge smile, a bucket of popcorn, four sodas, and a dozen bags of candy – because apparently restraint is a concept Kakarot is allergic to.
The boys, of course, grab their candies and drinks and rush into the screening room. They bolt down the aisle and claim prime seats near the middle. Immediately, they start buzzing like two lit firecrackers, spilling predictions with the rapid-fire rhythm of kids who’ve watched every trailer a dozen times.
Vegeta’s about to settle into the seat beside Trunks when Kakarot clears his throat dramatically. Vegeta glances up, eyebrow twitching in warning – but Kakarot’s already grinning like the troublemaker he is. He lifts his brows and tilts his head toward a pair of seats two rows back. Out of reach from the kids. Out of sight. Suggestive. Inviting Vegeta to lose his composure in public.
Horny clown.
He should scoff. Should shut it down and shake his head, sit next to his child like a responsible adult. But who is he kidding? He can’t resist Kakarot. Trunks and Goten don’t even notice as their dads disappear. They’re bouncing in their seats, already arguing about power levels and secret villains.
Vegeta takes the seat Kakarot wanted him to, irritated by how easily he obeys. Kakarot sinks down beside him a second later, practically humming with mischief, and passes over a soda that’s definitely for him, even though they didn’t discuss it. Their arms touch and he can feel the warmth of Kakarot’s body, the presence – close enough to want.
The lights dim. The previews roll. And then the screen explodes with color and theme music as Clean God launches into his latest mess – diving through stink bombs, battling villainous germs, shouting cheesy lines like, “I’ll wash your dirty heart squeaky clean!”
Vegeta wants to roll his eyes. But he peers ahead and Trunks is watching with stars in his eyes while Goten is practically out of his seat, fists clenched in anticipation. And – fine. The special effects are slick. The editing’s tight. Clean God isn’t just beating foes with his gold broom; he’s teaching kids important lessons. About hygiene, empathy, responsibility. All wrapped up in childish jokes and sparkling capes.
It's actually good.
Vegeta catches himself leaning forward slightly, more invested than he meant to be. Clean God is a surprisingly compelling hero. The fight choreography is oddly impressive. The plot’s got weight. The kids are fully hooked, and – he realizes – so is he.
Which is exactly when Kakarot leans in, so close that Vegeta can feel the air shift between them.
“Vegeta,” Kakarot breathes, right into his ear – low and sly, voice laced with candy and sin.
Vegeta’s whole body tenses. Every nerve sparks to life under his skin, every cell humming like it’s been switched on. He knows exactly what Kakarot wants. But he clenches his jaw and stares straight ahead at the screen.
“Cut it out, Kakarot,” he hisses under his breath. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”
He means it. He wants to watch the movie and he hopes the simple warning will be enough.
But it isn’t. Of course it isn’t.
Kakarot doesn’t back off. Instead, he blows a soft, slow stream of air right into the curve Vegeta’s ear. It sends a full-body shudder down Vegeta’s spine. Then Kakarot’s mouth finds the shell of his ear, and licks. A languid drag of tongue that curls behind Vegeta’s ear, sending a ripple of heat down his neck that lands shamefully low in his stomach. Kakarot’s damn tongue – it’s soft, wet, hot, and much too precise to be anything but a touch that’s meant to provoke him.
“Are you still trying to watch the movie?” Kakarot whispers, his sickeningly sweet voice tickling Vegeta’s brain as he burns from the inside out – fury and desire twisting so tightly in his gut he feels like he might explode.
“You’re insufferable,” he breathes. “Insatiable, reckless idiot.”
He wants this. God, he wants this. He wants to shove Kakarot down and devour every teasing inch of him. But he can’t give in. Not here. Not now. Not every time Kakarot bats his lashes and acts like the rules don’t apply to him. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to stay still.
But Kakarot doesn’t make it easy.
He just smiles – Vegeta can feel it, that smug curve of lips pressed right against his skin – and then Kakarot kisses behind his ear, hot and slow. His lips are plush, wandering across sensitive skin, making Vegeta’s breath stutter with every kiss. Then Kakarot goes lower, down the side of Vegeta’s neck, the caress of his tongue wet and sure. He’s licking in little strokes, mouth open, breath hot, tasting Vegeta like he wants to drink in the flavor of his pulse.
Vegeta grips the armrest until his knuckles pale. His body is wound so tight it feels like he might snap.
Kakarot’s finger slips beneath his collar – curling and tugging gently, peeling back his shirt and baring more skin. He pulls slowly, watching intently as the edge of the collar brushes against Vegeta’s nipple, making it harden.
“You’re always so sensitive here, Vegeta,” he whispers.
Vegeta jerks slightly and scowls. “Shut up. People will hear you.”
Kakarot breathes a soft laugh as he bends down and takes Vegeta’s nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before sucking gently.
A sharp, involuntary breath escapes Vegeta. His eyes squeeze shut.
He’s holding on by a thread.
He trembles with every flick of Kakarot’s tongue – the slow, wet heat teasing him, dragging slowly across his nipple. The gentle laps and circles unravel him, driving him insane. He can feel the texture, the warmth, the slick press of Kakarot’s mouth. Then his tongue flicks one last time before he lets go of Vegeta’s collar, then trails his mouth back up to Vegeta’s neck. He leaves a line of wet kisses and teasing nips along the way, until his mouth finds a spot just beneath Vegeta’s jaw – one Vegeta didn’t even know was sensitive – and sucks.
Vegeta tilts his head to the side – not to escape, but to give Kakarot more space. More skin. More access. And that might be the worst part. Because he isn’t stopping him. But he stops thinking about it as a softer kiss follows just below the mark, slower this time, messier. Then Kakarot licks over the hickey like a sealing claim. Like he’s marking what’s his.
Vegeta lets out a weak, involuntary groan and Kakarot hums softly, pleased, as if that gave him permission to continue wandering along Vegeta’s throat. Suddenly he feels the edge of a hand sliding up under his shirt. Warm fingers graze his stomach – then higher. Across his abs. His ribs. His chest. Everywhere Kakarot touches feels like it’s lit up, vibrating under the weight of pure need.
Vegeta can’t take it anymore.
He quickly glances forward – Trunks and Goten are both slack-jawed, fully absorbed in the onscreen chaos. They don’t even blink.
Good.
He turns sharply, fists the front of Kakarot’s top and tugs him away from his neck. He growls right into his ear, “You’re shameless.”
Kakarot grins, and Vegeta doesn’t give him a chance to answer – he pulls him in and kisses him.
It starts aggressive – frustration and hunger flaring like a struck match – but melts fast, turning hotter, deeper. Their mouths lock tight, tongues sliding together, a perfect clash of sharp and soft. Vegeta can taste the soda on Kakarot’s tongue, the sticky slick glide of it against his own, the adorable little breathy noise Kakarot makes when Vegeta licks just right.
Vegeta cups Kakarot’s jaw in one hand, thumb stroking his cheekbone while the other sneaks around to grip the back of Kakarot’s neck. Kakarot sighs into it, a quiet, shivery sound – like giving in, like letting himself come apart. He leans in closer, pressing flush to Vegeta’s side, and slides a hand over Vegeta’s chest again, like he needs to feel the thudding heartbeat underneath.
Vegeta’s head spins.
He moves without thinking – his hand drifts from Kakarot’s jaw down the slope of his throat, over the front of his shirt, then lower. Across his chest, feeling the firm muscle. His palm traces the shape of Kakarot’s shoulder and then his arm – exposed and hot in that damn muscle tank.
Normally Vegeta hates it. Hates how much skin Kakarot shows off. How oblivious he is about other people looking.
But right now, with that skin under his hand – hot and faintly sticky from sweat – Vegeta feels something else. Gratitude, maybe. Because he gets to touch Kakarot like this. Not anyone else.
Greedy, he slips his hand under Kakarot’s shirt, fingers splaying over his bare chest. The heat is shocking, and he needs to feel more. Kakarot keens into the kiss just as Vegeta finds a nipple and presses into it, gently but with purpose. He strokes along the edge of it, flicking and tapping, feeling it quiver and swell. He starts a slow, sweeping motion with his finger – rubbing Kakarot’s puckering nipple in a soft, deliberate arc – left, right, left, right. The kiss deepens, meant to quiet Kakarot’s soft whines, but it only strokes the fire. Vegeta’s finger continues to move, alternating between slow circles and that steady, side-to-side sweep.
Kakarot suddenly jolts beneath him and Vegeta lets his eyes wander to Kakarot’s crotch.
He’s hard.
Vegeta’s hand trails lower, and when he slips it under the hem of Kakarot’s sweatpants – just under, not far – Kakarot jerks, startled. A low moan escapes him, soft and pleased, muffled between their mouths.
Kakarot kisses back harder, like he wants to climb into Vegeta’s lap. Like playing with his nipple wasn’t nearly enough. Eager to please, Vegeta slides his hand just a little farther down, fingertips skimming the edge of Kakarot’s hipbone. Kakarot gasps and bites Vegeta’s lip – eyes dark, pupils blown.
Vegeta’s self-control is rapidly evaporating. He wants too much. And he knows it.
He breaks the kiss and glances forward again.
Trunks and Goten are still locked in, heads tipped forward in concentration, faces lit by the screen.
He’s got a few minutes. Maybe more. Maybe less. But Kakarot’s looking at him like he knows what Vegeta’s thinking, and he wants it too.
That’s it. That’s the end of Vegeta’s patience. He stops thinking altogether.
The moment Clean God yells another catchphrase – “Ultimate Aqua Wash!” – Vegeta moves.
He slides his hand deeper into Kakarot’s sweatpants and pulls out his cock. It’s hard and leaking, twitching as it’s exposed to the air conditioning in the theater. Vegeta licks his lips at the sight, then wraps his hand around it. Kakarot jerks, biting down a sharp gasp that catches in his throat – then lets out a broken, desperate whine that stutters hot against Vegeta’s ear.
Vegeta clamps his other hand around the back of Kakarot’s neck – not harsh, but firm enough to still him.
“Shh,” he says, voice low. “You don’t want me to stop now, do you?”
Kakarot shakes his head instantly, already falling apart. He presses a kiss to Vegeta’s jaw – so soft, so desperate – it’s almost a plea. His breath is shaky. His thighs are trembling.
The movie blasts another round of sound – explosions, cartoonish fighting sounds, audience laughter.
Vegeta uses it.
He strokes him slow at first – methodical, measured, timed with the rhythm of the action. Every sweep of his hand is hidden under the dark theater lights, masked by the distracting bright colours on screen, behind the oblivious silhouette of the boys two rows ahead.
Kakarot bites his knuckle. His lashes flutter every time Vegeta fondles his balls. His hips twitch just slightly – and Vegeta presses down on his neck in warning. Kakarot’s sweating. His tank top is starting to stick to him. His lips part with each panting breath.
Every time the movie roars with sound, Vegeta moves faster. His hand works in rapid, almost frantic strokes, sliding up and down Kakarot’s cock in a blur. Occassionally, his thumb traces tight, deliberate loops along Kakarot’s slit, the pressure uneven as he searches for the perfect angle. Warm pre-cum leaks around his thumb, trickling down to coat Kakarot’s cock in a glossy sheen, and Vegeta revels in the sticky witness between his fingers, his grip tightening as he strokes even faster.
Kakarot shoves his face to Vegeta’s neck, gasping there. Vegeta can feel the tremble of his breath. The way he’s barely holding on.
“Please,” Kakarot breathes, barely audible. “Vegeta, please –”
Vegeta just keeps going. His jaw is tight. His heart is thundering.
Kakarot’s forehead presses against Vegeta’s temple now, their breaths tangled in the tiny space between them. His hips are bucking, eager and desperate. Vegeta feels it all – the tremor in his thighs, the sticky wet heat of his cock against his palm, the way Kakarot’s fighting to keep control.
Vegeta leans in, breath hot against Kakarot’s ear. “Is this what you wanted, Kakarot? You wanted me to touch you like this?”
Kakarot nods helplessly, eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted.
Vegeta bites his lip at the sight – so raw and so hot. Just seeing that desperate look makes him want to make Kakarot come.
“Look at you, falling apart with just my hand,” he whispers.
“Not – not my fault you’re so – ah – so good at this,” Kakarot stutters out.
The movie bursts into its big second-act battle, complete with blaring music, shouting voices, giant germs with googly eyes screaming as they’re blasted with an attack called “Scrubbing Bidet!” It’s so ridiculous, Vegeta could laugh – if he weren’t so focused on ruining Kakarot.
Kakarot claws lightly at Vegeta’s thigh now, breath catching again. “I’m – Vegeta, I –”
“Not yet,” Vegeta bites it out, weaving his hand into Kakarot’s hair, holding him still. He times the rhythm of his strokes perfectly with every surge of noise from the screen.
Kakarot shudders hard and grips the armrest like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. “Vegeta,” he whispers again, begging now, flushed red from his neck to his ears. “Vegeta, please. I’m gonna – I can’t –”
Clean God yells, “Pressurized Clean Press!” and unleashes an absurdly loud roar into surround sound.
That’s when Vegeta finally lets him come.
Kakarot chokes on a cry, hand flying up to muffle himself. He jerks once, twice – his entire body locking up as Vegeta strokes him through it. Hot spurts of cum spill over Vegeta’s hand – sticky and messy and silent. Vegeta rubs him through the aftershocks, slow and steady, the way he knows Kakarot likes. His other hand stays on Kakarot’s neck, fingers locked in his hair, grounding him as he comes down.
Kakarot’s practically draped over him now. His mouth opens once, then closes. He tries to speak again, and fails. Then buries his face in Vegeta’s shoulder with a muffled, shaky, “Fuck.”
Vegeta smirks. “You’re the one who said you had a thing for powerful men who could keep up with you.”
Kakarot groans against him – wrecked, breathless, and totally out of it. “I didn’t mean in the middle of a kids’ movie.”
Vegeta kisses the edge of his temple, smug and maybe a little too fond. “Well,” he murmurs, smoothing Kakarot’s tank top, fixing him up like he wasn’t just the cause of it all. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you started kissing me.”
Up front, the boys cheer as Clean God delivers his closing lines, “I am the one who scrubs out evil! I am… Clean God!”
Kakarot groans again, face still buried in Vegeta’s shoulder. “You were supposed to get all cute and angry and embarrassed,” he mutters. “Not do that.”
Vegeta chuckles – low, satisfied. He leans back in his seat, then pulls a napkin from the crumpled pile of snacks Kakarot brought in. Without a word, he starts wiping his hand.
Kakarot shoots him a half-hearted glare, still recovering.
Vegeta smirks and reaches out again – this time, not to tease. Kakarot pouts but accepts his hand. Their fingers link easily, like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times before. They stay like that, hand in hand, until the credits roll.
Outside, the air’s cool and the parking lot’s mostly empty. The kids tumble out ahead of them, riding a wave of sugar and adrenaline despite how late it’s gotten. Trunks is trying to recreate a fight move, nearly tripping over his own feet. Goten is talking a mile a minute, half-yawning through his excitement.
Vegeta and Kakarot walk behind them, hands loosely intertwined, arms bumping occasionally as they fall into step.
Goten spins around mid-sentence, eyes wide. “Dad! Dad! Did you see the part when Clean God did the spinning kick and blew up all the germs?! That’s my favorite move!”
Kakarot laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, Goten, I saw it. It was so cool!”
Goten grins, satisfied, and spins back around, latching onto Trunks to explain the same moment all over again in a new version that makes even less sense.
Vegeta glances at Kakarot, one brow arched.
Kakarot catches the look. “You’re lucky he was watching the movie. That would’ve been hard to explain.”
“I wasn’t the one making noise.”
“Uh, I was very quiet,” Kakarot argues, totally unconvincing.
Vegeta snorts. “Sure you were. You were practically crying.”
“Maybe I was… but only because you were so damn good.” Kakarot smirks, leaning closer. “I can’t wait to do it again.”
Vegeta blushes and rolls his eyes but lets the moment stretch in silence for a few steps. Their fingers are still linked, Kakarot’s thumb brushing softly along Vegeta’s knuckles, and the quiet feels comfortable now – familiar.
A couple minutes pass before Kakarot shifts slightly, looking over at Vegeta with an honest expression. “Sorry about before, at the restaurant. The food was really good. And… I liked that place. I could tell it’s special to you, Vegeta. So… thanks for bringing me and Goten there.”
Vegeta’s heart skips a beat, heat rushing to his face. He quickly looks away and frowns, but inside, he’s smiling like an idiot. God, why does Kakarot have to be so damn sincere?
He scoffs lightly, mostly to cover how warm he suddenly feels. “You’re so damn sentimental,” he mutters. “Makes me regret bringing you.”
“I’m serious. I wanna go again. Maybe… just the two of us next time?” Kakarot’s voice is softer now, more careful. He’s blushing.
Vegeta stares straight ahead for a moment, heart thudding a little too hard. “Hm.” He clears his throat and turns to Kakarot. “Are you… free Friday night?”
“Why?” Kakarot raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised.
Vegeta shrugs, eyes flicking toward the boys still chattering ahead. “I was thinking… dinner at my place. I’ll cook. Bulma’s out of town on a conference, so we’ll have the place all to ourselves.”
Kakarot grins, eyes glittering. “You can cook?”
“Of course I can cook, idiot.”
Kakarot laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve got Goten that night, though. I’d have to bring him.”
Vegeta blinks, then mutters, “Shit. Right. If Bulma’s gone, that means I’ve got Trunks.”
Kakarot brightens instantly. “Perfect! Then they can distract each other when we’re busy.” He raises a brow suggestively.
Vegeta opens his mouth to tell him to quit it but the words never make it out. Because Kakarot’s looking at him like that again, all warm eyes and stupid, earnest smile, like Vegeta just offered him the moon instead of dinner.
But he can’t lie to himself anymore. He likes how excited Kakarot is, because he feels the same way – maybe even more.
So he lets himself smile as the kids charge ahead and the night settles soft around them.
Friday feels like it can’t come soon enough.
Notes:
I’m making them so freakin horny in this!!! This is my world and they’re living in it
Chapter 5: burning for you, baby
Notes:
Remember when I said this would be a short story? Yeah, I’m a righteous liar… I seem to be incapable of writing short chapters. This chapter is so, so long, and I even cut down as much as I could! But I hope you enjoy every word because I know I enjoyed writing every word <3. (I spent a hellish amount of time on this chapter).
Aaaand I just keep coming up with more date ideas!! So who knows how long this will end up being.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Vegeta stands in the kitchen in simple pajamas – just a loose-fitting shirt and cotton shorts, the tile cold under his bare feet. He’s got a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand, the other hovering over his phone on the counter. The house is still. It’s always quiet this time of the morning, and that’s how he likes it – no calls, no work emergencies, no tiny feet thundering down the stairs yet. Just coffee and silence.
He unlocks his phone and swipes through his notifications.
Work emails. More work emails. A string of pings from the team chat he already regrets checking.
But no new texts. Not that he expects one – Kakarot doesn’t get up this early unless he has to train someone. Vegeta’s the one who insists on waking with the sun. For him, it’s about discipline, structure. And he needs at least an hour – two, if he’s lucky – before he has to wake Trunks. Before Trunks starts begging to watch cartoons while he gets ready or whining about the tragic injustice of oatmeal for breakfast instead of that stupid colorful sugary cereal he likes. Trunks is a good kid, but mornings are still a pain in the ass.
He taps the edge of his phone for a second, debating. Then he starts typing.
Good morning, Kakarot. I expect you to be good until the kids go inside today. Then I’ll decide if you’ve earned your kiss.
He reads it once, grimaces, and sends it anyway.
It’s a ridiculous thing to say. Kakarot would love it. He’ll probably grin like an idiot when he reads it – maybe even reply with something equally as ridiculous. He’ll definitely use it as an excuse to get handsy behind the daycare again – which is exactly what Vegeta wants, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He sets the phone down and takes a slow sip of coffee. The bitterness grounds him, but he can still feel that familiar hum buzzing beneath his skin.
It's become a rhythm, now – routine. Something he looks forward to. It's not just the flirting, not just the kissing. It’s Kakarot’s voice in his head at all the wrong times – in the middle of meetings, over client lunches, while reviewing status reports. It’s Kakarot’s laugh, echoing somewhere private in his chest – only where he knows. It’s the way he sleeps better when Kakarot texts back goodnight… which is every night. It’s the way he’s already looking forward to seeing him at drop-off like some lovesick teenager.
The smile is already on his face before he realizes it.
“Wow,” Bulma says behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this early in the morning.”
Vegeta nearly jumps. He didn’t hear her come in.
The smile drops off his face like a guilty reflex. “Good morning to you, too,” he mutters, taking another sip of coffee and forcing his features into a neutral expression.
She breezes past him to the coffeemaker, already dressed for travel – an offensively bright red pantsuit, the one she always wears when she wants to make a statement loud enough to echo through boardrooms. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her lips a glossy cherry, and her ivory heels click confidently against the tile. Her nails match the heels, and so does the oversized pearl jewelry set she has on. Vegeta tries not to roll his eyes. The necklace is too gaudy for his taste. But everything else… well, it’s Bulma. She always looks like a CEO, even when the sun’s just started peeking over the horizon.
“I’m heading out now,” she says, pouring herself a coffee. “The jet’s on standby and I’m supposed to be landing around noon. You’ll get updates from my assistant, but I’ll text you if the conference gets weird. I know how twitchy you get when you’re not looped in.”
“I don’t get twitchy,” Vegeta mumbles into his mug.
She glances over her shoulder, unimpressed. “Sure you don’t.”
They stand there for a minute, quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. It’s not tense – just familiar. Comfortable in the way people get when they’ve known each other too long to need small talk. She leans her hip against the counter and eyes him sideways.
“So… when were you going to tell me you’re dating Goten’s dad?”
Vegeta chokes. Coffee shoots down the wrong pipe and he doubles over with a cough, barely managing to twist away from the counter in time to avoid spraying the backsplash. His mug sloshes in his hand, hot liquid splashing his knuckles.
“What the hell…” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and glares. It clicks. “Trunks told you?”
“Obviously,” she smirks over the rim of her cup like she’s been waiting to drop that bomb. “He told me weeks ago.”
Obviously.
He straightens up, sets his mug down, and crosses his arms – half to look annoyed, half to distract her from the fact that his ears are going red. “I was going to tell you.”
“Mhm.” She sounds deeply unconvinced.
“I was.”
“Sure.”
He scowls. He’s not mad, just… irritated that she’s right. He’s had so many chances to tell her. He could have slipped it in between investor strategy meetings, or mentioned it casually during one of their many late nights trying to salvage another quarterly disaster. But he didn’t. Because she’d make fun of him. Because she’s been teasing him about Kakarot since day one. Because she saw it coming before he did, and he didn’t want to hand her the satisfaction of being right. And because… this thing with Kakarot still feels brand new. Not fragile, exactly. Just private. Like saying too much might change things too fast.
But of course he won’t tell her that. He just grumbles into his mug, “I just didn’t have the chance.”
“Or… you didn’t want the chance,” Bulma corrects, amused. “Because you knew I’d laugh in your face – which I’m doing right now. God, I knew you liked him! I knew the moment you started bitching about him.”
Vegeta exhales sharply. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything.”
She grins. “Oh, come on, Vegeta. Don’t be like that. It’s cute! A little predictable, but cute.”
He doesn’t reply. Just lifts his mug and takes another long sip, mostly to hide the flush on his face.
“Besides,” she adds, tilting her head. Her voice softens – just a little. “You seem… happier.”
Vegeta narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been less of an asshole lately, especially at work. People have noticed, you know.” She smiles. “Mai said that you – of all people – thanked an intern last week. And Nappa was literally sweating when he told me that you bought him a coffee. There are actual rumors going around that you’ve been replaced by a much nicer clone.”
Vegeta frowns.
Had he? He tries to remember. That intern had stayed late to help him double-check the new surgical imaging model specs. And Nappa had looked like he was going to pass out after juggling three angry client calls and two reschedules in a row. It hadn’t even felt like a big deal. But now that she says it…
Damn it.
He has been different. He thinks about the last couple of weeks. The lighter feeling in his chest when he wakes up. He also hasn’t been snapping as much. Come to think of it, his headaches have been fewer. And – yeah – he has been smiling more. Sleeping better. Because of Kakarot.
Vegeta sighs, sets his mug down again, and stares into the remaining swirl of dark coffee. He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to give Bulma even more ammo to tease him with. But he’s tired of pretending it’s nothing.
“Yes,” he says finally. “He makes me happy.”
Bulma’s teasing smile softens, just a little. It shifts into something he recognizes. Less smug, more sisterly – like when she gave him the news that he got the VP position, just slid the papers across the table and said, “You’ve earned it.” She looks at him now the same way she did then. Like she’s been waiting to hear those words for a long time. Like she’s proud of him.
“Good,” she says, nodding. “I’m happy for you, Vegeta.”
She pushes off the counter and grabs her travel bag, then pauses like she just remembered something. “By the way – Trunks told me Goten and his dad are coming over tonight.”
Vegeta lets out a quiet snort. Of course he did.
“So you’re making him dinner,” she continues, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Big night, huh? Don’t burn the house down.”
“I’m not going to burn the house down,” Vegeta says, rolling his eyes. “You know I can cook.”
“Mhm.” She glides past him. “But Trunks also told me how distracted you get around Goten’s dad. Said you’re always fighting or kissing. And I know how you get when you’re focused on something.”
Vegeta freezes mid-sip and nearly chokes again. “Shouldn’t you be on the jet by now?” he snaps. “Worry about yourself, woman.”
She cackles, loud and obnoxious, her heels clicking against the floor as she heads down the hallway to the main foyer. “See you in a few days. Tell Trunks to be good while I’m gone.”
He grumbles something unintelligible as she steps away.
And just like that, it’s quiet again.
He still has a little while before he needs to wake Trunks and get him ready for daycare.
So Vegeta finishes his coffee as he scrolls a few headlines on his phone – world news, financial market coverage, one irritating article about industry trends he’ll probably forward to Bulma later with a snarky note. Then his calendar. He adds a reminder about Trunks’s dentist appointment next week. Then another about updating a projection spreadsheet no one asked for but he won’t trust anyone else to check. He taps out another note to check the diagrams for the new ultrasound machine they’re developing.
Work feels distant, though. He’s distracted.
His thumb hovers over the screen as his thoughts drift.
Will they use his car today or Kakarot’s? Kakarot had the kids last night, so probably his. Although… Kakarot has been keeping the passenger seat clear, just in case. Vegeta tells him he’s being ridiculous every time, but he never pushes him off. Because he likes it – and Kakarot knows he does. He likes when Kakarot hops onto his lap, settling in with ease, claiming Vegeta’s thighs as his own personal seat. He also likes the casual way Kakarot drapes his leg over the console as Vegeta rolls his cock against his ass, exactly how Kakarot craves.
His phone buzzes.
Only one kiss? If I’m gonna be good, you gotta give me more than just one kiss.
Vegeta closes his eyes for a second. Unbelievable, he thinks, even as his mouth twitches into a stupid grin. He doesn’t reply. Not when he knows exactly what’s going to happen in less than an hour.
Because Kakarot will be good. And Vegeta’s going to make sure he earns every second of what comes after.
And by the time they get to daycare, it’s clear Kakarot’s trying. Really trying. He doesn’t say anything flirtatious when they meet outside. He greets Vegeta with a mild, overly casual “Hey, Vegeta,” voice just a little too bright. He even ruffles both boys’ hairs in a show of wholesome fatherhood.
But Vegeta sees the strain. The bite in Kakarot’s lower lip as his gaze drops from Vegeta’s eyes to his collar, then down to where Vegeta’s sleeves are rolled up past his forearms. Vegeta wore them like that on purpose. Because Kakarot likes to trace the veins along his arms when they kiss. And Vegeta likes letting him. Vegeta watches him not say something, which somehow says more. Kakarot’s hands twitch like he wants to reach, to touch, but he doesn’t.
He’s being good. Painfully good.
And Vegeta loves it.
Not just the tension – though god, he loves that too. The way Kakarot is absolutely buzzing with restraint, the heat and want practically radiating off him. But what really gets Vegeta is the obedience. The fact that Kakarot is holding back because Vegeta told him to. Because Vegeta promised him something for being good. And Kakarot listens, because he wants to earn it.
He lets the tension stretch all the way until the kids are inside – until the doors close and it’s just them. Kakarot trails behind Vegeta as they make their way behind the daycare building, just a step slower than usual, like he’s resisting the gravitational pull between them.
Then Vegeta pounces.
Before he knows it, he’s got Kakarot pressed up against the wall, their mouths locked like they’ll both die if they stop. Kakarot groans into the kiss like he’s been starving for it all morning – and he probably has. It’s intense and sloppy and intimate in a way that makes Vegeta’s cock twitch. They devour each other in the morning light, hidden just barely from view, like they’ll never get enough. Vegeta doesn’t even realize he’s tipping up on his toes until his neck aches from the stretch, trying to get closer – deeper. And then Kakarot fucking whimpers into his mouth, the sound faint and desperately needy, and Vegeta snaps.
He slides his hands all over that paper-thin tank top Kakarot has no business wearing in public.
It’s not fair.
The white fabric clings to Kakarot’s chest like a second skin, slightly damp already from the morning heat, leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. Every line of muscle, every dip and curve – it’s all right there, like he’s begging for attention. Vegeta hates it. Not just because of how good he looks, but because he can’t stop looking.
He shoves Kakarot harder into the brick.
His hands palm Kakarot’s chest, fingers spreading greedily over the muscle, savoring the warm firmness beneath his touch. He grips hard, like he’s staking a claim. Like he can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing what he’s touching right now.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing this. This poor excuse for a shirt,” Vegeta whispers against his mouth, thumbs rubbing and swirling Kakarot’s pink nipples through the fabric. “Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?”
Kakarot lets out a low whine, breath hitching. He laughs shakily, eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Vegeta, wrecked and lazy. “If it gets you to do this, then… yeah. I’m wearing it on purpose.”
Vegeta growls, pressing his nails into Kakarot’s nipples, just shy of painful. A sharp, playful little warning. “My car. Now.”
“As much as I want to,” Kakarot says through a breathless laugh, already trembling a little under Vegeta’s hands. “I can’t.”
Vegeta immediately starts trailing kisses up his throat, a mix of lips and teeth that makes Kakarot tilt his head back with a quiet gasp. “Why not?” he bites out, clipped and irritated.
“I have a job, remember?” Kakarot says before letting out a pleased mmm when Vegeta nibbles his earlobe. “I’m gonna be late for a session.”
Vegeta nips at his neck, harder now, too irritated to hide it. “Cancel it.”
“I can’t,” Kakarot moans – frustrated, pleased, a little apologetic – before cupping Vegeta’s face with both hands, forcing him to look up. “I’m not ditching Yamcha. He’s a close friend. It’s important.”
Vegeta grits his teeth. “We can be fast.” It comes out aggressive – more of a demand than a suggestion. A desperate compromise he hopes will land.
But Kakarot just snorts and shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Not fast enough for what I wanna do to you.”
Vegeta’s pulse stutters. His fingers twitch where they’re still on Kakarot’s top.
Then Kakarot glances at his watch. “Shit. I really have to go right now.”
Vegeta stares at him, jaw clenched, one last thread of hope clinging in his eyes. Like maybe if he looks long enough, hard enough, Kakarot will change his mind. But Kakarot just blinks down at him, steady and resolute. With a quiet groan, Vegeta steps back. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the surrender is clear.
Fine.
He gets it. He knows how much Kakarot cares about his job, about his pupils, about his friends. That’s part of what makes him so damn good. So selfless. So decent. So –
So perfect.
And Vegeta knows he can’t compete with that. Not this morning.
Kakarot smiles gently, like he sees everything Vegeta isn’t saying, and leans down for one last soft kiss – sweet and slow and far too short. “Don’t pout, Vegeta,” he says brightly. “I’m seeing you again at pick-up. And I’m coming over for dinner tonight.”
He drops his voice into a purr. “Might even be a sleepover if I’m lucky.”
Vegeta’s ears burn instantly. He crosses his arms, mostly to keep himself from grabbing Kakarot again. He wants that sleepover. Wants it so bad it’s embarrassing.
“Maybe,” he mutters.
But of course Kakarot knows what that really means. His grin turns sharp with satisfaction. He leans in close again – too close – and whispers, “Try not to think about me too much at work today. Or do. I like the idea of you all hot and distracted, thinking dirty things about me in your office.”
Then he turns, sauntering off to his car like he didn’t just ruin Vegeta’s entire day with what he just said. “See ya later, Vegeta!” he calls, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder.
Vegeta stays frozen for a second too long, face hot, arms crossed even tighter. Because now he’s thinking about his office.
Specifically, Kakarot in his office.
Kakarot gasping on his desk, head thrown back, hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth mahogany surface. Kakarot gripping the backrest of his absurdly expensive office chair, knuckles white, voice hoarse from trying to keep quiet. Kakarot face down and drooling on the black leather loveseat Nappa insisted he get during the office redesign.
Goddamn it.
Vegeta groans under his breath and heads for his car, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll do anything to cool him down. Obviously it doesn’t. And now he’s hard. He’s sweating, too. He’s thirty minutes away from a real meeting with real clients and all he can think about is Kakarot in various states of undress and unprofessionalism in every corner of his office.
He climbs into the car, slams the door a little harder than necessary, and rests both hands on the wheel like maybe that’ll make the erection go away. Maybe it’ll at least calm the thoughts down.
But of course it doesn’t.
The engine starts, and his thoughts start spinning faster than the tires. By the time he hits the highway, he’s debating whether to ask Nappa to block out time in his calendar. Not for a meeting or calls, or even to organize his emails. Just… a recurring placeholder to think about Kakarot. Get it out of his system. Schedule it like a task so it doesn’t keep bleeding into everything else.
Frankly, it's stupid. And yet, he actually considers it.
But Bulma can see his work calendar and would probably make fun of him before she kills him for it. But… she might also understand.
But no – that’s insane. He can’t do that. He’s a grown man. A goddamn vice president. A professional. He can’t build his boyfriend – yes, fine, boyfriend – into his schedule like he’s a fucking deliverable. The word clangs around in his head, louder than it should. Boyfriend. Trunks had said it first, with that bratty little smirk, but now it’s sticking. Vegeta doesn’t even bother denying it anymore. What would be the point?
He tightens his grip on the wheel, sure that the leather might split under his fingers. He holds his breath for three long seconds before exhaling slowly, shakily. It helps – but only a little.
Kakarot is right – he’ll see him at pick-up in a couple of hours. Then he’s coming over for dinner. Maybe more. Vegeta can wait. He’s patient. He’s calm. He’s composed.
…Right?
–
Goku barely makes it on time.
Normally, he hates taking the highway. Too many cars going way too fast, weaving in and out like it’s a video game. But today, he didn’t have a choice. He nearly missed his exit, had to cut across two lanes, and merged at the last second with both hands gripping the wheel while someone laid on their horn behind him. But he makes it, just a few minutes before Yamcha’s appointment.
He puts the car in park and flips the visor down, squinting into the mirror. His lips are still a little swollen. His neck – don’t even get him started. Red marks, some fresh, some fading, scattered all along his throat and low on his collarbone where even a hoodie wouldn’t have helped.
He stares for a second.
Oh well.
It’s not like the guys at the gym don’t already know. They figured it out the first time he showed up looking like a wreck – late, shirt askew, hair a mess, hickeys under his jaw and above his collar. He didn't even try to pretend. And he definitely didn’t keep his mouth shut. He told them everything – the park date, the fair date, the dinner and movie – minus certain sexy details, of course. Because he’s happy. Because it’s Vegeta. And Goku’s never been good at hiding anything that makes him feel this good.
He runs his fingers through his hair as best as he can – messy as always, no matter how much he tries to tame it – then does one last look down at himself. His nipples are still hard from how much Vegeta had been toying with them. Not that Goku’s complaining. He loves when Vegeta plays with his nipples. But they stay slightly peaked even though he presses his palms flat against his chest in an attempt to make it less obvious.
“Goddamn it, Vegeta,” he mutters with a small, crooked smile, shaking his head as he grabs his gym bag from the passenger seat. “You’re gonna get me fired from my own job.”
Not that that’s possible. He owns the place.
Still, he can already hear the shit he’s about to get.
Sure enough, Piccolo is there when he steps through the doors. He’s out on the floor, setting up circuit equipment for an upcoming bootcamp – cones, resistance bands, a row of kettlebells. His movements are precise, almost military. He’s got that resting scowl on, as always.
“Cutting it close, Goku,” Piccolo calls without looking up, voice as flat as ever.
Goku lets the door swing shut behind him and laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
Piccolo doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes adjusting the height of the suspension strap, then turns to give him a slow once-over.
Goku stiffens under the look. Not because he’s intimidated – he’s known Piccolo too long for that – but because he knows what’s coming. Piccolo’s nose scrunches, and then his eyes narrow in on Goku’s neck. Bullseye.
“That’s the fifth time this month,” Piccolo says sharply, crossing his arms. “You’re late again. I’m starting to think this boyfriend of yours is bad news.”
“First off, I’m not late,” Goku says, pointing a finger at him. “And second, that’s why I hired you, Piccolo. So you can cover my ass.”
Piccolo scoffs, picking up an 80 pound kettlebell like it weighs nothing. “At this point I’m running the place.”
“You kinda are,” Goku admits, grinning as he rubs the back of his neck. He starts walking toward the back office, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, though.”
And he means it.
Piccolo’s the one who opens up every morning, sets the temperature, stocks the towels, adjusts the playlists, and checks the calendar to make sure Goku hasn’t double-booked himself again. He runs the place with more discipline than Goku ever could. Goku’s more of a one-on-one kind of guy – he trains his roster of clients, checks in on their programs, updates their nutrition plans. He works when he wants, how he wants. It’s a setup that only works because Piccolo keeps the lights on.
“You better,” Piccolo mutters. “I could walk out right now and open my own gym.”
“I mean… you could,” Goku says, leaning against the doorframe. He shrugs. “You won’t, but you could.”
Piccolo doesn’t smile – he never does – but his posture eases a little. Still, he’s watching Goku closely, like a hawk in wait. Like he’s bracing for Goku to start gushing about Vegeta again.
Because that’s what he’s been doing lately. Kind of… all that he’s been doing lately.
And yeah, maybe he deserves the ribbing. Because he’s been walking around looking dazed and grinning like a jackass. One time, he tripped over a dumbbell because he was thinking about that time Vegeta gave him a surprise blowjob in his car. Vegeta was twirling his tongue around Goku’s tip and then licking swirls along the length of his cock. How could he not daydream about that? It’s not his fault Vegeta knows exactly where to touch, exactly what to say to get him excited, exactly how to glare at him and still make it feel like a kiss.
Goku’s told the guys plenty by now. That Vegeta’s a good dad. That he pretends not to care but does – a lot. That he’s annoying about what Goku eats but Goku secretly likes it. That he’s older, sharper, works a job none of them would guess even if they tried. That he’s the only person Goku’s met who can match his weird overcompetitive energy. That he can kiss Goku until the rest of the world disappears.
And – okay. Fine.
Goku kind of loves that they know. That he gets to talk about Vegeta like this with his closest friends.
He turns away before Piccolo can zero in on the hickeys again – or the dreamy look probably still stuck on his face. He’s already catching flak from everyone else around here.
Yamcha teases him during sessions every time Goku makes him do something brutal – like holding a weighted squat for two whole minutes.
“Oh, come on,” Yamcha had groaned last week, legs trembling mid-squat, a fountain of sweat dripping down his temples. “You get a boyfriend and all of a sudden I have to suffer? This is abuse, man.”
And Krillin? Krillin’s worse. He’s one of Goku’s oldest friends – been around since the early days, when the gym was barely more than an empty shell with rusted plates and one busted treadmill. These days, he’s a lead trainer and still as faithful as ever. The only problem is he’s always hovering near Goku with way too much energy, and way too many questions.
“So, how serious are you guys now?” Krillin asked just yesterday while organizing the dumbbells by weight. “You said he likes working out, right? When are you bringing him here? We’re all waiting to meet the guy who’s got you acting dumber than usual.”
Goku had just laughed him off, but… yeah. He’s thought about it. About introducing Vegeta to the whole team. About having him in the gym, standing next to Goku like he belongs there too. And he wants that – he really does – but… he’s still waiting. Waiting for something to click into place.
Hell, they hadn’t even had sex yet. They’ve gotten close – more than close – a bunch of times now. But they’ve never actually gone all the way. That might change tonight. Maybe. If the sleepover happens. If Vegeta wants it – which... Goku thinks he does. He really thinks he does.
And then there’s Chi-chi.
He still hasn’t told her. Probably should. The divorce only just got finalized, so it still feels weird – like the ink’s barely dry. She’d probably be happy for him in the end, sure. She always wanted him to find someone who could match his chaos. But the initial reaction? That’s gonna be a whole thing. She’ll definitely have opinions. She’ll say Goten and Gohan will be confused, even though they won’t be, and he already knows Goten isn't. She’ll want to know how serious it is, how long it’s been going on, what kind of person Vegeta is. She’ll ask if Vegeta spends the night. If the kids see it. If Goku’s sure about him.
And he is.
But still… it’s easier to wait. Just a little longer.
He drops his bag on the floor inside the office and straightens up, already shifting gears, slipping into trainer mode. His brain starts sorting through warm-ups, exercises, what equipment’s already out. He’ll have Yamcha doing full body circuits today – push, pull, legs, some core intervals to finish. The whole shebang. Hardcore and brutal.
“Yo, Piccolo!” Yamcha’s voice carries through the gym as the front door swings open. “Where’s Goku? Is he late again? Never mind, don’t answer that – he’s probably off getting busy with his boyfriend.”
Piccolo responds with a mere grunt.
Goku laughs loud enough for Yamcha to hear him as he exits the office. “Is that really all you guys think I do?”
Yamcha’s already tying his long hair into a ponytail, grinning. “Well, yeah. You were pretty late last time, dude. And we all knew what you were doing.”
Goku winces, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, I know.”
That morning’s still fresh in his memory. Vegeta had shown up at daycare in that damn navy pinstripe suit – jacket slung over his arm, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, cufflinks undone like he’d been in a rush. Or maybe he was just showing off. And then his morning meeting got postponed. So naturally… they made use of the time. The windows had fogged up embarrassingly fast. Vegeta kissed him softer than usual, slowly stroking Goku’s cock with both hands, massaging and kneading until he was half-delirious and already sweating by the time he made it to the gym. He showed up nearly thirty minutes late.
Piccolo gave him a full-volume earful in front of some clients. Krillin had chucked a resistance band at his head. Even Yamcha was disappointed – his eyes tired and annoyed, muttering something about reliability and how Goku was supposed to be a pro.
Honestly, it stuck with him more than he expected. They were right. Which is why, earlier this morning – while Vegeta had him pinned against the side of the daycare building, kissing him like he wanted to start something they wouldn’t finish – Goku had forced himself to pull away.
This is important.
So he claps Yamcha on the shoulder with a grin. “But I’m on time today, so let’s not dwell on the past, all right?”
Yamcha snorts, already stretching his arms out the way Goku taught him. “Yeah, yeah. Just tell me there’s no squats today.”
Goku jerks his chin toward the mats. “Sorry, Yamcha, but if you were looking for something easy today, you’re not gonna get it. We’re doing full body circuits. And it’s gonna be brutal. I’m not holding back this time.”
Yamcha groans dramatically as he follows. “You never do, man.”
“That’s not true. I held back last time.”
“Only ‘cause you were late so we only did half the session...”
“Exactly,” Goku fires back, already walking toward the plates. “Which means I owe you. So today? No mercy.”
He starts loading weights on the bar, the rhythm of it familiar. The scent of chalk, rubber mats, faint sweat – it’s all his. His gym, his team, his people. He built this place from scratch, with his own two hands and a stubborn refusal to quit. And days like this – joking with Yamcha, hearing Piccolo grumble in the background, the faint thump of old rock classics from the speakers – fill his heart with joy. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
And in the back of his mind, he’s counting down the hours.
Until pick-up.
Until dinner.
Until – maybe – a sleepover.
“Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
–
“Am I doing it right, Dad?”
Vegeta glances down. Trunks is kneeling on a kitchen stool, concentrating hard as he presses a plastic knife into a slightly mangled mushroom. His little fingers grip the handle with determined precision, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. A jagged line runs across the mushroom cap, but it’s technically cut.
“That’s perfect, Trunks.”
They’re side by side at the kitchen island – Trunks with his mushrooms, Vegeta with celery and carrots. The knife in Vegeta’s hand glides cleanly through the stalks, practiced and exact. He’s already prepped the pork tenderloin, letting it rest in the marinade in the fridge. He chose this recipe of purpose – oven-roasted pork glazed with mushroom sauce and a vegetable medley, paired with herbed rice. Nutritious, protein-rich, and one of his favorites. After all, Kakarot had a training session today. Vegeta knows the way he works his body. The man’s probably starving. And tonight has to be right. Not just good – right. Perfect, in fact.
Vegeta wants to show Kakarot how he feels, not just say it. Words never come easy, not when it matters. But cooking dinner and letting Kakarot in. That’s how he says it. In actions, not declarations. It’s the only way he knows how to be honest.
Which is why pick-up had been brief. A quick kiss and a murmured, “See you tonight,” before Vegeta and Trunks had rushed off to the grocery store. He could still see the adorable pout Kakarot tried (and failed) to hide. He wanted to kiss away that little disappointed tug at the corner of his mouth.
Vegeta shakes the thought off and glances at the clock on the oven.
Any minute now.
And just like that, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it!” Trunks shouts. The plastic knife clatters against the cutting board as he scrambles down from the stool.
“Trunks! Careful!” Vegeta calls after him, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and stepping out into the hall.
The house is quiet in that plush, luxe way – high ceilings, clean lines, every wall staged to perfection thanks to Bulma’s designer. And with her out of town, the place feels big and strangely private.
He hears the front door open.
“Whoa! Your house is so big, Trunks!” Goten exclaims from the threshold, already half bouncing into the foyer with a Clean God action figure clutched in his hand.
And there’s Kakarot – standing right behind him. He’s wearing a short-sleeve beige button-up that hugs his chest in all the right ways, neatly tucked into pale blue jeans. Clean and simple, and unfairly flattering. He’s holding a bottle of red wine, even though Vegeta knows damn well he doesn’t drink wine.
Kakarot leans down and kisses him softly, then steps inside, eyes drifting up to the clean white interior with a low whistle.
“Damn,” he says, looking around. “So this is where a Vice President lives, huh?”
“Don’t start,” Vegeta says under his breath, rolling his eyes.
Kakarot just grins and hands him the bottle. “Got you something fancy. No idea if it’s good, though.”
“It’s not,” Vegeta says dryly, inspecting the label, but taking it anyway. “But thanks.”
Their fingers brush. Vegeta doesn’t let it linger – but only because Trunks is already yelling something about mushrooms from the kitchen.
Kakarot raises an eyebrow. “Mushrooms?”
Vegeta nods, already turning down the hall. “You’ll see.”
He leads Kakarot toward the kitchen, feet padding soft across polished floors. The smell of garlic and herbs has settled into the air, and the oven ticks as it preheats, casting a low warmth into the room.
Trunks has already abandoned the mushrooms. They sit half-sliced on the cutting board, forgotten, little mushroom bits clinging to the plastic knife. Instead, Trunks is dragging Goten by the hand toward the living room.
“Come on, Goten! I got the new Mario Kart game! It’s so cool, the karts can grind and go on the walls! Look, look – come on! Hurry up, hurry up!”
Goten’s giggling as he follows. “I wanna be Diddy Kong!”
Their little feet patter down the hallway and even from the kitchen, he can hear a chorus of start-up sounds and digital fanfare. He exhales a soft sigh, the kind that’s more fond than exasperated, and returns to the counter.
“Need help?” Kakarot asks behind him.
Vegeta turns. Kakarot’s standing by the island, the top buttons of his shirt teasing open just slightly. His hair’s doing that wild thing it always does. He smiles sheepishly. “I might not be as good as Trunks at cutting mushrooms, but I’ll try my best.”
Vegeta shakes his head, already reaching for the roasting pan. “No.”
“No?”
“You’re not lifting a finger tonight, Kakarot,” Vegeta says, pointed. “I’m pampering you.”
“Oh.” Kakarot blinks, a little stunned. Then that slow, pleased blush rises on his face. Vegeta doesn’t look directly at him – he doesn’t have to.
Vegeta sets the pan down with a quiet clack. “So sit your pretty ass down and behave.”
“Wow. You’re so bossy today… I like it.” Kakarot huffs a light laugh – embarrassed but flattered – and slides obediently onto one of the counter stools. His legs part just slightly where the stool curves between them, and his arms fold onto the counter, chin resting lazily on one. He watches Vegeta with open interest, lips curved in an intrigued little smile.
“So,” he says after a beat. “What’s for dinner? Other than me, apparently.”
Vegeta shoots him a sharp glare over his shoulder. That damn mouth. Always throwing out lines like that – always knowing exactly what to say to scramble Vegeta’s brain when he’s just trying to be decent and do something nice. Wholesome, even. Domestic. And there Kakarot is, licking his lips like he’s starving, and Vegeta doesn’t know if it’s for the pork or for something a lot filthier.
It takes everything in him not to sweep the counter clean and shove Kakarot right into it
Kakarot just grins.
Vegeta turns back to the stove, attempting to re-focus. “Pork tenderloin with mushroom sauce and roasted vegetables. Side of herbed rice.”
“Well, look at you, Vegeta,” Kakarot says, admiration laced in his voice. “Didn’t know I was dating a chef. Where’d you learn to cook?”
“Hmph.” The compliment makes Vegeta blush. He clears his throat, tossing the vegetables into a bowl with herbs and spices. “Trial and error. Mostly error. I was destitute all through college. I worked two fast food jobs and was interning at Capsule Corp for free. I couldn’t afford takeout, so I had to figure it the hell out or starve. There was a whole month where I survived eating only canned tuna – for the high amount of protein, as I assume you know –”
Kakarot nods, “Yeah-huh.”
“– and overcooked rice. Eventually, I grew sick of it and started paying attention to how real food was made.”
“Damn,” Kakarot laughs. “Guess I lucked out on dating you later rather than sooner.”
“You did,” he says it plainly, confidently.
Kakarot goes quiet for a second, just watching him. Vegeta can feel the weight of his gaze on his back, the steady heat of it. Kakarot’s always looking at him like that – like he can’t help himself.
A squeal suddenly echoes from the living room, followed by a victory jingle from the console and a shriek of frustration.
“Whaaat?!” Goten yells, scandalized. “Trunks, you beat me five times! No fair!”
“That’s ‘cause you keep falling off the road! Just follow the signs!”
There’s shuffling, the sound of a controller hitting a couch cushion, and then –
“You’re only winning ‘cause you play every day!” Goten cries. “My dad can beat you, Trunks! Just wait!”
Vegeta hears the thunder of small feet, and then Goten’s voice grows louder as he reappears in the kitchen, eyes big and determined. He rushes over to Kakarot and grabs his jeans, tugging.
“Daaaaad! Come beat Trunks! Please, please, please!! You gotta beat him! He won’t let me win!”
Kakarot looks down at Goten and ruffles his hair. “Oh yeah?” he says. “You want me to humble him for you?”
Goten nods furiously. “Yeah! He thinks he’s the best just ‘cause he can beat me!”
Kakarot casts a look at Vegeta, who raises an eyebrow. “You go,” Vegeta says, spooning the vegetables into a sautée pan. “Dinner will be ready in twenty.”
“Just gimme ten,” Kakarot winks, already hopping off the stool.
Goten grabs his hand and drags him toward the living room while Vegeta watches them go – Goten chattering and complaining about Trunks while Kakarot laughs.
Vegeta pulls the pork out of the fridge and checks the oven temperature. It’s hot and steady – perfect. He slides the meat onto the middle rack and shuts the door, then taps the timer on the oven console: five-minute intervals for basting. He likes keeping it precise. He’s not about to mess up one of his best dishes, not tonight.
Then he hears it just as he reaches for the salt.
“Hey!” Trunks’s voice, high and indignant. “You’re beating me! How are you so good at this?!”
Goten shrieks, “I told you! My dad’s the best!”
Kakarot, through laughter, “I warned you, Trunks. You challenged the wrong guy.”
Kakarot is beating Trunks? How? He can't drive a real car, but he can win a race with a fake one? Vegeta grips the salt grinder a little tighter than necessary. Get a hold of yourself. It’s just a game, he tells himself. A stupid kids’ game. Kart racing, power-ups, goddamn banana peels – nothing serious. He has to concentrate on dinner. He glances at the timer. Four minutes to go.
Trunks wails from the living room, “Noooo, how are you this good?!”
Kakarot laughs again – louder this time. “Natural talent. You’ll get there, little man.”
Goten chimes in proudly. “My dad’s the best at this game!”
Vegeta’s eye twitches. He cracks the grinder aggressively, not even letting up when he realizes. Kakarot’s having a little too much fun winning. A lot of fun, in fact.
The timer blinks down to three minutes. Fuck it.
He bastes the pork early, brushing the juices rapidly across the surface of the skin with reckless abandon. Then he resets the timer.
Five minutes should be enough for one round.
Vegeta wipes his hands, spins on his heel, and storms toward the living room with zero hesitation.
Trunks, Goten, and Kakarot are all squished together on the couch, controllers in hand, eyes glued to the TV. Trunks is leaning so far forward he’s practically falling off his seat, gripping his controller tightly, thumbs working overtime on the analog sticks like his life depends on it. Goten’s bouncing in place, kicking his feet and mashing buttons with gleeful delight. Kakarot’s holding his controller like a steering wheel, elbows bent, arms swaying dramatically left and right with every turn. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth in concentration, and even though he’s got one leg crossed lazily over the either, everything about him screams engaged. And smug. Vegeta wants to crush that cocky attitude of his.
“Move over. I’m playing.” Vegeta shoves himself into the space between Kakarot and Goten.
All three of them twist to look at him. Trunks gasps. “Really?!”
Kakarot smirks. “Uh-oh.”
“Don’t you ‘uh-oh’ me, Kakarot,” Vegeta mutters, snatching the extra controller from the coffee table. “I’m wiping the floor with all of you.”
Kakarot chuckles. “You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Shouldn’t you be watching the oven?” Kakarot teases.
“I have a handle on it!” Vegeta snarls. “Just shut up and start the next round.”
Trunks giggles excitedly while Goten claps like this is the best show on earth. Kakarot hums confidently like he thinks he’ll win. They load into a new race and the round begins.
Vegeta picks the fastest-looking character – a lanky, pointy-looking elfish man with an egregiously unkempt mustache. The elf is wearing purple – Vegeta’s favorite color. He picks the sleekest vehicle: the classic motorcycle. He’s seen Trunks play this game before, so he boosts at the starting line. He drifts along corners and rockets over speed pads. He doesn’t blink. But somehow – somehow – he still comes in dead last while Kakarot is in first place.
Vegeta can’t do anything but stare at the screen, mouth agape. “Wha – I thought – But I –”
Kakarot nearly falls off the couch laughing.
“Oof,” he says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That was rough.”
Trunks stares at Vegeta, scandalized. “You came in twelfth, Dad!”
“You drove off the cliff twice!” Goten yells.
“I –” Vegeta’s jaw is tight enough to crack a tooth. “That was a practice round.”
Trunks tries to smother his laughter and fails.
“Play again,” Vegeta demands.
“You sure?” Kakarot teases, eyes sparkling. “We can stop if your ego’s bruised.”
“Again.”
Round two starts. Vegeta’s determined now. Hyper focused. He even ignores the kids laughing and Kakarot’s dumb commentary halfway through the track. His nail beds turn white from how hard he’s pressing the buttons on the controller.
He comes in eleventh. And Kakarot comes in first. Again.
Trunks drops onto the carpet, clutching his stomach as he laughs. “Goten beat you, Dad! And Goten’s only four!”
“I’m five!” Goten yells back. “Almost five!”
Kakarot bites his knuckle like he’s trying not to laugh, but he’s already doubled over, shaking.
Vegeta is seething.
“I want a rematch.”
“Vegeta –” Kakarot starts, still laughing, “it’s just a game.”
“I don’t care.”
“Hey.” Kakarot puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. “You’re cooking, remember? I don’t want anything to burn just because you needed to beat me at Mario Kart.”
Vegeta opens his mouth to reply –
BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
All four of them freeze.
That’s not the sound of the timer.
“Shit,” Vegeta hisses, already bolting up.
Smoke drifts high into the air, coming from the hallway.
“Don’t move,” he shouts at the kids – already halfway to the kitchen.
It’s not a disaster. Not quite. The smoke is manageable, too. But the second he yanks open the oven, he knows: dinner is fucked. The pork is charred to hell. Blackened crust, dry edges, not a trace of juice left in the fucking pan. A thin plume of smoke rises from the tray, snaking upward toward the ceiling like a warning flare – and the fire alarm continues screaming – BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! – fucking relentless.
“Fuck!”
Vegeta grabs the tongs and pulls the tray out, slamming it down on the stovetop. The smoke suckers him in the face. He lunges for the window by the sink. He cranks it open and flails a kitchen towel like he’s trying to beat the smoke into submission.
Footsteps sound behind him.
Kakarot leans against the door frame, arms crossed, grinning like he’s watching a sitcom. “So… do you need help now?”
“Don’t,” Vegeta snaps, voice tight. “Don’t say a word.”
Kakarot strolls in anyway and starts fanning the smoke with a cutting board. “Didn’t think you were the type to burn dinner over a video game.”
Vegeta exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I… I wanted to win,” he admits in defeat.
“I noticed.” Kakarot snickers, then nudges Vegeta gently with his shoulder. “It’s fine, though. The house didn’t burn down, just the kitchen. But hey, it smells kinda smoky and sexy in here now.”
Vegeta knows Kakarot is trying to cheer him up, but he can’t help but glare at him as he tosses the ruined pork into the trash. He feels it – heavy in his chest. That stupid flame of shame. He wanted the night to be perfect, and now the whole kitchen smells like disgrace and disappointment all because he got competitive over a dumb video game. His insides knot guiltily.
Kakarot puts the board down and crosses the few steps between them. Without a whisper, he wraps his arms around Vegeta, solid and utterly comforting. Vegeta stiffens for a moment – then closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar sweet scent of him. The stress dissolves as he exhales.
“It’s okay, Vegeta.” Kakarot presses a kiss to his forehead, then pulls back just enough to tilt his head and smile. “It’s not too late for pizza.”
Vegeta just grumbles, but he does feel much better now.
Kakarot whips out his phone. “You like pepperoni or are you gonna tell me it’s nutritionally irresponsible?”
Vegeta sighs and grabs his own phone. “I’ll order. I want it here fast.”
It’s nearly an hour later by the time they’re finally sitting together on the couch – arms brushing, close enough to feel each other’s warmth – with their sons fast asleep in their laps and half-eaten pizza boxes strewn across the coffee table. Even though Vegeta would’ve preferred not to, he ended up ordering a pepperoni pizza for Kakarot. And… well, fuck it. He burned dinner. So he got one with extra cheese too. And another piled with sausage – Trunks’s favorite.
Trunks had insisted they eat in the living room so he and Goten could play “just one more round” of races. But five minutes after eating, both boys completely crashed. Trunks is curled up against Vegeta’s side, marinara on his cheek, snoring softly. Goten’s head is nestled against Kakarot’s chest, rising and falling with each breath, one arm flopped across Kakarot’s stomach.
It’s peaceful now. The start menu of the racing game glows faintly from the TV, the background music low and steady like a lullaby. Pizza crusts and crumbs litter the rug but Vegeta doesn’t care. Not right now.
He looks down at Trunks, slack-jawed and dreaming, then over at Kakarot.
Kakarot’s got one arm draped across the back of the couch, the other resting gently on Goten’s chest as he cards his fingers through the boy’s hair, brushing soft dark strands away from his forehead. He’s watching Goten with that quiet, steady kind of love that comes so naturally to him.
Kakarot looks…
God, he looks good like this.
Comfortable. Settled. At peace. He doesn’t just look happy. He looks… right. Like this messy, imperfect moment is exactly where he wants to be. But Vegeta knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not when he burned dinner. Not when he let his pride get the better of him over a child’s video game. Not when he’s still figuring out how to be soft without hiding behind sarcasm or snapping when things get too real.
He swallows thickly and keeps his eyes on Kakarot, voice quiet.
“I…” he hesitates. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”
Kakarot’s eyes lift, and he smiles – soft, warm, and without a hint of teasing. “Vegeta, it is perfect.”
“Don’t lie to me, Kakarot,” Vegeta mutters, dejected. “I burned dinner… over a fucking video game.”
“I don’t care.”
“The kids stayed up late.”
“But they’re asleep, aren’t they?”
Vegeta looks at him. He’s trying to be mad, trying to stay frustrated with himself and sit in the guilt of how nothing tonight went according to plan. But then he really looks. Kakarot’s face – earnest, open, impossibly kind. Like none of it mattered. Like the burnt dinner, the tantrum over a game, the imperfections Vegeta can’t stop tallying – none of it touches the way Kakarot is looking at him right now.
He doesn’t know what to do with the emotion pulsing in his chest.
“Y’know,” Kakarot says as he shifts slightly on the couch, careful not to wake Goten. He folds the arm draped along the backrest and props his cheek against his hand, elbow bent lazily. “I didn’t get to grow up like this.”
Vegeta stays watching him closely. He doesn’t speak – just listens.
Kakarot’s voice is quieter now. “My dad died when I was a baby. It’s funny ‘cause I don’t even remember his face, but my mom used to say I looked just like him. She worked three jobs, so I was always at the neighbors’ or sitting in front of the TV and spent a lot of time alone. She tried her best – she really did. But it was hard. And when she got sick…” He pauses and shakes his head. “It was just a lot of moving around after that. A couple of foster homes. People who were nice, but… nothing steady. Nothing mine.”
A quiet ache blooms in Vegeta’s chest, an ache without a name.
“And don’t get me wrong.” Kakarot looks over at him now with a soft, vulnerable curve painting his lips. “I’ve had good moments – great ones – with Chi-chi, with the boys. I mean, we built a whole life. But I think…” He speaks slowly, like he’s just now figuring it out as he says it. “This is the first time I feel like I belong in it. Like someone sees me – not just as a dad or a partner, but… me.”
Vegeta can’t do anything but stare. There’s so much he wants to say – Yes, I see you. I want you. You do belong… with me – but the words catch in his throat. Still, if there’s ever a right moment to try, it’s now. While Kakarot’s heart is open. While he’s letting Vegeta see this part of him.
Kakarot turns back down to Goten, still running his fingers through his hair. “So yeah,” he murmurs. “Burned pork or not, this is a perfect night, Vegeta.”
“You’re so…” He exhales. He hates that he can’t start off with anything other than: “…so goddamn soft.”
But Kakarot just hums, amused and unfazed. “Takes one to know one.”
“I’m serious, Kakarot.” Vegeta rolls his eyes, then pouting out of sheer frustration with himself. “You say things like that and expect me to just sit here? All calm and composed?”
“Pretty sure I don’t ever expect calm from you.”
Vegeta glares – but it’s weak, half-hearted. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Oh?” Kakarot teases, leaning in so his face is only a kiss away. “So you do like me.”
“I’m trying to say something nice. Don’t ruin it,” Vegeta growls, pressing a firm hand over Kakarot’s mouth and nudging him back just enough to keep his smirk at bay. Then he sighs, the fight draining out of his tone. He looks down at Trunks – still dozing soundly, soft little snores puffing from his nose – then at Goten, tucked close against Kakarot’s chest, right where he belongs.
“I meant what I said earlier. I wanted tonight to be perfect. Because…” His throat tightens. He forces himself to meet Kakarot’s eyes. “Because you matter to me, Kakarot. You matter a great deal to me. And I haven’t… really said that. Not properly.”
Kakarot’s face softens instantly. That damn smile again – the one that undoes Vegeta from the inside out. And it hits Vegeta all over again just how much he wants him.
“I like seeing you here, in my home,” Vegeta mutters, barely above a whisper. “With them. With… me.” He hesitates, then huffs a breath and adds, “You just… you fit, all right? Like this was always supposed to be.”
“I realize we’re dating,” he continues, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “But I’d like to –” He swallows. “I would like to call you my... my boyfriend. If - if it pleases you.”
Kakarot stares at him – dumbfounded. He’s quiet for too long and Vegeta thinks maybe he’s said something wrong.
He stiffens. “What?” he snaps, instantly defensive. “Tch. Forget I said –”
But before he can finish, Kakarot surges forward and kisses him. It feels like their second date all over again. The kiss is soft and sure – meaningful in a way that knocks the air right out of Vegeta’s lungs. Vegeta kisses him back, and it deepens fast. Gentle and coaxing at first – but it simmers hotter with every pass of lips, every shared breath. Vegeta’s hand slides along Kakarot’s jaw, then into his hair, gripping just enough to earn the quietest of whimpers – one of Vegeta’s favorite sounds.
Against his wishes, Kakarot pulls away – just enough to break the kiss, to leave Vegeta leaning forward, chasing the warmth like he’s been left in the cold. But Kakarot doesn’t go far. He lingers close, breath feathering against Vegeta’s lips, eyes heavy, lidded with that unmistakable look. There’s a heat in his gaze that’s no longer playful – it’s focused, simmering, like he’s already halfway imagining what comes next.
“You're so funny, Vegeta. I've already been calling you my boyfriend," Kakarot says, low and warm.
"Wha –" Vegeta goes bright scarlet. "You have?"
"Mhm." Kakarot nods easily. Then his voice dips deeper, into a coaxing whisper. "And you know what would make this night even more perfect?”
Vegeta doesn’t hesitate. He knows exactly what would. “We’re going upstairs.”
Kakarot’s whole face lights up – grinning bright like Vegeta just promised him everything he’s ever wanted.
They move carefully, slowly easing the boys off their laps and settling them back against the couch cushions. Goten stirs a little and Kakarot shushes him gently, brushing hair from his face. Trunks is, of course, dead asleep. If the boy is good at anything, it’s sleeping. Vegeta grabs a folded blanket from the armrest and drapes it over both kids, tucking it in at the sides.
They linger a second longer, just to be sure. Then Vegeta straightens, reaching for Kakarot’s hand – and Kakarot takes it easily. Vegeta’s fingers tighten in response.
Without a word, he leads him upstairs.
–
Goku can’t stop smiling.
He tries, but it keeps stretching wider as Vegeta pulls him by the hand through the hall like they’re late for something. He’s stomping up the stairs – practically jogging – and it makes Goku laugh under his breath. He’s never seen Vegeta this impatient before. Not like this.
And even now, being pulled along like some lovestruck dope, Goku’s head is spinning with what Vegeta said downstairs.
Because you matter to me, Kakarot. You matter a great deal to me.
He didn’t expect that. Not from Vegeta, who’s so careful with his words, so good at pushing people away before they can get too close. It hit his heart like a roundhouse kick – a really good roundhouse kick with perfect form. The kind of kick that knocks the wind out of you because you needed it. The kind that finally makes something start to click.
This. This is what he’s been waiting for. The piece that hadn’t settled yet. Not sex. Not a homemade dinner. Just… that. That moment of vulnerability. That truth.
The bedroom door swings open.
Goku doesn’t even get a chance to register the room – what color the walls are, what the bedding looks like, what kind of books Vegeta keeps on his nightstand – because Vegeta grabs him by the collar and shoves him back against the wall, frantic with pent up hunger. His mouth is on him instantly. Rough and ravenous. Goku tries to kiss back, but he can’t help but laugh into it breathlessly.
“Impatient much?” he teases, lips brushing Vegeta’s as he speaks.
Vegeta pulls back enough just to whisper, “You want this just as bad.”
Then he dives in again – down, this time. Probably frustrated Goku’s too busy laughing to kiss back. He peppers kisses along Goku’s jaw, then to the side of his neck, then lower, right where the top buttons of Goku’s shirt are already undone. Which is exactly why Goku left them that way.
“Wrong,” Goku breathes. “I want it more.”
That gets a growl out of Vegeta – a low, gruff sound that ends with him grabbing Goku by the waist and tossing him onto the bed like he weighs nothing. Fuck, that’s hot. Goku lands on the mattress with a husky laugh, the bounce jostling the both of them. Vegeta’s already crawling over him, kissing him again, deeper now – lips parting and meeting, and parting again. Hands everywhere. Under his shirt, up and across his ribs, ghosting over his nipples, gripping his hips.
Goku’s hands move too – like they’re misbehaving. Up Vegeta’s back, tugging his shirt higher and higher. He presses kisses to every inch of skin he reveals – fast ones, slow ones – like Vegeta’s something he’s not just allowed to touch, but something he gets to savor. And he loves how he tastes.
The shirt finally comes off. And Vegeta’s pants come off faster, leaving him in tight, sexy black boxers.
But before Vegeta can get the upper hand again, Goku flips them, catching him off guard with a wicked little grin as he straddles Vegeta’s hips. Vegeta makes a noise – a mix of surprise and pleased threat – but Goku just leans in and whispers, “Told you I want it more.”
Goku can feel Vegeta’s gaze like sizzling heat on his skin.
He’s straddling him, knees planted firm on either side of Vegeta’s hips, and there’s a look in Vegeta’s eyes that make him feel like he’s being thoroughly devoured – slowly, steadily, by someone who’s holding back only because he has to.
And that’s delicious. Goku wants more.
He starts on his shirt. Slowly. One button at a time. Drawn out just to be a menace. Vegeta’s eyes darken with every inch of skin revealed. His jaw clenches and he swallows several times. Goku watches it happen with a smug smile on his lips.
“Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to ruin this bed.”
Goku raises a brow, grinning. “Don’t let me stop you. It’s your bed.”
But before Vegeta can so much as twitch, Goku catches his wrists and presses them flat against the mattress on either side of his head. He leans in close, chest brushing Vegeta’s bare skin. The loose edges of his half-open shirt graze along Vegeta’s side, and he doesn’t miss the way Vegeta shudders – a tiny flicker, but just enough to give him away. Goku murmurs, “But if I had to be good this morning for you, you have to be good tonight for me.”
He doesn’t really mean it. He’s just toying with Vegeta.
Vegeta groans, frustrated already. “Entitled brat.”
“Mm. You like it.” Goku doesn’t let go of his wrists. He shifts up slightly, just enough to keep him pinned and grind his ass down against Vegeta’s cock with slow, lazy purpose. He can feel him getting harder. “You love it when I tease you.”
Vegeta’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue – but nothing comes out. His fingers twitch under Goku’s grip.
Goku leans back again, finally letting go, and resumes unbuttoning his shirt. Vegeta’s eyes follow every movement of his fingers, like they’re tethered there. He’s trying so hard to be patient – Goku can see it in the way his jaw keeps flexing, like he’s biting down the urge to just grab and take. When he gets to the last button, he shrugs the shirt off and flings it somewhere behind him without looking. Then, his hands move to his waistband. He meets Vegeta’s eyes as he slowly undoes his jeans, dragging them down his thighs with a tease, one leg at a time. Vegeta’s watching hungrily, practically vibrating.
Once the jeans are gone, Goku lowers himself again, this time slower, pressing closer, rolling his hips deliberately. He can feel Vegeta beneath him, thick and even harder under the cotton of his boxers, and it makes Goku’s breath hitch and stutter even as he smirks.
“You’re doing so good, Vegeta,” he says teasingly, voice oozing delight as he drags his lips along Vegeta’s throat.
Vegeta’s still holding himself back, just barely. Goku can tell by the way his fists stay clenched at his sides, by the twitch in his arms like they’re itching to grab, by the tension running from his jaw all the way down to his legs.
And Goku’s loving every second.
He keeps rolling his hips, nice and steady. Feeling Vegeta throb beneath him. Watching his breath stutter and hitch with every grind. He knows he’s pushing it. That he’s stoking something dangerous. That Vegeta’s composure is hanging on by a thread.
So he decides to cut it.
He leans in low, lets his voice drop into that syrupy, teasing lilt he knows Vegeta loves – and hates. “You’re such a good boy, Vege –”
It snaps.
Vegeta’s hands shoot up and clamp down hard on Goku’s hips, and before Goku can get the rest of his name out, he’s being yanked down against Vegeta’s cock in a brutal thrust upward. Vegeta’s so hard his cock is curving through his boxers, sliding snug between Goku’s cheeks. The heat of the friction is intense – every shift rubs just right. Goku can almost feel every detail of Vegeta’s cock – the shape, the firmness, the slow, steady pulse. Even his veins, pressed through with startling clarity. His cock stretches Goku’s boxers tight against his ass.
The sound Goku makes isn’t even a word. Just a broken moan punched straight from his chest. His whole body jolts with it – spine arching, vision gone blank for half a second. His head drops back, lips parted, breath coming in sharp gasps. His thighs tremble.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“You’re pissing me off on purpose again,” Vegeta growls, low and gravelly in that way that always makes Goku’s stomach drop.
Goku doesn’t even try to deny it. Just looks down at him through half-lidded eyes, smirking as best as he can. “Didn’t think you’d ever figure it out.”
But Vegeta just smirks back, dark and calm now – like the storm’s passed and left something even more focused in its place. “Well don’t stop now,” he says. “Show me how bad you want it, Kakarot. Show me where you want me to touch you.”
Goku almost melts.
His breath stutters again. His cock throbs behind his boxers. And he doesn’t hesitate. He brings his hands to his own chest and starts kneading his nipples with his fingers, rubbing gently at first, letting the pressure build just the way he likes it. Just the way Vegeta already knows he likes it. He starts squeezing a little more, rolling and rolling and rolling them. And it’s too much. Too good. His back curves, hips grinding harder now, chasing friction he can barely control.
“Shit –” he whimpers, voice breaking.
He’s completely overwhelmed. His own fingers. Vegeta’s hands locked on his hips, holding him down and rocking his cock against his ass. Vegeta’s gaze pinned on him, hungry and impatient and burning him alive.
Goku’s trembling now, sweat prickling his skin, mouth parted in needy little pants.
“Fuck, Vegeta,” he gasps, fingertips quivering as they continue to roll and stretch his nipples. “Just – I can’t – can’t stop.”
Vegeta snarls under his breath. “Then don’t stop.”
So Goku’s hips keep moving, chasing that mouthwatering friction even though it’s too much and not enough all at once. Everything’s so fucking hot – his skin, his breath, Vegeta’s grip. The whole room could be burning and he’d stay right here.
Underneath him, Vegeta’s breathing rough, almost ragged. No matter what he does, Vegeta loves it. Goku can feel it. The tension in him, the thick press of his cock getting harder and harder by the second. He’s trying to hold it together, and Goku can feel the edges fraying – and it makes him moan, soft and ruined, head tipping forward.
Vegeta reaches for the front of Goku’s boxers and Goku doesn’t even think. He lifts himself up, thighs braced, balancing on his knees on either side of Vegeta. He’s shaking, flushed, mind buzzing as Vegeta tugs down the cotton in one rough, practiced pull. The rush of air makes his cock jolt – wobbling upward as it’s exposed.
Vegeta leans in, pressing warm lips to Goku’s stomach, just below his abs. The kisses are slow, reverent, and somehow hungry all at once.
“Love your body,” Vegeta murmurs throatily. “Love your fucking thighs – so thick and strong. Drives me insane.”
Goku makes a wrecked sound in response, breath stuttering as he keeps rubbing his nipples. He’s so sensitive now, and the combination of Vegeta’s mouth and the hot throb between his legs scrambles his mind.
Vegeta’s hands glide over his thighs, fingers tracing the grooves of muscle – dipping into the lines of his quads, squeezing and massaging like he’s trying to understand how Goku’s built this way. His hands are firm and steady and worshipful – like he’s admiring artwork – like Vegeta's a sculptor and Goku's his magnum opus. Then he splays his hand over Goku’s abs and guides him backwards. Goku goes willingly, pliant under Vegeta’s touch. He lets himself be eased down onto the mattress, back meeting the sheets, head falling against the pillows. His legs fall open to welcome him, boxers stretching too far around his thighs. He doesn’t care. He just wants more.
He keeps touching himself, whimpering softly, heat coiling tight in his gut.
And Vegeta – God, Vegeta’s looking at him like he’s the center of his world right now. And Goku feels it. Every inch of it.
Vegeta tugs the rest of Goku’s boxers off in one smooth pull – and Goku’s breath catches in his throat at the way Vegeta looks at him. The way Vegeta never stops looking at him. Then Vegeta sheds his own underwear in record time, climbing over him with that same desperate urgency that always makes Goku’s stomach flip. And for a second, all Goku can do is lie there, legs open, flushed and panting, fingers still ghosting over his own nipples.
He keeps touching himself because he doesn’t know what else to do – because he needs the friction – but it’s not the same. Not when Vegeta’s eyes are that heavy on him. Not when Vegeta’s watching every single twitch of his fingers like it’s a performance just for him.
And suddenly, it is too much.
Goku’s hands falter. His movements slow. He can’t take Vegeta looking at him like that without falling apart completely.
Vegeta tilts his head, voice deceptively calm. “It seems you’re struggling, Kakarot.”
Goku whines, soft and breathy. He gives up on touching himself. He reaches for Vegeta – around his neck, fingers curling into warm skin and hair, dragging Vegeta down until their mouths meet again in a messy, desperate kiss.
“Vegeta,” he gasps against his lips, hips lifting. “I’ve had enough of my fingers. Please – I want you to touch me now.”
That does it.
He feels the shiver ripple through Vegeta’s body, feels the heated exhale through his nose, brushing against his cheek like steam. His hands reach for the drawer with an aching urgency. Goku hears the lube bottle click open, the soft rustle of a condom packet next to it. There’s something weirdly sweet about how quick but careful Vegeta is – like he’s both impatient and determined to do it right.
A cool, slick finger drags in between Goku’s cheeks, pressing harder when it brushes over Goku’s hole. His back arches immediately, a sound tumbling out of him that he didn’t mean to make. His fists clutch the sheets – twisting them, pulling them tight – as Vegeta’s finger enters him gradually. He clenches his ass instinctively – so tight that he can feel every inch of Vegeta’s finger pushing inside him. Vegeta works him open steadily and Goku’s already having a hard time breathing. His tight muscles start to give, waves of pleasure pulsing through him as Vegeta curls one finger deep inside him, pressing and rolling while the other stays straight, sliding along his inner wall. They move back and forth, not in sync but in a push-and-pull that stretches him wider with every stroke.
Goku can only pant. He can’t focus on anything else.
But Vegeta doesn’t stop there.
He leans down, mouthing at Goku’s chest, licking and gently teething at one nipple while the other gets the occasional swipe of his thumb. His tongue flicks out to trace every ridge of Goku’s nipple before biting down with a sharp, possessive nip. But – fuck – Vegeta’s thumb. He’s pressing hard against his other nipple, rubbing it in tight, demanding circles that send shocks through Goku.
“Vegeta – fuck –” he moans, eyes squeezed shut, nerves sparking like fireworks. “Please, please, please –” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore.
Vegeta just keeps going, kissing his way across Goku’s chest, murmuring softly, the words just for him.
“God, Kakarot, you – you’re so fucking perfect,” Vegeta breathes against his skin. “Every inch of you… mine. All mine. I want to worship you. Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. You hear me?”
Goku’s not sure if he nods or sobs or moans – it all blurs.
Vegeta’s name is a chant falling from Goku’s lips, over and over again. Every word Vegeta says sinks right into his skin, right into that longing ache he’s carried forever. That ache to be wanted like this.
He’s never wanted anyone so badly.
“I'm – I'm ready,” Goku stammers, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “Can’t wait anymore. Want you – no, need you inside, Vegeta. Please. Now, please.” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. It’s too raw, too desperate. But he doesn’t care.
A low sound rumbles from Vegeta’s chest. It vibrates through Goku like a warning and a promise. Vegeta leans in, lips brushing his ear. “I wanted to take my time working you open,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint. “I was going to make you fall apart slow. Make you beg for it.”
“No, no, no.” Goku squirms under him, moaning in frustration. “Need you now.”
“If you're that desperate,” Vegeta whispers, pulling his fingers out, “if you need it that bad –”
His hand reaches toward the bed without looking, finding the condom packet lying next to the opened lube. Goku watches, vision hazy as hell, brain buzzing and bumbling, as Vegeta tears the packet open with his teeth, spits it out to the side, and rolls the condom on with calculated precision.
It’s too hot. Too him.
Then Vegeta’s face is above his again, close enough to blur the rest of the room. Goku nods his head frantically, not even aware of it anymore, as he feels Vegeta’s cock nudge his entrance. Vegeta kisses Goku, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths, just as he pushes in. Goku gasps uncontrollably into it, sound swallowed greedily by Vegeta’s mouth. The stretch of his cock is perfect. The burn. The pressure. Vegeta fills him just right – like he belongs there, like he’s the only one who ever should be. They move slow at first – rocking into each other with a steady rhythm that sends Goku’s breath fluttering. It’s good. No, not just good – it’s really hot, don’t get him wrong. But it’s not enough.
Not even close.
“Faster,” he pleads, nails curling into Vegeta’s shoulders. “Harder. Please. Please, Vegeta – don’t hold back. Go as fast as you can.”
A worn groan spills from Vegeta's mouth as he pulls all the way out before slamming back in hard enough to shake the entire room. The bed croaks like it’s at its limit. Goku joins the bed's chorus, crying out loudly, helplessly, not even trying to hold back. The thought of their sons sleeping just one floor below them doesn’t even register.
Then Vegeta does it again.
And again.
Vegeta becomes relentless. Merciless in the way Goku’s body needs. His thrusts hit deep – perfect – over and over and over, until Goku’s seeing stars behind his eyes and grabbing at anything – everything – to stay conscious. The whole bed protests with every thrust, rattling and creaking, almost giving out.
"Say something mean," Goku begs. "Call me a slut, Vegeta."
Vegeta laughs.
“You love this,” he grits out. “Don’t you, Kakarot? Love getting ruined. Love taking my cock like a fucking slut.”
The words hit Goku like a fucking lightning bolt. He moans so loud he feels it echo all the way through his bones.
“Oh, you really like that, don’t you?” Vegeta chuckles.
“Yes,” Goku whines. “More.”
“So you are a slut, aren’t you?” Vegeta hisses, picking up the pace, hands tight on Goku’s hips. “My slut. You just can’t get enough of me. Always begging for me. Always desperate for me.”
“Fuck – Vegeta, yes, yes, yes –”
“You’re obsessed with me. With my cock. You love it. Love how I fill you up.”
“Yes! Yes!”
Goku’s toes curl. His thighs shake. He’s convulsing, completely undone, practically sobbing – but it’s just what he wants. Just what he needs. But one more thing would make it absolutely perfect.
“My hands. Hold my hands,” he gasps. “Please, I – just – hold them.”
Vegeta falters just a little – just long enough to shoot him a slightly confused look.
“You’re such a fucking sap,” he says, but his voice is softer now, his eyes burning. Then he threads their fingers together – tight, like he’ll never let go. Vegeta starts pounding into him even faster, hitting his prostate every fucking time. The only thing Goku can do is blink the sweat from his eyes, fail to bite back the whimpers, and force himself to keep watching – because he wants to see Vegeta’s face. Wants to see how focused he looks when he’s absolutely wrecking Goku.
It's crazy 'cause it doesn’t even feel like fucking – it feels like it’s something else entirely.
“Vegeta, I’m gonna – I’m about to –”
“Me,” Vegeta grits, “too.”
They both go completely still as they come. A thick moan rips out of Goku’s throat just as Vegeta groans gutturally into his shoulder, their sounds blending into something primal and aching. Streams of thin cum rip from Goku’s cock across his stomach, spilling hot on his skin. He wraps his legs right around Vegeta’s hips, pulling him in, holding him there and letting the cum stick their bodies together – burning against each other. And after a few last shallow, uneven thrusts, Vegeta collapses forward, utterly spent, cheek pressed against Goku’s chest. Goku’s legs loosen around him but don’t let go. They’re both tacky, drenched in sweat, hair damp, panting uncontrollably.
It should be uncomfortable.
It’s not.
Goku barely has the energy to move, but he lifts a shaky arm and slicks Vegeta’s hair back into place, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Vegeta hums, lips moving lazily against Goku’s chest before he starts dragging his mouth across Goku’s skin. Slow and affectionate. He licks a line of sweat off Goku’s sternum and Goku shivers.
“Vegeta, stop,” he says, worn out but not complaining. “You’re gonna make me hard again.”
They lie like that for a while, until the noise in their bodies even out – until the panting calms and their skin cools and the reality of what just happened settles in like a comforting blanket over both of them.
“I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner,” Vegeta mutters eventually, barely lifting his head.
Goku snorts, eyes still closed. “Oh, please. You were the one dragging your feet.”
Vegeta whips his head to face him. “You’re the one who refuses to stop talking. There were several times where, if you had just shut up and let me –”
“Dad?”
Goku goes still. Eyes wide. That’s Goten’s voice.
They freeze like criminals.
“Shit,” Goku whispers.
“Shit,” Vegeta echoes.
They scramble – Goku’s legs untangling, Vegeta sitting up fast enough to make the bed creak loudly again. Vegeta pulls the condom off expertly, ties it off, and tosses it into the small bin by the nightstand. They pull their underwear back on in a rush, fumbling like they’ve never put underwear on before, desperately wiping the sweat and cum coating their bodies with the sheets.
“Look what you did,” Vegeta spits, grabbing for his pants. “You were moaning so loud you woke the kids.”
Goku gawks at him, stumbling as he yanks on his jeans. “Me? You were fucking me so hard the whole house was shaking!”
Vegeta growls – actually growls. Like a freakin’ dog. “You were screaming, Kakarot.”
“Well, you almost broke your own bed!” Goku’s voice rises.
“Dad, where are you?” Trunks this time. His voice is louder than Goten’s.
Panic ignites in Goku’s chest.
“Go, go, go,” Goku hisses, hopping while trying to button his fly.
“I am going!” Vegeta snaps, shoving his head through the wrong sleeve, almost tripping on the rug as they bolt for the door.
They run down the stairs, still buttoning, still out of breath, both of them looking like they just barely escaped a hurricane. And there they are – Trunks and Goten, sitting on the couch, blinking sleepily at them.
Goten’s rubbing his eyes. “Dad… I had a nightmare,” he says, voice small, lips quivering. “I heard ghosts, scary ones. They were like ‘ooohhhh’ and ‘aaahhhh’. There was creaking and I thought the house was shaking. It was so real. I thought they were in the house.”
Goku winces and rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, Goten…”
Trunks straightens, suddenly on high alert. “Ghosts?! Dad, is our house haunted?!” His voice rises in alarm.
“No,” Vegeta says too quickly, still trying to tuck in his shirt. “No, it’s not. We – uh –”
But then Trunks squints, and he tilts his head.
“Dad,” he says slowly. “Why are you wearing Goten’s dad’s shirt?”
Goku and Vegeta turn toward each other in slow motion.
Sure enough, Vegeta’s wearing Goku’s beige button-up, and Goku’s squeezed into Vegeta’s dark one. They both look absurd.
“I –” Vegeta starts, completely thrown off.
Goku jumps in. “We were just trying each other’s clothes on.”
Vegeta’s head jerks toward him in disbelief, but he rolls with it. “Yes. That’s right. Just seeing how it felt. I, uh… I liked Goten’s dad’s shirt.”
“Yeah,” Goku says, nodding too hard. “And I liked your dad’s shirt. So we thought, why not?”
Trunks seems to accept this. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
Both dads sigh at the same time – deep, relieved, nearly collapsing where they stand.
Then Goten leans in and whispers, “See, Trunks? I told you I heard ghosts.”
Goku kneels beside the couch and rubs Goten’s back gently. “No ghosts, kiddo. Promise. It’s just the house settling. That’s what happens when you’ve got a place as big as Trunks’s, right Vegeta?” He glances up at Vegeta, tossing the ball to his court.
Vegeta nods quickly, catching on. He clears his throat. “Exactly. Happens all the time. Just old wood and pipes making noise.”
Trunks blinks at him, wide-eyed. “Really? But I never heard our house do that before…”
“That’s because you’re always asleep when it happens, Trunks,” Vegeta says, trying to sound more convincing but Goku can’t tell if it’s working. “It only happens at night, you see. It’s nothing scary. Just the house saying goodnight.”
That seems to do the trick. Both boys relax a little. Goten sinks back into the couch cushions and Trunks sniffles once and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his top.
Goku straightens up with a smile. “Okay, so now that we’ve confirmed there are no ghosts, how about we all head back to bed?”
Trunks hesitates, then mumbles, “I wanna sleep next to Dad…”
Goten nods. “Me too, Dad.”
Goku glances over at Vegeta, who meets his eyes and immediately knows the problem – they definitely can’t go back to his room. Not unless they want to scar the kids with a mattress and sheets they don’t even remember the state of.
Vegeta sighs, running a hand down his face. “All right. Guest room, then. The bed should be big enough.”
The kids light up instantly, both of them reaching up like little royalty. Goku scoops Goten into his arms, warm and heavy and clinging to his shoulder. Vegeta lifts Trunks, who wraps his arms around his dad’s neck with a sleepy sigh. They make their way to the guest room, the soft shuffle of feet on hardwood the only sound in the house. The room is dim, the bed freshly made – thank god – and big enough for all four of them. The boys crawl into the center and cuddle up against each other. Goku and Vegeta take the outer edges of the bed, lying on their sides facing in, the boys between them. And to both dads’ relief, they’re out again within minutes, faces slack with sleep.
Goku glances across the bed and smiles. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low so he doesn’t wake them. “This is sweet. Kinda like we’re a little family.”
Vegeta hums in agreement and surprises Goku when he says, “We practically are.”
They lean toward each other, over the tender mess of tiny limbs and sleep-warm toddler breath, and share a tender, lingering kiss. Their mouths part, gentle tongues licking and lapping languidly, only pulling back because otherwise they won’t stop. Goku rests his head against the pillow.
A few moments pass before he speaks again, this time quieter, a little more careful. “Hey… we’re gonna do a thing at the gym next week. Martial arts day. For kids.” He’s making it up as he goes.
Vegeta raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“We’re keeping it simple – some drills, padded gear, all safe. Thought maybe you’d wanna bring Trunks. And maybe meet the others. My team.” He tries to sound casual, but his heart’s beating fast again – nervous even though he knows Vegeta will say yes.
Vegeta studies him for a second, unreadable – then he nods once. “I’d like that. And we both know Trunks would too.”
Just like that, the last little click Goku had been waiting for settles right into place.
Notes:
I could say so much about this chapter. A lot of stuff happened in it, and boy oh boy, I have to admit, this is an "author's barely disguised fetish" moment. I just love the idea of Goku getting his nipples played with, OKAY? Forgive a man for having a kink... Anyways, this was, like, the most vanilla and safe sex I've ever written but I hope it came off as sexy as I wanted it to be.
And yes, of course Trunks got a Switch 2.
Also sorry to say but updates will be slower from now on :'(. Summer this year is just too busy.
Oh, and re Goku's childhood story, I wanted to get a little creative with it, so I'm sorry but Grandpa Gohan and Raditz don't exist in this AU LOL
Chapter 6: we dads have no limits
Notes:
Soooo... this chapter is entirely sex - and there's a lot of it. But surely you knew that the SECOND these two fucked it was game over. Don't fret though. The plot will return in the next chapter. This is more of an interlude.
I mean, you could skip this chapter if you're not really interested in smut. But let me try to entice you... this isn't just smut. It's introspective smut, laced with character and relationship analysis.
Frankly, I just needed to get this out of my system. And fair warning, this is self-indulgent as fuck (as if this fic isn't already). Also, I don't know what to title this chapter so... it'll be untitled until I can think of something. Edit: Finally thought of a title and I'm laughing to myself
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Goku doesn’t know how the hell they’re still going.
Seriously, what the heck? In all his thirty-four years of living, he’s never had this much sex.
Ever since Friday night, they haven’t been able to stop. Can’t keep their hands to themselves, can’t go a single night without needing more. And with Bulma out of town until Tuesday, it’s like they’ve both just said: fuck it.
Saturday had been a blur. After dropping Goten off at Chi-chi’s that morning – still buzzing from the night before – Goku went home thinking he’d spend the next few days alone. Just until Monday, when he’s taking the boys to a baseball game. He figured he’d stock up on groceries, maybe swing by the toy store to grab Goten a new action figure – just because. Then hit the local sports shop to replace some worn-out gear for the gym.
But really, he spent most of the day thinking about Vegeta. His mouth. His hands. His body. The way he made Goku fall apart so easily, like it was second nature, like he’s been doing this all his life.
He knew Vegeta was busy taking care of Trunks all day, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised when a text came that night, just after nine:
Kakarot. Don’t lie and say you aren’t thinking about last night. Trunks is fast asleep. Come over.
The next text came not even a second later.
Now.
Goku had never left his house so fast.
They kept quiet for Trunks’s sake. If he saw Goku without Goten, he’d start asking questions – loud ones – and Vegeta had been aggressively adamant that Trunks would blurt everything to Bulma right away. So Goku parked a few houses down, tip-toed up the driveway, and snuck in quietly through the already-unlocked front door like he would at Chi-chi’s old man’s place back in high school.
He and Vegeta barely made it to the couch before they were on each other – hands wandering into mischief, making out as if their goodbye kiss from that morning never happened. At some point they fell to the rug, Goku laughing between kisses and Vegeta scowling while adorably red, but they kept going anyway. It wasn’t until Vegeta slid his hand down Goku’s sweatpants that Goku broke the kiss, panting and flushed.
“Vegeta,” he whispered, still catching his breath, “I love that you can’t wait to get your hands on my dick, but we can’t – not here. You said it yourself. If Trunks wakes up –”
“Fine.” Vegeta grumbled, frustrated but already standing. He held his hand out for Goku to take it. “Come on, then. I’ve got a whole damn house.”
He looked so red, like he was mad at himself for being so impatient. Goku loved it.
They ended up in the basement playing pool.
Vegeta made Goku try an old-fashioned – said it was a “classic,” whatever that meant – but it had hit like gasoline. Way too bitter, weirdly spicy, made Goku’s face twist up and his whole body flush. Normally he hates alcohol – slows him down, messes with muscle recovery, just feels like a waste. But he didn’t hate this at all. Mostly because it made him loose, warm, and way, way, way too handsy. Whenever Vegeta lined up a shot, Goku would lean over him, hands gliding down those solid, vein-laced arms – relishing every line and ridge, every promise of strength under his palms. Sometimes he rested his chin lightly on top of Vegeta’s head before slipping his fingers across the hard lines of his abs, his chest, and, of course, his nipples. He could feel the way Vegeta tensed beneath his touch. Lust pulsed off him in waves but he was clearly holding back, trying to stay focused on not losing the game.
Goku was in the lead – duh – and he made sure not to be subtle about it. He made a show of stretching when he bent over the table, cocky and grinning as he sank shot after shot. Vegeta blushed, scowled, and clicked his tongue against his teeth more times than Goku could count. Vegeta didn’t just want to beat him – he could tell. Vegeta wanted to ruin him – on the scoreboard, and maybe on the table too.
“You’re such a nuisance,” Vegeta murmured into his back, pressing his cock against Goku’s ass as he set up a shot. “Trying to distract me, aren’t you?”
Goku held back a moan – couldn’t give Vegeta the satisfaction.
“And what if I am?” He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk and wiggled a little, chuckling when Vegeta groaned at the friction. “Doesn’t matter, though. You already lost, Vegeta, so you might as well just enjoy the show.”
And Vegeta had lost. That was a given. Goku always beats him at everything.
So Vegeta snatched the cue stick out of Goku’s hand and bent him over the pool table, probably hoping to wipe the smug look off his face. He didn’t waste a second, tugging Goku’s pants down until they sat just below his ass. Wearing sweatpants always paid off for Goku – part comfort, mostly easy access. Exactly as planned.
Then Vegeta pulled a condom from his back pocket, and Goku couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “What, were you expecting this?”
But whatever teasing he had planned died in his throat the moment Vegeta pushed all the way in – deep and unforgiving. No warning. Goku was thankful he was still a little loose from the night before.
“Ah – Vegeta! Hahaha, wait! That’s – ngh – too deep…” His voice cracked, high and gasping, his back arching off the table as his laughter dissolved into something far needier.
Vegeta leaned in close, breath hot and heavy and daring. “Too deep?” he muttered. “Don’t screw with me, Kakarot. You wanted this. You were begging for this the second you started showing off.”
And he was right.
Goku had been asking for it. He knew exactly what he was doing. He just likes when Vegeta snaps like this. He likes pretending he’s not in control, even though half the time they fuck it feels like he’s pulling all the strings. So he nodded, breath ragged, fingers digging hard into the polished wood of the pool table. He was so excited his cock was already leaking pre-cum, dripping like syrup onto the hardwood floor.
“Yeah – yeah, I did,” he gasped, forehead pressed to green felt. The grin on his face was slipping, but he wanted to keep provoking Vegeta. “So bring it on, Vegeta. Fuck me hard.”
Vegeta growled possessively, hands gripping Goku’s hips tighter. His mouth found Goku’s shoulder, lips grazing skin as he breathed, “You want hard? I’ll give you hard, Kakarot.”
Goku moaned, eyes rolling back as he was pushed against the table with each thrust, his body bouncing and jolting as Vegeta gave him everything he asked for. He felt so hot and thick inside of Goku, searing his insides every time he pulled out before brutally slamming back in. He barely gave Goku any time to recover between thrusts, but it didn’t matter at all. His cock had Goku’s mind spinning, hitting the deepest parts of his body.
Then Vegeta went and did the one thing Goku absolutely loves.
His hands slid from Goku’s hips to his wrists, gently easing them off the table’s edge. With a steady, firm grip, he clasped Goku’s hands and drew his arms back, holding them straight behind him. Goku gasped, and as Vegeta pulled, his chest was lifted into the air while his stomach hit the edge of the table, making him arch instinctively.
Vegeta’s hands were so warm, so strong – the only things anchoring Goku as Vegeta fucked him like he was determined to prove his dominance.
“Yes! You’re holding my hands, Vegeta! Yes – yes, I love it!”
“Fuck, Kakarot…” Vegeta groaned, squeezing his hands even tighter, thrusting at a relentless pace. “You feel – you feel incredible.”
Goku was shaking his head – absolutely hysterical – chanting, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
“As if you’d ever have to tell me that,” Vegeta’s words tickled his brain, igniting everything they touched as he fucked Goku with the most primal strength imaginable.
Goku had never come so hard.
He was weak in the knees when they stumbled out of the basement, barely able to walk straight. They didn’t even bother getting cleaned up before round two in the study.
The room was like something out of an interior design magazine – black walls and dark wainscotting – a space that demands silence and respect. Shelves lined the walls, crammed full of dense business tomes, med-sci journals, political theory books. Stuff Goku never really pays attention to – but loves knowing Vegeta does. It suits him.
Between the shelves was a modern fireplace, recessed and rectangular, framed in matte black stone. The flames flickered to life with a simple tap on Vegeta’s phone – some crazy rich-guy app – and cast the room in a warm, golden glow. The lounge set in front of it was velvet and deep brown, clearly expensive, but all Goku could care about was the ottoman. Vegeta pushed him down onto it gently, then sank to his knees between his legs.
“Fuck…” was all Goku could say as he watched Vegeta grip his thighs and kiss slowly up the inside of one, then the other, licking every inch of skin he laid his lips on. He looked up through his lashes with that same sinful glint Goku was starting to crave more than a good work out.
“You taste so sweet, Kakarot,” Vegeta whispered against his skin. “Like something I shouldn’t have. Like you were made just for me to ruin.”
Goku groaned, head tipping back as his fingers tangled tight in Vegeta’s hair. He couldn’t even come up with a comeback – his mind blanking out as Vegeta took his sensitive, half-hard cock into his mouth. Vegeta let out a deep, satisfied hum as he sucked him hard, making Goku vibrate with the sound.
“Look at you,” Vegeta said, voice rich and low and rumbling against his cock. “Falling apart just from my mouth. What would your students say if they saw you like this? Your team?”
Goku whimpered, thighs trembling, jaw slack.
Damn… what would they say? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything other than Vegeta’s hot mouth at that moment. He was gulping Goku down, swallowing around him, tracing veins with his tongue. He did that for what felt like hours, always stopping just shy of letting Goku come – then starting all over again, savoring every slow, drawn-out second of the way Goku tasted on his tongue.
But in the next moment, his cock wasn’t warm anymore. Not that he minded – his favorite part about Vegeta’s blowjobs was just about to happen. He felt it all the way down to his toes as Vegeta rolled his tongue around each of his balls, suckling on them until they drew up tight. And when he glided his tongue up his cock, he ended at the tip with a savoring flick.
It felt like worship.
“Tell me what you want,” Vegeta urged, kissing the tip of Goku’s cock. “Say it, Kakarot. Tell me what you need.”
And he did.
“Please... Please, Vegeta. I need your cock,” he used his neediest voice. “Fuck me now, please. Pleeease...”
His lips curved into the drowsiest little smirk when Vegeta groaned at his words, loving the raw sound, thriving off the way he could reduce Vegeta to overwhelming need with just a few raw, gasped-out pleas. It always makes Goku feel powerful – like he can make Vegeta do anything, say anything, beg for it if he really wants. But he likes letting Vegeta think he’s the one in control.
That’s half the game.
Vegeta pushed him onto the ottoman, and before Goku could react, he was folded up – knees touching his chest, bent in half, ass lifted. He let his eyes flutter shut as the sound of the condom packet tearing reached his ears.
“I love when you beg,” Vegeta murmured, kissing down his chest as he rocked in easily, cock gliding in and fitting just right. “Love when you tell me exactly what you want.”
“And I love how you feel…” Goku breathed as Vegeta drove him crazy with tender thrusts. “Ah… Vegeta, this feels… so nice...”
“You’re so beautiful like this, Kakarot – all needy for me,” his deep voice softened into rarity, something Goku only ever hears in moments like this. And each time, it feels like a secret meant only for him. “God – I love making you feel good, seeing you surrender to me…”
He felt Vegeta tilt his chin up and kiss him – slow and sultry open-mouthed kisses, like the night was never-ending.
Goku loves every way Vegeta touches him, every way he fucks him. But this softer side, the tenderness that keeps slipping out more often than Goku expected – it makes the feelings in his chest ache with something more than just lust and desire. Something a little more vulnerable. So he leaned in and let himself be doted on, every drag and thrust making him feel both adored and ruined at once.
It’s Sunday night now, and they’re in the hot tub on the patio deck.
The steam rises in sleepy swirls around them, blurring the garden lights and making everything feel a little dreamlike, a little too perfect. Vegeta’s head is tilted back on the rim of the tub, eyes half-closed but still focused on Goku. He’s got the faintest smirk on his lips, like he knows exactly what’s going to happen if either of them makes even the slightest move. Goku’s got his arms stretched out wide on either side, the bubbles hissing around his chest, legs brushing Vegeta’s under the water. And he’s smirking right back.
He can still feel the velvet heat of Vegeta’s hands on him from earlier, in the wine cellar. He knew Vegeta liked wine, sure – but this? A whole damn shrine dedicated to it, carved into the earth beneath the house. The walls were dark, aged brick, and the redwood shelves stretched from floor to ceiling in perfectly angled rows. Bottle after bottle, each one meticulously labeled, arranged, dusted like precious museum pieces. It was colder down there than Goku expected, a faint chill clinging to the walls, the kind that prickled his skin and raised goosebumps across his arms.
But what he remembers the most is the cool press of the wine cooler against his palms as Vegeta leaned in from behind, mouth hot and slow down his spine.
“Don’t knock over my Bordeaux collection,” he growled, “unless you want to spend the rest of your life here, Kakarot – living as my personal slut to pay it off.”
Goku shuddered at the way Vegeta’s voice deepened when he said his name.
God, Vegeta always knew exactly what to say to get him going. That line had slammed into him like a tidal wave of exhilaration. He wanted to knock every bottle off those shelves just to test the threat.
Instead, through the intense haze of arousal, he managed to rasp out, “That’s not the punishment you think it is, Vegeta.”
Vegeta bit his shoulder after that, and Goku nearly cried out when Vegeta entered him, inner walls twitching as Vegeta’s cock began to fill him perfectly, like a key sliding into a lock. The bottles were clinking with every slight movement – delicate glass tapping like a warning bell – and it made Goku tense all over. But it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t help but shake oh, so violently as Vegeta fucked nothing but his prostate – slowly grinding the tip of his cock against it every time he pushed in.
“Be still,” Vegeta hissed, “or you’re paying for a dozen bottles.”
“I’m trying,” Goku whined. “It just – feels too good.”
He was really, really trying to behave. Trying to hold as still as he could, even as his body grew hotter and hotter by the second, the cold cellar air doing absolutely nothing to cool him down. Vegeta was just making him too hot. Desperate for relief, he pressed his face to the glass of the wine cooler and let out a shaky sigh, the sudden chill a welcome shock. But it only helped for so long. Vegeta just – kept – going – burying himself to the hilt and gently rolling his hips, tenderly stroking Goku’s prostate with his cock. With one hand, he lightly tugged Goku’s hair, just enough to draw a soft whine, while his other hand wrapped around Goku’s cock, slowly stroking and palming his tip.
It felt so fucking good – but really, it was more than that. It just felt like it made sense. Hell, everything about his relationship with Vegeta made sense. Goku loves toying with him – baiting him, getting him riled up. But what he loves even more is how Vegeta can break him down in return. That’s the real high. No one else can drag this kind of pleasure out of him, make him feel so helpless and wild and wanted. Turn him into something soft and begging, gasping like he doesn’t even know his own name.
“Feels so good,” he whimpered. “It feels so good, Vegeta.”
Goku had never been fucked so thoroughly, so delicately. He couldn’t even think, couldn’t even speak anymore. All he could do was moan and writhe against the glass as Vegeta kept stroking him, thumb rubbing and kneading pre-cum right back into his sensitive slit, all while his cock lovingly caressed Goku from the inside.
Goku came soon after.
He was so proud of himself for staying conscious – barely. Might’ve even had enough energy left to tease Vegeta.
But then he almost blacked out when Vegeta whispered, “Filthy slut. Look at the mess you made,” before licking every last drop of Goku’s cum off the glass.
And now… now, here they are again.
The hot tub melts Goku’s body, heavy with satisfaction. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in –maybe ever? The water glows faintly from the underwater lights, illuminating each ripple, the way Vegeta’s muscles twitch beneath the surface every time Goku shifts, like he’s waiting for Goku to make the next move. His eyes are intense, almost like he’s scheming. It makes Goku want Vegeta all over again. So he stands, water sloshing softly around him, and walks over, smirking as Vegeta shifts instantly to make space for him on his lap.
Goku lets out a soft, almost incredulous laugh as he sinks into him. “Can you believe we’ve been doing this for three nights straight?” he murmurs right into Vegeta’s mouth.
Vegeta’s arms wrap around him, locking him in place. “Let’s make it four. Stay over tomorrow night.”
Goku snorts. Vegeta always gives him grief about being insatiable, but if anyone’s the horndog, it’s him. “You know I want to,” he says between hot, wet kisses, “but I can’t.”
“Again with this?” Vegeta scowls before licking down his jaw, annoyed already. “Why can’t you?”
“Not telling,” Goku sings, grinning.
“Why are you always trying to piss me off?” Vegeta snarls the question – and in the next moment, he’s lifting Goku halfway out of the water, bracing him against the side of the tub and sliding into him in one hard thrust. Goku gasps, seeing stars in his eyes. Sheesh – what the heck? Did he have a condom on this whole time?
He wraps his arms tight around Vegeta’s neck. “Because,” he moans out, “it’s – fun.”
“Idiot.” Vegeta thrusts harder as he insults him, but it makes Goku laugh. He kinda loves when Vegeta calls him an idiot. It’s like a pet name at this point. “I’m not giving you a choice in the matter. You’re staying over.”
Goku shakes his head, and he doesn’t even need to look to know – Vegeta’s past annoyed. The way he’s fucking Goku says everything. He’s got him crying out, losing track of the conversation, of where their bodies end and meet, of how much water is splashing out of the tub.
“I can’t, I can’t!” He doesn’t even know if he’s talking about staying over or the pace Vegeta’s going.
“Don’t make me mad,” Vegeta warns, going even faster.
Goku lets out a delirious laugh that gets louder and higher with each of Vegeta’s thrusts. “Say please,” he pants. “If you say please, maybe I’ll stay.”
Vegeta grits his teeth. “Tch.” A few more hard thrusts in silence. And eventually, “…Please. Stay, Kakarot.”
It makes Goku smile. He’s so fucking close – but he can’t help himself. He needs one last tease, one final push to really get under Vegeta’s skin.
“Say pretty please.”
He feels Vegeta tense, the rhythm faltering just slightly. Frustration practically radiates off him, and the next thrust is even rougher – punishing. Goku chokes on a moan, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
“Kakarot,” Vegeta says his name like a threat, but there’s a groan chasing the end of it, like he’s giving in. Then – at long last, “…Pretty. Please.”
And that’s all it takes.
Goku comes, doing nothing to stifle his cry, while Vegeta rides out his own orgasm before slipping out. They slowly sink into the water, panting and trembling, still holding each other. Goku blinks, trying to clear the daze, only for Vegeta to say, still breathless, “I said it. Now will you stay?”
“Mm.” Goku shakes his head through the afterglow. “Nope.”
“Why? I did what you wanted,” Vegeta growls deep in his throat.
Goku shrugs. “Wasn’t convincing.”
“Wasn’t con–?” Vegeta huffs. “All right. Fine. You leave me no choice but to resort to threats.”
“Threats?” Goku hums, raising an eyebrow. What could Vegeta possibly say that would actually work on him? Still, he can’t resist leaning in, faux-innocence and mischief lacing his voice. “What kind of threats?”
“It’s simple, Kakarot.” Vegeta exhales a dry little laugh. He leans close – enough to feel his breath, but not to kiss. He says this while looking Goku directly in the eyes, “If you don’t stay, I refuse to hold your hands when we fuck anymore.”
Goku’s shocked. That actually gets him.
“Hey!” Goku pulls back with a frown, lips jutting in a pout. “That’s not fair! I have a real reason, you know.”
“Well, spit it out. What is it?”
“I’ve got the boys tomorrow,” Goku admits. “Promised to take them to a baseball game. I owe Gohan some quality bonding time.”
Vegeta doesn’t look entirely convinced, so Goku adds, “I miss the kid, man. I barely see him these days.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “You’ll see, Vegeta. Just wait ‘til Trunks grows up. Gohan’s always studying or off with his friends now. Feels like it was just yesterday he was a little kid, then I blinked and – next thing I know – he’s having girl problems and begging me to ask his mom to let him go out more often.”
Vegeta exhales slowly through his nose, clearly defeated. “Fine… But that means we make the most of tonight.”
“Well… duh.” Goku tilts his head. “I thought we were doing that already.”
–
Vegeta wakes with a soft inhale, his nose buried in Kakarot’s back, arms wound tight around his waist. Solid warmth. Familiar sweet scent. Skin stuck against skin.
Right. They’d fallen asleep fucking.
They had barely made it upstairs after the hot tub – wet, drunk on each other, still whispering digs between kisses. Vegeta had shoved him under the sheets, both of them trying to be quiet for Trunks’s sake, muffling moans into each other’s mouths, grinding their slick cocks together, slow and deep. Kakarot all but begged for him to put his cock in, and of course Vegeta listened. Even he won’t deny how much he likes giving in when Kakarot asks for it. Hell, he’s not fooling anyone. He’ll always give in, until their bodies give out completely.
They fucked nice and slow, covering each other in molasses kisses and moaning delicate breaths. Vegeta had ended up spooning Kakarot, cock still inside him as they drifted off.
It’s early. Just a sliver of light peeks through the curtains, touching the sheets in a faint glow of gold. He should wake Kakarot soon – he’ll need to go pick up Goten from Chi-chi’s and drop him off at daycare. But Kakarot is so warm in his arms and around his cock, his breathing slow and even. Peaceful, still.
Kakarot’s rarely like this. He’s loud, brash, ravenous – always burning too bright for Vegeta’s carefully constructed life. But asleep, he’s exceptionally quiet. All that chaotic energy dims to a small flicker. And Vegeta… wants to ignite it again. He wants it more than coffee, more than breakfast, more than the goddamn morning silence he loves.
Fuck it – there’s enough time for one last, good fuck before the day begins.
He presses his lips to Kakarot’s shoulder. Then lower. Tongue sliding slowly along the grooves of his lat muscles, lingering at each dip of skin and sinew. He loves the way Kakarot’s body feels under his mouth – like it was built to be tasted just by him. He keeps going until Kakarot’s body reacts on its own, startling slightly and gripping down on his cock.
Vegeta groans. It’s no surprise that he’s hard already. His boyfriend simply feels too good around him.
“Wake up, Kakarot,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
Kakarot doesn’t stir.
Vegeta’s not surprised. He’s learned by now that Kakarot sleeps like the dead – especially after a night like that. Still, he tries again.
“Wake up.”
No response. So Vegeta lets his hand drift down, rubbing at Kakarot’s ass like he’s trying to meld his fingerprints into his skin. His fingers push deep, rhythmically gripping and rolling Kakarot’s thick cheek, spreading it slightly, feeling the way it moves around him. Finally, Kakarot groans awake, voice gritty.
“Ugh… what time is it?”
“Almost six o’clock.”
“Wha…” There’s a pause, a huff, “I’m going back to bed.”
Vegeta smirks. “Are you sure about that?” He kisses Kakarot’s back, then glides his hand around to Kakarot’s stomach, gliding over the muscles there like he’s molding them from heat and touch. “I want to fuck you one last time… before you have to leave.”
“Vegeta, you asshole… My whole body hurts thanks to you, and you won’t even let me sleep?” The words are grumbled, but not serious. He’s teasing. Vegeta knows that tone now. He knows every variation of Kakarot’s sweet voice.
Still, a flit of guilt passes through his chest, so he whispers, “Let me do all the work,” lowering his voice to that specific, deep register Kakarot responds to so easily. “You won’t have to move a muscle.”
“Really?”
Vegeta scatters soft kisses along his back. “Really.”
Kakarot sighs – long, dramatic – but there’s a smile hidden in it. “All right,” he mumbles, “but be gentle. I’m still so tire–”
Vegeta stops listening the moment he hears those two words: All right. He’s already moving, hand sliding down from Kakarot’s stomach to his cock, the other reaching for his nipple, as he slides out then thrusts right back in – fast, but quiet.
Kakarot’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth, head tipping back with a muffled curse.
“Vegeta –” he hisses. “You’re such a jerk.”
Vegeta grins into his skin and thrusts just a little deeper, just to hear that soft, strangled sound again.
“Quiet,” he murmurs. “We can’t wake Trunks.”
“I am being quiet,” Kakarot snaps, biting it out through clenched teeth – but the words dissolve quickly into a stifled whimper, his body already shaking. “You’re the one who’s making me… you’re making me…”
He trails off.
Vegeta doesn’t need him to finish. He feels it – every stuttering breath, every desperate twitch of muscle, the tremble in Kakarot’s thighs where they press together, trying to hold him in. He twiddles Kakarot’s nipple between his finger and thumb to make him twitch again, while his other hand works just as hard, pulsing his fingers around the base of Kakarot’s cock and squeezing right up to the tip.
“…Please.”
Vegeta almost misses it because it’s barely a whisper.
Fuck, does Vegeta love this. The way Kakarot falls apart in his hands. The way Kakarot submits and lets him take control. Every movement he makes is careful and devoted. Offered. He lives for this. For the feel of Kakarot under him, against him, around him. For the way Kakarot gasps and writhes because Vegeta’s the only one who can touch him like this. Like every part of Vegeta exists to make Kakarot feel good.
And maybe it does.
Maybe that’s all Vegeta wants to be.
The room is warm and thick with sweat. The bedsheets are sticking to their skin, the heat of their bodies trapped beneath the duvet. Kakarot’s hair is damp where it clings to his forehead, his back slick against Vegeta’s chest. The bed creaks, soft and rhythmic, but not enough to wake Trunks. Still safe.
Vegeta noses at Kakarot’s nape, inhales the scent of him – sleep and sex and that goddamn vanilla he’ll never get tired of. He presses his mouth there, open and slow, suckling at the trail of sweat sliding down from Kakarot’s hair. The salt hits his tongue and he hums when Kakarot tightens around him.
“Are you close, Kakarot?” he whispers, stroking Kakarot faster. “I can feel you clenching around me.”
He’s rewarded with an erratic nod. Kakarot’s eyes are squeezed shut, face flushed down to the neck, one hand back over his mouth. He’s trying so hard to be quiet – Vegeta can tell. Every breath and gasp comes out in stifled huffs, his whole body trembling like it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
The aching tenderness in Vegeta’s chest hits him all at once.
He wants to take Kakarot apart and put him back together, perfectly. He wants to give him everything, every time. Because Kakarot is the sunshine he’s been chasing his whole damn life – so bright and relentless – impossible to ignore. Vegeta knows he’s not the nicest, not the softest, not the kindest man out there. But he can give Kakarot this. All of this. Every inch he asks for, every touch he needs. And now, it isn’t just about the way the sex feels – it’s about what he wants to give back. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. Even if he doesn’t have the words for it yet.
He kisses his shoulder, and whispers, “Go ahead and come, Kakarot.”
And Kakarot does. Just like Vegeta told him to.
Vegeta feels it before he hears it – the full-body shudder that racks through Kakarot as he falls apart around him, fingers clawing into the sheets, back arching so beautifully that his muscles ripple into place, carving out some of the most striking lines Vegeta’s ever seen. It’s enough to undo him, too. He buries his face between Kakarot’s shoulder blades, lips pressed hard on warm, glistening skin to muffle the guttural groan ripping out of him. The sound quakes through his chest and straight into Kakarot, making him shiver.
They stay like that, frozen in the afterglow, still connected, still breathing heavy.
A minute passes. Then another. So quiet, Vegeta thinks maybe Kakarot fell asleep again. He’d almost be proud if it didn’t make him feel a little slighted.
“I would be insulted,” he murmurs, gravel-deep, “if that put you to sleep.”
Kakarot chuckles, warm and raspy, and twists until they’re facing each other. His arms loop lazily around Vegeta’s shoulders, pulling him in for a slow, affectionate kiss.
“Jeez… you’re so demanding,” Kakarot says, smiling against his mouth. “I just needed to catch my breath.”
Vegeta breathes him in and mutters, “How can you expect me not to be, when you’re in my arms like this?”
Wait – he didn’t mean to say that.
It’s too earnest. Too soft. It just… slipped out – and that’s the problem. That’s always the problem. His mouth betrays him more and more lately, like his heart’s trying to rage against his chest like a thousand fists, using whatever words it can find. But still… he doesn’t take it back. Wouldn’t, even if Kakarot laughs at him for it. Not even if Kakarot teases him about it for the rest of his life.
“Aww, Vegeta’s getting all mushy.” Kakarot smirks playfully. “Do you like me that much? You’re so cute when you’re like this.”
“Shut up,” he scowls, blushing immediately. He’s not angry. He just – doesn’t know what else to do with all these feelings that won’t stop building. “I am not cute. And don’t call me mushy again, or I’ll make you beg for your next orgasm with your mouth full.”
Kakarot just laughs, completely unbothered and clearly delighted by the threat. “Is that supposed to scare me?” he asks, voice thick with mischief. “If you’re offering to shut me up with your cock, Vegeta… I’ll call you cute until the day we die.”
Then he flashes a grin – so bright it’s almost blinding, like the sun coming up just for him. It’s the kind of light that warms even the coldest parts of Vegeta’s heart. It makes the filth exchanged between them feel like love letters.
“You really don’t know when to quit. Do you, Kakarot?”
They kiss again – deeper, lazier, like neither of them wants to move. But eventually Kakarot sighs, presses his forehead to Vegeta’s, and whispers, “I gotta sneak out before Trunks wakes up. And before you get me too excited again.”
Vegeta doesn’t respond right away. He doesn’t want to. He wishes Kakarot could stay, not just for one more night, but for the whole day – every damn day, in fact. They haven’t even used his walk-in closet yet – all those damn mirrors… The thought nearly derails him.
But reality rears its ugly head. It’s Monday. Daycare. Work. Life.
“C’mon, Vegeta. We gotta get up.”
With a reluctant groan, Vegeta peels away from him and they both drag themselves out of bed. They brush their teeth together in the ensuite, arms brushing, trading glances in the mirror – half-dressed and pretending they aren’t looking. But they are. Watching each other hungrily – again. And again. But they resist. Because they have to.
Kakarot kisses him at the door, car keys already in hand, hair slightly damp from the quick shower he took – if you could even call it that. He had just bent over the sink and splashed himself with barely-warm water, all while Vegeta stood off to the side, watching with increasing disbelief. It was just so ridiculous. Inefficient, actually. But somehow… stupidly hot. Still, once Kakarot left the bathroom, Vegeta wiped down the entire sink basin with a towel, muttering under his breath the whole time.
It's things like this – these little glimpses into Kakarot’s habits, his quirks, the strange routines he never thinks twice about – that make Vegeta want to know everything. What does he do when no one’s watching? How is he when he’s alone with his sons? How would he act if they lived together?
Goddamn it. He wishes Kakarot didn’t have to leave.
He must be frowning, because Kakarot laughs. “Really, Vegeta? We just spent the whole weekend together. And I’m seeing you in, what, an hour? At drop-off?”
Vegeta scowls, cheeks flushing hot. He hates how obvious he is. But not enough to deny it anymore.
“It’s not the same, Kakarot. You know that.” Vegeta grumbles. “It would be easier if we just lived together.” The words come out easier than he expects, almost like they’ve been waiting. Like they’ve been true for a while now.
Kakarot blinks at him, then softens – completely. He leans in and kisses Vegeta again, slower this time. More meaningful.
“Mm. You’re gonna put all sorts of ideas in my head if you say things like that, Vegeta,” he whispers. Then, with a coy glint in his eyes, he adds, “We can make it happen, you know? Don’t think I forgot about what you said before. I’m just waiting for the day you propose.”
Vegeta goes completely red.
“Kakarot, you –”
“Oh,” Kakarot interrupts, glancing down at his watch. “Would ya look at the time. Gotta run!”
And just like that, he’s out the door while Vegeta stands there, heart hammering. Still warm. Still flustered. Still thinking about what Kakarot said.
I’m just waiting for the day you propose.
Hell.
He might just do it.
Notes:
Living my wildest service top Vegeta fantasies.
Chapter 7: i know that you love me too
Notes:
We are back to plot! Another meaty chapter from me. Finally got my act together and wrote then edited this beast after days of furiously typing ideas into my Notes app whenever I got them.
I had A LOT of fun with this one and I hope you have just as much fun reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In hindsight, Goku probably should’ve left daycare sooner.
He was wondering why the boys were taking so long to come out. But when he walked into their homeroom, Trunks and Goten were sprawled on the rainbow floor mat, locked in the most dramatic action figure battle ever staged. They were holding brand new toys – bright, shiny, and obviously overpriced. Vegeta claimed a client gifted them to him, but Goku knew better. He definitely bought them. Just to keep the boys busy so they could sneak off behind the building and make out for a bit.
And – yeah. Of course they did.
It was only a couple of minutes. Probably five? Ten? Fifteen? But time moved weird when Vegeta was pinning him against the brick with a hand on his waist and the other tangled in his hair while their tongues slow danced. Still, Vegeta had let him go easy today, because he knew Goku was taking the boys to the baseball game. He even said, “Try not to miss the first inning, Kakarot,” right before squeezing his ass and walking away.
He missed the first inning anyway.
Picking up Gohan from Chi-chi’s ran late. Chi-chi chewed him out the second he pulled into the driveway, arms crossed, already mid-rant by the time Goku stepped out of the car. He made her late for something important, apparently. So he stood there rubbing his hands together in apology, trying to look as sheepish and sorry as possible while she kept going, voice rising with every sentence. Gohan didn’t wait around, just slipped into the passenger seat with his head ducked, clearly not in the mood to be seen by the neighbors peeking out their windows.
As they drove off, Chi-chi shouted after them from the sidewalk, “You better bring my babies back in one piece, you oaf!”
Now they’re stuck in an endless line at the concession stand, surrounded by screaming kids, the wonderfully greasy smell of onion rings and nachos, and the distant crack of a steel bat hitting a ball somewhere down the field.
“Can we get candy too, Dad?” Goten tugs at his pants, eyes wide with hope. “Like the gummy ghosts? Or the green jelly beans? Those are my favorites!”
Goku ruffles his hair with a grin. “What’s wrong with hot dogs?”
“I want candy more than I want hot dogs! Please, Dad! Please!”
“Hm…” Goku taps his chin dramatically. “Maybe later, Goten.”
“Nooo, Dad!” Goten stomps his little feet. “Please, please, please! I want candy now!”
Goku squats down to meet Goten’s eyes. “No whining, or we won’t get candy at all.”
He tries to keep it light, but the words feel weird in his mouth. Goku almost feels bad. He used to say yes to just about everything. Now, he’s hearing Vegeta’s voice in his head – something about sugar spikes and crash cycles and the importance of avoiding empty carbs. Damn Vegeta. Throwing off my whole parenting game.
Goten blinks at him, then slowly unleashes his ultimate weapon: huge, watery puppy-dog eyes, lower lip trembling, pout deep enough to fool just about anyone else. But Goku doesn’t flinch. He just stands, crosses his arms, and stares back with his best dad means serious business look.
The silence is weirdly loud – quiet isn’t a thing when it comes to the Son family. Goten sniffs once and then, with a dramatic little sigh, he mumbles, “…Okay, Dad… maybe later…”
“That’s my guy,” Goku ruffles his hair again, making Goten giggle. “I knew you’d get it.”
Gohan glances over. “Whoa, no candy?” he says with mock alarm. “Did something happen to you, Dad?”
Goku snorts and decides to tell a half-truth. “Just trying to keep you two healthy, that’s all.”
But Gohan’s eyebrow lifts, and he’s looking at Goku like he’s a stranger. “Healthy?”
Goku’s supposed to be the “fun” parent. Milkshakes for breakfast, impromptu wrestling matches in a living room covered in loose Legos, random buffet dinners where they stuff themselves so full they get sick, and spontaneous games of basketball or catch at the park, no matter the weather. And now here he is, saying maybe to candy and trying to convince Goten that hot dogs are just as exciting.
He’s changing. And it’s all his boyfriend’s fault.
Dating Vegeta is turning real serious real fast. It’s the kind of serious where they’re not really just joking about marriage or living together anymore. It’s the kind that seeps into more and more aspects of his life – his parenting, his choices, the way he sees himself in the mirror.
That’s not a bad thing. Not at all.
It’s just that Gohan doesn’t know.
Goku’s getting the same feeling he did when was about to tell Goten. But Goten’s young enough to accept it without overthinking. He just asked a couple of silly, sincere questions. Now Goku’s trying to figure out how to tell Gohan, who’s older, a lot smarter, and way more likely to have questions Goku doesn’t know how to answer. It might’ve been fine when it was just secret makeouts and touching each other up, but it’s not just that anymore. Not when there’s been a weekend sleepover with Vegeta whispering, Please. Stay, Kakarot.
He glances at Gohan, who’s holding Goten’s hand like the responsible older brother he’s always been. Suddenly, he’s reminded of when Gohan was Goten’s age. Quiet, reserved, always keeping to himself – nothing like the firecracker Goten is. Gohan was so small back then, a little boy trying to figure out how to fit into the world. It wasn’t until he started winning science fairs – then racking up research paper awards in middle school – that he really came into his own. That confidence earned him a few solid friends come high school, and lately, Goku’s been catching glimpses of a version of Gohan he’s never seen before – one that stands taller and speaks up more.
Goku sighs and scratches the back of his neck. The line’s barely moved. I guess maybe now’s the time. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, then nudges Gohan gently with his elbow.
“What’s up, Dad?” Gohan asks. He nods toward the signs that point in the direction of their seat numbers. “You want me to go grab the seats?”
That’s Gohan for you. Always thinking ahead.
“Nah, we’ll find them together.” Goku winks and waves his hand. “I’ll need your hands for the snacks anyway.”
“Right, okay. So, what’s up?” He tilts his head, curious now – perceptive, like he knows there’s something coming.
Goku clears his throat.
“Okay, so – the real reason I said no to candy…” he starts slowly but then just decides to rip the band aid off. “There’s this guy I’ve been seeing. He really cares about nutrition and it’s kinda starting to rub off.”
“You’re dating someone?” Gohan turns to him, his brows already furrowing.
Goku nods. “Yeah. I am.”
“Who is he?”
Goku scratches behind his ear. His eyes dart around everywhere, looking at anything except Gohan. “Well… uh… it’s Trunks’s dad.”
“I knew it,” Gohan says immediately, eyes narrowing.
“Huh? You did?”
“I had a feeling,” Gohan mutters. “Goten kept talking about hanging out with Trunks every weekend. He also told me you guys went over to Trunks’s house last Friday. For a sleepover.” He says it flatly, like it explains everything. It kind of does.
Goku can’t say anything, but he’s not surprised Gohan figured it out.
Gohan looks down at Goten, who’s just bouncing on his feet, completely lost in his own world. Then he looks back at Goku. “How long have you been dating?”
“Uh…” Goku thinks for a second. Doesn’t actually know, but makes an educated guess. “A couple months now.”
“Does Goten know?”
Goku nods. “Yeah. I told him a while ago.”
“So why didn’t you tell me, Dad?”
Now Goku's scratching his cheek. He gets so itchy when he's anxious. Hearing the hurt in his son’s voice, like he’s been left out on purpose, stings more than Goku expects. Still, he straightens a little. He doesn’t want Gohan getting the wrong idea – not about this. Not about Vegeta.
“Trust me, Gohan. I was gonna,” Goku says. “I just wanted to make sure it was serious, y’know? I wanted to be sure about it before I told you.”
Gohan doesn’t respond right away. He just stares, jaw tight, browns drawn, like he’s trying not to explode. Goku watches him, chest tightening a little. That look – like he’s the irresponsible one and Gohan’s the grown-up – he hates that look.
“Don’t give me that look,” Goku says, not defensive but just solemn. “I wasn’t keeping it from you to hurt you. I just wanted to do it right. Believe me, Gohan. I haven’t even told your mom yet.”
“You haven’t even told Mom?!” Gohan shouts, voice cracking with disbelief.
“Ouch, you’re squeezing my hand, Gohan!” Goten yelps, squirming where he stands.
Goku laughs awkwardly as a few heads turn their way. He lifts both hands, palms up in a calming motion, doing his best to calm the boys. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s settle down, guys.”
Gohan mutters a quick, “Sorry, Goten,” and lets go of his hand, but his eyes don’t leave Goku’s face. He lowers his voice. “Why haven’t you told Mom yet?”
Goku sighs. “Because I wanted you and Goten to know first. You’re the most important people in my life, okay? I just needed to tell you before I told your mom. And now that I have, I will. I promise.”
Gohan doesn’t say anything for a second. He looks at him the same way he does when he’s trying to figure out if Goku’s bluffing during a card game – focused, cautious, and a little pissed off. But underneath that, Goku can tell. He’s just worried. Then his face shifts – that protective streak that’s been in him since he was a toddler starts rising to the surface.
“So… what’s this guy like?” he asks, arms crossing. “Trunks’s dad. Is he, like – is he good to you?”
Before Goku can even open his mouth, Goten pipes up brightly. “Dad always laughs around Trunks’s dad. Like, a lot. He even laughed so hard he snorted and a booger came out and he didn’t even know.”
“Gee. Thanks, Goten,” Goku says, lips flat in a line.
He looks at Gohan again. “It’s true though. He does make me laugh. He makes me feel good. He looks out for me, even when he’s grumpy about it.” Goku shrugs. “I’m happy, Gohan. Really happy.”
The line finally starts moving – some kind of bottleneck near the front clears out. They’re close now, just a few people ahead. Goten claps excitedly at the movement, babbling to himself about hot dog toppings.
Goku expects Gohan to nod in silence or say something too thoughtful, a too wise-for-his-age type of line. But instead, Gohan folds his arms and says, “I believe you, Dad. But I wanna meet him. See him for myself.”
Goku laughs – loud and full. Of course. This kid. “Are you gonna screen him or somethin’?”
“I am,” Gohan says without missing a beat.
“Damn.” That hurts Goku’s pride, just a smidge. “You think I can’t handle myself?”
“No. I just think you get carried away sometimes, Dad.”
Goku can’t even argue with that. Gohan’s right – and he’s saying it with care, not judgment. It’s been that way ever since Gohan was little. He always had a worried look on his tiny face when Goku did something dumb or reckless, like try to fix the toilet all by himself without calling a plumber or at least watching a tutorial first.
He exhales hard through his nose. “All right, all right. Fair enough, Gohan. You’ll meet him soon, I promise.”
Gohan raises an eyebrow. “When?”
Goku hesitates. He thinks about bringing Gohan to the martial arts day he still hasn’t brought up to the guys at the gym. But… nah. That’d be a lot. Too many new faces, too many questions, and way too much testosterone in one space. The last thing Vegeta needs is to be grilled by the gym crew and his teenage son in the same afternoon.
No, he’s going to have to plan this properly. Something… casual? Low pressure. A small thing. Maybe… Vegeta comes over for a family dinner? After he gives Chi-chi a heads up, of course. Which he will. Soon. He’s promised now, after all. He’ll figure it out eventually.
He just wants it to feel easy. Normal. Even if he knows full well that Gohan and Chi-chi are going to give Vegeta hell. Still, it would mean something. A step forward in their relationship, reaching closer and closer towards what they both want.
“Soon,” Goku says. “I’ve got something in the works.”
Gohan narrows his eyes, looking skeptical and serious. “He better be good to you, Dad. And to Goten. I don’t care how tall or scary he looks – if he does anything to either of you, I’m not holding back.”
Goku huffs a short, warm laugh to cover the pang in his chest at how fast Gohan always steps into the role of protector. Even as a toddler, Gohan had that edge in him. He was polite to a fault, until something pushed too hard. Then it was like a switch flipped. Full-on tantrums that took both him and Chi-chi by surprise. Rage he couldn’t always control. Goku never quite knew where it came from, and maybe Gohan didn’t either, but it’s always there.
And he wouldn’t want Vegeta to be on the receiving end of that.
Goku reaches over and ruffles his hair – it’s the same texture as his, just a little shorter, cleaner cut. “I wouldn’t wanna mess with you if I were him. But maybe… don’t scare him off too fast. I really like this guy, okay?”
That earns him a side-eye, but the corners of Gohan’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Whatever,” he mutters, textbook teenage response.
Goku grins, triumphant. “Okay, enough about my love life. Let’s hear about yours. You ask Videl out yet?”
And just like that, Gohan turns bright red. “No,” he says quickly, dragging out the word like he’s trying to bury himself alive. “But I’m working on it!”
Goku whoops, and gives him a half-hug. “That’s my boy.”
Gohan just grumbles and looks away, cheeks still red, clearly too embarrassed to keep talking about his massive crush on Videl – Mr. Satan’s daughter from three houses down in Goku’s neighborhood. He never told Goku outright, but he didn’t need to. Goku figured it out the second Gohan started asking what he knew about Mr. Satan, and whether he thought Videl liked movies, or science, or if she was allergic to anything – “y’know, just in case, Dad.” He even asked for tips on how to “start a normal conversation” with girls.
Goku had tried his best not to tease too hard, and once Gohan realized Goku wasn’t going to make fun of him too much, he started opening up more. Goku learned that Videl is in his homeroom. That they hang out in the library sometimes. That he shares his notes with her before tests, and she helped him carry his science fair display last month. That kind of stuff. Obvious crush stuff. Goku knows she probably likes him back. He also knows Gohan will ask her out – eventually. Probably in his own awkward, panicked way.
The line moves again, and they step up to order just as the crowd erupts in cheers – the game’s already in the fourth inning. But it doesn’t matter. Goku didn’t come here for the game.
He came to spend time with his boys.
And judging by the way Goten is still bouncing in place beside him, eagerly listing his preferred hot dog toppings to the vendor, and Gohan is finally smiling again – even if it’s small and shy – he knows that’s all they wanted, too.
They’re about to down a dozen footlong hot dogs between the three of them, and Goku’s already mentally preparing himself to “accidentally” buy some candy before they leave. His stomach – and Vegeta – will hate him for it, but it’s worth it. And in the back of his mind, he’s already daydreaming. Of Vegeta sitting beside them in the stands next time. Of introducing him to Chi-chi without drama. Of Gohan warming up to him. Of all of it – this big, messy, makeshift family life coming together.
Goku wants that. He really wants that.
And it’s starting to feel a lot closer than he thought.
–
It’s “martial arts day” or whatever the hell Kakarot called it.
The day Vegeta’s been both looking forward to and absolutely dreading. He doesn’t know why. No – he does.
It’s the people. The new ones. The ones he has to be nice to, or at least pretend to like. He’s only good at that when it comes to work – when there’s a goal. But these people aren’t just any people – they’re Kakarot’s people. Kakarot’s coworkers, his friends. His gym family. The ones who see sides of him Vegeta doesn’t know, who knows his habits and moods, who probably already don’t trust Vegeta on principle.
He breathes hard through his nose, tight-lipped.
You can’t scare them off. Not today. This isn’t just meeting Kakarot’s friends. This is proof – that he’s serious. That he’s in this.
For Kakarot.
Vegeta follows him from the daycare, trying his best not to let Kakarot’s ridiculously shitty driving ruin his mood, but it’s a losing battle. Kakarot is slow, then suddenly too fast. He stops halfway through intersections, lingers at green lights, brakes like he’s trying to eject Vegeta through the windshield. Vegeta almost rear-ends him seven separate times and he has to dig his nails into the steering wheel just to stay calm. Think about kissing that stupid mouth, he tells himself. Think about that idiotic grin he gets when we have sex. It works. But not really. Just gets him riled up in all sorts of ways.
By the time they pull into the gym parking lot, he’s convinced his blood pressure has tripled – quadrupled, in fact. He parks next to Kakarot, and before he can even get out of the car to give his boyfriend an earful, Kakarot’s already hopping over from his driver’s side, eyes narrowed like he’s about to whisper a secret to Vegeta.
“Hey,” Kakarot says, voice low. “So no funny business today, okay?”
Vegeta shuts his door, narrowing his eyes too. “What exactly do you mean by that, Kakarot?”
Kakarot sighs. Theatrically. Like Vegeta’s the dumb one here.
“Like… no being mean, no name-calling, and no bad touching, if you catch my drift,” he mutters, lips pursed to the side, barely moving. He says it quietly, as if the kids – who are still buckled in the car – can hear him.
“What the hell?” Vegeta stiffens. “Do you really think that little of me? That I’d touch you in front of your coworkers and clients? Our children?”
Kakarot squints down at him, eyes forming cartoonish lines. “Well I dunno, you’ve said some pretty crazy dirty things before!”
Vegeta goes tomato red. “You idiot. That was just something I said to arouse you.”
“Shhh!” Kakarot panics, glancing around the empty parking lot as if Vegeta just shouted something obscene. “Keep your voice down! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Just who are you looking at?! There is nobody around, Kakarot.”
“You don’t know that! They could be anywhere!” Another annoying sigh. Bigger. More dramatic. Hands on his hips this time. “I can’t piss off the guys any more than I already have, okay? They’re annoyed as hell that we had to shuffle around appointments last minute just to host this private class.”
Last minute? Vegeta furrows his brows. “You mean this wasn’t already scheduled?”
Kakarot grins, scratching his head. “Uhhh… yeah. Haha.”
“You absolute clown.”
“See? That’s the energy you gotta keep in check today.”
Kakarot’s irresponsibility infuriates him. Vegeta almost can't believe he still wants to live with this idiot under the same roof. He’s being so immature, so annoying that Vegeta deserves a medal, a drink, and honestly, a full-body massage for not snapping right then and there. He’s definitely texting Nappa later to schedule one in for tomorrow. But first, he needs to calm down. His boyfriend is normally well-meaning. There must be a reason he’s being so stupid. So Vegeta takes a deep breath and smooths out his sleeves like a civilized man.
“Wait,” he says, pointing a finger at Kakarot, suddenly realizing something. “You didn’t plan this class for the gym.”
“Whaddya mean?” Kakarot tilts his head. “Yeah I did. Why else would we be here?”
“That’s not what I mean, Kakarot. I mean, not for the gym’s sake.”
“Oh. Okay, well… yeah. Not just for the gym’s sake.”
Vegeta’s eyes narrow further. “You concocted this entire thing just to get me to come here, didn’t you?”
Kakarot flushes. “Not just for that!”
Vegeta waits. He crosses his arms and stares up at him.
Kakarot looks down at the ground and picks at his chin, then mumbles, “So you could… meet my team, see what I do every day…”
Vegeta blinks.
He should be annoyed. He wants to be annoyed. But his heart beats in a way that disarms him completely. The words sink in fast, like a solid hit to the ribs. Kakarot went out of his way and angered his friends because he wants Vegeta to meet the people who matter to him. So Vegeta can belong here, in this part of his life too.
It knocks the air out of Vegeta. He actually has to take a small step back.
He looks away, throat suddenly dry, and mutters, “God, you –” but the insult never lands. His tongue gets tangled. He ends up stammering instead, hands balled into fists at his sides. He’s so far gone for this idiot, even when he’s mad.
“Okay. Fine,” he grumbles, ears burning. “I’ll behave. I’m looking forward to meeting your stupid team.”
Kakarot’s grin is instant – bright as ever, disgustingly handsome. “Really?”
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
“But I really like when you say things like that,” Kakarot says, clearly enjoying this way too much. “It’s so cute.”
“I’m looking forward –” Vegeta cuts himself off, realizing he was about to repeat it just to keep Kakarot smiling at him like that. “I’m not repeating it! Let’s just get on with it.”
They turn to the cars.
Vegeta helps Trunks out of the seat, smoothing his hand gently over the boy’s outfit – a shirt and joggers, perfect for sports. Kakarot does the same with Goten, hoisting the four-year-old into his arms before placing him down. Their sons babble at each other instantly – something about super punches and ki blasts. They walk toward the gym entrance and Vegeta braces himself for awkward introductions, long stares, and handshakes that last too long.
The moment they step inside, the scent of sweat, liniment, and matted rubber floors hits Vegeta like a wall. He barely has time to take in the space – bright lights overhead, punching bags swaying from recent use, scuffed mats, scores of dumbbells – before they’re swarmed. A pack of hulking men – some tall, some small, all loud – descend on them.
But they all go to Kakarot first, naturally.
“Hey, there he is!”
“Can’t believe you pulled this stunt in the middle of the week, man,” a short, bald one mutters, sounding slightly angry but he’s already elbowing Kakarot affectionately.
“About time you showed up,” a deep voice grumbles from the back.
The men jostle him like a brother they’re a little pissed at – but still happy to see. Kakarot just bashfully laughs through it, already throwing up apologetic hands. It’s all loud noise and motion and big dumb grins laced with a touch of exasperation. It seems they’ve forgiven him already. And Vegeta gets it. That’s the effect Kakarot has on him too.
But he swears they’re touching him much more than they should be.
Vegeta tells himself he doesn’t care. Not really. Not enough to –
Fine. It does get under his skin… just a little.
It shouldn’t. He knows better. He’s not the jealous type. Absolutely not.
He folds his arms, raises his chin, keeps his posture composed – at least on the outside. Inside, there’s a small, growing flicker of something bitter and petty and possessive he tries very hard to ignore.
“Goten!” the short bald one calls, ruffling his hair on his way past. Another waves him over for a fist bump. They all greet him like he’s a little mascot, like this place is his second home.
Then one guy – long, disheveled hair, jagged scars over his eye and cheek – finally turns to Vegeta. “Hey,” he says, squinting. “You the boyfriend?”
Before Vegeta can answer, the short bald one pipes up. “Yo! I’m Krillin. So you’re the reason Goku’s got his head in the clouds. Heard you like working out.”
“Can you fight?” asks the taller bald one – serious expression, no trainer tag on his shirt. Definitely a client. “Do you know how to spar?”
“Wait, Tien. Me first.” The long-haired one cuts in. Another client, clearly. “You ever train with Goku? Does he let you beat him just ‘cause you’re dating?”
“Hold on, Yamcha – maybe he only works out with machines,” Krillin says.
“No way. He probably uses free weights. You can tell he’s pretty strong. Get out of that suit and show us your physique, man!”
Vegeta’s brow twitches. “I –” he starts, caught off guard.
“Hang on, guys,” Kakarot cuts in quickly, holding out a hand like he’s settling a crowd of kids. “I know you’re all excited to meet him, but don’t gang up on him! He can’t even handle me alone sometimes.”
Vegeta shoots him a sharp look.
Kakarot smiles.
It’s annoying – intentionally so. Kakarot’s trying to get a rise out of him, he knows that. But underneath it, Vegeta also knows it’s his way of diffusing the chaos. Kakarot’s version of throwing him a life jacket in a room full of overexcited strangers. So Vegeta doesn’t snap. He just exhales slowly through his nose and lets it go.
The group concedes, murmuring light apologies, stepping back to give him room. Vegeta can finally breathe again, and Kakarot gestures toward him with that crooked little smile – nervous, despite trying to play it cool. Vegeta wonders if he’s the only one who can tell. The way Kakarot’s voice lifts slightly, the way his fingers twitch by his sides. He hopes he’s the only one who can read Kakarot like this while the rest of them can’t.
“Well… here he is. My boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
The word fills Vegeta with a surge of pride. That’s right. He’s Kakarot’s boyfriend.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Vegeta says, putting a hand lightly over his own chest.
Kakarot steps aside with a little flourish, like he’s handing over the mic.
“I am Vegeta,” he says with his arms crossed, putting on his most regal posture. “This may not be my profession, but I take great pride in daily exercise and nutritional discipline. I work a corporate job – early mornings, late nights. And as for sparring, Kakarot and I have never trained together… but I assure you,” he smirks. “I can defeat him in a fight.”
A snort cuts through the tension. Almost mocking – but more like someone trying not to laugh too hard. It draws Vegeta’s eyes right to the back of the group. There’s a man standing there he hadn’t noticed before. Taller than Kakarot, and much taller than Vegeta. Arms crossed, shoulders squared, wearing a dark purple t-shirt stretched low across his chest. His expression is more unreadable than Vegeta’s, and his eyes are sharp. Watching everything, missing nothing.
“You haven’t even trained with Goku,” the man says, voice flat and unamused. “Let alone seen him fight. And you think you can beat him? Don’t make me laugh.”
That pisses Vegeta off immediately.
Exactly who the hell is this guy? Talking to him like that? He’s not even being smug – just cold and clipped, like he already doesn’t like Vegeta and doesn’t care who knows it.
To hell with Kakarot’s stupid rule about being nice to his friends.
Vegeta scoffs, chin tilted. “Give me a break. If I wanted the opinion of an amateur who instructs bored housewives on how to throw a punch, I would ask for it.”
“Oh?” Piccolo lifts a brow, eyes flashing. “And if I wanted the opinion of a corporate husk who wears ill-fitting suits, I’d ask you.”
Vegeta’s jaw tenses, lips rising on both corners to retort – something cutting already curling on his tongue – but Kakarot steps in.
“C’mon, Piccolo,” Kakarot says, using the same voice he reserves for calming Goten down when he’s on the verge of a tantrum. It almost makes Vegeta laugh to see this guy being handled like a grumpy toddler. “Lighten up! It’s not that serious. Vegeta’s just joking. Besides, it’s not like you give me a hard time on the mats. Remember when I had you pinned for two solid minutes?”
Pinned? Two whole minutes? Vegeta tries to stop his eye from twitching.
Then Kakarot laughs loudly – too loudly. “I think that was the first time you actually admitted losing to me.”
Vegeta’s stomach flips. Irritation flares hot and fast in his chest.
Right… Of course Kakarot’s been on top of this guy before. Of course he’s laughed like this with him. Trained with him. Sweated with him. Probably traded bruises and grins and inside jokes while Vegeta was stuck behind his desk reviewing a stupid industry report on market trends for surgical equipment or supervising the idiotic R&D team that never seems to get things in on time.
He clenches his jaw harder, if that’s even possible.
Piccolo still doesn’t look at Kakarot. He keeps his eyes locked on Vegeta’s. And Vegeta refuses to look away. He knows this type. Hell, he is this type. Protective. Territorial. Loyal to a fault and suspicious of anyone who gets close. The only difference is – Vegeta’s the one dating Kakarot. Not this guy.
They stare each other down in silence, neither willing to blink first. The tension hangs thick between them – until someone cuts it clean.
“And who do we have here?” Krillin says suddenly, crouching down and gesturing toward Trunks, who’s standing near the mats.
“I’m Trunks! I’m Goten’s best friend! We already fought lots of times and I always beat him,” he declares proudly, thumb pointing towards his tiny puffed-out chest.
“Hey! That’s not true!” Goten shouts, marching forward from Kakarot’s side to plant himself right beside Trunks. “You’re lying! I always beat Trunks!”
“Liar!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Okay, okay,” Kakarot steps in smoothly, one hand held up like a referee between rounds. He grins, eyes dancing as he glances between the two pint-sized rivals. “How about you two settle it right here, right now?”
Trunks and Goten both blink.
“We’ll be the judges,” Kakarot adds, already walking toward the edge of the mat. “You wanna prove who’s stronger? Show us your best moves.”
“Good idea, Goku," Krillin nods, approving the idea with a thumbs-up. “A warm up for the lesson you have planned. Which you do have planned, right?"
"Right," Kakarot smiles.
Vegeta rolls his eyes before he notices Trunks staring up at him, eyes pleading with that stubbornness that’s all too familiar.
Vegeta nods once, arms crossed. “Go on, Trunks. Make your father proud.”
Trunks beams, throws his sneakers off, and squares up with a dramatic little bounce. Across from him, Goten stretches his sides enthusiastically, loosening up.
“You got this, Goten!” Kakarot calls, crouching like a coach. “Remember the stuff I showed you. Use your stance! Stay grounded!”
“I hope you’re ready, Trunks!” Goten shouts, already fisting his tiny hands.
“I’m gonna crush you!” Trunks grins, eyes gleaming with fire.
They start off strong, surprisingly – little legs kicking, small fists punching in wild but committed swings. There’s a decent front kick from Trunks, and Goten counters with a sloppy elbow jab that might have actually hurt if he had more than thirty-five pounds of weight behind it.
But then they both overcommit.
Goten lunges, Trunks grabs him, and suddenly they’re on the floor, rolling all over each other like two kittens in a tussle. Arms flail, legs fly, Goten yells, “Ow, my ear!” and Trunks screeches, “You cheated!”
Kakarot is already rubbing his face. “I swear, I taught Goten better than this.”
“This is embarrassing,” Vegeta deadpans, unimpressed. “Where is your form, Trunks?”
Krillin and Tien shake their heads while Yamcha chuckles under his breath. Piccolo’s in pure shock – he looks like he’s watching a villain use the hero’s signature move – and land it.
Kakarot sighs and steps forward. “All right, all right, break it up.” He peels them apart, one under each arm like sacks of potatoes, and sets them back on their feet.
“Okay,” Kakarot claps. “Let’s show ‘em how we grown-ups do it.”
Then – of course – he turns and grins at Vegeta. He winks.
Oh no. Don’t tell me –
“Piccolo, you're gonna fight Vegeta,” Kakarot says casually. “Winner fights me.”
The room murmurs with interest.
“Are you sure, Goku? Piccolo's quite strong," Tien says with concern.
"Yeah, man. I don't know about this," Krillin mutters under his breath.
"Don't worry, guys." Kakarot laughs as he plops down onto the mat. "I have a feeling Vegeta's gonna surprise us."
"Really?" Yamcha sits next to him. “Damn, this is gonna be fun."
Vegeta’s stomach coils. He regrets ever mentioning to Kakarot – offhandedly, in passing, with far too much confidence – that he “knew a thing or two” about martial arts. He hasn’t trained properly in years. Not since his father used to force him into lessons as a kid. He still remembers those after-school drives: school uniform jacket off, tie loosened, his father barking at him in the rearview mirror to never lose, to fight harder, to win. Always win. Vegeta did – eventually reaching black belt – but the glory was always overshadowed by his father’s persistence… until now.
He purses his lips. Well… guess the old bastard did something useful after all.
He shrugs out of his suit jacket and unbuttons his shirt. He’s already prepared – underneath, he’s wearing a simple black tank top and navy gym shorts. He folds the layers neatly, sets them aside, then steps barefoot onto the mat.
Piccolo steps up. He bows slightly. “I’m looking forward to this.”
“Hmph.” Vegeta mirrors it. Technically, it doesn’t feel respectful – it feels like the start of a war. “Don’t you dare underestimate me.”
They circle, the mat quiet now, tension sharp in the air. The kids are sitting cross-legged on the side, eyes wide like they’re watching an action movie.
Piccolo moves first – a quick and controlled low sweep that Vegeta barely dodges. He counters with a snap kick, but Piccolo blocks with his forearm and lunges in for a close-quarters elbow to the chest. Vegeta twists, absorbs the hit to his side, and backs off.
Seems I’m the one who underestimated him. He’s fairly good.
But I’m better.
Just like that, years of drills suddenly come flooding back – muscle memory. He throws a clean hook to test distance, then follows with a low kick that lands solid. Piccolo grunts – barely – but his expression never changes. They clash again, this time with more force. Piccolo lands a jab. Vegeta lands two – solid ones. They break. Vegeta’s chest is rising fast, but his mind is sharper now, dialed in.
Then he sees the opening – a shift in Piccolo’s back foot. Too slow.
Vegeta sweeps low with a kick, fast and brutal.
Piccolo’s legs go out from under him and he hits the mat hard with a thud. “Crap.”
Everyone gasps.
Vegeta steps back, standing tall, breathing hard – but smirking. He crosses his arms over his chest and lets out a bark of laughter, triumphant.
“Did you think I would be defeated so easily?” he says loud enough for everyone to hear.
Piccolo doesn’t get up right away. He glares at Vegeta from the floor like he wants to murder him. But Vegeta doesn’t care. He’s riding the high, already imagining pinning Kakarot to the mat next – with much more satisfying consequences.
He expects – no, waits – for Kakarot to come to him. To congratulate him. To grin like an idiot and gush about how strong he is, how good he looked out there. Maybe even throw in a handsome for good measure.
But Kakarot moves right past him.
“You all right, Piccolo?” Kakarot asks, throwing out a hand.
“I’m fine.” Piccolo takes it and hauls himself up, brushing his palms off his pants like the fall was nothing.
Vegeta stands there – just stands there – jaw screwing tighter and tighter as the heat creeps up the back of his neck.
You can’t be serious.
Not a word. Not a glance. Kakarot walked right past Vegeta to check on him first.
I beat that simpleton. I’m stronger than him, and Kakarot’s worried about him?
Vegeta doesn’t say any of it. He just clenches his fists and stares, pretending that he doesn’t care. That it doesn’t burn him alive. They’re friends, he tells himself. Kakarot’s known him longer. It’s nothing. Still, it hits him harder than any punch Piccolo managed to land. Not because Kakarot cares for someone else – Vegeta can live with that. Sort of. Maybe. But because it’s a reminder – their friendship is so strong because Kakarot lets people care about him. Protect him. Touch him. Laugh with him. While Vegeta’s still working on how to tell Kakarot what he feels without getting embarrassed or feeling unreasonable amounts of shame.
The jealousy is becoming intolerable, but this is one thing he can never tell Kakarot. The clown would never let him live this down.
And now he’s even more pissed. Even though he has no right to be. Not really. He won.
He won.
So why the hell does it feel like he didn’t?
Kakarot finally turns around, eyes lighting up. “I’m impressed, Vegeta. Piccolo’s not an easy guy to take down.”
Hmph. Too little, too late.
“I don't need your compliments," Vegeta spits as he rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. "Be prepared to face the same fate.”
Kakarot’s face splits into a ridiculous, infuriating, glorious grin. “Remember way back, when I said I’d go easy on you?” He hops several times on the mat, shaking his arms out with his eyes closed. They’re gleaming when he opens them. “Well… I don’t think I should anymore.”
Cocky bastard.
They bow to each other. It’s casual, but Vegeta notices something change in Kakarot’s posture right away. The moment his feet settle into stance, the air shifts. His smile fades – just slightly – and he gets into focus, a laser-sharp stillness that Vegeta’s never seen before.
Vegeta braces. He knows how to throw a couple of simple punches and kicks. Knows how to wrestle someone into submission. But martial arts at this level? That’s Kakarot’s world – nay, his lifestyle.
Still, after all that shit he's talked, he’s not about to back down.
From the edge of the mat, Trunks and Goten cheer for their dads. "You got this, Dad! You always win!" Goten shouts. Trunks jumps up from the floor and yells, "You can't let him beat you, Dad! You gotta win this!"
Kakarot’s friends join in with rowdy encouragement, clapping and whistling. Tien gives him a knowing nod while Yamcha whoops with a fist pump. Krillin throws in a sharp, “Let’s go!” Meanwhile, Piccolo sits cross-legged on the floor, nursing his bruised pride. “Take him down, Goku,” he calls, voice low and deadly.
They engage.
Kakarot moves like water – sharp, fluid, and precise. Vegeta’s not used to seeing him like this. There’s no playfulness – just sheer skill and strength. He’s not pulling any punches. And Vegeta can tell now, without a doubt, that Kakarot is stronger than him. No half-assed technique is going to cut it, so he shifts tactics – resorts to force and pressure, trying to corner him, to overwhelm him with raw determination. But Kakarot doesn’t let him get close enough, like he has some kind of ultra instinct when it comes to fighting. Every time Vegeta lunges, Kakarot redirects. Every punch is dodged. Every kick is met with a counter that twists his balance out from under him.
But Vegeta tries his best to adapt. He gets his rhythm, lands a hit. Then another. He grabs Kakarot’s waist to throw him, but Kakarot pivots, turns it into a reversal that has Vegeta stumbling.
“Phew… That was a close one,” Kakarot shifts his weight back and forth on either foot. “You’re pretty good, Vegeta!”
“You better not be holding back, Kakarot.”
“I swear I’m not!” he laughs. “You’re way stronger than I thought!”
They’re panting. Sweating. Kakarot’s friends murmur around them. The boys are wide-eyed on the edge of the mat.
Then Vegeta sees it. An opening.
“I'm not losing to you,” he snarls.
He goes for it – throws his whole body and lunges hard. But –
Of course Kakarot anticipates it. He spins Vegeta off balance, sweeping his legs with infuriating grace.
“Damnit,” Vegeta lands hard, back smacking the mat, the wind knocked out of him –
And then Kakarot is on him. His chest heaves above Vegeta’s. His face is flushed, grinning like the smug clown he is.
“Heh heh,” Kakarot chuckles, all breath and heat and glory. “I got you.”
And Vegeta forgets how to breathe.
He remembers the rules. No funny business today. No bad touching. But bad touching is all he can fucking think about right now. Because Kakarot is sitting on him. In front of everyone. Vegeta can really feel it all now. Kakarot’s thick thighs pressed against his hips, fucking squeezing him. His warm hands are on Vegeta’s wrists, gripping down. Their noses are only inches apart and Kakarot’s lips are parted, just slightly, pink and tempting, and –
Shit.
Vegeta can’t look away. He can’t move. Doesn’t even try. He’s never been this mortified. Or this aroused. Or this confused. His brain trips over itself as his body reacts with all the subtlety of a fire alarm. His ears go impossibly hot. His neck goes bright red. His everything burns.
Everyone’s still watching – Kakarot’s friends, the boys.
Vegeta shuts his eyes – he’ll get hard if he looks at Kakarot any longer.
“Get. Off.” He grits through his teeth.
“Not until you say it,” Kakarot murmurs, still teasing, not realizing the mess Vegeta’s in.
“Say what?”
Kakarot leans in just slightly and Vegeta's body shakes with restraint; the thin microfiber of Kakarot's black shorts doing nothing to dull the feeling of his supple ass.
“That I won.”
Vegeta’s pulse is pounding in his ears. He absolutely does not want to say it. He won’t. Can’t, in fact. Not after everything he said earlier. Not after claiming he’d beat Kakarot like it was nothing. Not after he assured – assured – that if they ever sparred for real, he’d win. And now here he is. Flat on his back. Pinned like prey under a predator’s paw.
Kakarot’s grinning down at him like the real prize wasn’t the win, but this moment right now. There’s a bead of sweat sliding off his temple, trailing down the curve of his cheekbone – and then it drips… right onto Vegeta’s cheek.
It’s disgusting. It’s sweaty. It’s hot. God, it’s so fucking hot.
Vegeta wants to grab Kakarot by the collar of that tight, sexy tank top he’s wearing and yank him down and kiss him like they both forgot where they are.
Fuck.
His shorts are feeling too tight. His pride is in shambles. His heart’s doing backflips in his chest and his cock is definitely interested in the wrong part of this fight.
“Say it,” Kakarot says, still perched on him like a victorious beast, glowing with sweat and smugness. “Come on, Vegeta. Say it.”
Vegeta clenches his jaw, feels the heat crawling down his neck like it’s trying to bury itself in his spine. “Tch. Who cares who won? Just – get off me.”
Kakarot cocks his head, sweat dripping from his jaw this time, and it lands perilously close to Vegeta’s lips, practically inviting him to lick it off. The clown shakes his head. Still grinning. Still on top of him.
“Nope,” Kakarot says, clearly having the time of his life. “Not until you say it.”
Vegeta doesn’t know what breaks him – the proximity, the friction of Kakarot’s ass against his crotch every time he moves, or the way his brain keeps flickering back to last weekend, to the heat and sounds and sweat and how Kakarot looked at him while Vegeta was inside him. How he’s looking at him now. It’s the same. Damn. Look.
Vegeta’s composure snaps.
“Fine!” he hisses, practically choking on it. “…You win, Kakarot.”
Kakarot lets out an annoying breathy little laugh. “Now was that so hard?”
The moment he shifts off, Vegeta rolls violently to his side and scrambles upright.
“I need a minute,” he mutters, already heading for the locker room.
Kakarot calls something after him, probably another stupid joke, but Vegeta doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy walking like he doesn’t have a hard-on from a sparring match in front of children. He shoves open the bathroom door with his shoulder, locks the stall behind him, and presses both hands to the cool metal wall.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the heat out of his face. Out of his whole damn body.
Kakarot’s sweat, Kakarot’s mouth, Kakarot’s goddamn ass – he can’t stop replaying it. It’s like his body’s fucking addicted to being humiliated by Kakarot. His ego’s scraped raw but his dick’s thrilled.
Fuck it.
He grips the wall with one hand and reaches into his shorts with the other.
He has to. He has to do this now or he’ll go insane. He’s hard as a rock and the longer he tries to ignore it, the more unbearable it gets. A couple fast jerks – that’s all it’ll take. He doesn’t need porn. Doesn’t need imagination. His head is already spinning with Kakarot, after all – especially the cocky way he said “Now was that so hard?” with his entire body pressed to Vegeta’s.
He exhales and slips a hand around himself, biting back a groan at the heat of his own cock. But all of a sudden – the bathroom door creaks open.
Vegeta freezes, motionless, heart dropping straight into his stomach.
“Vegeta?” Kakarot’s voice echoes in.
Thank God it’s only him.
“You in here? You okay? Did I hurt you?” He sounds genuinely concerned, which somehow makes it worse. “Sometimes I get carried away when I’m fighting someone strong.”
Vegeta cracks the stall door only an inch open, making damn sure Kakarot can’t see his lower half. “You didn’t hurt me, you idiot. I’m in here because –”
He falters. He can’t say it. His jaw locks on the words.
“Because what?” Kakarot asks, all wide-eyed like he doesn’t already know. Like he didn’t do this.
That pisses Vegeta off.
“You know why!” Vegeta snaps.
“I really don’t!”
“Kakarot, you – I have an erection because of you!” Vegeta shouts, louder than he means to, pushing the stall door open all the way with a bang.
Kakarot gets the full show – the tell-tale tent in Vegeta’s shorts. And the fool laughs.
“Wow,” Kakarot says, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “And you make fun of me for being horny all the time.”
Vegeta’s face burns like a furnace. “A hypocrite. That’s what you are. How dare you break your own stupid rule – no bad touching, you said. You did that on purpose.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did –” Vegeta cuts himself off with a snarl. He glares. He’s flushed all the way to his ears and it’s not going away. “Now are you going to help me with this or not?!”
Kakarot’s eyes gleam with horny mischief.
“Okay, okay,” he says, already stepping into the stall like it’s no big deal, like this is just what they do now. “But you gotta come quick. I had Piccolo take over but he’s gonna get suspicious if we take too long.”
“Then hurry it up,” Vegeta growls, locking the door behind them.
“‘Kay,” Kakarot says casually, kneeling with a devilish grin. “I’ll just suck you off. That always gets you to come fast.”
Vegeta’s whole body jolts. His ears burn.
“You – shut – don’t say it like that,” he hisses, trying to sound angry, failing miserably as he blushes even redder.
Kakarot just smirks up at him with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing to him.
It doesn’t make Vegeta any less pissed.
–
It's a good thing I put the out-of-order sign on the bathroom door, Goku thinks as he settles onto the tiled floor. The cramped stall is warm with body heat and tension and the faint, mouthwatering scent of Vegeta. He smells like peppery cologne and sweat and something sharper, like frustration bottled too long. He can feel it coming off Vegeta in waves.
Yeah… okay, he maybe earned some of that frustration. Goku did kind of provoke him. Maybe on purpose. Definitely not by accident.
But still. He glances up as he wraps his fingers around Vegeta’s waistband. “You’re really mad at me, huh?”
“What do you think, Kakarot?” Vegeta snaps, then rakes a hand through his hair. “You didn’t plan a damn thing. You drove like you were in a rush to stop at every red light and made us late – and you know how much I hate tardiness. Then you threw me into a spar with that impudent fool. You ignored my victory against him. You –” He cuts off with a sound between a snarl and a groan as Goku pulls his shorts down. “– and then you pull that stunt. You were grinding on me.”
“No I wasn’t. I was winning,” Goku corrects while mouthing the length of Vegeta’s cock, too distracted now to argue properly. “Not my fault you got pinned so easily.”
Vegeta glares down at him like he wants to choke him. “You wanted to humiliate me.”
Yeah… Vegeta’s not wrong here. But Goku can’t stop teasing.
He looks up through his lashes, hand wrapping around Vegeta’s cock with a slow stroke. “You think I’d suck your dick just to humiliate you?”
Vegeta opens his mouth, then shuts it with a full-body twitch when Goku leans in and licks the head, gathering the taste of him on his tongue. He circles it once, then again, the tip of his tongue pressing just enough into Vegeta’s slit to feel the stickiness of his pre-cum. God, Vegeta tastes good – especially after that fight. Flavor floods his mouth – tangy, salty, almost a little sweet – and he chases it, dragging his tongue along Vegeta’s cock, dipping into every groove, tracing every vein. He presses his tongue flat against it, savoring the slickness, then curls around the tip again, to taste it from a new angle, like the flavor might be hiding in some corner he hasn’t touched yet.
Goku moans, satisfied with his prolonged taste test, then slides his mouth down until Vegeta bumps the back of his throat. Vegeta curses above him, planting his hands against each side of the stall to keep himself upright.
“You clown,” Vegeta mutters. “You irresponsible, goddamn infuriating –”
Goku hums in response, eyes fluttering closed as he sinks down again. His hand follows the rhythm, pumping what he can’t take, his saliva squelching through his fingers. His wrist rotates quickly, hand twisting around the base of Vegeta’s cock – wet and perfect and his.
Vegeta is so perfect like this. Goku loves when Vegeta lets himself be held like this – open, vulnerable, gasping and flushed and biting his tongue. The thrill of dominance and submission rushes in. Knowing he’s the one pleasing Vegeta, making him fall apart as he falls apart himself, makes that familiar primal feeling rage in his chest.
But he doesn’t just love the act, he loves the closeness. The trust. The heat. The – everything. He loves it all. He…
He loves Vegeta.
He’s not sure when it happened, but it’s true.
And it kills him that this is how they say it. Not in words, but in moments like this – in Vegeta letting him in, in Goku giving him all of himself.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Vegeta mutters hoarsely, breath hitching. “Like you’re in love with me or something.”
It’s like Vegeta read his mind - and honestly, that doesn't even faze him. In that instant, something takes over – something sudden and unstoppable. His heart pounds so hard it’s impossible Vegeta doesn’t hear it. This moment just feels right.
So he lets Vegeta slip free from his mouth just long enough to say, “I am.”
Vegeta goes completely rigid.
Goku takes him back in and doesn’t stop. He sucks him with single-minded focus, letting the rhythm pull him under. He bobs his head faster, taking more of Vegeta into his mouth each time. The weight of Vegeta’s cock on his tongue, the way the tip keeps hitting the back of his throat, sends his eyes rolling backwards. But it’s not enough. He needs more. He relaxes his jaw, letting Vegeta’s thick cock angle deeper, lips parting wider as he takes all of him in. It presses heavy against the roof of his mouth, and for a second, he breathes through it – hungry and excited and greedy.
But his throat tightens as he gets too eager and a sudden, sharp gag stutters through him, his breath catching as his body flinches in protest. Vegeta moans deep and throws his head back.
Pervert.
Still, Goku doesn’t stop. He swallows down the reaction, steadies his breathing, and manages to deepthroat Vegeta. His throat muscles massage every inch of Vegeta’s cock as he swallows as much of his boyfriend as he can, going deeper and deeper, until his nose is buried in coarse hair. Vegeta’s muttering curses under his breath now, one hand possessively tangling in Goku’s hair – tightening so damn desperately.
It doesn’t take long. It never does when he’s wound up like this.
Vegeta comes with a low, stifled groan, thrusting into Goku’s mouth, and Goku lets himself be used. Vegeta’s trembling – shaking and panting like they just fought a second time. And Goku just swallows all of it, indulging in the creaminess, the taste of him, the way his cum glides slowly down his throat. Then he leans back on his heels, grinning up at Vegeta with his mouth full, flushed and dirty and happy.
Vegeta glares down at him like he wants to kick the door off its hinges. He’s still pissed.
“I hate you,” Vegeta mutters through heavy pants, dabbing his cock clean with shitty 2-ply toilet paper.
“Funny.” Goku shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Pretty sure your dick said you love me too.”
Vegeta turns even redder as he tugs his shorts back up. He presses his teeth together so hard, Goku can hear them click. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?” Goku blinks up at him, head titled, suddenly serious beneath the teasing. Did he jump the gun? He frowns. “You don’t love me back?”
Vegeta’s eyes flash in panic. “No, it’s not that! Don’t just assume things! It’s – I –” He swallows. “I refuse to say it… in here.”
Oh.
Goku jumps upright, startling Vegeta. He can’t stop the rush of heat flooding through him. It spreads like wildfire – starting in his chest and fanning out to his fingertips, his toes, the crown of his head. His whole body hums with it and he’s grinning before he even realizes.
Oh.
Vegeta does love him back. Not that he really doubted it, but hearing it – almost hearing it, catching it on the edge of Vegeta’s stubborn, pride-choked mouth – makes his heart throb deep in his ribs.
Before Vegeta can escape, Goku grabs him by the waist and pulls him in tight. Vegeta stiffens for a second, caught off guard – but Goku kisses him anyway. Deep and slow, with a scorching desperation he doesn’t try to hide at all. His mouth is still slick, his tongue still tastes like his boyfriend, but neither of them care. Their noses bump, and Vegeta grunts a little in protest – but his hands dig into Goku’s hips, and he doesn’t pull away. No – he grabs Goku tight and kisses him harder. They both moan and Goku tilts his head as they lick into each other, and he lets the kiss say what he wants to say aloud.
I love you. I love you like an idiot. I love you more than I’ve ever wanted to win anything in my whole life.
But he’ll save it. For when Vegeta’s really ready.
When he finally pulls back, breathless and smiling, he taps a finger against Vegeta’s chest. “So you want it to be special? Is this tiny, stinky bathroom stall not romantic enough for you?”
“Stop it. I am not entertaining this any longer,” Vegeta snaps, flustered beyond saving, and rips himself from Goku’s hold before shoving the stall door open so hard it rattles.
Goku just laughs and follows him out, heart racing. They emerge from the locker room, both trying very hard to act normal. Goku is still grinning, buzzing from their conversation. Vegeta is stiff, his shirt slightly wrinkled, arms crossed.
And to no one’s surprise, the mats are orderly and the boys are obediently lined up. Good ol’ Piccolo is teaching them, running drills. Showing them how to block and strike, walking them through it with slow, proper and precise form.
Vegeta makes a small noise of judgment. “So this is what happens when someone actually leads the class.”
“I was leading the class,” Goku mutters.
“No, you weren’t. You just had us spar.”
“Exactly.”
Krillin jogs over from the sidelines. “Hey – everything okay?”
Goku nods and waves a hand up and down. “Yeah, yeah. Vegeta just needed to calm down. He got so upset that I beat him.”
Vegeta’s head whips around so fast Goku thinks his neck might crack.
“Don’t listen to him!” Vegeta shouts, already storming forward. “I was – I sprained something. My ankle. It turned out to be nothing. It’s fine now. I’m fine.”
Krillin looks between them. Then down at Vegeta’s clearly not sprained, perfectly stable ankle. Then he looks at Goku, and back at Vegeta.
“…Okay,” he says.
Goku scratches the back of his neck, flashing an awkward smile. Hopefully Krillin doesn’t think anything happened in there. Like he said, he can’t afford to piss the guys off any more than he already has today.
Luckily, Krillin just shakes his head and goes off to join the others on the mat, muttering something about needing to pick up shampoo for his wife after this.
When Piccolo wraps up his lesson, the boys get excited and pair off, sparring in slow motion with surprisingly decent form. They’re focused, eyes narrowed sharp in concentration, trying hard to remember what Piccolo showed them about footing and guard. Trunks is even calling out tips to Goten like a mini coach, and Goten’s listening with that squinty, tongue-sticking-out kind of focus that always means he’s getting really into it.
Goku exhales, a little stunned. Vegeta was right. He’d honestly been winging the whole thing earlier. Just trying to burn off their energy, keep them moving, keep them happy. He hadn’t expected anyone to actually learn anything today.
He looks around for Vegeta and finds him standing off to the side, chatting with Piccolo. Not bickering, not posturing, not throwing fists – chatting.
Goku watches from a distance as Vegeta tips his head, crosses his arms, pretends to be aloof. But there’s the smallest glimpse of acknowledgment in his eyes. “Seems you’ve taught him well. Trunks can kick properly now, thanks to you.”
Piccolo’s got the faintest smirk on his face. “Hm. Guess getting your win out of the way made you generous with compliments.”
Vegeta huffs something that might be a laugh. Or a challenge. It’s hard to tell.
But Goku’s heart aches in the best way.
This is what he’s always wanted. His son thriving with his best friend. His boyfriend here, in the gym he built with his own two hands, with the people who get him and his passions. Exercise and movement have always been his language. His lifeblood. So many happy memories start with a mat, a pair of gloves, or a sweaty warm up. And now that joy is everywhere – in the boys’ eyes, in the guys’ laughter, in Vegeta’s flushed face and sore pride.
And Goku knows without needing to say it aloud.
They love each other.
Vegeta might not be ready to admit it in a bathroom stall, but Goku knows. So he grins, bouncing on his heels a little as he watches the boys practice.
When footsteps approach from the side, Goku doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Vegeta. He clears his throat, standing just barely close enough for their arms to brush.
“Your friends aren’t as obnoxious as I expected.”
Goku snorts, shooting him a sidelong look. “Wow. Was that a compliment?”
“You run a tight ship, Kakarot,” Vegeta says, voice low like he’s trying not to sound too impressed. “Your trainers aren’t half bad – Piccolo is sharp and Krillin seems to know what he’s doing. Even your clients seem decent. Not that I was paying that much attention.”
The attempt to downplay it only makes Goku’s chest warm. “I’m glad you had a good time,” he says, soft and genuine.
Vegeta huffs, looking away like that was way too sincere for him to handle. Then, after a minute, he says, “I owe you something.”
Goku blinks, tilting his head. “What, another fake injury?”
"No, you -" Vegeta shoots him a look. Then he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “From earlier. I said I wasn’t going to say something in the bathroom.”
Oh. Oh.
Goku straightens, heart picking up. He tries not to beam too obviously. “Right…”
Vegeta’s ears go a little pink. Cute. “So. I was thinking… perhaps we hire a babysitter next weekend. We can go out. Just you and I. No kids. No fighting. No bathrooms.”
Goku lights up so fast it’s like someone hit a switch inside him. “You wanna take me on a real date?”
Vegeta shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but his voice and the color of his face give him away. “Well, I – I thought you would like that.”
“I’d love that,” Goku says easily. “Actually… I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Gohan could babysit. I told him about us.”
Now Vegeta turns to him, a brow lifting in surprise. “You what?”
“I told him at the baseball game on Monday.” Goku smiles. “He’s cool with it.” He lies, but covers it with a truth. “Wants to meet you, actually.”
Vegeta stares at him longer than necessary. Goku braces himself – ready for a sarcastic comment, or a mini-rant about timing important things like this –
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, Vegeta just nods, slowly. “You told your teenage son.”
“Yeah.”
“For us.”
Goku watches the way Vegeta blinks. He can tell Vegeta's shocked - probably because he knows how long Goku's been sitting on telling Gohan.
He shrugs, trying not to look too eager. “Figured it was time. I take us seriously. I mean…” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flickering over to Vegeta like he’s shy when he’s anything but. “I love you.”
Vegeta doesn’t flinch this time. He just stares at him for another beat, totally unreadable, before nodding again. “All right. Ask him to babysit.”
Goku breaks into a grin that he knows is stupid, wide and absolutely love drunk. “You got it.”
God, he can’t wait for this date.
Notes:
Writing the dialogue for this fic is always such a highlight.
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