Pushing | By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female Views: 3677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
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The prompt: Yamcha and ChiChi's affair during the seven years after Cell.
The fill:
Later, he would wonder if Chi-Chi had planned the whole thing.
Both boys were out of the house for once, gone with Piccolo to train. Yes. There was no way she would have allowed another young child to be trained by the Namek if she wasn’t getting something out of it. She’d even worn a smile when Yamcha stopped by, instead of fretting and panicking over Gohan’s studies or Goten’s diaper rash.
It should have been someone else at least the widow turned to for comfort. Not him. Jeez, what did he have over the other guys? He wasn’t the only single guy among the group, nor did he visit anymore than anyone else. Did he look more like Goku? Sure, okay, they were both tall, but everyone else had black hair and eyes.
But no, it was him that Chi-Chi had flung her arms about, weeping. Her sudden flurry of kissing had thrown him off as much as her tears. She could be a hard woman, different from that determined, oddly sweet, dangerous girl that had shown up at a tournament asking for a match with Goku. But she had been good, very good, did she still train sometimes?
Before Yamcha could even ask, could even find the words to ask, her mouth was sealing over his. They were just standing there in the living room with its revealing windows. Anyone could stop by, the boys and Piccolo coming home early, and unexpected guest…Oh god, that’s where Goku’s hair caught fire on Christmas while he hung stockings. That’s where they kissed under the mistletoe. That’s where Gohan unwrapped his gifts, then hugged his parents, they were the best ever for buying him that microscope.
“Ha, just be careful when you look for birds on that thing.”
“Goku, just have another slice of fruitcake.”
As though reading his mind, Chi-Chi led him back to the bedroom. There was nothing in this room that spoke of Goku, not a gi laid out or blue boot. A neatly made double-bed that made the scarred man flinch, but then she was mumbling please, please, it’s been two years, he’d never coming back, never, never.
It broke his heart.
It shouldn’t have been him.
He wasn’t even Goku’s closest friend. Krillin had that honor, and he would even make a good husband. Loyal, honest, easy-going, bent over backwards for women. Sure, he was short and a little odd looking, but he grew on you. He was funny and kind, and the closest thing Goku had to a brother (aside from that dead guy) and wasn’t that traditional sometimes, that the brother take place of the dead husband? Krillin and Chi-Chi who would have guessed, but it made sense a little and she could have someone to talk to, an adult and Krillin could finally get a girl.
Then again, the guy was still attached to that android chick, who according to him would come by to talk and spar. A blush, “She likes me. A little.” Stammers and looks at his hands, his shoes, avoiding eye contact. Yamcha didn’t understand it at all, but if that cold-eye girl could make his short friend happy then it wasn’t his place.
Look at what he was doing anyway.
Or Goku’s arch enemy. It had a ring of irony to it, of weirdly fitting. But Vegeta was with Bulma (imagine her face if she knew who Yamcha was with now, even now still felt guilty) and they looked to be sticking. Still, it might have worked. Those two yelling, screaming at each other every little thing, Vegeta raising Goku’s kids. At the least, it was funny to think about. Maybe if Vegeta was around, Chi-Chi wouldn’t be so stressed about Gohan studying. The Saiyan prince would rip the book out of the little scholar’s hands and tell him to go outside, but first get his stepdad a beer.
But she deserved better. Not that he was a better…no, no he was better than Vegeta a murderer and. Was he still caught up on Bulma? No. They were done and it was mutual, so mutual that maybe it was time for him to find someone else.
Chi-Chi tasted of something sweet which was weird since she didn’t let the boys’ eat many treats and. And smelled like sunshine and fresh grass. Like the mountain. Like Goku.
Under the old-fashioned yellow dress, she was a bone white, like delicate china. Pale underwear just a few shades lighter than her skin. She had definitely bounced back from having two kids, and he bit his lip before the words could fly out of his mouth and never be returned.
He wanted to say something sweet and kind. Thankfully, she kissed him so he didn’t make a completely ass of himself. Her slim pallid fingers locked around the back of his neck, stronger than Bulma ever had been. The pink mouth, the flushed cheeks. Those legs that went all the way up. Perfect breasts.
This shouldn’t have been so amazing.
“Just be nice to me.”
She was so used to scars that she barely seemed to notice his. Did she see Goku’s ghost in his tanned skin, or did she see Yamcha?
“Am I being nice?”
Did Goku see her like this when he had been home?
“Very.”
How could he have ever left?
Now, her smiles no longer made his stomach burn with shame and guilt. He didn’t flinch at the bed that sagged just a little in the middle, and they could actually used Goku’s name now. Was that more disgrace in Goku’s memory? Were they failing him? But then the boys were off, training or catching fish or spending time with Krillin and his and Juuhachigou’s new baby, and her hand was in his small and sure, leading. And then Goku’s ghost would be pushed back a little more, a little more.
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