Anytime, Anywhere

Gohan/Anyone : cockslut!Gohan

The Prompt: Gohan/Anyone : cockslut!Gohan

Teenage Gohan is a major cockslut. He wants it anytime, anywhere.

Basically, I just want Gohan to grab someone, Piccolo, Vegeta, Yamcha, anyone and ride them until he can't even fly straight.

Guh, and if Gohan's in Mystic mode while he does it, I will love you forever.

The fill:

All he could think was, Chi-Chi would kill me if she saw us like this. The widow wasn’t a widow in this timeline, but she still had the same temper. But, then, Gohan wasn’t Gohan either. This man with the same cropped haircut that pushed so readily into him had two arms to grab his hips and hold Trunks into place. Did she know about her firstborn’s taste? Did she have any idea that he was the sort of guy that would grab another and shove him against the first solid object he could find, before lowering his pants and jumping on top of the quivering man’s lap?

The other Gohan…would he have done this as well? They shared so much. Even the same haircut and soft voice and hard set jaw, all clean-shaven enough to raise goosebumps when he’d let out a frustrated hiss and lowered his dark head to Trunks’ crotch. 

He was stronger too. Didn’t need to go Super Saiyan to have the same power, if not more, than his future counterpart. For a second, Trunks could close his eyes and see that scar-faced taller man that always loomed above. Dead, so many years. But not forgotten, as seen when the purple-haired man conjured up memories as his cock was kissed by the warm lips, and then enveloped by the hot wet mouth. The spiky head between his legs had been an exquisite and strange form of torture.

The last time he’d seen Gohan, he had been eleven and mourning the recent death of his father. He’d been nothing but a quiet, thoughtful boy with a mop of dark hair and a delicate smile. You had to remind yourself that this was the kid that had ruthlessly fought Cell, and destroyed him. The guy seated atop Trunks didn’t seem anything like him. How could the boy who wasn’t allowed to drink soda past nine o’clock the one sliding up and down his stiff cock. Trunks had cared for that little kid, one wouldn’t have to grow up and have his body found in a shallow puddle of rainwater and blood. 

This strange man, unique and familiar. Who tightened himself, drawing a low moan from Trunks’ tan throat, and a white smile tossed over a muscular shoulder. It was the easiest thing to grab at the short spikes, scramble for a grip on the wide back, and forget about that Boy Who’d Been. To pull him in for a kiss, and ask breathlessly, feeling his stomach flutter just meeting the black eyes, “Have you done this before?”

A smile with lips swollen from either one of the punches from earlier, or from sucking his cock. “Once. Or twice?”

With little hesitation, Trunks pulled him in closer to nuzzle against the rough silk of his hair, the warm ears, the smooth skin on the back of his neck. “With who?”

“Mm,” a gasp from both of them as Gohan tightened for a moment, then shifted to better engulf Trunks. “Well, Yamcha.”

“What?” His eyes widened, the haze disappearing and allowing him to take in their shallow valley, the rocks cluttered around, the tall mountains like rough yellow teeth.  Their dim privacy, the shifting power levels for the others to sense.  

“Oh, just a few times.” He was panting, reached down to grab himself for a few light pumps with a large pale hand.

Trunks could almost see Yamcha, tall and tanned and scarred, looking so much like his Gohan, now instead of laughter easily and cracking a joke, bending this tall man over. His rough hands cupping the pink dick instead of the fighter touching himself. Playing with that curl of hair falling onto his forehead.  Yamcha, of all people? Why him?

“Oh, oh god.”

“C’mon, Trunks.” For a moment, he sounded like the polite boy who never failed to invite you inside his home for tea. “I’m almost there. Go harder. Hurry up. So close. I need more.”

There was nothing gentle about the way the younger man grabbed him, held him to the dirt and raised himself up again and again. Moving so only the tip was inside him, then lowering himself roughly. Again and again. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t want to be able to walk straight after this. Harder.

“C’mon.” A low snicker. “I thought you were so good with swords?”

“Right there.” Bucking against his increasingly sore thighs. “Fuck me. I need that cock deeper. I want it so deep I can feel it in my throat again.”

Fuck him like Yamcha might have done. Had done. Might do in the future. Make growls slide from the smooth throat, the clear aura rising and showing off the growing ki level. Perhaps they had been training together, and Gohan had stopped him to ride him until he was groaning and shooting out between his fingers a milky clearish fluid. And then still not stopping grinding himself against Trunks’ hips. Even when he finally ejaculated in that tight, cozy pink warmth, Gohan still shoved against him, desperate for more.

And after this, he might just move on to someone else. Yamcha again. Or someone else entirely, since he had lost that boyish shyness.

Chi-Chi would have to murder so many people.