"Ahhhh… another night, another round of the same damn loneliness," he muttered to himself, voice raspy and resigned. His sunglasses were pushed up onto his bald head like a crown he no longer cared to wear properly. In one hand he held the remote; in the other, his cock—already stiff, flushed dark, veins standing out against the wrinkled skin.
On the ancient television screen, a grainy adult video flickered. A woman with impossibly long legs moaned in overdubbed ecstasy as two men took turns with her. Roshi didn't even register the plot anymore. It was background noise, a ritual soundtrack. His strokes were slow at first, almost mechanical—thumb and forefinger circling the head on each upstroke, palm gliding down the shaft on the downstroke. He exhaled through his nose, letting the familiar ache build in his lower belly.
He wasn't even thinking about the performers. His mind drifted to memories instead—Bulma's teenage curves when she first arrived on the island, Launch's wild blue hair and fiercer personality, even Chi-Chi's fiery temper back when she still wore that tight red dress. All of them long gone from his daily life, all of them untouchable now. The fantasy carousel spun lazily as his hand moved faster.
Across the island, in the small house steam billowed thick in the cramped bathroom, fogging the mirror until it was useless. Water pounded against tile from the showerhead overhead. Chi-Chi braced both palms flat against the slick wall, head bowed, black hair plastered to her shoulders and back like wet ink. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.
Behind her, Goku had one powerful arm wrapped around her waist, fingers splayed possessively over the soft curve of her stomach. His other hand gripped the side of her throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressed lightly against her racing pulse. He liked feeling her heartbeat when they did this. It grounded him somehow.
"Fuck… that's it, darling," Chi-Chi moaned, voice cracking on the last word. "Destroy my pussy—don't stop—don't you dare stop—"
Goku growled low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through her spine. He snapped his hips forward again, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed louder than the water. Her ass—full, round, and impossibly soft after two pregnancies—jiggled with every thrust, cheeks rippling under the force of his Saiyan strength. Water streamed down the cleft, mixing with her arousal, dripping in steady rivulets onto the tiles below.
He could feel her clenching around him, hot and slick and greedy. Every time he pulled back almost all the way out, she pushed back desperately, trying to keep him inside. Goku bared his teeth in a feral grin.
"You're so tight tonight," he rasped, voice rough with need. "Feels like you're trying to milk me dry, Chi-Chi."
"Harder," she demanded, nails scraping tile. "I can take it—I want all of you—"
He obliged.
Goku shifted his stance, planting his feet wider, and began pistoning into her with machine-like rhythm. No hesitation, no mercy—just raw power. Her large breasts swung heavily beneath her, nipples stiff and dark, brushing the cold wall with every forward jolt. Drool slipped from the corner of her open mouth, stringing down her chin before being washed away by spray.
Minutes blurred. Sweat and water became indistinguishable. Chi-Chi's legs began to tremble violently.
"Goku—oh gods—I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Do it," he ordered, tightening his grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. "Come on my cock. Let me feel it."
Her orgasm hit like a thunderclap. She cried out—sharp, broken—back arching so hard her spine looked ready to snap. Inner walls fluttered and clamped down in violent spasms, trying to pull him deeper. Goku snarled, thrusts turning erratic as his own release barreled toward him.
With one final, punishing slam he buried himself as deep as humanly possible and came. Thick, hot pulses flooded her, overflowing almost immediately—white rivulets leaking out around his shaft, mixing with shower water and running down her trembling thighs. Chi-Chi's knees buckled completely. She slid down the wall in slow motion until she knelt on the wet floor, chest heaving, dazed.
Goku stood above her, breathing hard through his mouth. His cock—still half-hard, glistening—bobbed inches from her face. He reached down lazily and tapped the swollen head against her cheek once, twice, leaving a sticky smear.
"Still with me?" he asked, voice softer now, almost tender.
Chi-Chi looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, cheeks flushed crimson.
"You're… ridiculous," she panted, but there was a small, exhausted smile tugging at her mouth.
Meanwhile, miles away, the door hadn't opened. There had been no sound of footsteps.
Yet Beerus was suddenly there—arms crossed behind his back, tail flicking lazily, golden eyes fixed on Piccolo's exposed body with predatory interest.
Piccolo didn't startle. He simply tilted his head slightly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice low and even.
Beerus's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, fangs glinting.
"You should know the answer to that question already."
He stepped closer, silk robe whispering against the floor. His gaze traveled deliberately—over the hard planes of Piccolo's chest, down the defined ridges of his abdomen, finally settling on the straining erection that twitched under the scrutiny.
"I could smell you from three planets away," Beerus purred, voice like velvet dragged over gravel. "All that pent-up energy… all that discipline finally cracking. It's intoxicating."
Piccolo's red eyes narrowed, but he made no move to cover himself.
"And you came all this way just to… what? Watch?"
Beerus chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in the air.
"Oh no, Namekian." He leaned down, one clawed hand planting beside Piccolo's head, the other trailing a single sharp nail lightly down the center of his chest—hard enough to leave the faintest white line that faded almost instantly. "I came to ruin you."
Piccolo's breath hitched—just once—but it was enough.
Beerus noticed.
He always noticed.
The God of Destruction climbed onto the bed with deliberate grace, straddling Piccolo's hips without quite touching. Heat radiated between them. Beerus lowered his face until their noses nearly brushed.
"Tell me to leave," he murmured. "Say the word and I'll vanish. But we both know you won't."
Piccolo stared up at him for a long moment—silent, assessing.
Then, slowly, he reached up, wrapped long green fingers around the back of Beerus's neck, and pulled him down into a bruising kiss.
Somewhere far away, Roshi groaned softly as his own climax finally spilled over his fist, hot and wasted on an empty room.
And across the universe, three very different kinds of hunger burned through the night.