The Hobos, Chapter #02
Summary: Mirai Trunks and Gohan have been lulled into a boring and dull existence living their luxurious and sheltered life. After they realized this, find out how they will escape their gilded cage and their ensuing adventures following this peculiar decision.
Author’s Notes: This story is based on an idea proposed by Lord Truhan and developed with help from him! This is a rewritten version of the original story. We hope you’ll enjoy the improved version.
When Mirai and Gohan first walked into the front doors of the Goodwill store, they were struck by how it resembled a cross between a warehouse and a regular retail place. Both had imagined a dingy little hole in the wall with tiny shelves, poorly lit by 10-watt bulbs. Instead, what Mirai glimpsed were families milling about. Mothers with small kids in carts that were formally from some defunct grocery store chain walked along the converted shelves and racks.
“Clothes are over there,” Gohan pointed to the sign written on poster board with a permanent marker.
“Right,” Trunks nodded, feeling his husband pull his sleeve and tug him over towards it. They brushed past a young mother who had just lifted her two-year-old toddler into the cart. Her six year old climbed into the back of it and wrapped his fingers around the wire.
“Mommy push it fast!” Trunks and Gohan heard him shout with glee.
“Sit down and be quiet, and help mommy out will you?” the young mother scolded.
Trunks glanced at Gohan and both shared a slight smile. Gohan knew that tone of voice all too well, and his skin prickled a bit thinking of it. Still playfully tugging his husband’s sleeve, he marched him over to several milk crates filled with neatly folded pants. Letting go of Trunks sleeve Gohan bent over to inspect a few.
Mirai knelt near him, taking a quick look at his husband’s handsome ass before lifting a pair of blue pants out. He slowly unfolded them and ran his fingers over the coarse cloth. The smell was slightly musty, triggering memories of long ago future past. He recalled that dusty musty odor from walking through rooms in Capsule that were abandoned and no longer used. Not quite mildew, but just old.
“Smells like old people,” Mirai whispered.
“Precisely,” Gohan replied, fingering a neatly patched repair in the knee of the tan corduroys he held up for inspection.
Trunks turned another pair over, looking at the crotch. There were worn threadbare areas that made him wince. No, those would not do. Whoever had owned these before could have started a fire with the friction of their legs rubbing together. Such thoughts were pointless and he dismissed them because it only made him tingle with the thought of sitting on Gohan’s lap and rubbing up and down before…
“Later,” he muttered, feeling the pressure of his blood running south. He took a few quick breaths and folded that pair of pants to put it back.
Gohan saw the slight rose flush creeping over Trunks cheeks, and picked up another pair of pants to inspect. The inseams were not as badly worn, and they were white. Fabric was slightly scratchy to the touch, but overall sturdy. He saw the words polyester cotton blend on the scratchy label and nodded. Carefully he folded them and set them in the battered shopping basket to his left. Something rustled against his backside, prompting him to turn his head. Against his ass Trunks was holding a pair of navy blue pants with a grin on his face.
“Just holding them up for size. Blue’s your color, you know,” Mirai winked.
“White’s yours,” Gohan pointed to the pants he had selected.
“We’ll also need black dress pants,” said Trunks, pointing to another marker written sign.
Gohan nodded, picking up the battered basket. Taking Trunks hand, they wandered over to the battered metal racks that had seen better days in retail stores. Mirai slid his hands along the seams of the polyester black pants on their scratched wooden hangers. Gohan stood next to him, doing the same, holding up the hangars and judging size. They made a game of this, playfully holding the pants up to one another and stretching the waists to see if they’d fit.
“Now shirts,” Mirai said, hearing the clack of wooden hangars from Gohan draping them over the basket.
“Your favorite.”
“White shirts, regular button up, no silk, or muslin. Just cheapo polyester,” Mirai raised a brow in question.
“That’s the idea,” Gohan nodded. “We don’t want it to look expensive.”
“Polyester’s also kind of scratchy and doesn’t hold sweat well,” Trunks wrinkled his nose.
“All the better. Just like everyone else,” Gohan said with a knowing nod. He put another checkmark by the boxes on his mental tally.
“Yes,” Gohan nodded to a box he had already placed in the top of their basket. He closed his eyes shortly to track once more through his list. Trunks watched him, corners of his lips twitching because he knew just WHAT Gohan was doing.
“Checking that mental list, Gohan?” he whispered, nudging his husband.
“Knives. We need two good ones. Multipurpose,” Gohan informed him, his eyes opening to see Trunks beautiful blue ones inches in front of his face. While the view of his husband was always pleasing, he had to tear his eyes away to survey the rest of the store.
“The next steps of a scavenger hunt eh?” Mirai teased.
Gohan’s eyes already took in the rest of the store through his glasses. He had worn them, thinking it would not hurt to further spin his less than rich upbringing. After he had moved in with Mirai, there were many luxuries afforded him such as the top-notch optometrists. However, unlike many of the privileged, he had never had eye surgery nor did he wear contacts. What set him out among the rich helped him blend with the poor, especially since the glasses he wore were an older pair he had purposely dug out of his box. The frames were plastic and scuffed, instead of his usual gold or silver frame with ultra light lenses.
“Kitchen ware, watches, ah, knives,” he muttered, walking closer to the sign taped to the front of a battered jewelry case. Scratches along the side and the slightly rusted lock on the front told its unique story. Inside on shelves lined with worn but still viable cloth were a few used watches. On the shelf below, he saw a row of pocketknives, some with fake wood handles. Others were scratched, their logo slightly worn off but the metal on the front and back still gleamed.
“Like what you see?” whispered Mirai, tickling Gohan’s ear.
“Those two there look very much alike,” he pointed to the middle shelf where two slightly scuffed Capsule Corp camping knives sat side by side. One of them had a discernable scratch running across its green surface, while the other ones casing was only slightly cracked.
“Excuse me?” Gohan asked, glancing around.
Mirai smiled, and then walked around scanning the groups of people for a red-aproned volunteer. He could see a few operating cash registers in the front of the store where lines of people had gathered, their purchases in battered shopping carts. He heard the rustle of used plastic bags against the murmurings of customers.
“Excuse me?” Mirai said politely, to an older woman with grey and black curly hair. She wore no makeup, and the apron covered her T-shirt and used jeans. She wore a battered pair of sneakers, and smelled of inexpensive soap.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’d like some help please opening that case,” Mirai pointed towards where Gohan was stationed, having found the knives.
“Oh okay, just a minute, mister,” she nodded with a warm smile that took five years off her wrinkled face. She reminded Mirai of his mother, still pretty but aged past her years by the cares and worries of a post apocalyptic society. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out a plastic lanyard with a few rusty keys jingling on it, and then led the way to the case. Trunks stepped behind her politely anyhow.
“Thank you,” Trunks said.
“Don’t mention it,” she waved him away, bending over to thrust the key in the old lock. She fumbled with it, unable to turn the key for a few minutes. Patiently Gohan and Mirai waited, exchanging meaningful glances as they peered expectantly at their knives.
“Okay,” she huffed from the effort, finally clicking the lock open. “Which ones?”
“Those in the middle,” said Gohan. “Please.”
“You mean the Capsule All purpose? Okay,” she answered, reaching for both of them. He saw the gleam of excitement in her eyes, wondering if she had some connection to the objects inside. She slid the case shut and turned, holding the purchases on her callused hands. “Should be okay but if you want to open the blades and see for yourself you’re welcome to.”
“We’ll take…” Mirai opened his mouth to say.
“I’d like to see the blades please. That’s a good idea to make sure,” Gohan asked. He noticed the white price tags fluttering on strings that were tied around the knives.
“Sure,” she agreed, handing one over. Carefully Gohan slipped his thumbnail in the indent of one blade and snapped it out. Seeing it free of any rust he nodded before handing it to Trunks. Then she handed him the other and he inspected it carefully.
“Looks good,” Gohan said. “Pretty good shape considering.”
“Yeah, you never can tell. Those are both good, even though the handle casings are cracked. I gave my son one for his 15th birthday when he went camping with the Boy Guides and it was just like his older brother’s. I’m glad to see those go and not sit there for the next ten years.”
“We’ll probably use them camping ourselves. It’s hard to find good ones for a nice price. And these look like a real steal,” Gohan said with his own warm smile.
“Glad to hear it,” she said. From the sparkle in her eye, Mirai judged that she must have been the one who donated the knives in the first place, or was trying to sell them to clear out a house filled with memories.
Strange how physical objects take on such importance. As if she’s entrusting them to us. Mirai considered this and Gohan saw the flash of meaning in his eyes. “We’ll put them to good use, thanks, ma’am,” Trunks added.
“Enjoy using them,” she said with a smile. Reverently each carried a knife in their hands, turning towards the line of customers. They continued to take in the sights and sounds of the placed around them, each with their own private thoughts.
“She could be my mother, easily,” Gohan thought, judging her age to be about sixty or seventy.
“Working in a place like this. She’s a volunteer but she seems very happy doing this,” Trunks whispered.
“Yes. And happy someone bought those knives,” Gohan whispered back, bending his head close to his husband’s to do so.
They stood for a while in the nearest line, behind the same mom they had seen when they first walked in. Trunks noticed her cart was filled with piles of clothes, a few battered toys while her son hung off the end of the car and her daughter sat in the front, chewing on her fingers. Other parents with kids did not give them a second glance, simply wrapped up in trying to hush their own bored and tired children, or stop them from wandering too far.
“Put that back!” snapped a father. Gohan winced and shook his head. Mirai saw his husband’s tensed face and reached over to take his hand.
Behind them Gohan heard a loud wailing from an infant. He turned slightly and stopped himself, aware that he did not want to make them think he was staring at them as if he had never been here before. Since they arrived he was hyper aware of how their reactions were perceived by others. If they wandered around like dumbstruck tourists, the people around him glared at him resentfully. However if he acted as if he belonged, nobody seemed to give them a second glance. If he smiled, they usually smiled back.
Let us try it, he thought as he saw the frustrated look on the young mother’s face, rocking her newborn. She wore stained sweatpants, old sneakers with frayed laces, and a sweatshirt with dried spaghetti sauce here and there on the front. Her child was wrapped in a faded blanket, and in the cart behind her, he saw a used baby seat, and a pile of gently used baby clothes.
Gohan turned his smile to her and nodded. Relief filled her face when he said, “My little brother had quite a pair of lungs too. And he always loved using ‘em in the store.”
“I know, huh? I can’t get him to quite down,” she sighed.
“People could tell it was us from miles around,” Gohan added, seeing the tension drain from her face.
***
“Another damn meeting over with,” Gohan mumbled as he pulled at his tie.
“They feel longer and longer each time,” Mirai agreed, as they climbed out of their limo. Eager to shed the trappings of their clothes they looked with relief upon the house. Already they tugged at their collars and neckties to loosen them as snakes shedding a too tight skin.
All day long, their minds were fixated on the tasks that awaited them. They were a refuge in a desert of reports, meetings, and planners. Endless hours it seemed filled with virtual work that was not done by their own two hands. Gohan had come to loathe the technical forms he had to peruse and sign off on while trunks swore if he had to look over another spreadsheet, he would scream.
Trunks felt the shoes pinching on his feet, and he bent over to tug his socks up for the last time. Gohan gently patted Mirai Trunks’ backside chuckling, “Keep doing that, and we won’t make it in the front door.”
“Keep your hand there and I might let you help me undress,” Trunks winked, swinging to a standing position. He winked at his husband and leaned over to kiss him lingeringly on the lips. They stopped just before the front door of their villa, glancing back and forth at the bright chorus of flowers greeting them. Already Trunks smelled the thick perfume of the irises that were blooming, and stopped to brush his hand against the petals of one. He then gently ran his hand over Gohan’s lips equally soft.
“Shall we?” Gohan asked, reaching out to take the hand that Trunks worshipped his face with.
“Yep. Another afternoon of cleaning from top to bottom, on the way to our transformation,” Trunks nodded, his blue eyes brighter and filled with far more life than Gohan saw in the office that day.
Gohan laced his fingers through Trunks, as if asserting his claim to his husband’s hand. He felt calluses forming there that had not been before, since they had started a new after work routine. Physical connection between them had become more important as they started to shed the material world around them. Or rather, their ties to material objects they had accumulated. In reality, the only thing they would need in the end was one another. All this wealth was meaningless without their love.
Trunks extended his free hand, still keeping tightly hold of Gohan’s grasp to slip the key into the lock. Doing this one handed meant he had to grasp the door, but Gohan reached over with his own free hand to turn the knob. Together they pulled the front door open, and stepped over the threshold still hand in hand. Each step across now that they were still in physical contact meant far more than the oft-repeated motions of leaving for work in the morning. It was as if they were learning a new part for a new play in life. One with a far different and more meaningful audience.
“Home sweet home,” Gohan joked, stepping onto the thick welcome mat. The glossy tiled floor stretched far under the high ceiling of the open staircase adjoining their foyer. Trunks closed the door behind them, its noise echoing in the large building. There were several floors to their dwelling, more modest than the mansion of Capsule, but still larger than many of the houses in the town nearest to their private community. Trunks had helped pick the large ceiling to floor drapes in the sitting room just to the left, which coordinated with the Persian carpet woven with intricate designs of phoenixes and irises. Trunks loved the image of the phoenix because it reminded him of his future life and how he and Gohan were reborn in this world. Gohan nodded, leading his husband towards the coat rack where they separated hands. Playfully he and Trunks unbuttoned one another’s coats and hung them up. Then they shared a wink striding towards the stairs.
“Shall we get out of these work suits?” Gohan smiled. His nose wrinkled so cutely Trunks realized when he did this.
“Slip into something more comfortable?” Trunks purred, his eyes smoky with a come-hither look that made Gohan’s skin tingle.
“Absolutely,” Gohan said, playfully grabbing Trunks necktie and yanking it down. Trunks and he dashed up the steps leading towards their room where their more appropriate attire waited.
“You know the carpet looks much cleaner since you and I started vacuuming it,” Trunks said as he peered over the railing from three floors up.
“And the tile is so shiny you can see your lovely face in it,” Gohan chuckled, seeing the reflection of the afternoon sun off the glossy black and white tiles.
“Not to mention the dust isn’t as thick here,” Trunks said, dragging his finger over the hall table on the way to their bedroom.
“What dust?” Gohan chuckled. “We clean this place everyday so you must be imagining it!”
“Virtual dust,” teased Trunks.
“Well cleaning this place is hardly a challenge,” Gohan declared, heading towards the large master suite. Their large mahogany frame bed dominated the place, with a high canopy. It coordinated with the furniture they had purchased for their fifth wedding anniversary when they had gotten the place. French doors led out to a balcony that overlooked a lovely view of the bay. Blue sea seemed to stretch for miles and Trunks squinted, noticing the distant colors of fishing boats sailing back and forth.
Reaching for Trunks shirt Gohan darted around him to block his view. He teasingly slipped the buttons of his husband’s shirt, opening it. Trunks reached over and returned the favor. Slowly the tanned flesh became visible to Gohan, and he admired the view as he pushed Trunks shirt down his muscular sculpted arms. However, Gohan caught the shirt just shy of dropping into a messy pile on the floor so he could neatly fold it. Trunks shook his head, smiling as he grabbed the front of Gohan’s shirt and tugged it off.
“We can do these up and iron them as part of today’s housework,” he suggested.
“Laundry, another addition to the challenge,” said Gohan. “But soon we will only have pairs of pants to wash not whole outfits.”
“In a stream no doubt?” Trunks widened his eyes, promising things to come.
Before long, they had stripped off to their underwear. Carefully reaching under the bed, Gohan pulled out a cardboard box, slightly battered. He opened it up and pulled out two pairs of pants they had worn the day before. There were only two other pair beneath them as a spare change of clothes. Reverently he handed one of the white pairs to his husband and took one of the blue for his own. Silently he watched Trunks peel off his underwear, and caught a glimpse of his naked glory, only to have it vanish as he tugged up the white fabric. Gohan felt the heat of Trunks eyes on him as he pulled up his own pants. Scratchy fabric seemed to tug at his skin and he nodded in satisfaction. The intentional discomfort settled his mind on the task they were about to undertake.
Now Trunks reached up and unfastened the tie, Gohan watching as his long lustrous hair spilled around his shoulders. Gohan swallowed hard, loving how handsome and lovely Trunks seemed, reminding him of when Mirai had first emerged from the hyperbolic time chamber many years ago after training with Vegeta. He always loved his husband with his hair framing his face. Seeing the faraway look in his husband’s eyes, Mirai Trunks whispered, “We have a job to do. You can admire me all you want while we’re cleaning.”
“Ah, right,” Gohan said, heart skipping a beat. Trunks admired his pale skin, alabaster against ebony, which were Gohan’s colors. The two of them exited the bedroom and headed for the cleaning supplies closet at the top of the stairs. Trunks opened the door as if opening a shrine, pausing before the shelves with Gohan next to him. Selecting a brush and bucket for himself, he moved aside so Gohan could get the toilet brush.
“Bathrooms first here, and then dusting,” Trunks asked, lavender brows wrinkling.
“Make sure we don’t use anything but cloths and good old fashioned elbow grease,” said Gohan.
They commenced with the bathroom of the master suite. Now as Gohan scrubbed the floor, he wiped sweat from his brow. Glancing over he could see Mirai’s shapely ass encased in those white pants, inviting and enticingly facing him. His husband was bent on hands and knees scrubbing the cracks of every tile with precision. Gohan only diverted his gaze for tantalizing minutes before returning to his task. Water dripped from the brush he dipped into the filled bucket of sudsy water. After the master suite floor came the painstaking task of polishing the brass taps. Trunks rubbed each fixture with a cloth, until it shimmered and he could see his own reflection in it.’
“A satisfactory job from here,” Gohan called, his voice echoing in the tub. Trunks glanced over to see the top of Gohan’s spiky hair visible over the rim.
“Is that where you’re hiding so you don’t have to be distracted staring at my ass?” Trunks teased.
“Or you staring at mine you mean?” Gohan countered, his face bobbing up. Already it was plastered with sweat.
“Done here. Let’s go onto the next one,” Trunks said, twisting the cloth between his hands and making it snap provocatively.
Gohan climbed out of the tub, reaching for the hand Trunks extended to him. They gathered up the mop, bucket, and other supplies, and then marched out to do the same procedure on the hall bathroom.
Hours passed as their list of chores continued. Trunks mentally crossed off another as he knelt on the glossy hardwood floor of the music room. Already they had finished the attic, then all the hard surfaces that required furniture polish. By now, he was getting used to the feel of the flat smooth surface under his knees and the smell of the polish he squeezed onto the damp cloth. His shoulders ached in a delicious way from polishing the interlocking herringbone panels of wood. Quick and hard strokes of his hand infused more and more product in, so he could glimpse his sweat covered face before him. A quick look up and he saw the grand piano looming to his left, and heard Gohan panting across the floor.
Trunks eyes widened, taking in the sight of blue pants sticking tightly to Gohan’s muscular thighs and ass. His dark hair was saturated with sweat, clinging to his forehead, while his alabaster skin was flushed a pale shade of healthier pink. To get a better look Trunks had to push tendrils of his lavender hair behind his ear, his hands moving on autopilot while his eyes feasted on his husband.
Drops of his sweat landed into the pool of polish Gohan smeared immediately before him. His arms felt like solid pillars of lead trying to hold up his weight. How had he gotten so out of shape before this? Already he welcomed the familiar burn in his muscles of manual labor he was used to doing as a child. Again, he sensed Trunks cobalt eyes peered at him under that curtain of lavender silk, and smiled to him. Those white pants were soaked through so they were almost translucent, giving Gohan a tantalizing glimpse of the muscles it was stretched over. Trunks turned around to grab another clean cloth from a pile, presenting his backside to Gohan. Still on his hands and knees, Trunks then added more polish to his rag. When he turned around, he saw Gohan transfixed like a deer in headlights, staring at his crotch. Certain parts of Gohan’s anatomy were becoming hard, tenting out the blue pants.
“I can almost see through those pants, Trunks,” Gohan whispered, his eyes darkening with desire.
“We’ve still got the rest of the floor to do,” Trunks whispered his voice hoarse. His own pants were getting too tight just staring at Gohan’s hard on. Gohan dropped to his hands and knees, his breath rasping in and out. He increased the speed of his polishing, his skin aching for the touch of his husband.
“Soon, very soon,” Gohan whispered.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Trunks whispered back, his own hands almost blurring as he worked polish around him in a widening circle. He glanced up at the top of the piano, envisioning himself grabbing Gohan and slamming him on top of it, pumping down further and faster…
“Damn it, this is harder than I thought,” he murmured.
“What is?” Gohan whispered, wondering if Trunks meant their erections pounding the seams of their pants. His saiyanhood was itching and burning against the seams, teasing him even more.
“It’s hard not to see you bending over with your head and shoulders on that piano and me fucking you from behind,” Trunks confessed.
That purring growl in Trunks voice shivered Gohan’s resolve. He swallowed hard, licking his lips to taste the sweat dribbling down his face. Blood pulsed loudly in a rush in his ears, his vision going red with desire. These pants were uncomfortable and arousing at the same time, bringing his mind again into narrow focus of the floor, his hands, and Trunks sweaty body across the room.
“Almost done, lover,” Trunks answered, his tanned chest beading with perspiration. It glistened in the light of the setting sun. Stripes of orange and sherbet green were visible to Gohan through the green silk curtains hanging in the music room. They had painted it white, its vast floor shiny like paved gold and honey at this time of day in the sun’s dying light. Gohan’s shadow cast across Trunks, and he could see his husband’s body huddled over, panting for self-control.
Those last few feet of floor were the hardest for Trunks to finish. He had to content himself with caressing Gohan with his eyes only, allowing his hands to work mechanically of their own volition. There was no background noise of clacking computer keys or voices, or even ringing phones to distract his attention. Only the simple reality of hands pushing rags, the scent of cleaning product, and the hard floor under his knees. Alternatively, the aching tight muscles protesting from being in one position for hours on end. All these summed up to an immediate reality, bringing trunks to his baser desires. Sex, food, and sleep, all in the company of the man he loved who was doing the same thing.
When at last Trunks let the cloth drop into a bin filled with other soiled rags, he exhaled sharply. Gohan shakily climbed to his feet first, striding over to him, blue pants plastered to his sculpted body. Trunks barely could straighten up without feeling the impending press of his erection demanding almost all of his attention. Through his fringe of hair, he reached up to Gohan, who bent over with outstretched hand.
“We’re done,” he announced, his pale chest heaving in and out, glistening with the sheen of perspiration. Every muscle was perfect, seeming to cry out to Trunks to be caressed. He grabbed Gohan’s hand, feeling electricity in their contact. Gohan’s strength seemed to pull him up and refresh him just by touch alone.
“Let’s put this stuff away and then see if there is anything else to do,” Trunks panted, pleading with his erection to wait just a bit longer. Gohan nodded his eyes black and shimmering with the same lust.
Trunks flared his nostrils at the scent of Gohan’s sweaty body. Both of them burned hot, only refreshed by the caress of fingers along ribs, or the sight of one another’s bodies demanding admiration. They almost tripped over one another returning the cleaning supplies to the closet. Then Gohan grabbed the bin of soiled rags, carrying it over one shoulder. Trunks grabbed the hamper loaded with clothes and they dumped them down the laundry chute.
“We have to start them up,” Trunks gasped.
“Can’t we wait?” Gohan almost whined.
“Are we committed to this or not?” Trunks warned a teasing note in his voice. His arm slid around Gohan’s waist, pulling him forwards. For a moment, he brushed his tongue over Gohan’s lips, giving him s a foretaste. Their hard muscled bodies rubbed together, their erections brushing and sparking their desire to a greater level.
Trunks body screamed nearly in agony watching Gohan turn his back to him in front of the washing machine. His husband was sorting socks and other items into neat piles, one bin for the dark, and one for the lighter loads. He turned his head and asked, “Pass me the soap will you?”
“I’ll pass you more than that,” Trunks mumbled, reaching around Gohan to grab the box. He measured out a bit and then dumped it in. A second later Gohan gasped when his backside slammed against the hard metal of the washing machine. Trunks pinned him there with his pelvis pressed into Gohan’s, hands trapping his husband from slipping away.
The lid clanged down with the contact, startling Gohan. He inhaled Trunks scent, feeling the torrid heat of his husband’s body soaking into his. Sweat mingled and hard muscle pressed so close and hot along with the bulge of Trunks erection. Their chests stuck to one another as their arms twined around one another’s bodies. Against his ass, the washing machine vibrated into life, causing a pleasant sensation on the back of Gohan’s legs and body.
It vibrated against his balls, and Gohan purred with delight. Trunks spread his legs a bit more and stepped back, regarding his husband with a lusty cobalt gaze. Catching his breath he realized he wanted to savor the moment, so he slowly reached out his hand and rubbed the bulge in Gohan’s rough blue pants. Gohan braced his hands backwards, opening his legs to let Trunks step between them.
Together they fumbled with the button and zipper. Gohan lifted his hips while Trunks slipped the button from its hole, and pulled the zipper down. He was careful to slip his hand in between the fly and Gohan’s erection so he would not tug or hurt his erect cock. Breath rasping through his clenched teeth Gohan closed his eyes and relished the feel of his husband’s hand playing with his hot length and massaging his balls. With his other hand, Trunks tugged gently to peel Gohan’s pants off, and pulled them off his ankles. He was careful not to rip them in his haste to unwrap his husband like a long awaited present. Gohan reached between his bent knees while Trunks tugged him forwards on the rumbling washer. It jolted into spin cycle that minute. Soon a pair of white pants joined Gohan’s pants on the floor.
“Ohh fuck Gohan,” Trunks groaned.
“Please be my guest,” Gohan panted, his ivory skin flushed with rose.
“Mmmm, I shall, Sexy,” Mirai purred, loving how Gohan’s sensitive fingers stroked along his cock in just the way he liked. Gohan’s back slammed against the wall as Trunks grabbed his ass and squeezed it. Tilting back Gohan positioned himself so Trunks could lick his fingers and teasingly poke them into his opening.
“Gaaagh Trunks… that feels so… sinfully good how you spread me,” Gohan grunted, his dark eyes smoldering with inflamed desire.
“Hhehehe,” Trunks chuckled, dropping to his knees. Slowly he thrust two fingers into Gohan’s hole while he slipped his mouth over his husband’s cock. Deftly he lapped up the precum that was weeping on the broad crimson head. Gohan watched transfixed at Trunks tongue licking and suckling before he plunged into dark warm heat. The combination of Trunks fingers spreading his anus and the blowjob brought him teetering to the edge. His fingers gripped the enamel of the washing machine tightly, it’s buzzing like an enormous vibrator.
“Please Handsome just… just fuck me already,” Gohan hoarsely growled. Trunks released Gohan’s cock with a slight smacking sound and bobbed up so he again stood between his lovers legs.
“I can’t refuse that, because I’m about to lose it myself,” whispered Trunks, grabbing his tip and guiding it to where his fingers were thrusting. Gohan felt the pressure of Trunks fingers squeezing and massaging his ass, then the sharp forward stab of his husband’s hard cock.
“Oh yes,” Gohan shouted, wrapping his legs around Trunks tanned hips. The washing machine jolted and bumped against the wall as Trunks slammed into his husband repeatedly. Gohan rocked his hips to meet each stroke, his voice hoarsely crying Trunks name repeatedly.
“Fuck me hard and good…” Gohan yelled, spurring Trunks on. Hearing such crude language coming out of Gohan’s lips indeed encouraged Trunks to grit his teeth and slam deep inside before exploding in a stream of white-hot sticky bliss.
“Uuuuggggghghh Gohan,” Trunks snarled, leaning forwards and kissing his husband hard as he came. They both shuddered together, Gohan’s fingers clawing at Trunks shoulders and almost leaving bloody nail marks.
“Now are we done with chores?” Trunks whispered against his lips, before claiming them. Gohan hungrily opened his mouth to Trunks probing tongue. Gasping with relief, he swept his tongue into his husband’s mouth and hungrily feasted on the kiss.
When they parted for air, Gohan pressed his forehead to Mirai Trunks and rasped, “Are you going to continue screwing me on the washer, or someplace else?”
“I think… we need to strip the bed first,” Trunks panted, his blue eyes radiant with sexual desire.
“Strip… the bed, or me?” Gohan gasped, rocking his hips against Trunks.
“Damn it that does it,” Trunks growled, grabbing the backs of Gohan’s legs. Gohan gasped, and wrapped himself around Trunks to feel as much as he could. Fastening his mouth to his husband’s, Trunks swung him around and carried Gohan towards the stairs. Effortlessly he dined on his spouse’s lips while bearing Gohan wrapped around his body. Thrill filled Gohan, loving being carried and dominated by Trunks. It had been far too long.
They landed against the wall, Gohan’s back pressing to the expensive wallpaper as Trunks ravaged his lips. He nibbled a trail down his neck, licking Gohan’s collarbone. Gohan panted, “Bed?”
“Mmm hmm,” Trunks got out, rolling over along until they tumbled through the doorway. He almost dropped Gohan on the floor but caught his balance. Gohan wrapped his arms around Trunks neck, kissing the top of his husband’s head. Shakily Trunks managed to carry Gohan to the bed and drop him on it, his legs unsteady because of the blood rushing to his erect saiyanhood. Gohan laughed, looking up at Trunks hovering over him and sitting on his hips. Grabbing a handful of hair Gohan dragged Trunks down, connecting their mouths. Hot breath commingled, and Gohan bucked his hips up against Trunks body.
Tangled together they caressed their backs, Trunks sliding his hands down Gohan’s back as he rolled him over. They now faced one another side to side on the vast bed. Panting they caressed each other’s cheeks, petting their muscles and meeting lips in a mad frenzy of deep kisses. Fingers tangled in hair, and Trunks felt as if Gohan was everywhere.
“I want you so much Gohan, it hurts,” Trunks panted, his lips near Gohan’s ear. Gohan slid his hands between them to squeeze Trunks bulge, while Trunks did the same. Now Gohan took his time to admire the lovely lavender hair that graced his lower body, his erection full and hard.
Turning Trunks over Gohan nipped the back of his neck. Trunks groaned, feeling Gohan’s teeth sinking in and his hands reaching around to grab his erection and rub it. Blood roared through Trunks veins, his hips shifting as Gohan’s head slid teasingly along the crease of his buttocks. Gasping Trunks parted his legs, reaching between them to feel Gohan’s saiyanhood as demanding and swollen. If he looked down, he could see the red tip engorged with blood.
“I want… need you,” Trunks moaned, heart pounding hard like a hammer against his breastbone. Gohan’s chest stuck to his back, his teeth still fastened into Trunks neck. Grabbing Gohan’s hand Trunks plunged it into his mouth, lubricating and sucking on his husband’s fingers. Without letting go of his mouthful of Trunks delicious flesh Gohan slid his sweat-coated fingers into Trunks tight opening.
“Gahhh,” Gohan grunted, thrusting up and spreading.
“Oh Kami, more,” Trunks panted, his eyes squeezing shut. The world narrowed down to the incredible sensations Gohan’s fingers provided up inside his body. When he felt them replaced with a much larger harder object, he almost lost control.
Still Gohan’s hand pumped on Trunks erection. All Mirai could do was brace his hands against the comforter and holler as Gohan stabbed deep inside. Rocking their hips in tandem, the married couple writhed in bliss. Still Gohan’s teeth clamped down, sinking in deep enough to draw Trunks blood. Arching his back Trunks slammed down to meet his lover’s thrusts, gasping and panting Gohan’s name with each push inside.
“GoHAAAN!” Trunks howled, feeling the tremors in his body and the impending burst of white light in his mind. Hot liquid spurted and seeped over Gohan’s hand.
“Ggggggmmmmmm!” Gohan howled through the mouthful of his husband’s skin, stabbing deep into Trunks body. Eyes squeezed shut he tasted the tang of blood, along with the molten heat of Trunks surrounding him. His love exploded along with his seed, spurting in a hot stream. Hearts slammed as hard as their hips did together and then they lay there panting in a tangled mess of arms and legs.
“Oh DAMN,” Trunks gasped, his head racing and spinning. Gohan released his hold, licking his lips and wrapping Trunks in an embrace from behind.
“I love you, Handsome,” Gohan whispered, kissing his ear.
“Oh damn Sexy that was the best. I love you, Gohan,” Trunks swallowed hard, tears of joy stinging his eyes. He rolled over and squeezed Gohan tightly to him, not wanting to let go. Having claimed one another in turn, they felt fully sated and reunited in their passions.
***
Time passed while Gohan admired the sweaty sated body of his husband lying alongside him. He lost himself in Trunks cobalt depths, having the luxury of a time to glimpse the depths of love they held. Deeply he inhaled draughts of air, his heart slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy. He enjoyed dragging his fingers along the slick sweat contoured muscles, worshipping Trunks as they caught their breath. Simultaneously Trunks basked in the afterimages of their incredible mind shattering orgasm. Its intensity floored him, for he realized they had not achieved such mutual joy for a long time. Few experiences in recent memory in their sex life had rated so high above a perfect ten. No, this was definitely an eleven, Trunks decided.
“There are no words to describe how beautiful this experience has been, Trunks,” Gohan said, running his fingers through the sweat soaked chunks of his lover’s hair.
“Agreed my love,” Mirai nodded, ruffling the shorter hairs on Gohan’s head so they stood up on end. “It makes you think doesn’t it?”
“About? You don’t need to prompt me to contemplate anything,” Gohan completed, curious about the thoughtful look in his spouse’s face. After years of marriage, he intimately knew his husband’s slight variations in facial expressions and the meanings behind each. He rolled off the bed and planted his feet on the floor.
“No Gohan, that wasn’t quite what I meant,” said Trunks scooting to the edge of the bed as Gohan stood up. “Rather that ever since we have been trying to simplify our lives, our sex life has improve dramatically, that’s all.”
“I see. So you are saying that we are improving our marital bond by the day as we undertake more manual labor?” Gohan asked, reaching under the bed to get the cardboard box. Reaching inside he pulled out the last two pairs of pants.
Trunks nodded, pleased that his husband seemed to grasp his intent. He took the pair of pants that Gohan passed to him, and slid them over his legs, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he stood up and tugged them up, fastening them. Covering Gohan’s lips in another kiss he whispered, “What say you that we strip the bed and wash the sheets.”
“How about the rags we used to polish the floor? I was thinking we should clean them by hand, don’t you?” Gohan suggested, zipping up his pants.
“You mean you’re impatient to try what we bought before,” Trunks said, his eyes gleaming. He winked at Gohan, knowing the there was another inherent reason that was readily apparent. It was another modification of their routine that brought them closer to touching more of the material world. Everything they touched had greater significance, instead of being one-step removed and allowing others and technology to do the works of their hands.
Gohan tugged at the elastic end of the sheet and regarded Trunks. “It’s hard not to want to make love to you again seeing you so gloriously nude before me.”
“Later, Gohan. Let’s just get this bed made first and dinner too,” Trunks scolded him gently, standing by the linen closet. Already he had pulled out a stack of freshly starched and ironed sheets. In silence, he tossed one corner over so his spouse could hook it around the edge of the mattress. Then both of them smoothed out the wrinkles to adjust the cover sheet. Next came the top sheet with its reversed side facing up. They worked as a precision team, Trunks anticipating where Gohan needed an extra hand at lifting the mattress or unfurling the comforter they shook the folds out of. When they repositioned the silk pillows atop, Gohan arranged them just so in a manner that made Trunks chuckle. With everything, Gohan left his fingerprint of orderliness.
Having made the bed afresh the demi saiyan couple then left their bedroom, or what had served as their bedroom until now, Gohan reflected. Although they had made love on it, they would not sleep there, but rather in a more mundane manner. Trunks out the window to the back yard, knowing it would soon hold a blanket they would both curl together upon. Body heat served in aid of the fluffy comforter they had just smoothed out.
“We left our pants downstairs with the rags,” Trunks informed him.
“I could clearly see the pile when you were fucking my brains out during spin cycle,” Gohan quipped, staring at Trunks backside now covered by his white pants. They resolved to tramp downstairs as fast as possible. Nevertheless, Gohan still stole glances of Trunks ass through his pants, falling behind his husband so he could do so.
“Like the view?” Trunks smirked, reaching the bottom step first.
“Always,” Gohan answered, with a sultry grin. Still nude each of them reached down and grabbed the basket of rags. Trunks retrieved their pants and they turned to one of the large sinks beside the washer and dryer. He tossed the dark blue pair to Gohan along with the white pair, so Gohan could throw them into the basket with the rags.
Gohan fetched a metal tub they had purchased from a street vendor a week before, and filled it with water. He heard the click of the dryer as Trunks opened it and tossed the load of laundry from the washer inside. The loud buzz grated on both their ears before Trunks shut it and pressed the button to activate the dryer.
Now that the tub was full, Gohan easily dragged it from under the tap and hoisted it onto his head, balancing it there. Trunks grabbed the basket of cleaning rags and followed his husband up the stairs once more. They diverted through the downstairs hallway, heading towards the back yard. Two French doors gleamed in the evening sun, and Gohan regarded the polished glass with pride. He and Trunks had earlier done all the windows to perfection. Reaching down with one hand while balancing the water on his head with the other he carefully opened the door.
Trunks continued to watch his husband exit into the soft trimmed grass of the back yard. IT felt cool under his tanned toes, moist with evening dew. The slight grit of moist earth caressed his souls with each step taken after his husband. Gohan stopped beside the clothesline they had erected, and set down the tub. Water sloshed, dripping cold on his bare ivory feet.
Already hard calluses were forming on the balls of their feet and their heels. A few days of walking on hard pavement and the driveway with sharp gravel toughened them considerably. It felt good to Trunks to have his feet free of the confining dress shoes and grip the earth with his toes again. They had found less risk for athlete’s food subjecting their skin to the fresh air. Sweat could not accumulate and Trunks felt his feet cool and dry, free of the nasty biting foot fungus that plagued him. Even Saiyans could suffer from such aliments.
Around his shoulders Trunks hair hung, drying from the sweat that had moistened it from their lovemaking a while ago. Still his skin tingled from the aftereffects and he saw Gohan’s skin was still goosepimply as well. Gusts of evening wind lapped their bare shoulders. Crouching near a ring of rocks Gohan removed flint and steel, striking them together. Already wood was carefully piled, chopped yesterday from the large yard of trees that had fallen from the storm a few days ago.
Trunks piled up the wood in an A frame while Gohan started the fire. They set the tub of water to heat carefully over it, while Trunks returned to the house and filled another tub of cold water from the garden hose. On the back lawn, they dropped the cleaning rags into the fire heated boiling water, almost scalding their hands. Gohan set an old scrub board that he had brought from his home when his mother used to do laundry the old-fashioned way. Trunks ran the rags over its metal-ridged surface, loving how the soap squelched through his fingers. The simple store bought all-purpose soap had a simple scent that was clean and fresh, devoid of the perfumed detergents that money could buy.
Once he had scrubbed them, Gohan dipped the clothes in the cold water to rise then. He then cranked them through a series of wringers before snapping each cloth. Then he draped them over the clothesline and pinned them with simple wooden clothespins. When they came to washing their pants they took the same care and reverence with their simple garments Soon the entire line was covered with fluttering rags spotlessly white. In their former life, they had been bed sheets. Alongside them hung the two pairs of pants, now fresh and clean.
“All right, we’re done here,” Gohan announced.
“Let’s start dinner shall we?” Trunks nodded fondly to his husband. Reaching for Gohan’s hand, he led him towards the shed not far from the back yard. Gohan went back when he saw the fire dwindling down, so Trunks turned from him and opened the slatted wood door. Searching among the metal shelves, he found a wooden cardboard tray filled with cans. He carried the entire tray with him towards the fire.
He spotted Gohan lugging a metal pot over and setting it on one of the rocks. Trunks set the beans nearby and tossed one to Gohan. Catching it, he pulled out the can opener and stabbed it into the first can of beans. After he opened it, he dumped it into the pot. Trunks took out another and tossed it to him. Soon the whole pot was filled with baked beans. Gohan lifted it up and set it on the three rocks positioned over their fire. It burbled and rumbled over the dancing flames growing brighter in the oncoming night.
Gohan’s stomach rumbled with the increasing aroma of beans. He eagerly stirred the deep pot, watching Trunks empty out the residual wash water into the storm drain. Then his husband sat next to him, carrying two tin scout mess kit plates. Gohan dipped out portions for himself and Trunks who held out the battered containers for him. Next to one another, they sat on the smooth rocks, eating their simple repast in silence.
“You’ve got some juice on your cheek,” Trunks smiled, reaching over to rub his finger along Gohan’s chin.
“Oh?” Gohan asked, raising his hand. Trunks set his plate aside and leaned over to lick off the moisture.
“Delicious. You go well with baked beans, Sexy,” Trunks rumbled. Gohan kissed him back, tasting the beans on his sweet lips. His stomach already felt pleasantly full from the simple fare.
It did not take long for the beans to disappear and the pot to empty. It was simple for Gohan to use some of the remaining soapy water to clean it out and tip it over to dry overnight. Trunks in the meantime watched him while he carried two blankets neatly rolled up from the house. The wool was scratchy to the touch, much like their pants were, and he smiled at the thought of being curled up in them. Gohan turned to watch him, his eyes narrowed against the gold sun beating through the trees that was eclipsed by his husband’s shadow.
For a second Gohan swore that it formed a halo, before it slid out of sight. Already Trunks shadow stretched towards the fire, almost touching Gohan’s feet. Grass under his feet felt cooler and the so did the ground beneath them. Muscles twitched in the quickening chill of night setting in on them.
Wordlessly Trunks tossed an end of the blanket to Gohan, and they spread it out. The other blanket was stretched out and lay atop so they could crawl between them. Near the fire, they both sat on the blanket, feeling the reassuring itch of the wool fibers on their bare feet and hands. Gohan curled up across from his husband, who pulled the other blanket on top of them. Pressing their fronts together, they tangled their legs playfully.
“Good night Gohan, I love you,” Trunks whispered, kissing his husband’s lips softly.
“I love you too, Trunks,” Gohan answered, sliding his arms around his husband and pulling him tightly to his chest. Pressing their fronts together, Trunks slipped his legs over Gohan and pillowed his head on his lover’s chest. Gohan sighed with delight and pulled Trunks silky hair to tangle his fingers in it. Glancing up Gohan saw the pinpoint of stars emerging in the blue fading to dark black. Only some scant light from the town nearby blotted out the river of bright stars stretching overhead. They were familiar friends that seemed to blink and wink at the married couple underneath.
