The Hobos, Chapter #03
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.
Pants sticking to his shapely thighs, Trunks flopped down on the cushions. He shifted the sofa with his weight, resting his back against its softness. It felt like he’d died and gone to heaven, just about. When he opened his eyes he glanced up at a familiar brown pair.
“Coffee?” Gohan asked, holding out a Capsule second hand mug. Sweat glistened over his olive skinned chest. In either hand, he held a steaming hot mug, each with a plastic spoon handle protruding.
“That would be wonderful, Gohan,” Trunks sighed blissfully, reaching up to grab the mug from his husband. Instead of flopping down next to him, Gohan turned a half pace and gracefully lowered himself to the seat cushion Trunks patted.
Their legs brushed one another. Gohan too let out a sigh and leaned next to Trunks, settling into his lover’s warm body. Somehow the need to be close was most important, despite the fact they were both drenched from head to toe in sweat. No, Gohan corrected himself. It was precisely BECAUSE they were hot and perspiring that he couldn’t resist cuddling up and resting his head on Trunks shoulder.
Slowly Trunks lowered his arm around Gohan’s shoulders swinging his mug around to take a sip. His nose perked at the smell of instant coffee mingled with the store brand of 2 percent milk. Wearing only their second hand pants, they rested for a moment, sipping the brew. Trunks reached down on the coffee table and grabbed the paper, after tucking the mug between his knees.
“Let me,” Gohan said, taking Trunks mug before it tipped on the carpet.
“Thanks,” Trunks answered, kissing Gohan’s cheek. Thighs pressed together Trunks leaned forwards and spread the paper out so Gohan could see, catching the opposite end of it by passing his arm behind Gohan’s back.
Gohan peered at the black text that said “Want Ads, jobs.” “Let’s see, we’ve got the basic jobs listed here… under restaurants…”
“Here’s one. Raphael’s,” Trunks said. Gohan’s finger stopped at the listing.
“Says they need waiters, and bussers,” Gohan murmured, his eyes focusing on the small print.
“Waiters and bussers,” Trunks repeated, rustling the paper so his thigh brushed Gohan’s enticingly.
“I think we should apply for the busser job,” Gohan suggested.
Trunks nodded. “Yes. That would be perfect for us. The most amount of manual labor.”
“Exactly,” Gohan agreed, with a confirming smile. He felt Trunks side sticking to his as his husband shifted slightly on the couch.
“Okay, it also says that anyone interested should apply in person… tomorrow…” Trunks continued to read.
“Between the hours of nine and eleven,” Gohan said, running his finger further along the numbers.
“So we should be there a good hour earlier then.”
“Absolutely, Trunks. That was just what I was thinking,” Gohan agreed. “So we can be sure to get the job.”
Noticing again how their skin tones contrasted, Trunks feasted his eyes on Gohan’s well-defined chest. Every muscle was perfectly sculpted, but the skin was still quite pale. Even his own flesh seemed to miss the golden healthy tan, prompting Trunks to consider another possibility. Perhaps they should spend more of their time outside in the future. It wouldn’t do for people to think they were stuck indoors all day.
“Such a job will continue to keep us hot and sweaty, Gohan,” Mirai observed, setting down the paper so it rested across both their knees. He shifted his arm so it slid up between Gohan’s back and the couch and wrapped around his husband’s strong shoulders again.
“Agreed. We want to be as sweaty as we are now. I think that last round of cleaning today went a bit too quickly, Trunks.”
“You were analyzing our amount of sweating again?” Trunks teased, nibbling on Gohan’s ear. “Just like the thinker you are… what’s the measure of how much we SHOULD sweat?”
“Well,” Gohan pondered, turning to his husband and shifting his hips so his knees lined up with Mirai’s thigh. “As amazingly shiny and gorgeous as your body looks now covered in perspiration, your hair isn’t completely saturated…”
“It isn’t? So you’re saying we’re getting too used to cleaning this place, and need a bigger challenge,” Mirai grinned, as Gohan nuzzled his chin.
“If your hair was two shades darker purple from lavender, that would tell me we’ve sweated the right amount, Trunks,” Gohan chuckled, pushing pieces of Trunks long hair that were only slightly sticking to his face and hanging around it.
“Yours is still sticking up, so you’re not sweating enough either,” Mirai teased him back, turning his chest so they were front to front.
Gohan brushed his nose to Mirai’s, quipping, “So what is the solution? Get a larger house?”
“We could do that. At least then we could have MORE things to clean,” Mirai responded with a smile, lightly brushing his lips over Gohan’s.
Yielding to his husband’s firm lip press, Gohan angled his face slightly to the side, relishing the spurt of hot breath entering his mouth. In turn, he teased lightly at Trunks lips with his tongue. Both of them raised their hands to cup one another’s faces, deepening the kiss. Gohan tunneled his fingers through Trunks silky locks, while Trunks held the back of his neck. Eyes fused shut as their hands caressed up and down one another’s bodies and they shifted so Gohan could raise his legs up and across Mirai’s thighs.
“You know…” Mirai gasped when they surfaced for air.
“Uh huh,” was all Gohan could manage.
“All this makes me want to…”
“Clean again?” Gohan finished for him. Both pressed their forehead together, sharing a chuckle.
“Mind reader,” Mirai purred, pecking Gohan’s lips. He slid his hands up and down, giving Gohan’s ass a squeeze that jolted the younger Saiyan with desire.
“Keep THAT up and we’ll have to take a rain check on that cleaning,” Gohan panted.
“Uh uh, cleaning first, Sexy. It’ll make the fucking all the more enjoyable,” Mirai waggled a finger at him. He lifted Gohan off his lap, and shakily they stood up.
Bracing Mirai’s body with his own, Gohan murmured, “So you figured it out. Cleaning equates to foreplay?”
“You ARE a genius,” Mirai laughed, swatting Gohan on the ass. “Now let’s get those cleaning rags and get to work.”
Across the glossy floor and over wooden cabinets and furniture they dragged their cloths. Gohan and his husband sought to remove the sticky footprints left there by their bare feet. Earlier on, their way to the couch Gohan noticed the tracks on the parcade floor.
More sweat plastered Trunks hair to his face and he gladly pushed the tendrils behind his ears. As for Gohan, he focused on the right sides of the room while Trunks did the left. They worked as a well-coordinated team, canvassing the entire home from attic to ground floor, their actions dictated by nonverbal cues.
Later, both of them faced one another, Gohan rubbing the parcade floor with long circular sweeps of a rag. He stopped to fold it in and find the one clean surface left before dropping it. A shot of floor polish and lemon tingled his nostrils. As before, drops of his sweat blurred his vision causing him to rub his face. Only a few feet away Trunks rubbed more of the polish over his rag and moved his arms in long broad strokes, much different from Gohan’s method. Despite their differences, the end goal was the same. A highly polished floor that glistened gold under the late afternoon sun.
On his hands and knees, Trunks felt a spasm of pain twinge his back. It passed down his thighs in a burning wave, delicious and painful simultaneously. “Hey Gohan?”
“Yes?” Gohan heaved. His arms felt wobbly as he walked on them and his achy legs to face his husband. That flushed red face under strands of long straight hair regarded him.
“Are you as wasted and achy as I look?” Mirai asked, catching his breath.
“Yes, I think I can safely say that’s the case,” Gohan chuckled.
Gohan arched his back, and then stopped at a sharp stitch across his lumbar vertebrae. It seemed he felt each one tingling in protest, signaling the weariness that swept over him. It felt as intoxicating as wine, and as richly earned as any drink in happy hour. Strangely, he felt lightheaded and high from the physical exertion and lack of stimulation from anything but occasional glances of Trunks ass. Moving aside the rag, he crawled over to where Trunks stretched his body.
Cobalt blue eyes watched Gohan’s every move. Pushing up with both hands he sat back on his knees, hearing his back pop and crackle. While Gohan reached him, he stayed perfectly still, worshipping his husband with a steady gaze. Slowly Gohan pressed his hands to Trunks thighs, rubbing up and down them. He sat on his ankles, only inches from Trunks, hot breath fanning his steaming hot face. The contrast in temperature tingled, adding to Trunks arousal screaming through his body.
Possessively Gohan and Trunks twined arms around one another’s bodies. Their lips found each other’s, as Gohan straddled his husband’s knees. Sighing Trunks leaned back and sideways so his side hit the shiny floor. Lavender hair splayed out around him as Gohan lay atop him, lips locked in a heavy kiss.
***
Trunks suppressed the urge to drum his fingers on the table. Mr. Platter’s whiny voice drawled on for nearly a half hour and Trunks could not keep his eyes from diverting to the gold clock on his desk. His left hand brushed past blueprints and engineering reports that spilled out of the man’s leather briefcase.
“So Mr. Briefs, my buddy, are you sure we can’t convince you to try our new tripolycarbonate resistant weatherproofing containers?”
“I am very grateful with how well they’ve held up with the summer line of C-678 compact capsules,” said Trunks with a patient smile. Already the hands pointed to the ten and five, his hands watching the incessant dragging of the second hand rushing up.
“I just remembered we also have some Vynilic Zb5 that you would find PERFECT if you tried it in the winter snow vehicle line,” Mr. Platter said, pushing a few papers into trunks view.
“Well yes, we could keep that in mind,” Trunks said quickly, pretending to stare at his colleague.
“You’re so open minded, just like your grandfather. Such an eager business partner,” laughed Mr. Platter, patting him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, it’s a pleasure using your plastics in our capsule lines,” said Trunks shaking his hand. Slowly Mr. Platter rose from his seat, only to stop.
“Oh that reminds me,” he said, sitting down.
“Really, do tell?” Trunks laughed, inwardly cursing at the man now taking up another five minutes. Yet he knew it would be rude to refuse to hear what the long time partner and supplier would say.
“You and I should play golf on Sunday. We could go over the winter lineup account then! What do you say? My wife’s been dying to wear her new golf dress and she’d love to meet your husband and play a round of 18 holes,” said Mr. Platter with a grin.
“Well I’ll have to see what he’s got on his schedule, but I’ll get back to you,” said Trunks, with a slight blush. Mr. Platter had supplied them for the last 20 years, and had been fully aware of the marriage between him and Gohan, accepting it breezily as if it was just another development in the Capsule dynasty.
“Say have I shown you a picture of my daughter’s new pet poodle? She is gaga over him, and that reminds me that we hardly ever see your husband at our annual client’s party. You’re both invited and we’ll have caviar…”
“I’m sure that will be very nice. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, Mr. Platter?” asked Trunks with forced politeness. He was not trying to be rude, but already another five minutes were burned away. Again they both rose to get up, but then Mr. Platter snapped his fingers and again sat down. Trunks forced a smile and sat down again.
“Well the pet care line, I just remembered! I forgot to give you the latest shipping figures for it! We’re both making lots of returns on that partnership!” Mr. Platter said, digging in his briefcase.
“You don’t say?” Trunks said, interlacing his fingers and tapping his foot under the desk instead. His skin crawled with anxiety as he continued to glance past his business partner’s head at the wall clock.
Flickering ki patterns indicated a familiar presence, and Trunks rejoiced at the sensation of Gohan walking up the hall. A knock on the door interrupted Mr. Platter as he pulled out the forgotten ream of papers and set it in front of Trunks. “There we are!” he said with a loud booming laugh.
“Yes, thank you!” Trunks said, nodding with another laugh and a grin.
“But there’s a few things that I want to show you in particular,” Mr. Platter said, pulling his chair around and pointing to a chart on the front page.
“How many things exactly?” asked Trunks, his patience frayed to shreds. Relief filled him when he heard the knock repeating.
“Oops, sorry I didn’t realize you were expecting someone,” Mr. Platter said quickly.
“Come in” Trunks asked.
Gohan’s head popped from behind the door, and he apologized, “Oh sorry… I forgot you were in a meeting.”
“No problem,” said Mr. Platter. “Sorry to monopolize your lovely husband, Mr. Son.”
“It’s nothing,” Trunks lied.
“I’ll see you two at the West City country club I hope! Bring your selves and putters, and we’ll talk!” said Mr. Platter as he finally got up and went over to shake Gohan’s hand.
“Uh sure,” Gohan said, blinking at Trunks who nodded eagerly.
“We’ll be happy to see you then,” said Trunks, shaking his colleague’s hand and gently urging him towards the door. Gohan smiled too, and both of them walked their colleague into the hall. Waving to him Gohan watched as Ms. Thyme handed the man his coat and helped him to the elevator. Turning to his husband Gohan saw Trunks shoulders slouch and his chest rise and fall.
“Whew never thought I’d get rid of him,” Trunks said, wrapping an arm around Gohan’s shoulders.
“Hard day?” Gohan asked, kissing his husband’s lips.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Let’s get going. We don’t want to be late. Raphael hates it,” said Gohan, looking at his wristwatch. Trunks nodded and they walked off, holding hands.
Around them, the corporate world of Capsule clicked on. Miss Thyme waved to them, and they politely handed her the stack of papers. Trunks said, “Here you go. Thank you so much for your hard work.”
“You don’t have to thank me Mr. President!” she said quickly with a blush. “It’s my job.”
“But still thank you,” Trunks smiled sweetly at her. “This place would fall apart without you and your staff.”
“Why… why that’s sweet of you to say,” Miss Thyme said with surprise. Gohan and Trunks waved to the busman who punched the button to the elevator as they stepped in.
“Nice night, isn’t it, Carl?” Trunks said to the red suited man.
“Uh yes it is sir!” the man replied quickly, his face a bit filled with pleasant surprise. Gohan and Mirai were delighted to see the expression, and their grip tightened. Gohan squeezed his husband’s hand.
“Thank you,” said Gohan with a smile.
“Yes, that’s right. Thank you for helping us every day,” said Trunks, extending a hand and patting the man’s shoulder.
“Um… sir, you’re um, welcome?” Carl said, pushing the button for the first floor. “No need to thank me. It’s a pleasure to serve you Mr. President.”
“Mr. Trunks is fine, Mr. Carl,” said Trunks with a charming smile. His heart warmed when he saw the smile that came on the man’s taciturn face. For years, he had operated their private elevator and only said good morning.
“Good night sirs! Take care!” he called.
“Have a wonderful weekend,” Trunks smiled back.
“Take care and see you Monday,” Gohan nodded, shaking his hand and grinning as well. Both of them chuckled to one another as they saw the glowing smile on the man’s face.
“Well I’ll be damned,” they heard him mutter.
“He seemed really happy we said goodbye to him and called him by name,” whispered Gohan as he squeezed Trunks hand.
“That’s very true. We have not noticed him. However, the moment we do he feels like he’s important,” Trunks, observed with a sober look on his face.
“That’s why we’re working as bussers. Doing the same thing for a whole shift so we don’t forget just how many people work under us,” said Gohan with a smile as they walked to the garage.
***
A half hour later, they bustled about their apartment in town. Gohan hunched over an ironing board, spraying starch on his white shirt. He inhaled deeply of its fresh scent and then peeled his shirt off. He watched Trunks rush past, and held out the shirt to his husband. “Here you go!”
“Thanks!” Trunks said, leaning over and kissing Gohan as he accepted the shirt. He tugged it on and then Gohan turned the iron off. Moving to the mirror in the bathroom, he ducked behind Trunks who was buttoning the shirt up.
“Don’t forget your nametag,” said Gohan, slipping his black tie around his neck. It snapped and he straightened the collar.
“I have it in my pocket. We’ve got only ten minutes to spare,” Trunks whispered, glancing at his watch. Instead of his capsule brand with diamonds, it was a cheap imitation leather band and a battered crystal with a white face. Gohan ducked out of the bathroom and rushed towards the living room.
“I know, I know,” Gohan murmured, folding up the ironing board into t he wall. He set the iron on its shelf.
“You got it,” Gohan laughed, grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket. Trunks stuffed his vinyl wallet into his front pocket, chuckling when he thought of the eel skin one he had traded it for. Gohan did not even use a wallet, because he just put his ID in a small change purse and kept it in his front pants pocket.
“Wallets are a pain,” Gohan has said. Trunks dashed over to the door, opening it. Gohan almost tripped over him in their haste to get out. It only took Mirai a few seconds to do up the bolts and locks before he dashed after Gohan down the hallway.
Gohan panted, opening the door to the fire stairs and waving to Trunks. “C’mon, we’ll miss the bus!” he called.
Mirai laughed, darting around Gohan and hopping on the railing. He slid down, watching Gohan’s flustered face peering down before he heard his husband’s grunt and felt a body almost knock him off the railing. His feet touched the bottom, clad in a pair of slightly scuffed black dress shoes. Hearts pounding he grabbed Gohan’s elbow and pulled his husband out the front.
Gohan’s hair stood up straight, and he ran his hand through it, glancing up at the battered metal bus sign. He sighed and leaned against the metal and glass shelter. Already a few other people were huddled inside, the smell of cigarette smoke filling his nostrils. He waved his hand at the smell, catching Trunks shaking his head.
Mirai leaned against the signpost, facing Gohan and meeting his gaze. He tried to convey a sense of boredom, as if they had done this countless times. So far, the other people waiting paid them no mind. One of them shuffled their newspaper, and the others tossed cigarette butts down, stubbing them out with their toes. It reminded Mirai of what he would have to clean up in a while. His head turned quickly when he heard a squeal of breaks accompanied by the rumbling rattle of a bus engine. Around him, he watched everyone tense up from their seats, digging in their pockets for a bus pass.
Gohan tugged out the folded zenni notes and grabbed Trunks elbow to lead him to the bus. They found their place in line, stepping back to let everyone else on first. Leaping up the steps one after they other Mirai watched his husband slip the bills into the meter, and then hear the creak of the door closing. Stepping over the white line they both stood in the aisle, grabbing the cold metal railing up overhead. He lurched against Gohan, holding his husbands hip to steady himself. At the next stop, more people poured on, pushing and jockeying for position.
Mirai swung around so he faced Gohan, and saw his grateful nod. They clung to the pole with opposite hands, wrapping arms around their waists to anchor one another and keep from brushing up against strangers. Someone pressed to his backside, and Trunks leaned more heavily into his husband. Pressed to him he willed his body to behave.
“Crowded,” whispered Gohan.
“Yep,” Trunks nodded, leaning his head on Gohan’s shoulder. Gohan slipped his fingers into Trunks back pocket, as if claiming his husband from the pushing and shoving patrons. He stared up at his left wrist, looking at the cracked crystal of his watch to see the sweep of the second hand inexorably towards the 12.
“Great, we’re almost ten minutes behind,” he grunted.
“Thanks to that guy I couldn’t get rid of,” whispered Trunks. Mentally he counted off the minutes, glancing around Gohan to see other people shifting and zoning out on the seats while others stood grabbing the handholds above them. Through the dirty windows, he glimpsed the setting sun blending into deep red between the buildings they moved past. Then the bus lurched to a stop sending them almost flying into the people before them.
Trunks bumped against Gohan’s front, both of them chuckling and glad they were facing one another. Otherwise, it would have been quite embarrassing. Hisses and whispers of frustration caused him and Gohan to crane their heads forward towards the accumulating thickness of cars. Progress was limited to a slow crawl, and they exchanged worried glances.
“Shit,” Trunks cursed.
“Terrific,” Gohan sighed, resigned to the fate. Still he tapped his foot, the vibrations alerting his partner to his frustration mounting. Each minute seemed an eternity to Gohan, and he felt his stomach twisting with the inevitable fear of being late.
“Let’s get off,” said Trunks, reaching for the cord. A loud ding stopped the crawling bus, and the driver pushed the button. Mumbling excuse me to the patrons they bumped and bumbled their way out and dashed down the steps.
Both of them panted, threading their way around cars that were stopped at a red light. Trunks heard the chorus of dissonant car horns around them, deafening. A loud siren split their ears, shooting through the intersection. Snatching Gohan’s hand, he leapt up on the curb and broke in full run down the sidewalk.
Gohan felt sweat soaking his shirt. Encouraged by the squeezed of his husband’s hand he panted and wheezed behind him, trying to keep up. They damped down their ki, feet violently slamming into the pavement as they dodged and weaved around pedestrians. Back and forth from his wrist to straight ahead Gohan glanced.
“C’mon, we’re almost there!” Trunks panted.
“Thank goodness,” Gohan heaved, both of them dashing up to the flashing flickering neon sign just into view.
He read the words “Raphael’s Diner Open 24 hours”, almost stumbling over a curb when they reached the parking lot. Releasing hands with Trunks, he stopped, bending over to brace his hands on his thighs. Trunks did the same, his tanned face flushed. He reached over and brushed off Gohan’s pants.
“Thanks,” Gohan nodded, leaning over to hug Mirai. A quick squeeze later, he trotted around followed by Gohan to the back entrance. There standing against a wall was one of the cooks, his apron smudged with grease. A cigarette dangled from his lip as he looked at them.
Grunting he held open the door so both of them could rush through. Trunks and Gohan entered the dimly lit rear hallway, seeing the shapes of busser carts lined neatly up. Gohan struggled to still his pounding adrenaline as he walked towards the hallway near the double doors. On one side was a set that led to the kitchen, and the other to the restaurant. Grabbing his notched card from the rack on the wall, he slipped it into the clock.
Trunks grabbed his timecard, hearing the “kerchunk” once he slipped his in, seconds after Gohan. Only one minute past their start time, he fretted. Out of the double doors walked a tall man clean-shaven with short-cropped hair. His tie and white shirt were immaculate, and he wore a maroon vest buttoned over his shirt and a gold plastic tag that said Manager, Raphael.
“You’re here. Get going,” he grunted.
“Sorry sir,” Gohan panted.
“Busser carts that way. Get moving. Not time to waste,” Raphael muttered, not looking at them as he dipped into the kitchen. Sighing Trunks and Gohan walked towards the busser carts, pushing up their sleeves.
“Don’t forget the hair net,” Trunks said, looping his apron around his neck. Gohan reached around to tie it, after Trunks pulled the apron over his head.
“Your net,” Gohan pointed. His fingers tugged the hair net overtop Trunks ponytail, a bit shorter since the haircut. It did not reach down his mid back, but was shoulder length.
Deftly Mirai knotted Gohan’s apron, patting his husband on the ass playfully. “All ready. All systems go?”
“Yes,” he nodded, tugging out a hair net and pulling it over his head. Trunks did the same, looping his ponytail in the back and clipping the net on his head with small hairpins.
***
It was the middle of the shift at the West City Diner not far from the rougher side of town. Gohan glanced again at the retro logo in green on the paper placemats he set on the cleaned table. He straightened his nametag that said Son, and then glanced at his husband. A black hairnet covered his spiky hair, while another held Trunks trimmed hair. He had pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck but he could see the mesh covering the lavender hair like a fence.
Plates clanked amidst conversation. Trunks hefted the tray easily, but tried to show normal human fatigue when he boosted it up. Next to him, Gohan did the same, glancing around the people clogged dining room. Constant hubbub and white noise of chattering people was punctuated by the instructions from the floor manager. He moved to within earshot and said, “Get moving! We need 3 tables clean in the smoking section.”
Trunks groaned, realizing that it meant more plates filled with mashed potatoes in which people extinguished their butts. He already stacked several water glasses and coffee cups into which someone had left a few ashy stubs. Most of the time the smokers used the ashtrays, but sometimes they got too creative.
Wincing Gohan tipped the ash from one of the glass trays into the place on his busser tray for cigarette refuse. “I think we should make this place non smoking,” he mumbled.
“Let’s talk later,” Trunks, whispered, nudging him.
Both clad in white shirts under black aprons they felt sweat soaking through the undershirts already. The black clip on ties matched their aprons, already smudged with ketchup and mustard stains. Methodically they stacked the plates into the busser tray, and then wiped the seats with a clean rag. A few sprays from a small bottle of lemon cleaner and hard strokes of the hand over the table and Trunks polished its top so he could see himself in it. Gohan’s backside popped up and Trunks resisted the temptation to watch it as Gohan swept under the booth table.
“Jell-O,” groaned Gohan.
“Shit,” Trunks mumbled. Gohan grabbed a rag and started to dab the Jell-O cubes that dropped to the carpeted floor of the booth. He cursed the kids eat free night which always served Jell-O cubes as the ultimate kids treat. Under his fingers, the discarded cubes disintegrated into tiny smaller slimy chunks.
“Damn it,” Gohan hissed, almost bumping his head on the undersurface of the table. He scrubbed wildly at the carpet, finally removing the sticky bits before ducking out.
“Two tables men, get your asses moving!” said a voice that snapped Gohan’s head up.
“Yes sir!” Gohan said, standing up. Trunks nodded and they covered the plates with cloth napkins. Grabbing the trays, they moved to the next table.
“Leave the money for the waiter. Don’t swipe it or it’ll be hell to pay,” Ralph warned, watching the two new recruits.
“Right!” he called back. Trunks and Gohan meanwhile moved to the next table, and saw the profusion of wadded napkins festooning it.
“You take the highchair I’ll take the stacking,” whispered Trunks, wincing as his saw ketchup, mustard, and bits of food plastered to the lacquer high chair. Small bits of cereal covered the tray, and Trunks watched as a young family cheered. A two-year-old girl with purple hair in pigtails was picking up pieces of cereal from the tray and feeding herself. Sighing Trunks heard the mommy cooing encouragement. A few bits fell to the floor.
Gohan winced. If his mom caught him dropping food he would be bitched at. His ears would ring with the scolding. He never had his parents tearing up bits of food when he was a toddler. He learned to use chopsticks as soon as he could hold them. Then he turned his attention to the plates that were precariously stacked atop a dessert bowl. A long handled spoon stuck up in a narrow fruit cup dish and as he brushed past it, the thing flipped hand over hand like a gymnast. A loud clang startled him and he grabbed the offending spoon he had launched.
Sticky film stuck to Trunks fingertips while he glided the rag over the varnished high chair frame. Dropping to one knee, he then scrubbed off dried bits of lime gelatin fossilized on the bottom rungs. Most of the bussers missed those in their haste but he wanted all the encrusted food gone that the others had missed. Next, he swabbed the seat cushion and unclipped the removable plastic tray. He spritzed the tray decorated with cartoony bunnies wearing bibs that were supposed to show how a kid should eat. Then he moved the high chair back to the holding area with the others. Gohan continued to restack the plates the patrons had precariously assembled into what they thought would be a more helpful and busser friendly configuration.
“At least they tried,” Gohan thought, grateful to see no cigarette butts floating in water glasses. It grossed him out. The bloated buts reminded him of the pieces of cold cereal floating in milk that he dumped into the liquid part of the tray. All fluids like water, and coffee were emptied into this swirling bottom of the bin. Then he separated the spoons, knives, and forks into a front shallower compartment. Then the dishes he stacked with the heaviest on the bottom before covering the whole thing with the used napkins.
“I got the silverware,” Trunks said, carrying a basket filled with wrapped bundles. He remembered spending two hours twisting the napkins around sets of knives, forks, and spoons and tucking the ends of the napkins in to hold it together. Gohan helped him and together they had filled 10 baskets of silverware sets. Artistically Trunks set the fresh silverware at each place atop paper placemats. He crumpled paper covered in crayons and stuck the used crayons the six and eight year old sitting here had used to draw a doggie, a kitty and play a game of tic-tic-toe with on the placemat’s reverse. The third table was now cleared and they both picked up their already heavy trays to clear the large round table in the corner booth.
Gohan winced again at the sight of no less than eight plates piled high with bones, chicken skin, and other mounds of half-chewed food spat back onto them. Pieces of corn kernels were strewn haphazardly over the seats, and on the floor. Sighing he dropped to his knees and picked up the pieces by hand. Trunks did not ask him if he wanted to get the electric vacuum cleaner. Instead he swept the nearby mound of sugar spilled over the edge of a plate into his hand and dumped it into his tray. Next, he stacked the coffee cups, poured milk, and orange juice into empty glasses. More silverware went flying as he brushed past it, flipping out of the small Jell-O bowls.
He turned up his nose at the melted ice cream floating in mash potatoes. Someone had made a cute face on his plate, and stuck dry bits of potato chips in for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Gohan’s dark gaze me his and Trunks wrinkled his nose, mashing the sculpture as he stacked another plate atop it rather than scrape it off. More bits of peas and carrots tumbled into the bin, along with the sludge of gravy mingled with fruit juice. One glass contained a congealed mess of carrot peelings and something else.
Gohan’s ears perked up when he heard the table across from them. A little girl’s voice said, “Mommy why aren’t you stacking the plates?”
“Just throw it down honey. Let the waiters take care of it. They’re paid to do it,” said a woman’s tired and frustrated voice. Gohan fought the urge to glare at them when he saw food drop on the floor and none of them bothering to pick it up.
Trunks too heard the mom say “Don’t pick it up. Let’s go!”
“Moooomy!” wailed another kid.
“Get the hell up and let’s go!” came a man’s voice. Shoes trampled the bits of cracker further into the carpet and Gohan saw the pieces grind down. He sighed, realizing he would be the one picking those pieces up because the vacuum cleaners were old and broken.
“Shit, I can’t get this to work,” cursed one of the staff at a table near Trunks.
“What’s wrong?” Trunks asked, turning his gaze to where one of the female servers kicked a red upright.
“It won’t suck!”
“Lemmie help,” Trunks offered, grabbing a knife and a tray. He walked over on his knees and stuck the tray under the vacuum. The server, whose tag read Clover bent down next to him and watched with interest as he shoved the knife into the feed tub. Clumps of hair, dust and other debris coated the tray.
“Try it now,” Trunks called up, hiding the urge to frown at the mess.
“Thanks!” shouted Clover with a grateful smile, switching the vacuum cleaner on. Her next words were drowned out as she applied the vacuum to the cracker crumbs.
“Let me,” Gohan called, moving over to help clear the table the annoying family had vacated. Trunks moved in, both of them helping stack and clear dishes as Clover the server struggled to clear the floor.
“That’s our job,” Trunks whispered to her. “You just go back and let us handle it.”
“But you two are working hard,” she started.
Gohan‘s dark eyes darted their attention to the floor manager moving up. Walking towards the server he whispered, “Clover, move it! You’re not paid to clean up, you’re paid to wait!”
“Sorry sir!” she answered, looking apologetically at Trunks and Gohan.
“Hurry up you two! We’ve got ten people stacked up at the door!” he said; in a low tone that they could still hear over the people.
“Yes sir!” Gohan nodded, looking the man respectfully in the eye.
“Right away!” Trunks said too, hearing the grunt of the floor manager as he turned away.
Under a water glass, Gohan found a wet five-zenni note. Holding it up, he walked over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Clover, someone left you a tip.”
“Thank you,” she said with relief. Clover turned her head and received the money from him.
“Welcome,” Gohan answered, smiling.
Smiling back, Clover grabbed a stack of menus. She motioned to the next patrons as she walked up to the front stand and led them into another section of the restaurant.
***
The next time Trunks glanced at his watch he saw it was almost 12 45. An endless blur of carts, rattling plates and screaming kids rattled in his brain. Glancing to his left, he saw Gohan wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Spiky hair was plastered to the top of his head under that mesh of the net.
He reached up to tug his own hairnet, fixing the pins. “Gohan, almost done,” he whispered, shoving the busser cart through the double doors. They slapped behind him.
“Yeah,” Gohan managed to say, feeling his entire body drained. It took a great deal of effort to move those aching legs and tired wrists. He watched Trunks in front of him, feeling a wave of lust overcome him despite his weariness. Behind Trunks cart, he parked his own, checking over and removing the final dishes.
“Punch out time,” Trunks sighed, with a smile on his face that Gohan noticed. It caused his own muscles to twitch too.
All the piles of plates Gohan could count and feel proud. At least 200 tables they cleared, or rather 200 times, they had cleared tables in their shift, each clink and clatter representing another dish to be placed in the bin and end up on the metal conveyer belt towards the kitchen. He found himself thinking in an amused way that they seemed to magically vanish into a hole in the wall. If he glanced through, he could see a tattooed hand grabbing them up and stacking them into a tray for the dishwasher to put through the system.
He leaned against Trunks who had already half-sat propping himself on the busser cart edge. Pressing his face into Trunks shoulder, he wrapped his arms around his husband for a moment. Trunks did the same, squeezing Gohan tightly and inhaling the scent of his sweaty body. Through the material of their aprons and soaked shirts they felt the hardness of one another. Both took the opportunity to remove their hair nets along with their stained aprons.
Then Gohan felt Trunks release him and nudge him. He turned with a nod towards the lines of metal racks where the cards were arranged by alphabetical order. Snatching his out, he reached for Trunks and passed it to him. Trunks nodded his thanks, his blue eyes hooded with his heavy lids. Two loud “kerchunks” cut through the cacophony of sounds though the doors muffled them.
“Another day, another few zenni,” Gohan joked.
“Man, 200 tables,” Trunks smiled, tugging off his hairnet as they exited the back of the diner.
“I’m proud of you,” Gohan said with a smile, reaching over and tugging Trunks towards him so their bodies collided. Trunks laughed, spinning Gohan around and pressing him against the pole of the streetlight. Underneath the bus stop sign he leaned against his husband and angled his face over Gohan’s to kiss him.
“Mmm,” Trunks murmured, his lips teasing against Gohan’s. He felt the sweep of Gohan’s tongue into his, prying open his thirsty mouth. Slowly Gohan’s hands slid down his back, squeezing his ass and holding their pelvises together.
For a time Gohan enjoyed the soft kisses of Trunks, only opening his eyes partway to see others waling past them. Pulling his lips from Trunks, he blinked and frowned.
Seeing his husband’s frown and missing his kiss, Trunks asked, “Why’d you stop? Nobody cares to see two hot busboys kissing?”
“No it’s not that. Why hasn’t the bus come yet?” Gohan frowned, shaking his head.
“Oh crap,” Trunks blinked, releasing his hold on Gohan. Both of them glanced up at the tiny graph listing the times. Frustration filled Trunks as he glanced at his watch, realizing the hands were still at 1:05 AM.
Gohan noticed his husband’s serious face, and consulted his watch. He tapped it, also seeing that his watch read 1:10 AM. Realization set in and he groaned, pressing his palm to his forehead. He said, “I think our watch batteries must have died, Trunks.”
Trunks glanced up at the sign once more, seeing the black letters that said “Last Bus 1:00 AM”. Then he rolled his eyes as he looked back at Gohan. “I think you’re right. That’s just great.”
Sighing Gohan wrapped his arm around Trunks and hugged him to his side. “I’m sorry Trunks. We missed the bus.”
“Oh well, it’s not your fault,” Trunks shrugged. “Just these cheap watches whose batteries happened to fail.”
“You could say time literally DID stop with your kiss,” Gohan joked.
Trunks chuckled at Gohan’s quip and broke out in a grin. “Yeah, you could say that. I just realized something else too.”
“What’s that?” Trunks asked, noticing that Gohan’s attention had shifted to a partly lit store window. A red digital clock showed the numerals 2:15 AM.
“We left work a good hour and a half later,” said Gohan. “The boss could have warned us we were working overtime.”
“And missing a free hour and a half of overtime? Raphael probably knew it and didn’t say anything,” Trunks commented.
Gohan blinked and pondered this, thumbing his lip. A serious frown covered his face as he realized, “Well it’s only a few zenni but if we were hobos it would make a world of difference.”
Cobalt blue eyes gleamed brightly, when Trunks realized something else. Gohan noticed the inspiration flashing there as Trunks said, “Well why don’t we only buy our food with our busboy wages from now on?”
“That’s a good suggestion, Trunks,” Gohan nodded appreciatively. “It would enable us to learn the value of money once more since we seem to have forgotten it.”
Trunks dug his hands into his front pocket, feeling his wallet. With a sigh he asked “Well how do we know if we’ll make enough?”
“We will find out together, won’t we?” Gohan answered, reaching into his own pockets to feel for the small amount of zenni he’d clipped together. For a minute he pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. How long had it been since he actually felt such a small amount that he had put so much effort into making?
Trunks watched him with interest, guessing what his husband was thinking for he knew him so well. Reaching over he grasped Gohan’s shoulder and squeezed it. “We should go home.”
“I guess we have a long walk ahead of us then,” Gohan said with a smile, tugging at Trunks hip.
“Looks like it,” Trunks said with a yawn, feeling his body ache with protest.
“Want me to carry you?” Gohan teased, holding his hip against Trunks and loving how his husband felt under his arm.
“Mmm, don’t tempt me. But who will carry you?” Trunks asked, playfully yanking Gohan towards his side of the sidewalk. Chilly night air whipped his hair, plastered with sweat and stole the warmth through his soaked shirt and pants.
“Brrr,” Gohan whispered, hugging Trunks to him so it was difficult to walk. “It’s a long walk home…”
“At least we know the way,” Trunks answered, mentally beating himself up for being so careless. He glanced up at the orange hued streetlamps lighting the way of the street that was empty of cars. How different West City looked when there was no glass of a limo window to obstruct his view. With his husband’s warm body tucked under his he strode, feeling the cold night air kissing his body through thin polyester slacks and shirt.
Beside him, Gohan felt the delicious ache of fatigued muscles as a long lost friend. It had been forever since he felt this dead tired, yet a giddy sense of accomplishment washed over him like a wave. It tingled him, filling him with pent up desire at the proximity of his husband leaning on him. He saw the weird hue that Trunks silky lavender hair was painted in the overhead lights, and smiled to himself. Suddenly the reality of how good it felt to have him all to himself in a long walk home settled heavily on Gohan.
“This is not so bad,” Gohan said.
“Hmm?” Trunks asked, feeling his leaden legs protesting though they had walked almost a hundred city blocks.
“Walking with you in the night. When was the last time we did this?” Gohan asked, squeezing Trunks waist to his.
“Not in ages,” Trunks laughed, realizing that Gohan had a point. The round disk of the moon hid behind a tree’s branches overhead when they reached West City Park.
“Almost home,” Gohan said. Trunks saw the lights of their apartment complex in the distance, a welcome sight.
“Uh finally. My legs feel as if they’re going to drop off,” Trunks whined. Indeed they felt like they were made of mashed potatoes, much like those he scraped off of so many plates tonight. Surprise filled him when he felt Gohan’s hand leave his waist and slip down to behind his knees. A sensation of boosting and tipping backwards caused him to grunt as he glanced up into the face of his husband.
“We can’t have that, can we?” Gohan chuckled, his voice tired but his eyes bright. Trunks opened his mouth to protest but saw the corners of his husband’s mouth twitching.
“You don’t have to.”
Gohan chuckled. “I insist. Now take out your keys.”
“All right then, if you insist,” Trunks said, draping one arm around Gohan’s neck and enjoying being carried bridal style. He slipped his free hand into his front pocket, tugging out the jingling tangle of keys.
Gohan stopped in front of the front entrance, positioning Trunks so he could reach over and stick the keys in the lock. When Trunks unwrapped his hand from around Gohan’s neck, he tugged it open. Gohan then angled around and walked in sideways while the door was still far enough out.
