Complete
by Shella-chan     More by this Writer
Gohan has followed Mirai Trunks to the future so they can be together, but a certain wizard has other ideas….

Sequel to ‘Two Halves’, but it’s not really necessary to read that first. That said, if you like one chances are high you’ll like the other.
Graphic Violence Shota



Chapter 01: Unfamiliar Ceilings
A swift blur of motion now close by his head … cerulean laughter and lavender silk … this was a dream, but it felt like he’d known it before. He heard a sweet voice encouraging, teasing … felt a warmth in his heart as his soul seemed to smile … here was his oasis, his island of happiness and peace. Now every soft touch, and every quick glance, and every chance word was absorbed and devoured, for what could be wrong when everything just felt so right? He was complete with the angel he loved … the source of his hope and the light of his life … mere words couldn’t counter the truth and the depth of his caring, his devotion, his … love…

When Gohan woke up, his body was tingling. A strange kind of buzz ran through him and over his skin. The face in his mind’s eye, the emotions he felt, the sleepy contentment that swirled through his body in waves… It felt like a dream, but beneath the fog-like quality that glossed over all there was a realism, an authenticity, that he could neither define nor deny.

What perplexed him more was the person who formed the centrepiece in his excursion of the imagination. He’d know that lilac hair anywhere, could pick those lapis lazuli eyes out of a thousand, but the slightly-built boy, hardly any older than himself, was a far cry from the tall, semi-godly man Gohan knew as Trunks.

With a puzzled sigh, the charcoal-haired demi-Saiyan blinked lazily, his eyes focusing on the tiles above with some effort. For the moment of a heartbeat Gohan felt a thrill of confusion in his stomach as memory failed to immediately provide an identity for the palette of off-whites that greeted his half-awake vision. The cracks and chips, the colours not so much faded as deadened, were recognisable only as being outside his knowledge. A small but persistent feeling of unease began to tug at his mind.

However, it only lasted for a second before he felt warm breath playing over the sensitive skin of his ear, the quiet murmur that accompanied it instantly soothing all his disquiet.

“Chibi, you’re awake…”

That voice … so different to the youthful rasp in his dream, yet still undeniably the same. Gohan couldn’t begin to describe how Trunks’ voice made him feel – to say that he died and went to heaven every time his love spoke to him might come close. Now the lavender-haired teen, whose bedroom he now knew himself to be in, was nuzzling in Gohan’s neck, mist lips brushing over the younger boy’s skin in soft, adoring caresses. He couldn’t hold back the smile that curved his mouth even as he replied.

“Yes, I’m awake, you insatiable adolescent…”

“Insatiable adolescent?” Trunks raised one worshipfully designed eyebrow in mock surprise. “So I’ve been promoted, have I? This time last night I was just a horny teenager…”

*This time last night* thought Gohan, *I felt like I’d just gotten married…*

“How do you mean?” asked Trunks curiously, and belatedly Gohan reminded himself that he and his koibito could hear each other’s thoughts on occasion. Inwardly he wondered about this as he organised his thoughts for an answer.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted finally, after a pause. “I think it was just something about being with you … I mean, actually with you…” Mature for his age as he was, Gohan still managed to flush slightly whenever he talked about the activities he and Trunks engages in. “…In … well, in a strange place, a place where I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life.”

There was something akin to uncertainty in the older boy’s voice as he amended, “Well … a fair while, at least.” But before Gohan could question his lover’s choice of words, Trunks changed subject and joked, “So … just married, huh? Where’s the wedding cake, then?”

“Trust you to think like that,” teased Gohan. “It’s the only thing you can concentrate on – food. Food and eating it.”

“I’d rather be eating you,” said Trunks huskily, and dived under the blankets. Any observer (and thankfully there were none) would have seen nothing more than an eleven-year-old boy lying on his back, making incoherent noises of delight as a strategically-placed lump in the blankets moved around rather suggestively.

It was about seven minutes later when Trunks, licking his lips and looking devilishly sexy (as he knew all too well), re-emerged beside his bunkmate. Gohan’s head had dropped back and every muscle in his body was limp, eyes closed and sweat dotting his brow. As the lavender-haired siren snuggled up against him, obsidian orbs were lazily unlidded and he regarded his love through a haze for a moment. Solemnly he reached out to catch a drop of clear-white liquid just before it fell from Trunks’ chin.

“Clean up better next time,” he advised, his voice slightly hoarse.

The older, more mature Saiyan poked his tongue out and Gohan didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, I can see you did your best.” Little though he knew it, when he was being smutty Gohan actually resembled his uncle more closely than he did his father. Not, of course, that Trunks had any idea what Raditz looked like, the latter having died five years or so before his own birth, but the Saiyan tint was definitely more prominent now than it usually was in the youthful face.

And Trunks liked it. Trunks liked it a lot. Just as much as he liked the clueless innocence or the mischievous cheekiness displayed on Gohan’s visage at other times – the way every expression that ever crossed his love’s countenance seemed to have been specifically designed just to flatter the angelic features. But the one he liked best, the one that made anything and everything pale in comparison like the beauty of a rose outshining the desert, was the one reserved especially for him.

It was love. Purest, simplest, strongest love. Huge, shining chibi eyes and all. Just for him.

Trunks had never done drugs, but he knew instinctively that no tablet could compare to the transports of delight he went into every time Gohan fixed him with that look. He felt whole, and complete, like two halves fitting together perfectly. He felt bliss, and contentment, like the word ‘happiness’ had been redefined.

“Trunks? Trunks! Earth to Trunks, wake up!”

The other demi blinked several times. Gohan’s eyes were inches from his own, their noses bumping together in an Eskimo kiss. 1

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I drifted off,” he admitted sheepishly.

Gohan’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I guessed that from the look on your face,” he drawled good-naturedly. “For a moment there, I could have sworn that if I turned your head sideways to the window I’d be able to see the light right through.”

“Yeah, well, I can do that to you anytime,” Trunks responded promptly, both he and Gohan aware that their teasing was no more than a kind of foreplay.

However, Gohan backed down earlier than usual because, although it had yet to confirm its feelings audibly, his stomach was beginning to seek his attention. So, with overt reluctance, he hauled himself out of bed and over to the chest of drawers. Without waiting for their owner’s permission he began opening drawers and shuffling through them in search of some clothes he could wear.

He paused in his search when he reached the drawer on the middle left. It slid lightly open at his encouragement to reveal an old, tattered orange gi, a navy blue weighted t-shirt, heavy fighting boots and a pair of weighted wristbands. Underneath them he found a photo.

Gohan was immediately aware of the strange feelings that penetrated his being as he focused on the two subjects of the portrait. The smaller figure he would have recognised even if it hadn’t just figured in his dream. Trunks at fourteen smiled at him from the photograph, a happy mask belying a subsurface anxiety … even across the distance of four years Gohan could still read his love’s mood.

The person sitting beside Trunks, seemingly too large for the couch the pair of demi-Saiyans occupied, gave the younger boy an even more peculiar feeling. He’d looked in the mirror often, knew what his father looked like, and so had no trouble, just a twist in his stomach, identifying himself. His left arm twinged in sympathy for the one his future self had lost.

He became aware that he’d picked up the small photo and was staring at it so his eyes hurt. Seeing them together, caught within the camera’s frame so neatly and comfortably, Gohan resting his elbow on the young Trunks’ shoulder as they sat, made him suddenly aware of how much history the paler demi shared with his future counterpart, and how little he knew of it. Like why the lavender-haired part-Saiyan would have kept his mentor’s clothes in what seemed unnervingly like a shrine or something.

“Gohan? What’re you looking at?”

The curious, unconcerned voice broke into Gohan’s quiet reflection just before the revelation he felt teetering at the edge of his mind could disclose itself. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around him, a kiss was planted on his cheek, and Trunks addressed his attention to the photograph beginning to crease in Gohan’s tense grip.

The chest pressed against the smaller boy’s back expanded as its owner drew in a sudden breath. “I haven’t seen this picture in ages,” murmured Trunks. He raised one hand to close over Gohan’s and bring the photo up for closer inspection.

“When was the last time you looked at it?” asked his koi almost tonelessly.

“Er … that would be…” Silence reigned as Trunks paused to consider and Gohan stared at the picture as though spellbound. It seemed to hold his eyes relentlessly, not letting him look away. “Just before I left to go back in time,” Trunks decided at last. “I took it out, brushed the dust off it, and asked him and everyone else up there to look after my mum while I was gone and to help me save at least one world.”

He gave a shuddering sigh, and a powerful impression intruded on Gohan’s mind. Whether it was from Trunks or a remnant of his dream he couldn’t tell, but the feeling of overwhelming sadness, of helplessness, fear and despair, crashed over him and made his throat constrict. He realised he was blinking back tears.

“They must have listened, then,” he whispered. “You saved us, Trunks. You did. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough.”

For some reason these words seemed to make his koibito uneasy. Trunks let go of the picture and of Gohan and opened a bottom drawer. “Here, you can wear these until I can get you some clothes of your own,” he said, holding out a black t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. “They should fit better than anything else.” When the younger demi had returned the photo and taken them, he got some clothes out for himself and began to get dressed.

Gohan couldn’t help shooting glances at the still-open drawer as he clambered into the rather oversized but still comfortable t-shirt and shorts. The picture seemed to have taken a grip on his mind that he just couldn’t shake. Finally, when Trunks’ back was turned, he silently pocketed it and shut the drawer.

When both demi-Saiyans had attained a state of respectable, if undesirable, dress, they stood for a moment, regarding one another. It had been one night since they’d left the past behind them, but the weight of sixteen bypassed years was noticeable on Gohan’s shoulders. Despite his trust in the one who’d brought him here, this was still a new world for the younger boy, one undeniably and fundamentally different to his own. His memories of the night before were confused – little stood out beyond a fleeting vision of an injured city under a red sunset, followed by Bulma’s ecstatic hugs as they stepped out of the time capsule. He hadn’t really had time to take full stock of the situation. Now he felt a twinge of apprehension prickling at the base of his spine. So many changes…

Then Trunks smiled and bridged the mile-wide gap between them with a single step. He gathered the small half-Saiyan into his arms, offering volumes of comfort and reassurance in his hug and a mute promise in the kiss he placed atop the raven chaos of hair.

*I’m here* Trunks thought, concentrating on sending his words directly to Gohan’s mind. *You’re here. We’re in this together.*

And somehow, the unfamiliar ceilings seemed a lot less frightening.



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