Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Radditz began seriously considering another line of work just seconds after he opened the door. The alien in the middle of the floor had no useful comment on that. It just lay there, unmoving but very much alive.

The dominant species here was freaky, and this one was no exception. It was fairly humanoid, but the torso was segmented, with an additional abdomen sporting a pair of thick tentacles. Recognizable arms and legs were attached in the usual places for a humanoid, and it rested its head on its folded arms as it lay in the center of the low, dark room. Large, intelligent eyes watched the saiyajin standing in the doorway.

Radditz wrinkled his nose in disgust.

It wasn’t the alien itself that bothered him. He’d seen a lot of creatures on a lot of planets, and this species wasn’t the worst, by any means. It was the smell that made him want to toss up his lunch.

The creature was carrying.

The sickening stench of a host close to death from the cargo of Kisei young it carried was unmistakable. It was like rotting metal, if such a thing was possible, and pure torture for a sensitive saiyajin nose. A saiyajin could scent a normal host from a hundred yards, no matter how deeply the Kisei was buried in it. The ones incubating young were the sensory equivalent of catching a ki strike in the face.

“Why am I always the one that finds you bastards?” Radditz asked plaintively. He counted himself lucky that most hosts never seemed to carry. He’d located five of these fetid, disgusting pregnant things today alone.

His father said it was his feminine intuition.

Bardock could go pack sand.

Wearily, the battle-stained saiyajin keyed his scouter. He didn’t even bother saying anything – he just sent an alert twice. The team would converge on him in a minute or two, and no one would be surprised by what he’d found.

In the meantime, he didn’t go any closer. He was under standing orders not to handle one of these hosts alone. They all were. No use taking chances.

Radditz sighed and blew the roof off the partly subterranean house. Might as well shed some light on the subject while he waited.

When the dust and debris were gone, the basic situation was unchanged. He looked at the host, and it looked at him. It blinked slowly, but had no other reaction. He wondered if it even knew what was happening, inside it or out.

When a Kisei hatchling picked a host, it first stung its victim. The venom didn’t paralyse, but it was an effective anaesthetic. The victim didn’t mind the Kisei burrowing into its flesh, and probably didn’t feel it. A brief period of lucidity followed while the Kisei adjusted to its new host, and then the parasite took control.

For most hosts, that was it. The parasite stayed until it died. In some hosts, however, the hatchling gave birth to a nest of Kisei young. No one was entirely sure how they bred, although Bulma had theories about spores being passed between hosts.

It was a mystery, just like their origin, and how they could have entered the realm of the Kais before invading the rest of the galaxy. Bulma had various hypotheses about all that too, none of which really interested Radditz much.

He just knew he hated the damned things. Loathed them. They deserved death, and he was happy to deliver it.

The host moaned and Radditz looked at it, evaluating. He wasn’t familiar with this species, but there was no mistaking that sound. He knew pain when he heard it. The things inside it weren’t ready yet, or it would already be dead. All it could do was wait. Just like Radditz.

Four-fingered hands scrabbled in the dirt and dark fluid began leaking from its mouth. Blood, most likely. It was being torn up inside. Those luminous eyes turned up to his and Radditz met them.

Radditz hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. He didn’t really know if there had been any sort of communication between them, but if that was him down there, he knew what he would want.

“If you’re still in there anywhere,” he said to the alien host, “you’re welcome.”

He killed it quickly enough, snapping its neck and crushing the head. The heavy body sagged into the ground. Radditz watched it for a few moments, knowing the Kisei inside were undamaged. Nothing moved.

“Fuck,” he snarled after a minute. He hated this part. He was under orders, but disgust was running away with him. He hated the thought of those things still in there, scratching and tumbling around, looking for an exit, like they had some right to live.

Nauseated and angry, he grabbed one of the tentacles and pulled hard, ripping the extra abdomen open. Utterly unsurprised, he watched a pile of Kisei young spilled out of the corpse, scurrying legs carrying them in all directions as they struggled to escape.

At this age a hatchling was fast enough to run down an adult ningen. It wasn’t fast enough to escape an enraged saiyajin. Booted feet and gloved hands caught them on the floor and on the walls. Radditz grimaced. The only good thing about this species was that they didn’t squish when you killed them; they just crunched.

His scouter flashed and he lifted into the air, trying to get a fix on the one that he’d missed. There was always one that made a good break for it… The reading was uncertain, and he turned, staring down on the ground, looking for movement. The things could jump like you wouldn’t believe, but they themselves didn’t fly, no matter if some of their hosts could.

There was a sudden sharp tug on his hair and he startled, spinning around.

Bardock stood in the air behind him, a Kisei hatchling held in his fist. Several long black hairs were caught it its legs and jaws.

“Making friends?” Bardock asked, holding the thing out towards his son. He had it by the rear legs and the stinger, which curled and uncurled furiously in an attempt to reach his flesh.

“Fucking gods…” Radditz said, feeling sick. It had been in his hair? He felt gooseflesh creeping across the back of his neck at the thought, and he was hard-pressed to keep from shuddering.

Bardock started pulling the flailing legs off the thing one by one, as if getting revenge on it for coming so close to his son. He took his time as it flailed wildly, making no sound.

“Any reason you couldn’t wait? I believe Vejiita-sama’s orders were clear,” he said, almost casually.

Radditz tore his eyes away from the thing to look at his father. He knew the man well enough to know that such mildness was usually prelude to an explosion. Bardock was hard-core, a young saiyajin with a lot of power and a lot of attitude to go with it. It had a lot to do with the friction between them. Radditz wasn’t much inclined to take shit from anyone but Vejiita, and his father didn’t seem to understand that.

Bardock didn’t look angry at the moment, though.

He looked… shaken.

It was hidden, certainly, behind a fistful of attitude, but there was no mistaking it. From their nearly nonexistent bond, Radditz suddenly got a flicker of image (the thing in his hair) and a thick wave of emotion (fear, his cub in danger) .

He stared at Bardock, their eyes suddenly locked. It was one of the few moments of true communication they had had since returning from hell.

/Father? /

/All gone./ Bardock sent, suddenly crushing the rest of the hatchling in his fist. He turned away, as if embarrassed, and their link faded again to nothing. Radditz let him go. He watched as the other saiyajins did a perimeter search, looking for any other escapees. Bardock… What would it have been like to grow all the way to adulthood with him? He didn’t even know all that much about him.

There was a sudden tugging on his hair, and he started violently, jerking around with a fist ready.

“Hey!” Pan said irritably. “Stay still so I can do this!” She pulled at a fistful of his hair, trying to make him turn back around.

Radditz craned his neck. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Braiding your hair, idiot,” Bardock said, coming back. “Like you should have done in the first place.”

“Hn. I don’t like it braided in combat,” Radditz said sullenly.

“Yeah, well, you’ll wear it that way or stay home. It’s a fine boast against real enemies, but don’t waste it on this shit,” Bardock said, gesturing at the corpse beneath them.

Radditz scowled, but his father’s strong hands were on his shoulders, turning him back around so that Pan could work on his mane. He was stuck between the two of them, but didn’t, to his own surprise, try to get away. His family was tending to him just as they should be, he realized with something like shock. He hadn’t had a family in so long that he’d almost forgotten what this was like.

Pan tugged and swore, trying to make some sense of the mass in front of her. Nice hair, but, damn, there really was a lot of it. She paused for a second, wrinkling her nose. Even under the smells of sweat and blood and death, she could catch something else.

Something nice. And very familiar.

Herbal shampoo and a floral conditioner. Bulma’s shampoo and conditioner, to be precise : the expensive stuff she kept running out of so fast. Pan had heard her complaining about how she couldn’t find the last case she’d ordered up from the city. Stifling a giggle, she imagined what Bulma would say if she found out Radditz was stealing her hair care products. Grinning, she dropped down a couple of feet and finished twining the thick and heavy braid, tying it off with a scrap of cloth from her already torn pants.

“That should do it,” she said briskly. She moved around to whisper something teasing in his ear about buying her silence with Bulma, when she heard the faint rumbling purr and saw the way his eyes were half-shut.

“Hey,” she said softly, completely wierded out. “What’s up with you?”

Bardock chuckled and drew her away. “Ever gone oozaru, brat?”

Radditz shook himself and scowled at the both of them. “Too damned heavy,” he said, meaning the braid.

Pan scowled back. “Too damned bad, fur ball.”

Radditz made a show of turning away from her, flicking his tail at her as one would with a bratty child. She rolled her eyes in response.

“What about oozaru?” she asked, turning back to Bardock.

The scarred commander grinned at her. “You have, haven’t you?”

She wanted to say something smart-assed and defiant, but nothing came readily to mind, unfortunately. “Yeah, once,” she said. “By accident. That’s how I got my tail.”

It had been her first time on another planet. Bura had taken her along as a favor to Goku, and of course the perfect princess hadn’t been the one who’d stared at the sight of the first moon she’d ever seen. All of the other saiyajins had worn the special goggles Bulma had developed to prevent oozaru; Pan had stared upwards, her pair hanging uselessly around her neck until her sudden size had snapped the straps.

She’d woken up the next morning, naked, tailed, and alone. She’d returned to an impatient Bura, two serious propositions, and more crude humor than she’d need to hear just then. Over all, oozaru sucked, as far as she was concerned.

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Bardock said, smirking, and Pan’s face burned.

“If you knew, why’d you ask?”

“We need to go out next moon,” Bardock said, avoiding the question.

“What for?” she said, uncomfortable with the conversation and unenthusiastic about the idea,

“Because we’re family. Oozaru’s about belonging, about not being alone. Grooming is how oozaru mark family with their scent. Radditz remembers that, even if he won’t admit it. That’s why he was purring. Saiyajins shouldn’t be alone.”

There was a brief but intensely wistful look in his eyes as Bardock stared at Radditz’s back, remembering. The flash of gentle emotion disconcerted Pan, and didn’t quite know what to do. She hadn’t meant to go oozaru the first time, and hadn’t planned to ever do it again. Yet Bardock made it sound kind of… intriguing. Obviously he’d missed it a lot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she was with family…

She thought about her father’s hostile reaction to her in front of Trunks’ quarters and her expression soured. Afterwards she hadn’t even been able to find Grandpa Goku before she’d had to deploy with the rest of her crew. So much for the family she was supposed to be able to count on. She looked at Bardock and Radditz, saiyajin to the core, and wondered if they might know something Gohan didn’t.

“Yeah, okay,” she said impulsively. “I’m up for it. How long will it take to get a permit?”

Oozaru nights were restricted to small groups, mostly to keep the whole damned saiyajin population from running off into the woods on full-moon nights. Things had been much the same on Vegetasei, so the saiyajins took to it quite naturally.

“Already got one,” Bardock said with a grin.

She smiled back at him.

“Let’s get back to work and finish this shithole off, and then I’ll tell you all about it,” Bardock said with a wink.

As she fell into formation with the rest of the crew, Pan reflected on how hard it was sometimes to remember that Bardock was her great-grandfather, and not the hottest thing with a tail she’d ever seen.

She wondered if it would be hard to learn how to purr.

***

Some hours later, more bad news, in the form of saiyajin spacecraft, dropped out of the sky onto another fertile planet teeming with life.

Vegeta the Elder was waiting for them when Trunks and Gohan climbed out of their ships. Gohan stretched and then followed Trunks up to where the former king awaited them. He grimaced at the sight of the king’s father. He hadn’t expected him. It wasn’t often that Vegeta was still on-planet when the purging team arrived.

Somewhat taller than his son and possessed of an undeniable and intimidating royal presence, the elder king stood on a hill overlooking the twin craters. He no longer wore the older style armor or the cape that he’d been used to in his last life, but he somehow managed to seem a great deal more regal in the standard battle suit than either of the younger saiyajins.

Gohan touched a fist to his chest and bowed more deeply than Trunks, staying behind his partner a few steps. The old king, who looked like he was about the same age as his son, was naturally more inclined towards the formalities of the saiyajin court, and woe to the young saiyajin who forgot it. Gohan didn’t particularly want to hear it today.

With a nod of his head, Vegeta acknowledged their gestures of respect. That taken care of, he surprised them by dropping the formalities abruptly.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Vegeta growled.

Except for the goatee and the difference in build, he looked a lot like his son when he was pissed off. Although, Gohan had noticed, there was a dark, sadistic quality to Vejiita the Younger that his father lacked. Furiza and the death of Vegetasei had done that. Vegeta the Elder had at least died surrounded by his own people. He was used to being royalty, but hadn’t had to grab hold of it as tightly as his son. His title had never been his only link to his own kind.

“Is there a problem, Grandfather?” Trunks asked politely.

The elder king snorted. “Your brainless third-class grandfather,” he said, jabbing a finger at Gohan, “says he can’t guarantee there were no launches from Alref-6 before he and his crew finished mopping up.”

Trunks nodded. The planet they had just landed on was the next logical target for any Kisei that had gotten off Alref-6 and were looking for new territory. The population here was uncooperative. They were already marked for death. The possibility that the Kisei might already be here, just beginning their infestations, should make little difference, but it was always better to be wary.

Trunks prepared to thank his grandfather for the warning and bid him goodbye when Gohan shifted restlessly and stepped forward.

“Fine. You going to join us this time or run off like usual when it’s time to work?” Gohan asked brusquely. The air around him almost rippled with defiant antagonism.

Gohan was sick of it. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to any of his family being insulted. Not by this weakling. The House of Vegeta had fuck-all to say about his family’s background, as far as he was concerned.

“You think I’m afraid of purging a shithole like this?” Vegeta snarled, moving face to face with the young saiyajin. “You think I haven’t killed a thousand planets like this?”

Trunks sighed. There were certain facts to be faced here. Gohan could obliterate the former king of saiyajins without even breathing hard. All three of them knew that.

His grandfather was incapable of acting like it made any difference, of course.

“Sure, as Furiza’s whore,” Gohan said nastily. He unwrapped his tail and waved it slowly back and forth. It was a taunt, and an ugly one, an expression of contempt for his opponent’s weakness. Trunks gaped at him.

Vegeta snarled, showing impressive fangs. He was said to have had a taste for personally ripping the hearts out of traitors when he was king.

Trunks did what he had to do. He was not going to be stuck explaining to his father why he’d allowed Son Gohan to kill the last king of Vegetasei.

Gohan froze as the hard hand closed around his tail near the base. A thumb slid under the coarse guard hair, burying itself in the soft fur underneath and pressing down between two of the fine bones. The grip was firm but only the threat of pain ran up his spine for now, chilling him.

“Grandfather,” Trunks said, his voice firm but pleasant. “We’re wasting time. I know Father would like to speak with you before you return to the front. There is work to do here.”

It was the voice of a saiyajin prince, without question.

Gohan’s lips parted ever so slightly and blue eyes saw it. The pressure on his tail crossed the border into pain – a single, paralysing pang kept him quiet.

Trunks felt the sudden raggedness of Gohan’s ki, but Vegeta gave no sign that he did. In fact, Trunks didn’t know if his grandfather could detect ki that finely or not. He couldn’t tell if the older saiyajin’s scouter had picked it up either. From the way they were standing, he knew that his grandfather couldn’t see what he had done to Gohan. He didn’t want to embarrass Gohan, but neither could he let this go on.

“Trunks… take your hand off my tail.”

The voice brought Trunks back from his thoughts to look at his captive. He expected anger, but Gohan’s eyes were darker than that. Full, perfect lips quirked up at the corner, but there was no amusement there. It was almost the look he often had before ascending, full of a sort of ruthless, cold elation.

“And what if I don’t?” Trunks asked, oddly excited. Trunks wasn’t much more likely to back down than his grandfather, when it came down to it.

This wasn’t the Gohan he was used to, however. Something was wrong, and had been since he’d met the saiyajin on the docks prior to coming here. Gohan had looked dangerous, and even the ningen workers, not part of the most perceptive species around, had scattered.

“I’ll make you,” Gohan said, his voice pitched low. He smiled, showing sharp teeth.

For a second, Trunks froze. There hadn’t been anything beneath that answer, no subtext to tell him that this was a friendly challenge or a moment of flirtation. Just a simple statement of fact. Gohan could make him let go.

No one knew anymore just how powerful Gohan might be, not since his long day with the Old Kai all those years ago. No one had ever really had to question it, and in truth it hadn’t really mattered all that much since then. There hadn’t been any call for him to go to full power. He was, at the very least, an ascended saiyajin and thus insanely powerful by any standards.

He was also the son of a father whose madness was legendary.

Trunks felt a leaden chill trickle down his spine. The fine fur of his own tail bristled even though it was safely wrapped around his waist.

Then Gohan’s expression shifted somehow. The changes were subtle but drastic, taken all together. It was still dangerous, but in a way that completely matched what happened next. Gohan slid a hand behind Trunks’ neck to take a firm hold of his braided hair. Trunks had a second of surprise before he was pulled forward into a kiss.

He wanted to protest. He wanted to push the asshole back and tell him to get a grip on himself. Whatever bad mood Gohan had woken up in was irrelevant. He could just suck it up and move on, like everyone else had to.

There was something different here, though. He couldn’t tell which of his senses had registered it, but there was something intoxicating about touching Gohan, about the kiss he couldn’t break. This wasn’t like before. It was intense and delicious and alarming. Was it his scent? His head reeled as he tried to decipher the difference.

A moment later it had become too much for him. Not letting go of the tail, he wrapped his other arm around Gohan’s waist, bringing him as close as he could. His lips had parted, and tongues were moving warmly and wonderfully against each other.

Gohan took his lower lip between his teeth and worried it gently, then suckled it in lavish apology. His other hand sought out and cupped a firm ass, fondling it as if he had done so a thousand times before.

“Need you,” Gohan murmured into the shell of his ear before nipping gently with his teeth. A hard cock was pushed against another, and the prince couldn’t think, couldn’t even react, before Gohan started murmuring other things, things that made him shiver with their heat.

“Need you spread wide in my lap, loose and slick and ready for me. Need to hear your pain and pleasure as I pull you down around my cock. Need you begging me to stop because I’m too big, need you to take it up the ass like a bitch, whining for it. Need you to scream my name, Trunks…”

Dismay warred with desire in blue eyes as Gohan murmured huskily into his ear. Breathing hard, Trunks knew what he had to do, but he couldn’t seem to do it. Whatever impulse had made him grab Gohan’s tail, of all places? It was a quick means of control, of course, and the bastard had been flashing it around. But it was also an erogenous zone, and taking hold of it had been a challenge that couldn’t fail to be sexual in nature.

And yet they’d never done anything more than kiss before today…

What the hell was wrong with Gohan? He’d never acted like this, never said things like this before. Not Gohan. Not sweet, reasonable Gohan.

Trunks tried to push away, but he’d never felt like this before. Gohan’s hardness was rubbing against his own through their uniforms, and it was the most sexual contact they’d ever had with each other. He wasn’t submissive by nature, but the other male’s words were making the most erotic images flash before his eyes. He kept losing his focus, and he found that the punishing hand on Gohan’s tail had begun to stroke it lightly, making the dark demi-saiyajin purr.

No.

He wasn’t going to do this. Gohan might not have any self-control, but Trunks would be damned if he’d lose his own so easily. He was the heir to the House of Vegeta, and he wasn’t going to be forced to do anything. He wanted Gohan, it was true; his body was telling him to do anything, anything at all to get him closer to that moment he craved.

But not like this.

He shoved hard, preparing to step up the violence until he got free, but Gohan snarled and pulled him closer, grinding into him painfully now. One hand was pressed flat against Gohan’s armor, and he tried to charge it with ki, to use that to shove the burlier saiyajin away. Something was wrong, though; he couldn’t seem to manage even the small amount of concentration it took to focus ki.

“Get the fuck off me, you low-class son of a bitch!” he snarled, knowing it was a sore point he was hitting, hoping that it would distract Gohan from touching him like that. The strong, confident stroking of his body went on, though, and Gohan only chuckled at his words before nipping at his neck. A hard, ruthless hand ruffled Trunks’ tail from tip to root, and he thought his knees were going to give out on him. Why couldn’t he think? A thigh was forced between his legs and the only protest he could make now was a low moan.

And then it was over. Gohan suddenly fell away from him, and Trunks collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily as he stared in shock at the stern face of his grandfather. Vegeta the Elder stood over the unconscious demi-saiyajin, one hand still glowing with the ki he’d used to shock Gohan’s nervous system into shut-down. It was an old trick, the kind that a young royal growing up on Vegetasei had needed to learn, and he was smugly surprised at how easily it had come back to him.

Blue, un-saiyajin eyes fixed on his. His insanely strong grandson, the heir he was almost as proud of as he was of his own son. What a pity he had no idea what was going on. Vegeta let the ki charge go and held out a hand, pulling Trunks to his feet. The smell of anger and arousal poured off the brat in waves.

“He’ll be out for about an hour,” he said.

Trunks glared down at Gohan, confused. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s never acted like this before.”

“You’ve never touched him? He knew exactly what he wanted.”

“We’ve kissed,” Trunks said flatly, meeting his grandfather’s eyes unwaveringly. “Nothing else has happened. We can’t risk it.”

“At least one of my heirs knows his duty, then. But one kiss was enough, it seems,” Vegeta said grimly.

“Enough for what? Goku didn’t notice a thing when we got back. Nothing else happened!”

“He didn’t notice, but he had another nightmare right after you got back, didn’t he? And then there was this…” Vegeta said, snorting. He prodded Gohan gently with one foot, but there was no reaction. “You don’t know a thing about that family, do you?”

“I grew up with Gohan.”

“There’s madness there going back further than Kakkarot. You know we’re bred from oozaru; some of us are closer to our roots than others.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Gohan hasn’t gone oozaru since he was a boy,” Trunks said, irritated now.

“Pure oozaru mind is feral, pack-bound, telepathic, and territorial. An oozaru in pain destroys until the pain stops. And an oozaru seeking a mate won’t back off unless he’s forced to,” Vegeta said. “Their family is closer to oozaru than most. They’re unstable, Torankusu. Even before the Kisei, Kakkarot first ascended out of rage and then tried to spare Furiza. Bardock attacked Furiza’s ship by himself. And Gohan…”

“What about Gohan? And Pan? Radditz?” Trunks said defensively.

“Radditz kidnapped Gohan on first sight and tried to kill his own brother. Pan’s impulsive and erratic. And Gohan… Think about his behavior, boy.”

Trunks stared at him and then started suddenly, remembering. Vegeta nodded. “That’s right. Something set him off, and it’s built up from there. He challenged me as soon as I got close to you. I insulted his family in front of you. And then you grabbed his tail… His saiyajin-self says he’s having a bad day. Oozaru-self says he’s being challenged for the rights to you, and you’re teasing.”

“That’s…” Trunks started, but he couldn’t seem to finish.

“Made you crazy, didn’t he? You couldn’t think, couldn’t get away from him. He probably scent-marked you the first time you kissed, without even knowing it. Pheromones and hormones make a mate more… receptive,” Vegeta said, watching the surprise and dismay on Trunks’ face. “You’re completely susceptible to his scent by now. I don’t know what you’re gonna do, boy. No one else is going to touch you and live until he’s satisfied.”

“Go… Gohan wouldn’t do that,” he said numbly.

“If you brats had been raised normally, no, he wouldn’t have, not to a prince, not without risking his tail. I doubt he even knew he did it, but it’s done now, and he can’t help but act like what he is. Oozaru runs too close to his surface to keep either of you safe,” Vegeta said starkly.

Trunks had nothing to say to that. He didn’t question his grandfather’s knowledge of saiyajins, and it seemed to fit.

It was a disaster.

“He’ll be out for awhile longer, and then you’ve got some time. I doubt he’ll remember much when he wakes up – even if he does, he won’t remember why he did it. Finish this place off and then come home. Make sure he wears himself out,” Vegeta the elder said, looking at Trunks with a compassionate expression that would have been utterly out of place on Vejiita no Ou’s face. “I’m going to talk with your father. My asshole son has some decisions to make.”

Trunks nodded, staring at Gohan.

“One last thing, brat.”

“Yeah?” Trunk said slowly, the word dropping dully from his mouth.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Okay.”

Vegeta met his eyes, watching him for a moment, weighing him. Then, with a nod, he turned and left, pursuing a task much more pressing to him now than any war.

Trunks watched his grandfather go. All around him, the planet seemed to crouch in fear of what must happen soon across its surface, but he didn’t notice. He sat down next to Gohan, wondering how the hell things had gone so wrong.

A long time ago he had kissed Goten for the first time. He had been 17, and it had been Goten’s first real kiss. Trunks, always more experienced and suave, had had a girlfriend the year before, and he knew all about kisses. Nothing had prepared him for that moment, though… Goten had been so happy.

In Trunks’ memory, nothing ever matched the radiance of Son Goten’s smile just after their first kiss. It was as if the universe had lost the gift of such joy after that day.

The next day, and so many days after, had been drenched in blood.

The only good thing, the only true and gentle thing and reliable thing through those years had been Gohan. The sweetest thing had been their first kiss, forbidden as it was.

Everything he wanted most was forbidden to him. Because of his father’s stubborn refusal to finish what he’d started. If he’d let Goku finish their damned bond, Gohan’s father would be stable enough afterwards to accept the relationship between his son and Trunks.

The prince tore a rock out of the ground and crushed it in his fist. Goku. The older saiyajin was kind and intelligent and ferocious; he’d been like a close uncle most of Trunks’ life. Yet he couldn’t help but resent him, or resent his madness: there was little difference in this case.

It would be fine if he mated with Pan, but not with Gohan. That much was already obvious. Nuzzling Gohan in public while they were both drunk had been enough to set Goku off in a rage that Vejiita had barely suppressed. Having Pan steal an unwanted kiss at the breakfast table had made her grandfather laugh and tease Trunks for days.

Vejiita had been very clear about how things had to be. Goku couldn’t stand the cascade of memories that seeing Trunks and his elder son together triggered. Pan, on the other hand, was safe. She’d been too young at the time for any bad memories, and her irrepressible girlish femininity apparently separated her even farther from that past.

Vejiita knew his son’s duty perfectly, even if he could ignore his own.

Now it looked like Trunks’ desires were going to be forced on him eventually anyway, by the momentum of his saiyajin nature. Gohan would do what they both wanted, and as a saiyajin prince, he’d resist it with everything he had. His duty would make him deny his soul.

He never should have kissed him.

Trunks sat next to Gohan in the warm sunlight, brushing the dark hair away from a fair brow and damning his father with all his heart.