Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

Gohan took the long way home from school through a forest with no name when he saw the Time Capsule’s dome peeking through cedar tree tops. It took him back in time in his mind, and when he saw Mirai Trunks leaning against a tree in Saiyan battle armor, he didn’t feel like he was eighteen. Wind blew through Trunks’ hair like a dream. His eyes -- oh, man! -- he looked at Gohan with clear eyes that cut through him. No, instead of eighteen, Gohan felt all of eleven, all over again, when he tripped over a root. 

God, Trunks was just like Gohan remembered: so, so cool. 

He tried to be smooth when he waived (not too enthusiastically). He tried not to think about the fact that he was walking toward his first big crush or the knot in his gut. After al, if he could get a full scholarship to West City University he could talk to Trunks without making a complete idiot out of himself. That wasn’t the doing of an eleven year old boy. In fact, Gohan had been more man than boy ever since he had to take his father’s place. He was raising his brother. He saved the damn world. He was Saiyaman, for crying out loud! So, yes, he could talk to Trunks. No problem. Gohan took a deep breath, put a not-to-big smile on his face, squared his shoulders and managed to say, “Hey, huh, man. What’re you doing here?” That was cool enough. 

Right?

Then he stepped, ankle deep, into mud. Great. So much for impressing the most beautiful, coolest guy ever. Gohan should’ve expected it; this always happened when he tried to act like someone cool. He wasn’t cool. He never fit in. Around typical people he felt like an alien freak with a secret. Around his father or Vegeta he felt inadequately human. Vegeta glared at him like Gohan as some kind of microbe. His father smiled a lot but he looked at him the same way, like he could see through Gohan and found all his flaws.

Gohan pulled himself out of the muck while Trunks stepped down the ravine without muddying his white boots. “Good to see you, too.” When he smiled at Gohan, it was the same smile he’d had in a photo Gohan pinned on his bedroom wall (before his mother made him take it down). “Need help?”

Gohan mustered whatever humor he gleaned from Piccolo. “With mud? Not sure I can handle mud.” Okay, so it wasn’t exactly at Mr P levels but at least his voice didn’t crack. He used a nearby boulder to stomp the mud off and hoped none of it splattered on Trunks. He pushed his glasses up, faced Trunks again, and (of course) Trunks was still perfect, still beautiful, and (amazingly) still there. “Good as new,” if new meant ruined by mud. Gohan’s mother was going to lose her mind, but that didn’t seem to matter when he was staring back at Trunks, who was even more beautiful than Gohan remembered. It was Trunks’ eyes. Gohan felt exposed by those eyes. Was it because Saiyans didn’t blink? Was it because their irises were always contracted to the size of pins set on a target? Was it because they were blue, so blue and so cold? Gohan wished he had eyes like that. He never liked having these weak, nearsighted human eyes. 

Wait. What was Trunks doing here?

“Came to see how you’re doing.” Trunks said as if it was normal to answer silent questions. Then he plucked a button on Gohan’s uniform vest. His fingers lingered on Gohan’s chest and it made his pulse leap. “Schoolboy, huh?”

Gohan didn’t remember Trunks as the touchy-feely type. No, in act he had a vivid memory of Trunks stiffening up when Bulma had hugged him goodbye. So what was with the touching? That wasn’t the kind of thing Gohan had ever seen a warrior do. No, Videl liked pulling on his vest and his shirt cuffs when she was trying to get Gohan to give her a kiss on the cheek. Was he imagining things? Gohan touched his glasses to hide his burning cheeks and stepped back, but Trunks stepped forward and smiled back at him. God! This was really happening. Trunks was flirting with him. How -- how was he supposed to deal with this? What was he supposed to do? How did a person deal with his wet dream when said wet dream was a breath away and -- wow! -- smelled like cinnamon and sugar? Well, he couldn't stand there like an uncool idiot, that was for sure. Gohan racked his brain, wondering how Piccolo would handle this, when he felt something on his shoulder. He saw Trunks’ hand there and his yelp was not a sound Piccolo would’ve made. “Trunks? What-- what’re you doing?”

Trunks cocked his head and looked into his eyes and Gohan knew, he just knew Trunks could tell what he was thinking. That he was his first, his hottest fantasy, that he still, to this day, when it was dark and Gohan was alone, under his sheets, that Gohan would reach down and Gohan would touch — “I always wondered what you would be like if you grew up in peaceful times.”

Trunks was so close their chests were touching. His words were hot and they blasted against Gohan’s cheek.”Did you?” Gohan somehow asked just before — holy crap! — Trunks’ lips, they touched Gohan’s. “Is this happening?” Gohan could barely believe it; it seemed impossible, irrational. Even if Trunks wanted to see him why would he want to, well, be with him like this? He didn’t know Gohan, no matter how he made Gohan feel when he stared him down. The hormonal rush made Gohan shiver. It was hard to focus, but he was good at focusing at the toughest times, so he had to ask: “You sure you came here just to see how I’m doing? It’s not feeling like that.”

Trunks sighed as he pressed his forehead against his and stared into his soul for what felt like an eternity. Then, when Gohan blinked, he backed him up against a tree. He pressed his body into Gohan’s. “What’s it feel like, then?”

It felt like, oh. It was pressed up against Gohan’s leg. It was very big and very hard and it made his knees shake a little. Trunks, ah, Trunks was rubbing up against him. Him, Gohan, of all people. Oh, ah, holy shit! The coolest, hottest guy Gohan ever knew wanted him! It felt — wow! It felt like acing a test no one else could pass, like saving the world, like being the best because Trunks, for some reason, wanted him. Gohan didn’t know what that reason was, and he wasn’t sure it mattered all that much. “Feels good,” Gohan said when Trunks pressed against him a little harder. That was good enough. 

Trunks blotted everything out when he leaned in and pushes his tongue between Gohan’s lips. Videl never did anything like that with her tongue. Gohan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do after he opened his mouth. Trunks cupped his jaw and slid his tongue against his, one, two, three times, then Gohan tried to do the same, one, two, three times. It was a little sloppy but he liked it. He always liked the oral stuff in Master Roshi’s dirty videos, so it made sense, but it wasn’t the same as his fantasies. He thought Trunks would want to hold him and that they would be, well, on a nice sofa or even a bed. He didn’t realize how little things would become magnified with such close proximity, like how he could taste spearmint on Trunk’s tongue, how light the fine hairs around his temple were, how he jerked his hips up every time he rubbed against Gohan. 

Trunks jerked his pants down without breaking the kiss, then fell to his knees, yanking down Gohan’s zipper. Gohan muttered something about mud getting all over his clothes, but he didn’t really care. He didn’t even complain when Trunks took his glasses off. But he did moan, loudly when Trunks put his mouth right there. 

It was wet, hot and there was this suction that pulled so many sounds and feelings out of him. He didn’t know it could feel so, oh god, Trunks’ hands were all over him, tugging and cupping and then Trunks sucked so hard it made Gohan’s knees buckle. He slid to the ground, desperate for air, for more, for mercy, as Trunks devoured him. He never stopped drilling Gohan down with those clear, deadly eyes. 

But Gohan couldn’t see his pupils. They were a blur. He could hear something, though. It was a whine, vibrating deep in Trunk’s throat. It felt good, so good Gohan almost, well, almost. But Trunks stopped and started saying the craziest shit: “Master! God! I missed you so much, Master!”

Master? Why would he call Gohan Master? 

Gohan blinked. It was because Gohan was his master — the other version of Gohan, though. The one Trunks used to know. 

Oh. 

His pants — he pulled them back up in record speed. Then he felt around the dirt until he found his glasses, cleared his throat when he put them on and saw Trunks kneeling between his legs, watching Gohan like he was some kind of interesting bug he had under a microscope. “You okay?”

“Do…” He wasn’t sure how to say this without ruining everything. But it was already messed up, wasn’t it? Trunks shouldn’t have said anything, he messed it all up, and now Gohan didn’t have a choice. He had to ask: “Do I look like him?”

“What’re you talking about? You are him.” He whispered and it was as loud as a bomb. “Gohan, Master, don’t you see how much I’ve missed you?” He reached for Gohan’s zipper. 

But Gohan drew his knees up. He couldn’t miss Gohan because he didn’t even know Gohan. He wanted someone else with his name and his face. Gohan frowned. He should’ve known this was too good to be true. “Why didn’t you travel back to see him, instead?” 

Trunks gave him an easy-going smile, sat back and sighed. “Okay, so you want honesty. That’s fair. I wanted to see you, okay? You because I knew you had a crush on me. I figured when you grew up maybe I’d have some kind of chance? It gets where I am. It gets bad. Really bad.” Then he blushed and looked away like he was just as confused and scared as Gohan. 

Gohan didn’t know what it was like to live in a post-apocalyptic hellscape, but he did know what it felt like to be isolated and alone. He’d only lived that way for most of his life growing up in the middle of nowhere with an angry mom who wouldn’t let him so much as have a pet and expected him to make up for everything his father did wrong. “Wow. Hey, I don’t mean to be a jerk about it.” Gohan reached for his shoulder. “You’re right, about the crush thing. And I guess I don’t really have a right to get all bent out of shape when I don’t really know you, either.” Maybe he was focusing his own feelings instead of using his brain, but Trunks seemed really sorry. (And he was such a good kisser, especially when he put his mouth on Gohan, ah, down there.) And so what if Trunks missed his other Gohan? And it was his business if he didn’t go see that other guy — and the other guy’s loss. Yeah, maybe this other Gohan was being just as judgemental as he was being and hurt Trunks. Yeah, he could picture it. 

“Do you still like me?” 

Gohan looked into those clear, too clear eyes. He nodded. “Yeah.” He liked how cool he was, how he was so beautiful and powerful. He was like an avenging angel, no — regal. Gohan smiled because it was so on the nose. Prince Trunks smiled back. “I still like you. And I don’t want you to be lonely.” No one deserved that. 

“Question?” Trunks narrowed his eyes. “You’re a virgin, right?” He stood up, and suddenly he was peeling off his armor, then the top, underneath. He was shaking his hair out and smiling. “Yeah. Your face says it all. But your kissing thing was a tell. Just saying.” He shrugged. He sighed. His pants and boots were next and  Gohan blinked up at Trunks naked, hard and smiling down at him. “That’s okay. I’m going to teach you how to fuck like a champ.”

Gohan was grinning from ear to ear. This was great and this was insane. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or embarrassed or maybe a little of both. Either way, he felt weird. Why didn’t Trunks sit back down with him and why did he take everything off so soon? 

“You wanna fuck me, huh?” Trunks smirked down at Gohan while he touched his own face, neck, chest, and then, ah, the front and back — oh, god! Gohan didn’t even realize he was touching himself there when Trunks got on his hands and knees and propped his, ah… Trunks smacked it, laughing over his shoulder as Gohan sat up, rubbing himself like some stupid kid. “Look at you. You’re so innocent. You think you got what it takes to be my Master?”

Wait. Gohan frowned. He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be himself. But Trunks said he was gonna teach how to, you know, like a champ. Gohan didn’t want to be a jerk about it; and besides, maybe it would feel good, like the last time. 

“Spank me, Master. I’m being a bad boy, corrupting the innocent.” Trunks laughed and smacked himself again. Gohan noted two handprints, one on each, uh, rump. For a second he wondered if Trunks would kiss him again after they did this. Maybe, but Gohan had to be reasonable and play along, even if it did remind him of things he didn’t want to think about at that point, like him or Goten getting spanked by their mother. But he spanked Trunks, anyway. “Oh, yes! Thank you! More, please?” 

It was, uh, weird. 

“Punish this dirty boy!”

Gohan swatted him again, but it didn’t feel real. He felt almost like he was watching himself spank Trunks. It was like he was able to disappear inside himself. He knew Trunks was, well, happy about the situation but Gohan kept remembering how his mother would get so angry when she spanked him. It didn’t physically hurt but it made him cry anyway. It was embarrassing and Gohan, well, he kind of hated it. 

Trunks looked over at him. “Why’d you stop?” 

His eyes were clear and sharp, like he could cut Gohan to pieces by looking at him. Gohan tried to explain. “I-I don’t know because, um, I really --” He took a deep breath and looked up at the treetops. “Is it okay if we just kept doing that kissing stuff?” 

“Oh.” Trunks turned around. “Is that what it comes down to?” He took Gohan’s glasses, again. He reached for them but Trunks took his hand and sucked on his forefinger.  “You make it sound so sweet: kissing.” He next, took a long lick off of Gohan’s middle finger. “But remember, you want honesty. So be honest. You want me to finish that blow job, right schoolboy?” 

Gohan didn’t like how he was talking to him, like he was some kind of thankless brat. “Why don’t you want me to have my glasses?” 

“Why would you need glasses to make out?” Trunks pushed his mouth against his. “Did you need your glasses, schoolboy?” 

Yeah, Trunks wasn’t confused or scared anymore, if he ever was. Gohan was about to move away when Trunks tipped his chin and kissed him again, softly, sweetly, like he never called him schoolboy. Gohan didn’t mind when Trunks was brushing his tongue against his. He forgot about it when Trunks started licking his ear and put his hand in Gohan’s pants. 

“Don’t need to see when you feel good, huh?”

Gohan snapped out of it, for a second, but only one. Trunks slipped down, yanked at Gohan’s zipper and sucked him down his throat. Gohan gasped as he stared at a blurry world. It felt good but it felt like too much. Trunks was sucking so hard and going too fast and Gohan just couldn’t -- no, he had to -- he couldn’t stop it, though. Trunks mouth was, ah, it was so fucking perfect!

But Trunks pulled off and Gohan spurted all over his undone pants. Trunks slid his glasses back on just in time to show Gohan the pathetic results. “Hey. You’re going to return the favor, right?” Trunks asked. Gohan squinted up as Trunks got back on his hands and knees. “It’s good manners.”

He knew he had his glasses on but he didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to be there, and in a way he wasn’t. Someone else was spanking Trunks. He didn’t put his fingers inside Trunks. When Trunks told Gohan to call him his baby boy, Gohan made someone else do it, someone who looked just like him. He came back a little while later, when it was over. 

Trunks was already dressed. He was looking at everything and anything except Gohan, who was somehow dressed, himself. “Wow,” Trunks said. “That was amazing.” He didn’t have a whole lot of experience, but Gohan knew that wasn’t true.

Gohan had mud streaks all over his uniform, while Trunks stood there without so much as a speck on his suit. But it didn’t bother Gohan. No, Gohan wasn’t feeling like the un-cool one, even if he was wearing mud. “I know why you picked me.”

Trunks didn’t turn around. “Because you’re him. I told you. You’re my Master.” He kept saying it as if he could somehow convince Gohan that it was true.

“It’s not so bad, being disappointed with this version of me, right? Not as bad as it was when it was the real thing.” Gohan shrugged. “That’s the way it is, isn’t it? He disappointed you, so you looked for me, someone who looks like him, but younger. Easier to manipulate.”

Trunks finally looked him in the eye. This time, they weren’t as clear. “You were always too smart for your own good.” Then he stepped up the path toward the Capsule. 

“Both versions?” He couldn’t help asking the question.

At first Gohan thought Trunks didn’t hear him, but then he stopped at the Capsule hatch and said, without looking back: “All versions.” 

Gohan walked home through a forest with no name after the Time Capsule shot away. He felt older than eighteen, as if he had lost something he could never get back, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was harder to care when his mother yelled at him for making a mess of his clothes or when Goten whined about taking too long to get back home. He felt almost like he lost himself, like he wasn’t there at all.