“Where … where am I? Why – ouch – why do I ache all over?”
Blackness … slowly waking up … suffocating, stifling … emptiness …
“What happened? … Oh no … Gohan! Gohan-san, where are you? Gohan!”
Alone … all alone … the only life in the world …
“Hello? Anybody there? Gohan? Gohan, are you there?”
On his feet now … running, panicking, clammy sweat dripping down his forehead …
“Please don’t leave me, Gohan-san – I’m … scared…”
Doors, locked doors off to the left and right … an endless corridor …
“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to fight them Gohan-san, I’ll do much better next time I promise…”
No sign of life, no sound, no motion … noise deadened by the oppressing darkness …
“…just … don’t leave me … alone…”
An open door … an empty room … or not empty …
“Goh – Gohan-san? Is that you?”
Then …
“What are you doing?? Get off him you – you beast!!”
Sickening, horrifying … something nobody should have to see, have to endure … the android was hurting him … so cruelly …
“Leave him alone you monster! Stop – hurting – him!”
A furious attack … an effortless defence … too strong, far too strong …
“Why don’t you just leave us alone. You’ll only get yourself killed.”
Helpless … not powerful enough to save Gohan … to spare him that agony, that humiliation …
“Better get away, kid, or I might punish you, too. Just like your friend.”
Angry, scared … fury overcoming fear …
“I don’t care! Get off him! Do whatever you want to me – just – don’t – hurt – Gohan!”
A barely-seen punch … agony splitting his skull …a fuzzy black veil drawn across his eyes …
“Trunks!!”
That voice … that beloved voice, in so much pain … must … help him …
“Gohan-san … I’ll … save you…”
Too weak to get up … pain everywhere … weakness all through his body … a tightness in his chest … can’t breathe … can’t move … falling into darkness …
***
“Trunks? Trunks, wake up! Trunks?”
“Wh – where are they? Where are you?”
“Trunks!”
“Gohan-san – Goh – ahh!”
The teenager jerked upright. His eyes were blurry, everything moving when it shouldn’t be … he blinked to clear his sight. The room was still dark, but it was not the same room. Pale, shimmering moonlight came in through a window next to him … he was in a bed … in a bedroom … he had been dreaming.
“Wake up.”
“Go-chan, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here Trunks-san, calm down.”
Little Gohan, from the past. Messy black hair in a ponytail at the back, ridiculously long and unruly. Wide, innocent brown eyes looking at him in a mix of fear and comfort. Gohan had woken him up from his nightmare.
“It’s okay Trunks-san, you were just having a bad dream.”
Trunks felt ill. It had been the same dream … every night for the last year, the same … reliving that horrible day when he and his koibito Gohan had fought the androids together for the last time. They’d lost, as always, but managed to put up a good fight. Juuhachigou had knocked Trunks unconscious, leaving him for dead, but Juunanagou had taken Gohan somewhere, inside a building, and when he woke up Trunks had found them …
He remembered it as clearly as if it had been a second ago … the horrible scene he’d walked in on … the agony and shame on Gohan’s face, the evil leer on Juunanagou’s … and the unspeakable rage that had overcome him. His beloved, his aisuru, suffering that at their enemy’s hands … it was a wonder Trunks hadn’t gone Super Saiyan then and there.
“Trunks-san? Are you there?”
The lavender-haired demi-Saiyan blinked and turned to the eleven-year-old sitting on his bed. Gohan looked concerned, his enormous chocolate eyes betraying worry over his friend.
“You spaced out, Trunks-san, like you were still in your nightmare. Are you okay?”
Trunks forced a smile, nodded reassuringly.
“Good. I made you some tea. Here, drink it.”
Blinking, a little taken aback, Trunks accepted the sturdy leaf-print mug the younger boy handed him. Blowing on the contents to cool it, he focused on the chibi version of his mirai lover. The resemblances were definitely there, but not entirely – there were differences between the man Trunks had known and the boy sitting on the side of his bed. This Gohan was more innocent, without a doubt, and far more powerful. He didn’t have the tired visage his koibito had worn ever since he could remember. He smiled more often. He had a father.
There, little Gohan was one up on both his future self and Trunks. Goku was alive, thanks to the mirai part-Saiyan’s interference with this timeline, and Vegeta wasn’t exactly the friendliest dad he’d come across. He never acknowledged Trunks’ presence with more than a nod, barely talked to him … no time for his own son, not even the eighteen-month-old baby Bulma was forever chasing after, carrying around, reprimanding, teaching, lavishing attention on … not a moment’s notice from their father did either Trunks get.
A small hand cupped his cheek, smooth hands tracing the tougher skin of his older counterpart. “Trunks-san? Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Go-chan. Just a little woozy, that’s all.” Trunks tried to wake up, tried to down the drink he was holding, tried to concentrate on his young friend … the friend he’d been pining after ever since coming to the past timeline.
“Come on, drink your tea.” The older part-Saiyan complied, sapphire eyes focused on Gohan above the rim of his cup. He knew this wasn’t his Gohan, knew they were different people, knew that he was probably just transferring his feelings for the Gohan he’d lost to the one still with him. But when he dreamed at night, when the nightmares receded long enough for him to have a glimpse of happiness, it wasn’t the older Son he held. It was the boy in front of him, the pre-adolescent half-Saiyan nowhere near old enough to return his affections. Trunks had mourned his lover, accepted his loss, and moved on … only to fall in love with the same person fifteen years younger.
His first koibito would always have a place in his heart. But what Trunks saw in his Go-chan was more than a reflection of what had been. It was hope for a better future, for a better life, for a chance to heal the wounds of his past.
It was love.
“Arigato, Go-chan.”
The boy smiled at him and took the empty mug, setting it on the bedside table. “No problem, Trunks-san.” But instead of leaving, Gohan settled further on the bed, closer to the older teenager, and took one of Trunks’ hands in his own. The smile was gone from his face. “Please talk to me, Trunks-san. Tell me what your nightmare is. You – you keep waking up at night, scared of something. Please tell me.”
He never could resist the chibi eyes, and Go-chan was an expert. “Well…”
Then the younger semi-Saiyan was cuddling up to him, curled against Trunks’ side, the two reclining against the head of the bed together. Gohan snuggled up to the teenager, one hand resting lightly over his older friend’s heart, his eyes, like liquid chocolate, fastened solemnly on Trunks’ face, so innocent, so adorable. Trunks had a fierce, wistful desire to hold Gohan tighter, more intimately, but forced himself to suppress it. “Tell me, Trunks-san,” his friend whispered.
“It’s a memory,” said Trunks, tearing his eyes from his beloved’s face to look out the window, at the quarter moon shining in through the branches of an oak tree. His voice wobbled involuntarily as he spoke. “Of – of you in my time, when we were fighting the androids together. I remember being knocked unconscious during the battle. When I woke up, you were nowhere in sight and neither were the androids – I was completely alone. I – I went looking for you. I was in a building and there was hardly any light, I could barely see where I was going, it was so stuffy I could barely breathe.”
Gohan was watching and listening silently, but Trunks had a feeling the younger boy was hanging on his every word, drinking it in, absorbing it all like a sponge. The small hand on his chest was tracing light circles over his ribs as though subconsciously.
“It took me ages to find you,” Trunks continued, forcing the words out of his mouth despite the pain it caused telling someone the memory he’d kept secret all these years. “I felt like I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I was scared, and alone, and I had no idea where you or the androids were. Every door I came to was locked. It seemed like I was searching for hours.”
He took a breath. “Then, I came to a door that was unlocked, and I went in, and you were there.” Hot tears of anger and grief sprang to his eyes. “You were there, and so was Juunanagou, and he was – he was—” He found he couldn’t continue.
“What? What, Trunks-san?” whispered Gohan. The soft persuasion of his voice freed the words from Trunks’ throat.
“He was torturing you,” muttered the older teenager, hating the memory as he recalled it. “He was hurting you, Go-chan, in the worst – the most horrible way. I – I couldn’t bear it. I was furious. I attacked, but he was far too strong. He just swatted me away like a fly. It – it was – awful.” He choked out the last word, the sobs that had been building up in his throat being released. Trails of saline snaked their way down his face, over the angular cheekbones, turning the azure eyes a watery palette of blues.
“Trunks-san…” Gohan murmured. His heart ached for the other half-Saiyan and he hugged the teenager tightly, feeling strong but trembling arms wrap around him in need of reassurance. Trunks buried his face in the ebony chaos of Gohan’s mane, wetting the boy’s hair with his tears.
As his grief spent itself, Trunks was aware of a hand tilting his chin up, and found his eyes caught by the warmth of his beloved’s gaze. There was comfort in the boy’s eyes, in the hand now stroking his face softly, in the youthful body that fit so snugly against his own, in his embrace. “I’m sorry, Trunks-san,” whispered Gohan. “But I was so worried about you. You haven’t slept right for ages, not since I can remember. You keep waking up. It hurts you, I know it does.”
“Don’t be sorry,” replied Trunks quietly. “There’s no reason for you not to know.”
“I want to help you,” Gohan said firmly. “Let me help you, Trunks-san, I know how.” He shifted so he was lying half-on top of Trunks, his hands on the older boy’s shoulders. “When we were training for the androids,” said the boy, like he was relating a tale about a miracle cure, “Otousan used to go to train with Vegeta-san sometimes. And I never really slept all that well, and this one time when Otousan was gone with Vegeta-san and I couldn’t sleep I went out to talk to Piccolo-san. He’s a Namek but we used to cuddle a lot. And then I got him to do something for me that made me sleep really well.”
Gohan paused. “Piccolo-san said he shouldn’t do it, but I talked him into it cos I liked it, and cos it helped me got to sleep easier. And it’ll work for you, too, Trunks-san, I know it will.”
Trunks regarded his friend a little warily. He was beginning to hatch suspicions about what exactly Piccolo had done to help Gohan, but the other half of his mind was protesting the very thought, insisting on Gohan’s innocence. “How can you help me, Go-chan?” he asked cautiously.
“You’re in love with me.”
***
The words were simple, truthful, innocently stated, and hit Trunks like a ten-ton weight square in the chest. Even as the older boy stared at him in silent shock, Gohan clambered onto his hips and straddled him, taking the teenager’s chin in both hands and raising it so their lips met. Trunks gasped at the warmth that spread through him from the contact and felt the eleven-year-old Saiyan’s small tongue slipping into his mouth, tenderly caressing his own and coaxing it into responses Trunks certainly wasn’t intending. Gohan’s hands were now sliding down over his shoulders, running lightly over his chest to cause sensations exactly midway between arousal and tickling. Then the younger boy drew back slightly, his mouth leaving Trunks’ slightly open in a silent beg for more, and waited until the teenager’s sapphire eyes had fluttered open again.
“It’ll help, Trunks-san,” he said, staring seriously into the lavender-haired Saiyan’s confused eyes. “Just trust me, okay?”
“No…” whispered Trunks. “Go-chan, we shouldn’t … I shouldn’t…”
“That’s what Piccolo said,” pouted the younger boy. “But it helps, Trunks-san, I swear it does. And … and it feels really nice.” He paused, observing the teenager’s slack jaw and wide eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
Trunks nodded mutely, bringing a smile to his friend’s eyes.
Gohan leaned closer so his face was inches from the other’s, so he could feel Trunks’ breath on his lips. “I trust you,” he whispered, and captured the lavender-haired Saiyan’s lips in a sensuous kiss, relishing the taste of the older boy’s tongue.
Trunks’ mind screamed defiance of what his senses were telling him as Gohan began sliding out of his pyjamas. The flannelette shirt and pants were quickly discarded and the younger boy insistently tugged at the teenager’s waistband, coaxing him free of his boxer shorts before crawling under the blankets with him. The azure-eyed part-Saiyan’s breath began to come in short gasps as Gohan straddled his lap, the eleven-year-old’s bare skin as heated as his own, creating fiery tingling where they met.
Sweat stood out in beads on Trunks’ forehead as Gohan brought the teenager’s hands down to his need. The older demi-Saiyan trembled as he took the younger boy’s shaft in his hands, running delicate, cautious fingers over the rapidly firming length and wrenching a delicious moan from his koi.
“Yes … keep doing that…” the black-haired Saiyan murmured. His head dropped back and he cried out as Trunks wrapped a hand completely around his member, stroking in a swiftly increasing rhythm. “More … please, aisuru, more…”
Trunks obeyed, concentrating on increasing his beloved’s enjoyment ahead of his own aching need. The demi-Saiyan above him was writhing in ecstasy at his ministrations, getting extremely close to his release, gasps and cries pulled from him through Trunks’ actions. Suddenly he cried out, onyx eyes squeezing shut as he spasmed, hips involuntarily thrusting forward. “T – Trunks!” he cried wildly, his whole body twisting in pure delight as he came, every muscle tensing, his fingers digging into Trunks’ arms and leaving sharp bruises in the teenager’s flesh.
Gradually it faded, leaving the young boy tired and shaking. His shoulders heaved as he gasped for breath and he fell forward against his purple-haired counterpart’s chest. For perhaps a minute he was motionless, utterly relaxed, except for the slight trembling in his body and the rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Trunks could feel his koi’s pulse racing through his hands wrapped around the boy’s waist and he planted a chaste, tender kiss on his neck.
Gohan raised his head from its position on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s your turn now,” he whispered, and gave Trunks a stunning kiss, distracting him as he shifted to impale himself on the teenager’s length.
A gasp of combined shock and pleasure was ripped from Trunks’ throat. His eyes squeezed shut and his back arched as his length was completely enveloped in searing heat. White spots danced behind his vision as Gohan’s muscles hugged his arousal unbearably tightly. Gradually Trunks regained control of his senses enough to force open his eyes.
Gohan was purring loudly, an adorable rumble emanating from his lithe form. His eyes were half-hooded and shining with hunger that the lavender-haired part-Saiyan would never have expected to see on the face of one so young. “See?” he whispered huskily. The sudden change in his voice, the replacement of innocence with passion, made Trunks’ heart seemingly skip a beat. “I told you it feels nice…”
“I’m not … hurting you?” queried the older boy anxiously. Gohan shook his head.
“No … it’s brilliant,” he smiled charmingly. “Piccolo-san never hurt me, either, even though he thought he would. You both act the same.”
Trunks shook his head disbelievingly. What Gohan was telling him was at odds with everything the teenager knew of the stoic Namek. “You … and Piccolo-san … did this?” he asked, still panting from the incredible warmth of Gohan’s body.
“Yeah,” replied the black-haired demi-human breathlessly, definitely aroused. “He always felt guilty about it, but I can talk him into anything.” The last was said with more than a bit of pride. “And I know he liked it, he just didn’t think it was right. But … but it felt so right. And it feels so right with you.” He grabbed Trunks’ hands and kissed them adoringly, his compelling brown eyes holding those of his beloved in their inescapable gaze.
A trembling sigh left the teenager’s body and his face softened with a smile at the sheer charm Gohan emanated. “I do love you, Go-chan,” he murmured.
“I know,” he replied, and stroked the other’s face. Damp purple hair clung to it and he brushed it aside before leaning forward to kiss Trunks’ forehead. The action lifted him off the older demi-Saiyan’s throbbing length, burning, painfully arousing friction making Trunks’ head tilt back and his mouth form a silent ‘oh’. Gohan covered his koibito’s lips with his own, engaging him in a slow, fiery kiss that took utmost pleasure out of every millimetre of contact between ardent tongues.
Even as Gohan settled back on Trunks’ length, the teenager thrust his hips upward and the stroke made both cry out involuntarily. Eager for more of the dizzying bliss their union produced, the two half-Saiyans engaged in the same motions a second time, and a third, building up a powerful rhythm until in the same moment they burst into Super Saiyan.
The difference was immediate as Gohan’s inner muscles hardened to steel, clamping down on Trunks’ enlarged shaft with unbearable pressure. The older boy couldn’t last any longer and with the next thrust he released, pure bliss engulfing him as he called his Go-chan’s name. In the same motion he struck an electrifying bundle of nerves deep within his koibito’s body. It was like pressing a button and triggering the younger demi-Saiyan’s instant climax. Gohan’s voice was distorted almost to a shriek as he came and he bucked his hips wildly, utter delight suffusing every fibre in his body. Tears of ecstasy streamed down his face and he gave a sobbing gasp for breath as, sated, the two collapsed together.
Slowly, blonde faded to black and purple, and emerald faded to chocolate and sapphire. The shimmering golden energy fields dissipated and Gohan wearily lifted himself off Trunks’ sated member. He slumped on the teenager’s form, running one hand lazily over the sweaty skin of his counterpart. Two hands curled around his body, linking behind him and holding him close, and Gohan planted a tender kiss on the junction of his koibito’s neck and shoulder.
As Trunks’ breathing slowed, the eleven-year-old lifted his head with an effort to gaze on the teen’s closed eyes. He pressed his lips to each lid in turn and they slowly fluttered open. The sapphire orbs were clouded with gratified mist, an expression of utter gratitude in the stunningly blue eyes that made Gohan melt into Trunks’ arms and snuggle close, blissfully happy in the comfort of the warmth he found in the teenager’s hold.
“I wish you didn’t have to go…” murmured the younger boy sadly.
Trunks’ heart gave a kind of wrench as he abruptly realised how much it would hurt to leave his beloved behind. “It’s where I belong, koi,” he replied softly, trying to convince himself as much as Gohan. “And you … you belong here.” He squeezed the small form briefly. “But I will miss you…”
“I’ll miss you too, aisuru,” replied the younger demi-Saiyan, a tear sliding silently down his face.
***
Trunks fought to control his sadness at leaving as his mother embraced him. The fully-charged time machine was ready to take him back to his own time, but he was distraught at the partings he would have to endure. He had more friends here in the past than he’d ever had in the future, and there was Gohan…
The demi-Saiyan managed to keep his farewell to Vegeta, his father, to a brief motion of acknowledgment, but when he was confronted with the damp chocolate eyes of his koibito, it took all he had not to break down then and there. He hugged the boy, quickly but fiercely, and stood up, his knees slightly weak. His eyes slid to the tall Namek standing nearby. Piccolo met his gaze calmly, expressing in the merest dip of his head his gratitude for all Trunks had done for the people of this time. But Trunks swallowed hard and flicked a glance back down at Gohan. The Namek’s gaze suddenly intensified as if an understanding was passing between them.
“Hey Piccolo-san, look after Go-chan for me will you?”
The tone Trunks directed at the green guardian was subtle enough so that the addressed was the only one who picked up on its meaning. And of all those present, only Gohan knew what the teenager was thinking.
“Sure thing, kid. I’ll take care of him.”
Gohan’s eyes shone, despite the gruffness of the Namek’s tone. “I’ll think about you all the time,” he promised the older demi-Saiyan in a voice for his ears alone. “I won’t ever forget you.” A heartbeat’s pause. “Aishiteru, Trunks-san.”
A sad, wistful smile crossed Trunks’ face, his lips curving even though his heart was breaking and his eyes were like pure sapphires in grief, and he turned swiftly and leapt into the time machine. Pressing buttons and keying in coordinates, he kept his eyes averted until the contraption rose to surveying height. He raised a trembling hand in farewell.
It made his very soul ache to see Gohan holding Piccolo’s hand close to him, but the look of adoration in the chibi’s eyes was for Trunks alone. He fixed the sight in his mind’s eye, a memory to stay with him throughout his life, as everything blurred and dissolved. Tears misted his vision, but the image of Gohan was imprinted on his heart forever.
