Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

A half hour later Trunks and Gohan touched down near the slightly cracked dome of the Son home. Neatly small pieces of wood had patched the hole in the roof, and Gohan spotted the battered white car with the Ox king logo on the side. By now, he guessed his grandfather was helping unload the piles of groceries brought from the village that still bartered down the hill. Once Gohan’s booted foot crossed the threshold through the open door, he saw the movement of the two occupants. Behind him, he felt Trunks ki, hesitating to step inside. He could almost see Trunks staring at his black and white sigil on the rear of his vest rather then look inside at who was coming to the door to greet them.

“C’mon in, you’ve been here before,” Gohan glanced over one shoulder.

“Your mom and my mom are starting to sound too much alike,” Trunks whispered, rolling his eyes.

Chichi’s hands fluttered in her sleeves that seemed too sizes too large. She pushed them up automatically, and then spun around to see Gohan trudging through the door with Trunks only partly behind him. At sight of her son’s return, she clasped both her hands together and rushed up towards him.

“Every time you leave lately, I don’t know if you’re coming back, Gohan,” she began to lament.

“Hi Mom, sorry to worry you. There was another fight in Central and they needed my help…” Gohan began. Despite seven years of taking up his father’s mantle as Savior of the world, Gohan still faced his mother’s impending disapproval of his choice to fight.

“Now Gohan how can you run around playing superhero without a thought for…” Chichi began.

Just how easily Gohan smiled and shrugged it off blew Trunks mind. Had he become immune to his mother’s worries? He could tell with but a glance that Gohan was putting up a brave front, though he could peer through a minute crack to see Gohan’s eyes dulling slightly with guilt. Not to mention the clenching of Gohan’s fist at his side that he pushed behind his back.

“Now honey, let’s just be glad he got home in one piece,” the Ox King interrupted, slowly raising his bulk from the nearby battered sofa. “You know Gohan would go nuts here when there’s people who can use his help… and just because he says help doesn’t mean he’s always fighting…”

“I know, but I worry so much! You can’t expect me NOT to worry, Gohan!” Chichi bit her lip, her dark eyes the same shade as Gohan’s peering up anxiously into her son’s face. “And what will Bulma say with you dragging her little boy around like a sidekick!”

“He invited me home for some of your famous cooking. Space rations get to be a drag after a while,” Trunks neatly interposed, interrupting Chichi’s impending woeful barrage of reproaches.

“Don’t try to soft soap me, young man. I suppose I should be glad that you’re tagging along with my Gohan, because there’s very little chance he’d be fighting with you around… if he knows what’s good for him, as far as your mom is concerned. She warned me to make sure you two didn’t start conspiring…” Chichi waggled her wooden spoon at Gohan.

“Now Mom, don’t worry,” Gohan started, raising a protesting hand. Despite all the misery they had seen each day, a domestic confrontation seemed like a peaceful and welcome break for them both.

“If you’re worried he’s dragging me off to train, don’t be, ma’am,” Trunks appealed, his arms outstretched. “He just invited me over for dinner… and my mom thought you could give her some more of that antiseptic herb that you happen to grow in your garden. Mom thinks she can duplicate its formula in the lab if she has a sample…”

“And since I happened to be heading back home, I figured why not bring him here and kill two birds with one stone? Besides Bulma did need help on her newest project, right Trunks?” Gohan continued, tagging along the train of Trunks excuse. Not only did he fight to save people with his techniques bequeathed to him by Piccolo, but also Gohan would roll up his sleeves and nudge Bulma aside when she had overwhelming piles of broken machinery to fix.

That’s right. I can’t drag mom out of her lab except to eat lately,” Trunks chimed in.

“You can’t argue with that, dear,” the Ox King shrugged.

“That’s awful! Don’t tell me she’s not eating properly!” Chichi groaned, shaking her head and resting her hands on her hips.

“It’s okay, I help out when I can,” Trunks waved his hands across his face, giving a smile to dispel the continuing waves of tension.

“Well I do have an extra plate set just in case someone happened to come by after one of those awful attacks,” Chichi relented. “But both of you should wash up before you eat, and help me set the table!”

“All right Mom,” Gohan nodded, and then jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom, winking at Trunks. He nodded, and both of them made their way through the short hallways of the little home. In the distance, they could hear father and daughter continuing the same argument that always commenced when Gohan came home, and Trunks visited for dinner.

“I hope they’re not catching on, Gohan… I hate having you have to lie for me,” whispered Trunks.

“You know as well as I do that there’s nothing going on, right?” Gohan interrupted, though his nose wrinkled slightly. “Besides, my mom’s as smart as yours. Moreover, there ARE many different ways of ‘fighting’ that don’t always involve martial arts. It’s not a true lie.”

“But she said training,” Trunks mumbled.

“No she didn’t. She said conspiring. And how can we be conspiring if we’re helping your mother save the refugees?” Gohan whispered, nudging Trunks. Reaching past him, he opened the door to the washroom and urged him inside.

For a moment, Trunks wondered just what Gohan had in mind when he saw the small sink washbasin near the commode. A small shower stood in the corner behind the plastic garishly colored curtain.

Glancing at Trunks out of the corner of his eye, Gohan reached for one of the towels. He tossed it towards his student, who was reaching for a bar of soap. A fresh minty smell permeated the atmosphere as Gohan reached behind them to close the door.

“That shower curtain needs a few more batteries,” Trunks joked.

“Hey, at least it doesn’t need to be polished till you can see through it. Then again…” Gohan trailed off; half-chuckling at what he was thinking. Tugging at the bottom of his shirt Gohan pulled it out from where it was neatly tucked into the waist of his pants. Then he heaved the shirt off his head, revealing the dark midnight blue shirt underneath. Its sleeves came almost to the tops of his elbows. Across the front of it glimmered the bathroom’s overhead light, indicated a set of tiny interlocking metallic rings forming a layer on the outside like chainmail. Underneath it was a layer of soft cloth that absorbed sweat comfortably. Two shades lighter then it was the knotted blue sash and wristbands.

“Uh huh. But it’s still loud,” Trunks chuckled back. Smooth china handles were slightly cracked and marked with an H and a C, unlike the single plastic dial on the Capsule bathroom taps.

A quick twist of Gohan’s wrists later Trunks heard the thump of one wristband, landing on the tile floor atop the red gi. He moved to the side and blocked the flow of water with his hand plunged into the stream. Glimpsing Gohan suddenly tugging up on his shirt he shivered in expectation, only to feel a spray of wetness douse his shoulder and the front of his shirt. Trunks backed away, cursing at the water that suddenly dribbled down the front of his sweatpants.

“Says the guy who can’t use something as simple as an old fashioned tap,” Gohan teased, reaching around him to turn off the water tap. A sudden burst of inspiration crossed through his mind when he saw the wet splotches on his t-shirt.

“How’d YOU like to share?” Trunks laughed. Immersing his hand into the basin, he suddenly scooped it up and tossed it onto the unsuspecting older half Saiyan.

“Hey!” Gohan spluttered, droplets of water gliding down the blue weighted shirt. Half untucked it dangled lopsided across his hip. Trunks didn’t see that his hand was tucked behind his back at that moment until something much wetter connected with his face. Bouncing off the wet sponge then hit the wet floor with a smack and skittered towards the far wall leaving a trail of suds in its wake.

“Hey yourself!” Trunks responded, grabbing another handful of water from the sink to douse Gohan. Before it contacted Gohan suddenly dodged around and grabbed Trunks wrist.

“Better watch it, or mom will complain about getting the floor too wet,” Gohan whispered, his solitary arm suddenly pinning Trunks wrist to the sink. Trunks felt the warmth of his sensei’s body pressed up against his back and shivered with delight. Quirking his mouth in a smirk Trunks leaned back heavily into Gohan’s body. Yet he found himself toppling much further back then he expected judging from the room pitching to the left. A second later, he landed against something hard and solid with a grunt and was treated to a sideways view of the loud shower curtain he’d commented on before.

“Whoof,” Gohan gasped, loudly near one ear. “Damn wet floor…”

“Smooth move. You okay Gohan. Sorry about that,” Trunks laughed, feeling himself balanced across the sturdy form of his sensei. Judging from the way he landed, Gohan must have twisted his own body beneath when he felt them falling.

“This is pretty unfair,” Gohan murmured, voice vibrating through his chest. Trunks twisted on his side and craned his neck to see Gohan’s stern look. His strong muscular arm latched around Trunks waist, imprisoning him so he couldn’t move.

“Well don’t give me that look; I’m not the one who…” the lavender haired younger Saiyan began.

“The one who what?” Gohan asked simply. His hand tightened considerably, tightly binding Trunks atop him.

Trunks noticed the devious grin crossing Gohan’s scarred face, and realized he was far from angry. In fact, he made no move to push Trunks off him or get up. Rather he lay back on the cold tile, shifting his hand to clutch hold of Trunks shirt in his large hand. Trunks felt the water soaking into his skin and slid his other hand to tug his shirt up so Gohan wouldn’t have to let go.

“I’ll get that,” he breathed deeply, shivering at the rising and falling of Gohan’s chest under his side. Gohan released him so he could sit up in the other Saiyan’s lap and pull his shirt up. White skin steadily came into view while Trunks purple hair vanished into the tent of his shirt. Gohan watched it flutter to the floor, then saw Trunks eyes grow wide. A hand landed on Gohan’s bare abdomen, gliding accidentally over the smooth skin.

“Something missing?” Gohan glanced seemingly innocently up at his student.

Ivory skin flushed a pale pink beneath those blue eyes staring down where his palm lay flat on Gohan’s now bared chest. Just when had he removed the shirt, Trunks wondered? He marveled at the hardness of Gohan’s flattened muscle covered in slick olive skin. It was only a shade or two darker then Trunks, but the quality of it was distinctive. In comparison, Trunks skin was ivory flushed with a bit of pink. While he had seen his sensei shirtless before, lately it grew harder for Trunks not to stare longer then one normally would at such perfection. Now he could trace his fingers along the grooves of Gohan’s six-pack up to the solar plexus, and beyond. Lifting his arm Gohan rested it behind his head, dark eyes expectantly pinning Trunks there.

“Damn, he’s perfect,” Trunks realized. He felt blood pounding through his body, and a strange tingling along his now goose pimpling skin. The way Gohan watched his every move so intently reminded him of a predator waiting for an open moment to strike.

Also visible without the shirt was the stump of Gohan’s left limb. Trunks felt a pang of guilt to see the absence of what had been the mate of the strong arm that curled around his back. Various scars crisscrossed Gohan’s chest, radiating from the amputated bud over his left pectoral. Diagonal streaks traversed the six-pack of his abdomen before blurring into the pale olive tan of his natural skin. They were pink in color, the same hue of the scar tracing over his forehead down his cheek.

Trunks shifted back when Gohan’s eyes narrowed in concern. Did Gohan really think he cared about the scars? To Trunks, they were handsome, adding character to his sensei. Even the lack of an arm didn’t detract from what Trunks saw as perfection. There was only one Son Gohan, hero and savior of the shattered world. Only one that he admired and looked up to, who was his whole world.

“I don’t give a damn, Gohan,” Trunks whispered.

“What about, Trunks?” Gohan asked.

“You know what I mean,” Trunks answered, bending over to lightly kiss the tip of the arm stump. Gohan smiled sadly, squeezing and rubbing Trunks back gratefully with the acceptance. Although Earth’s population was drastically reduced, there were younger people who Trunks could desire rather than him

“Are you sure this is what you want, Trunks?” Gohan asked, glancing up at him.

“You knew how I felt, didn’t you?” Trunks inhaled deeply, kissing across the spider web of scars to lick his prominent Adam’s apple.

“I am pretty smart, thanks to my Mom always nagging me to study,” Gohan could not help bragging.

“Well she screwed up. You became one hell of a fighter anyway,” Trunks laughed lightly, kissing the tip of his chin.

Trunks warm body contrasted the cool tile pressed into Gohan’s bare back. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the smooth alabaster and peach skin covering Trunks slender arms and torso. From all the endless training, his once waiflike body now contoured with generous muscle. More like a cheetah rather than a tiger in build, Gohan reasoned. He himself was the enormous tiger, all solidly heavy, but nowhere near the build of his father.

Banishing his shyness trunks swung around and straddled Gohan’s hips. Somehow, it felt more comfortable, and he wanted to see the look on the other’s face as he explored the terrain lying under his slender hands. Gohan’s abdominal muscles tensed then relaxed, small pants escaping his lips to feel the light feather touch of the youth’s fingers rubbing over his skin. An unspoken challenge to Trunks to dare to explore and claim what could be his seemed to cross the gap between them. At least that is what Trunks sensed by staring deep into those bottomless midnight pools regarding him. Beneath Trunks pelvis, he felt something stirring to life, and blushed. Especially when he felt how pleasant it was against the bulge developing in his own sweatpants.

Ever so slowly, he shifted his hips forward, bracing his hands on Gohan’s pectoral muscles. A low groan escaped Gohan’s lips, causing Trunks to smile mischievously. Dark lashed eyes pressed shut, and he felt Gohan’s hips slowly buck upwards. While not forceful enough to dislodge Trunks from his perch, it was sufficient to catch his attention. A bolt of sheer energy tingled from his groin and spread like a tidal wave over Trunks young body. Experimentally he shifted his hips back and forth, so that their groins were tightly pressed to one another. Back and forth, Gohan tossed his head, gritting his teeth to stifle the moan. Pride filled Trunks, his blood pulsing hot in his temples. In the silence between them only the thudding of his rapid heartbeat sounded.

Was this another test, Trunks wondered. Did Gohan think he would lose his nerve so tightly pressed to him? He liked the feel of Gohan’s hips between his straddling legs, and simply shifted forwards a bit to immerse his hands in Gohan’s hair. Pressing the length of his own chest, he draped himself atop his mentor, feeling the urge to stare more closely into those intense eyes. He never figured Gohan would allow him to do such things, and was amazed at the sudden docile nature of his sensei laying there. His heart skipped beats, pumping something fiery through his veins, rushing to all parts of his body.

“I just want to know now, Trunks. I’m not exactly young anymore… and I’d be lying if I didn’t notice that in a few years you’ll be a heartbreaker,” Gohan answered.

“Shut up,” Trunks admonished him, slapping his chest lightly. “You’re NOT old. Are you going to give me some bullshit about being too old for me? Because I don’t care.”

“I should care, but I don’t,” Gohan murmured, leaning up to softly kiss Trunks cheek. “But you are still young…”

“So what? Gohan, this world is a crazy mess. The rules are different! I mean there are very few governments, rules that would stop or care. It’s not like they could arrest you for wanting to… for me wanting to be with you,” Trunks snapped, glaring angrily down at Gohan.

“No, that’s true,” Gohan answered. “I just want to be sure that you’re all right with this. I don’t want you to think you have to just because…”

“I don’t want anyone else. This isn’t a normal world. It’s not just because you protect me, and that you’re half Saiyan like me. I feel how I feel,” Trunks admonished him.

“All right, all right,” Gohan laughed gently. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know.”

“You always did ask too many stupid questions,” Trunks teased him.

“I’m the one who asks questions?” Gohan asked.

Cobalt irises dilated, staring at him from under the lavender fringe of hair. Gohan saw Trunks lips parted, and rumbled with delight when Trunks lay atop him, pressing their fronts together. Grasping the side of Gohan’s head Trunks angled his face to the side and brushed his lips over his mentor’s. To his delight, the kiss was answered with an opening mouth yielding to his questing tongue. As he had imagined doing for a while Trunks varied the slight movement of his head from side to side. Mapped the interior of Gohan’s delicious mouth, tasting the richness fully on his young palate while inhaling Gohan’s surging breaths. Softly Gohan moaned against his mouth, suddenly seizing Trunks lower lip between his teeth.

“Gohan, Trunks, are you still in there?” interrupted Chichi’s voice.

“Shit,” both chorused together.

Trunks flinched and Gohan cursed under his breath at the sudden pounding on the door. Whatever moment they had was suddenly shattered. Reluctantly Trunks shifted to the side and let Gohan sit up once more. Soberly they regarded one another.

“Mom, we’ll be done in a moment,” Gohan answered.

“Dinner will get cold,” Chichi’s voice echoed, partly muffled through the door.

Trunks was glad to see the disappointment and frustration wrinkling Gohan’s scarred face. Not saying another word to each other, they quickly washed their hands and faces for dinner before putting their shirts on once more.

Although Trunks felt the mutual frustration that crossed Gohan’s face, he knew from the gleam in his sensei’s dark eyes that there would be time for exploration later. Especially when he felt the solitary hand engulf his, squeezing gently. Shivering again with renewed delight, Trunks swiveled his head up to glance at Gohan once more. Only a small meaningful smile confirmed the volumes that the older Saiyan’s gaze conveyed.

Hands clasped, sensei and student strode down the hall towards the dinner table. No, Gohan reflected. Not sensei, but lover. Judging from the smile crossing Trunks young face, he knew the younger Saiyan shared his feelings. The future was theirs, and they only hoped there would be enough to explore what had been set afire between them.