Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Side by side, during the day, he can see all the differences. Mark all the contrasts. Regret the disparities.

Skin on skin, in shadows played out against the moon’s light, he forgets the differences. Only reacts to them, accepts them. Wants them.

Slender, pale fingers that entwine with his larger, darker ones as Trunks moves above him. Sweat makes skin slide so easily, but his hands feel glued to Trunks`. Too many battles and Gohan has scars. Jagged, uneven areas of skin without pigment, that have no feeling yet he shudders violently at the slick wet touch of Trunks’ tongue as it traces the outline of each one.

Gohan loves the lose of control…and hates it. Loves when Trunks caresses and teases, hard touches, light touches and he hates the way it makes him moan…and beg. Loves when Trunks tastes and bites; hates the wet warmth on his skin that punishes with just enough pain that it makes him feel everything, makes him too sensitive. Loves when Trunks sucks, and suck hard, leaving round red marks at the base of his throat, above his nipple, the inside of his thigh; hates it when he stops. Loves when he can’t take anymore and flips them both over, hates that he finished the teasing this early. Loves when he grinds down on Trunks, threads those thick, dark fingers through the fine silk of Trunks hair; hates that he’s so frantic to have Trunks that he pulls that hair as he rapes Trunks mouth with his own.

Loves that Trunks lets him.

Lips were made for kissing and Gohan loves the wet open heat of Trunks’ mouth and the acrobatic ability of Trunks’ tongue as it slides and twists around his. But Gohan can’t stop his lips from wandering when they want to, so now their tasting the slant of Trunks’ jaw and the hollow behind his ear. There those lips whisper naughty images in dark dirty words, and Trunks’ fingers clawing into his shoulders would leave bruises on a normal man. But normal doesn’t apply here. Gohan can’t…won’t stop those lips when they insist on traveling the length of Trunks collarbone; down over his shoulder to the inside of his elbow to nibble the soft skin they find there. Doesn’t even blink when he finds a tight hard nipple being sucked between his teeth and can’t keep from groaning out loud when those teeth bite it, eliciting a matching groan from the man beneath him.. When they reach taut, hard abs, Gohan tickles them with warm breath and his lips laugh as Trunks squirms away.

Gohan notices the differences again, in the perfectly long, strong line of Trunks’ thigh as he works that smooth inner muscle with his hand and his mouth. The same muscle on him is thicker, rougher…disfigured. Now Gohan’s harder than ever because his lips let his tongue trace the tense, sensitive crease of skin that separates Trunks’ thigh from his groin. Trunks moans, flexes and twists to get away from the torture of Gohan’s mouth, all while he begs for more, again and now. Gohan has to press himself into the mattress to keep from coming. When he manages to get control of himself, those lips decide to kiss the head of Trunks’ cock and suddenly they’ve found new favorite ground to cover.

And here’s a contrast all its own, the way Trunks’ cock fills his mouth, hot and heavy, yet Gohan’s body shivers so deliciously at the weight of it, the heat of it. The taste is bitter and salt, yet addictive, because this is Trunks. There’s a moment of skepticism as the bitterness lingers on his tongue, then underneath he tastes sweetness, sweeter than anything Gohan has ever tasted before. He’s never been the glutton his father is when it comes to food, but this… Gohan could live on this. His hands stem the movements of Trunks hips as they try to rock up. He wants Trunks to come, but not yet. Right now he needs to be in him. Needs to feel the caging of Trunks’ legs as they wrap around him, the grip of Trunks’ hands as they lock around his arms. Wants to watch Trunks face as he possesses him, owns him, makes him come.

And Trunks, who is usually all chaotic energy, crass talk and impatience, lies still, silent and relaxed as Gohan prepares him.

Groans and pushes away from Gohan’s fingers, and that’s the signal that Trunks is ready. Face to face so he can see, and Gohan wants to take Trunks slow and easy. Hard and fast. And somehow he manages to do both. It’s a smooth slide in and a rough ragged movement out, as over and over he repeats it. Tries to find a rhythm, and loses it, tries to pace himself. But Gohan can’t slow this down, won’t. Wants to love him, wants to hurt him, wants to own him, wants to be owned and the end is coming to fast to stop it. A twist of his hips and a change of the angle, and that pulls nasty curses and frantic moans from Trunks.

And his name.

Gohan loves the breathless gasp of his name, and the way Trunks snarls out the Go part, like it’s an order, almost makes this over too quick. Gohan wants Trunks to come and he wants this to last forever. Hates the brink of orgasm, but loves the feeling so badly he holds off, torturing himself and Trunks with the exquisite pain, tasting the fine edge of eternity in the musky scent that hangs heavy around them. The way he can still taste Trunks on his tongue.

And it’s too soon and not soon enough because suddenly Trunks is pulsing sticky between them and Gohan hasn’t even touched him. And that thought has him coming too, his thighs driving his hips and pushing him deeper and harder into Trunks, reacting without thought because the rest of him is falling apart. He’s lost control again.

And consciousness.

Trunks is holding him when he awakens, piecing him back together with the slow strokes of his hands over his back, his side and chest. Soothing him, calming him. Teaching him that the differences don’t matter, because you can’t see them in the dark.