Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Gohan’s class is first thing in the morning; I walk into it like a zombie. There’s not enough coffee in the world to counteract the night I’ve had and all I can see is Goten’s smiling face telling me what his brother’s cock felt like in his mouth.

I’m so disturbed I’m not even sure how I feel.

Sliding into a seat near the back, I rub my eyes with their fashionable dark circles and wish I was anywhere else. My cell vibrates in my pocket but I ignore it. It can only be Goten and…I just can’t right now. I don’t even know what he’d be doing awake already. We didn’t crash until after four this morning. I left him snoring in my bed fifteen minutes ago.

I didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Good morning, class.” I jerk as Gohan enters the room. There’s something different about him and it takes me a minute to realize that his wardrobe is actually up to speed for maybe the first time in his life. No more mousy sweater vest, no more plaid blazer. I blink, looking around, thankful when I’m not the only one who notices our dumpy professor’s sudden suavity. A group of girls begins to giggle.

I feel like I’ve been thrown into another timeline or something. As Gohan rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white button-down, sans tie, I wonder if I’m still sleeping and if any of this is real.

“I’ll be around to collect your papers. Please have them ready…”

Unzipping my backpack, I fish around for my folder. Panic hits me pretty fast when I realize that I don’t have it. It’s still on my desk, right where I threw it last night when I came back from the computer lab…

“Oh, shit,” I whisper.

“Briefs-san?” Then, he’s there, a stack of papers that aren’t mine in his left hand, his right extended toward me expectantly.

I look up slowly; there isn’t enough time to turn the fear in my eyes to indignation or arrogance or any of that shit. Meeting his gaze, I just shake my head because what else is there to say? I had the craziest night with your little brother and it fucked me up?

Gohan’s eyes darken. He leans down, one hand on my desk, his voice close to my ear so that only I can hear him. So close I can smell his cologne.

“I need to see you after class, Trunks, am I clear?”

I swallow hard and nod. I didn’t mean to fuck up like this and I wonder if I have time to run back to my dorm before meeting him. My integrity matters, dammit! I didn’t do it on purpose this time.

“Yes, sensei.”

He straightens and continues down the line of desks. I watch him walk away; when I realize I’m staring at his ass, I want to die.

“Those of you who have given me your papers may leave,” he announces as he rounds the desk at the front of the room. He smiles as he lays them in his briefcase. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

The class is a flurry of excited talk as ninety-nine percent of students start putting on their coats, stuffing unused notebooks back into bags and hurriedly exiting the room. When it’s calmed down, I see it’s just me and this other kid on the other side of the room; I slide further down in my seat. This sucks so much.

Gohan sits at the desk and folds his hands in front on him, the very image of scholarly discipline. He’s so predictable it’s amazing, like he learned how to be a teacher from movies, or something. That’s only slightly diminished with his new threads; he finally looks going on thirty instead of over forty.

He doesn’t even look at me. “Souma-san,” he says to the other kid instead, “you realize that turning in your assignment late will automatically lower your grade by a letter?”

The blonde kid nods quietly. “Yes, sensei.”

“Is there a reason you couldn’t turn it in on time?” he asks, and it pisses me off that his voice is almost gentle. He’s never this considerate with me.

The look in the kid’s eyes is tragic; he’s obviously experienced with bullshitting his way out of these kinds of situations. I’m kinda envious. Too often I let my temper get the best of me, especially with righteous do-gooders like Gohan.

“I’ve had family troubles,” he explains softly but he never looks at me, a sure sign that he’s lying. Someone who really had family problems wouldn’t want anyone else to know about it, not in this school. The fact that he doesn’t acknowledge me proves that he’s full of it.

And Gohan’s buying it. I see the severity in his expression soften.

“Does this have to do with the situation you emailed me about?”

The boy nods.

Gohan sits back and crosses his legs. “I can extend your deadline until the end of the day on Wednesday. Do you think you’ll have it completed by then?”

The blonde nods vigorously. “Yes, sensei. I’m almost done with it but it’s unedited and I didn’t want to turn it in as a rough draft.” He lowers his eyes. “I didn’t think you would appreciate that.”

I almost gag. This kid is playing Gohan like a fucking instrument.

“I appreciate your consideration, Souma-san. I look forward to reading your paper on Wednesday.” He smiles. “You can go.”

I watch the blonde gather his belongings and head for the exit. As he gets to the door, he turns.

“You look nice today, sensei,” he says with a smile, then turns and leaves.

“Oh, geez,” I mutter, shifting in my chair and rolling my eyes.

Gohan looks at me. His eyes narrow. After a moment, he gets up and closes the door.

“Trunks…” he starts, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What am I going to do with you?”

I’m torn between honesty and sarcasm but my father’s training is strong and I can’t admit that I’m in the wrong. So, I throw him a cocky smile and shrug.

“Tell me I’m a bad dog and beat me?”

He doesn’t react and I think that maybe that’s a bad sign. Sighing dramatically, I shift again, sitting up.

“Look, I wrote my paper and left in on my desk like an idiot, alright? I can go get it right now.”

The older man cocks his head, pushing up his glasses. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s the truth.”

He nods slowly. “The truth, right. The very standard that you’re known for.” Glancing down, he seems to consider something; pushing back, he sits fully on the desk, his legs hanging over, his feet barely touching the floor. He folds his hands in his lap and regards me thoughtfully.

“I can give you a choice, Trunks, and you can decide which route you’ll take.”

I swallow hard and furrow my brow. There’s something in his voice that puts me on edge and I wonder for a second or third time if I’d be able to beat him in a fist fight.

“Ok,” I say, not letting on that I’m anything but confident.

“You can take the next hour and write the paper you should have handed in today–“

“You want me to write fifteen pages in an hour?” I exclaim, indignation raising my temperature and coloring my cheeks. I’m halfway out of my seat and pissed beyond words.

“Third time’s the charm?” he replies with that stupid, self-assured look he gets when he knows he’s right. My hands are in fists and I’m breathing hard.

Anger’s not just an emotion in my house, it’s a way of life. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my teacher was trying to push me over the edge.

“Or…” he dangles the word in front of me like a lifeline.

I swallow back a hot retort and grind out, “Or what?”

He smirks. “You take an oral exam right now in place of it.”

I’m fucking super-human but I’m not awesome enough to write fifteen coherent pages in an hour. Not unless it was about how much I wanted to put my fist in Gohan’s face.

I don’t think that’d get me an A. Swallowing the angry reply that stings the tip of my tongue, I sit back in my seat. I’m sure my glare could make most of my classmates willingly sign over their inheritances.

But Gohan doesn’t acknowledge it at all. Raising a brow, he tilts his head. “Well? Which would you prefer?”

I grit my teeth, feigning civility. It must be in my eyes, though. I’m not awesome enough to mask how much I want to rip the smile off his face. My father taught me a lot of things; controlling my anger wasn’t even on the list.

“You know I don’t have a choice, sensei.”

Gohan opens his hands diplomatically. “We always have choices, Trunks. You chose to come to class without your essay. Now, instead of giving a zero for the assignment, I’m giving you the option of making it up.” His eyes harden. “Right now.”

“But what about that other kid!” I exclaim indignantly, pointing toward the door. “He gets to turn it in on Wednesday with barely a penalty while I get the fucking run around–“

“Trunks,” he snaps in a way that actually shuts me up. There’s a tone in his voice I’ve never heard before. “You will watch your language in my classroom.”

I look away. It’s not often I admit defeat but I don’t see any way to win this without completely failing Philosophy of the Masters in Modern Technology. And trust me, students in this school don’t fail their classes. They get down on the fucking ground and lick their teachers’ shoes for a C- when it looks like all hope is lost.

“I’ll take the oral exam,” I mutter, stuffing my notebook into my bag and ripping the zipper closed.

“What was that?”

I suppress a growl. “I said I’ll take your fu–fricking oral exam.” I swallow dryly, standing and throwing my bag over one shoulder. “In your office, right?” I wait seemingly patient while he gathers his briefcase.

Man, let’s just get this over with.

I try to calm myself down as we walk across campus. There’s actually a class offered in the fall on controlling your temper in a professional environment. Unfortunately, I’m not sure it applies to those of us with inherently pissed off space monkey genetics. The only way I know to channel my anger is through my fists. I’d almost stake my entire grade on beating Gohan if it just got me out of this bizarre situation.

They’ve stuck the philosophy professors in this tiny little white capsule near the library. It’s obviously not part of the original campus. Curry College is a couple hundred years old and most of the buildings are under code and a fire hazard. Maybe that’s the real reason Gohan and I don’t settle this the good old-fashioned Saiyan way–neither one of us wants to be responsible for burning a national landmark to the ground.

I don’t hate school, just him, and I think I’d almost be ok if he’d ditch the superiority complex. He’s ten years older than I am, not god. I’m not sure when, exactly, his attitude toward me changed. We used to get along when Goten and I were kids. Then, one day a couple years ago I showed up at Goten’s house to spend the night or something and Gohan was there. I remember he seemed surprised to see me and I said something sarcastic. That’s when he started acting like he hated me.

It couldn’t be because of that thing I said, right? That was years ago! That’d be stupid, even for Gohan. Sons are supposed to be all about forgiveness. I can’t even remember what it was now. Probably something juvenile about a picture lasting longer.

He has the decency to hold the door for me when we walk into the department. There’s a kid I recognize as a senior holding down the fort; he looks up when we enter.

“Hey, Son-sensei,” he says. Gohan returns his greeting and the kid gives me the once-over. I’m sure he knows who I am. Everyone in the whole fucking world knows my face.

“I’ll be holding an exam in my office for the next hour,” Gohan says, taking out the keys to his door. “I’m not to be disturbed for any reason, understand?”

The senior nods obediently. “Sure thing.”

As I walk by the front desk, we make brief eye contact. It’s almost animalistic around here the way we evaluate each other. There’s a surprising absence of that in his expression, though, and I’m totally stunned when he winks at me.

“Good luck, Briefs-san.”

I frown. What the hell…then the color bleaches from my face. Oh, shit. The kid thinks I’m gonna fuck my teacher for a better grade and he’s playing the goddamn guard.

When I said that to Gohan last week, I was only making a point that he was being unfair. I didn’t mean–

The senior laughs into his sleeve, disguising it in a cough. I think he takes my mortified look as a sign of guilt.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I hear Son-sensei’s one of the nicer ones.”

My eyes shoot to the door in shock. That’s fucking impossible, right? Saint Son Gohan doesn’t let his students lay down for their grade.

Does he…?

I have to admit, it’s not exactly the best kept secret around here. It’s common knowledge that some of the teachers have a kinky interpretation when it comes to extra credit.

But Gohan…?

I’m wondering how fast I can fly the fuck out of here when Gohan pops his head through the door and beckons me with a gesture. He doesn’t even speak. I wonder if this time Briefs Trunks is truly fucked.

Damn you, Goten. I fucking hate you right now for even making me consider following through. I can’t believe you’ve actually done those things with your brother.

I can’t believe that I jerked off to it after you’d fallen asleep. I’m not usually that easily turned on. But Son on Son? That’d get any guy with a pulse, let me tell ya.

The cell phone in my pocket vibrates again as Gohan shuts the door behind me. Ignoring it, I slip my bag slowly off my shoulder and swallow.

I feel really insecure right now. This isn’t like fighting. I don’t know the rules here. Papa never prepared me for subtle subversion like this; we princes go in fists blazing.

Gohan gives me a glance, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. It’s a small office predictably filled with books and stacks of papers. He’s like his brother that way but more organized. The only window is to my left. A part of me dies when he walks over and pulls the blinds, obscuring a nice, public view of the quad.

“I don’t want any distractions,” he explains, taking a seat behind his desk. I’m shocked at how clean it is. I mean, there’s no indication that he was working on anything. No post-it notes, no empty coffee cups. Not even a family photo.

I sit carefully on the edge of the chair.

His eyes narrow uncharacteristically. I never knew how much I used that dopey smile of his as a support. This almost Saiyan look he’s got throws me.

“You look nervous,” he says quietly.

I summon my charisma to deal with my lack of confidence. “Well, I’m assuming it’s cumulative which means I only have five hundred pages of reading that I didn’t memorize before I got here to contend with.” I toss him a shitty smirk, flopping back in the chair, my arms thrown over the rests. “Oh, sure, I feel on top of the world.”

He folds his arms loosely.

“Explain Tekko-sensei’s worldview and how it affected the advancement of society during his time.”

I grin. I’ve got this one. “Hai Tekko saw living things as little more than machines. By building primitive robots he was able to liken human anatomy to that of an artificial being, bringing civilization out of the supernatural stage and pioneering the Age of Medicine.”

He nods the slightest bit. “What was his greatest obstacle?”

“Idolatry. The recreation of human imagery was forbidden by their religion. He was almost executed four times for being a heretic when all he was trying to do was stop ‘doctors’–“ I put the word in quotes, “–from cutting up people who had the flu to appease the spirit world.”

Gohan’s expression hasn’t changed. It’s alarmingly neutral.

“Five times,” he corrects.

I wave my hand dismissively. “Four. Five. Whatever.”

“What is his legacy?”

I cross one leg over the other and shake the hair back from my face. I’m getting over this weirdness in my gut and feeling more myself. I guess sometimes an oral exam isn’t a euphemism for sucking off your sensei.

I knew Gohan’d be too fucking pansy to try that shit.

We go back and forth like this for the next fifty-five minutes. He’s punctual, I’ll give him that. When it hits the hour mark, he lets me finish my answer, then leans down to retrieve his briefcase, flipping it open and taking out the stack of essays. I sit there for a moment while he continues to ignore me.

“And?” I quip. “Is that all?”

He glances up over his glasses through the bit of black that falls forward in his eyes. The pen in his hand pauses over the first paper.

“You can go.”

I’m so confused. Brow drawn, I stand, gathering my bag. I stop with my hand on the door.

“That was worth at least a B.”

He stops, focused forward on his desk. Arching a brow, he scribbles something in the margin of an essay.

“C minus.”

“What?! ” I want to ascend in ways that I haven’t wanted to do since I was a kid learning to control my power. “How was that a C minus? I answered all your questions–“

He puts his hands on his desk and stands and I hate that he’s taller than I am, even leaning forward. There’s a bite in his voice and a sharpness to his eyes.

“You neglected the most important mechanisms for the Technological Revolution, thought Doctor Gero was a carbonated beverage–“

“Oh, come on,” I bark. “I was kidding, for fuck’s sake!”

I swear there’s blue in Gohan’s double-black eyes. He stands to his full height. I know if we were anywhere but in his office, he’d have me on the ground and bloody. I’m starting to think that’s all he really wants from me, anyway.

So, why play it safe with nothing to lose?

“Why the hell do you hate me so much, Gohan?” I drop my bag and face him completely. “What about me gets your fucking panties in a bunch, huh?” I step toward him, and plant my pointer finger in his chest. He barely moves; his eyes are seething.

“What about me pisses you off so much you can’t stand the sight of me?” I hiss. My eyes narrow balefully up at him. I adjust my weight evenly on both feet in case he decides to strike. Office or not, I wouldn’t put it past him. I think I’m really pushing his buttons.

He moves faster than I ever would have given him credit for. But then, we haven’t sparred in over three years. And I’m not keeping up with it like I should.

I’m face down against his desk, someone’s unfortunate essay crumpled against my cheek. My arm’s twisted behind my back and pulled painfully; I gnash my teeth as he hikes it higher. His other hand is against the desk by my hip. The weight of his body holds me down.

“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Trunks?” he growls. I’ve never heard him use a tone like this. It’s low and feral. I realize a second later what it reminds me of–my father.

“You think I hate you? That’s the reason I push you away? The reason I provoke you?”

I crush a cry as he jerks my arm, tossing my head. I swear to Dende the damn thing’s gonna break. “Gohan!”

He makes a low, Saiyan sound in the back of his throat that makes the hair on my body rise.

“You want an A, Trunks? Does it mean that much to you? Because I’ll give it to you…”

My eyes sting with the pain; my other arm is trapped beneath my body and I can’t move out from under him.

My sense of reality shifts when he kicks my legs apart. I jerk my head up, twisting around as best I can to look at him.

His eyes are blue and there’s something so incredibly Saiyan about him I don’t breathe.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper.

I’ve never been so happy to hear a knock before in my life. His eyes flash to the door and his lip curls. The hand on my wrist tightens and I stifle another cry of pain. For a moment, I’m absolutely positive he’s going to ignore it and fuck me anyway.

I swear that’s the look he gave me. Son Gohan wants a piece of my ass. I can’t even–

“Son-sensei? I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s been an hour and you have an urgent visitor.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; when they open again, there’s no trace of blue.

“I’ll be out in a moment.” His voice is tight but calm.

Contorted painfully, I can’t see the look he gives me but I feel the pressure of his body intensify briefly.

“You’re lucky in ways you can’t even imagine, Trunks,” he whispers close to my ear. I feel his weight on my back, his leg between mine and I honestly couldn’t tell you if it turns me on or not. I’ve always thought of him as such a pushover, this new personality does not compute.

Maybe this is what Goten was talking about. Maybe this is the dominating sex demon that lets his brother suck him off?

He lets me up without another word. My shoulder fucking hurts but I don’t rub it. A Saiyan prince shows no weakness. Clenching and unclenching my hand returns feeling to the limb; I stand and move away from his desk. No matter what my pride dictates, I just can’t look him in the eye.

“Get out of my office,” he says, his tone low with warning. Nodding, I find the door. I feel like I should be pissed off, but all I can register is relief as I leave.

I think I got off easy, or something. Like suddenly Son-fucking-Gohan is a force of nature that almost ripped me to pieces but didn’t.

“Trunks-kun!”

Goten’s high-pitched call wrenches me back to the present. I stare at the wide blacks of his eyes like we’ve never met. His brow pinches with confusion and he steps closer with concern.

“Goten? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I brought your paper,” he says, thrusting the folder toward me. “You left it on your desk this morning. I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up.”

“Cell phones aren’t permitted in the classroom,” Gohan’s dark voice says behind me. I swallow hard and look toward the door of the department. I need to get the fuck outta here.

“Niichan…” Goten closes his mouth and pulls his lips inward, my essay still extended. His gaze goes back and forth between us and I can’t stop the blush that rises to my cheeks. It doesn’t matter that we didn’t do anything. I feel like I’ve bent over for him anyway, and thanks to the grinning work study student, the whole campus’ll think so, too.

“I’ve got to get to my next class,” I say lamely, pushing lightly past my best friend. I’m trying to play it cool, but every muscle in my body is tense, like Gohan might decide at any moment that I’ve committed some unspeakable act that can only be cured by pinning me to another piece of furniture.

I should have known when he split my lip last week. The way he’d thrown me against that wall was harsh, even for a Saiyan. It was an outburst befitting my father, not my friend’s passive push over of an older brother.

Or at least, that’s what I thought he was. Now? I’m not so sure.

That conundrum follows me all the way to Bio-chem where I take the next hour and a half to contemplate the bizarre complexities of Son Gohan.