Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Son Gohan stared over his thin, wired glasses at his young student. His murky chocolate, almost sable eyes took in the essence the sixteen year old had to offer. Briefs Trunks was the son of the most powerful business tycoon in the world, Vegeta, the owner of Saiyan Industries. Saiyan Industries specialized in all kinds of inventions; from the latest and fastest computers to weapons used in the art of war. Vegeta was one to be reckoned with. A formidable mouse-of-a-man so to speak. His whole demeanour was one demanding respect despite his less-than-average appearance. A short man with fiery black hair and piercing black eyes, the man was every bit feral. Gohan figured that if royalty was still around, Vegeta would be crowned king. Gohan glanced at Trunks. The two were so different in appearance. Popsicle blue eyes inherited from his genius mother, Bulma, were as cold as the tundra; icy and inscrutable. Fine fringes of lavender hair dipped sluggishly across the bridge of the boy’s nose, falling short at the tip of his ears. Not overly tall or compact, he was of average height and build; lightly tanned skin giving an almost glowing aura.

Trunks raised his frigid orbs, locking hold on Gohan’s for several seconds before the tutor hastily looked away. The heir frowned for a miniscule amount of time, wondering why his twenty-five year old teacher had been ogling him. A lock of ebony hair lethargically covered Gohan’s eyes, obscuring them from sight. The rest of Gohan’s hair was uncommonly soft, standing spikes. Trunks had felt the strands before when he had fallen asleep against Gohan and woke to find that his hands were tangled in the sleeping man’s hair. Trunks had detached himself before the older man could wake. The violet haired teen closed his Calculus book, waiting expectantly for Gohan to continue with the lesson.

Gohan wordlessly passed Trunks the history book; the last of the four subjects he taught. The first two were Biology and English; a language that was important to master due to the fact that many of the world’s business transactions were in English and/or Japanese. Trunks was truly a genius, every bit of his mother over again. Bulma had been – still was a times – the honorary president of the Board of Science Directors. The woman had created many things in her lifetime but now that she was wife of the infamous Vegeta, that had stopped. Gohan watched Trunks studiously apply himself to his work. His own father, Goku, was the commander of the military in Japan although…not too bright when concerning everyday matters – like the four core subjects – but he was a military genius. Gohan had earned the brains of the family; from his mother Chichi. His younger brother Goten wasn’t all sharp either but he did enough to get by.

Gohan had become a teacher in order to please his mother’s unquenchable thirst for him to better himself. He cursed the fact when he was younger but as days went by, he realized he could never shake Chichi from achieving her goals for him. Teaching was fine, it provided him with financial independence from his parents yet it did hinder his social life; not that he ever had much of one to begin with. Then, six months ago, Bulma had approached him saying that she wished for him to tutor her son who had been kept from public and private schools and was home taught by herself. She explained that life was becoming too hectic for her to keep up with Trunks’ learning and that since Gohan was credited with national and universal honours, he would be the perfect candidate to teach her son. Gohan agreed rapidly; any chance to get out of the teaching field was fine with him and the payment was nearly triple his former salary. Then…he had met Trunks.

The boy was starving for affection he wasn’t receiving. Sure, both parents paid close attention to his academics but not…to him. Gohan wanted to be Trunks’ friend, as well as teacher, but that wasn’t possible. To Trunks, he was just a stone in the way that needed to be removed before becoming the grandiose new president of Saiyan Industries. The time was rapidly approaching. In a few months, Trunks would turn seventeen and then in a year, he would take over Vegeta’s position. Trunks was pure perfection in the physical aspect but when it came to emotional and social qualities, the boy was lacking in more than one area. His attitude was worse then Vegeta’s. Whereas Vegeta was cold and angry, Trunks was quiet and subdued. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was only what really needed to be said. He was a shy boy and stayed far from close contact with his peers; he rarely showed an interest in making friends. Gohan could understand. As the up and rising president, he would only make enemies and friends would betray him. Trunks knew that. It made Gohan sad that Trunks had to endure it all alone when he, himself, would gladly give Trunks the yearning compassion he needed. Gohan didn’t want to press his young charge; not exactly positive on where he stood when coming to sexual orientation or if Trunks even cared enough to want a friend…maybe lover if the opportunity presented itself.

Trunks finished with his history, rising to his feet. Gohan blinked several times to relieve the dazed, day-dreamy haze. Trunks barely nodded before turning on his heel and exiting to his chambers. Trunks shoved open the door to his expansive room, plopping onto the luxuriant bed. He glanced at the clock and frowned. 5:15. Their lessons had gone past the allowed 5:00. Trunks didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to be around someone who didn’t care about his money, looks, and father’s fame. Gohan was genuine and honest about his feelings and had made it clear that he would not stay and teach just because of the money. No, Gohan had said that he wanted to help and that Trunks was too brilliant not to have the education he needed. Trunks’ frown deepened at that thought. Gohan saw him as his student which was all fine and dandy considering he had never been anywhere remotely close to another human being before, expect at the lavish events his parents performed. A line creased the marble smooth forehead. His parents…what a joke. He loved them; they loved him he supposed. Trunks wondered if his existence was just merely tolerated in order for an heir to be established. Trunks’ reverie was interrupted by a cautious knock on his door.

Trunks didn’t bother replying, giving indication he wasn’t going to protest should the person come inside. He was shocked that it was Gohan, not his maid Clarisse. Trunks trained the emotion from his features; let his visage fall back into the familiar stoic resolve. Gohan smiled warmly, eyes crinkling merrily. “You left your jacket in my car.” Gohan laid the leather coat on the back of the computer chair. He gazed at Trunks, hiding his frustration with the boy’s inability to communicate properly. “You should get out more Trunks-san, like you did today. It will do you good. I have to get home to my dismal apartment; it’s dinner time.”

As Gohan turned to leave, a soft voice came through to his ears. “Wait.” Gohan spun on his heel, coming nose to head with the timid boy. A faint blush stole across Trunks cheeks as he peered at his elder. “…with you,” he mumbled, not accustomed to forming complete sentences. Gohan quirked his eyebrows at the words. Trunks found the correct words. “May I come with you…?”

Gohan was taken aback by Trunks’ near whispered question. Before Gohan could answer, a despondent Trunks returned his attention to the floor, shoulders stooping only slightly yet Gohan could tell. “Of course you can come with me Trunks-san.” Gohan grinned brightly, swearing that he saw a flash of what appeared to be relief flash through the lapis orbs. “Do you want to eat out?” Trunks didn’t give it an answer, instead, grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. He padded down the corridor to the main hall, opening the door in the foyer. He paused to wait for Gohan, eager to be on their way.

Sitting in Gohan’s car, Trunks was hit with a wave of nostalgia on the night he spent in Gohan’s arms. The older seemed to not ~want~ to let Trunks go, not that Trunks minded in the slightest. He had long since gotten over the fact that he was now homosexual; thanks to his parents closing him off from nobody but males – save his maid who was in her late forties; the pool boy, the gardener, the mail man, the servants, the chefs, the handy man. Of course he never acted on those urges, content living his own shallow life until he ascended levels to owner of the company. Trunks sank back into the cushiony seat, glad that Gohan abhorred leather seats even more than him. They were uncomfortable and besides…the cushioned ones held scents and Trunks breathed in the spicy cinnamon scent that was Gohan.

Gohan climbed in, smiling vivaciously at the teenager. “Where do you want to go?” Trunks blinked. “Hmm. How about the Eden?” Gohan barely caught the sigh. “You don’t want to go there?”

Trunks swallowed his initial fear at speaking, coming to terms that Gohan was his friend and wouldn’t hurt him, no matter how much his subconscious argued. “I go there all the time.” Trunks looked at the folded hands in his lap. “…I want to be normal.”

Gohan steered into an empty parking lot at the nearby park. He turned the engine off and stared at Trunks. “You are normal Trunks-san.”

“…No…I am not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“…Because of who I am.” The door slammed, snapping Trunks to attention. The passenger side was opened and Gohan pulled the surprised boy out. Trunks’ brows furrowed. “…what?”

“I’m going to show you how normal you are Trunks-san.” Gohan led the following young man through the forestry park, grimacing at the chill wind that howled through the trees. He came to a pause at the cherub fountain, sitting on the edge; the water that normally spewed forth had dissipated due to the coming of winter. Trunks stood, watching the lifeless object. Hands rested on his shoulders, causing him to tense reflexively but he soon sank into the warmth. “You are not different from anyone else Trunks-san. You’re just like everyone else.” Gohan’s hands encircled the youth’s slender frame to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of Trunks’ heart beating against the barrier of muscle, tissue, bone, and flesh. “You have a heart too. Don’t you? Isn’t that all that matters? That your heart beats in tune. Doesn’t that prove you’re not a mannequin?” Trunks nodded breathlessly, leaning into the touch of his tutor. “Doesn’t it prove you’re flesh and blood?” Gohan’s lips brushed the lobe of Trunks ear. “That you can feel emotions? Trunks-san…I’m here as your friend and to show you that you don’t have to face all of this alone.”

“…Hai…Arigatou…Gohan-sama.” Trunks missed the warmth when Gohan pulled away, a cheeky grin on the hardened face. Gohan nodded in the direction of the car. Trunks took in stride beside the man, unable to think of anything more than the feel of Gohan’s lips on his skin.

Gohan turned the ignition over, rolling from the parking lot and heading to the nearest fast food restaurant. Was it just his imagination on overtime or did Trunks actually…enjoy it when he held him?