Protection the Mirai Way by StarbearerTM
Summary: Now that he’s training Future Trunks to face the androids, Future Gohan applies the techniques that Piccolo used on him. Yet can his training ‘protect’ Trunks when feelings can get in the way?
Categories: Anime, Anime > Dragon Ball Division Characters: Mirai Trunks (Future Trunks), Son Gohan
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes Word count: 6470 Read: 2620 Published: 06-17-08 Updated: 06-17-08
Story Notes:
This is Future Gohan and Future Trunks, just to clarify, and happens in the midst of Trunks training. Many thanks to Lord Truhan for encouragement writing this pairing! I am using the timeline written by Lord Truhan as reference for this fan fiction.

1. Chapter 1 by StarbearerTM

2. Chapter 2 by StarbearerTM

Chapter 1 by StarbearerTM
Author's Notes:
First fiction writing this pairing. It’s pretty much in the Future Gohan/Trunks timeline. Future Trunks is 16 and Future Gohan is 23.
*Water was essential to life just as much as training is to mine*, Son Gohan thought, fighting the urge to wipe sweat from his brow.

His shadow glided with the movements of another, longer but at the same angle. Son Gohan’s dark brows furrowed in intense concentration, locking with those of his younger opponent. Oddly, the roles of years past were reversed with a lifetime of choreography entrusted to him by Piccolo. Now his pupil upraised hands at forty-five degree angles, hunching his shoulders with his head tipped back to compensate for being shorter then Son Gohan. Tendrils of lavender hair stuck to the sweat that blistered from his forehead.

“Think fast, and don’t hesitate!” Gohan barked, before he accelerated his entire body. Narrowed blue eyes stared shortly to track his movement, and Gohan arched around behind his student.

For miles around stretched spires of rock, jutting out of sand that had crumbled and eroded under years of weathering. Far from any of the ruined cities of the Androids, but closer to Gohan’s mountain home they continued to train. In the distance the extending bands of brown turning to dark green indicated the change in landscape that preceded a half hour flight to the Son residence. At times their training grounds changed, in order to keep one step ahead of possible ambush, Gohan reasoned.

Fortunately, this time as Gohan’s fist flashed out, he impacted Trunks slender upraised wrist. Tilting his torso back a slight bit, he avoided Trunks’ counterpunch. This time only inches from his nose the clenched hand passed, pleasing him. Indeed Trunks was getting closer to actually tagging him. So focused were the blue eyes on the attack, that Gohan then thrust his leg out, his thigh crashing into those of Trunks.

Knocked off balance Trunks quickly recovered, just in time for Gohan to pivot his body on one foot and lash out with a kick. Fumbling Trunks tucked his body inwards and raised one knee to block. His face clenched in pain with the near solid crack, but Gohan felt the resistance through his entire leg. Arching backwards, Trunks landed on his back, and then rolled over out of the way of Gohan’s downward facing elbow as he pounced. Sand flew up into his face, but Gohan ignored it, excited to see that Trunks speed had slowly increased.

Back of his capsule T-shirt and sweats coated with a layer of sand, Trunks rolled halfway on his back to regain his footing. This time he leaned back again to dodge the next two kicks and punches thrown by Gohan. This time Trunks spun and shot out with his own punches. Gohan felt the impact of the right fist on his forearm, but then felt the pressure of Trunks shoulder and other fist slamming into his gut.

*It was a bit sloppy*, Gohan had to admit, but forceful enough because he found himself grunting from some of the wind knocked from his belly. It propelled him back, but he snapped around once more for another try.

This time Trunks dodged under his next punch, and his body blurred into navy blue, white, and lavender before Gohan’s eyes. However, Gohan automatically swept out his arm, feeling the solidness of Trunks belly yielding against his sharp elbow. He steeled himself against the frustrated grunt and sound of his student’s body thudding to the sand.

“Dammit,” Trunks gritted, his eyes squeezed shut.

Hair fanned out to the side, and doubled up with knees pressed into his chest Trunks wrapped his arms around his injured midsection. At that moment, he seemed much smaller and younger, triggering a split second deluge of memories.

Two years ago a peculiarly nasty assault on North City as the deadly duo of Androids had smashed apart the central shopping complex. The local hospital of North city was far too ruined to accommodate all the disaster victims. Some of her employees had piloted a rescue craft to pick up whatever survivors there were. Then Bulma’s local Capsule plant there had set up dozens of palates for the refugees. Capsule more often than not function as a field hospital more than a technological factory. Bulma’s bots and medical teams had tried to set up as much machinery as possible. Not to mention enough pieces of equipment to keep the people alive long enough for their city to rebuild suitable shelters. Several hundred souls needed food and drink, and medical care. At times, like that he helped Bulma keep the water purification system or the hydroponic bots control units.

As always Trunks was right there helping wrap bandages or staunch heavy bleeding when there weren’t enough medical volunteers. By the time, they all had returned to Capsule, Bulma had offered them all places to sleep and recover. Gohan had taken the room down the hall from Trunks, and remembered tossing and turning in the borrowed bed only to hear that bloodcurdling scream. A soft cry of fear turned into outrage as Trunks had burst out of fitful sleep and hurled aside covers. Gohan had remembered the sheer force and anguish in that voice, and had found himself rushing from the place he had slept that night at capsule two years ago.

“Trunks, come on, I know I didn’t hit you that hard! Get up!” he couldn’t stop himself from shouting.

Damn it he was getting too soft, all because he couldn’t help wincing from the pain he guessed Trunks must have been feeling. Despite his better impulse, he stepped forwards, leaning over the huddled lad. Slowly Trunks rolled over onto his back, teeth gritted and graceful lavender brow knitted in pain.

Gohan’s brows knit, confused and concerned because he was certain there was enough force in his punch not to cause so much damage. *Surely, Trunks had taken more solid punches then this, so why was he shuddering so much without rolling again to his feet?*

“Trunks?” Gohan lowered his voice, bending his knee more firmly.

Yet two sky blue eyes popped wide open, and sand hissed with the sudden movement of the once curled body. A loud shout accompanied the forward thrust of two legs at Gohan. Pain erupted, and he drew his abdomen tight, seeing through the pain that was little in magnitude to many injuries, but struggling to process what he’d seen. He had just glimpsed Trunks pressing the flats of both hands planted in the sand behind him, then levering his entire body upwards and landed his feet in the pit of Gohan’s stomach. The clever smirk covering Trunks face at that moment infuriated and invigorated Gohan as he glided back, still curling in on his own body.

“Nasty trick, but not too bad,” Gohan wheezed.

*Don't EVER let down your guard, you idiot! Pay attention! Don't let feelings get in the way, you'll get killed!* Piccolo’s voice echoed Gohan’s mind, reprimanding him for a moment of weakness. Nevertheless Gohan couldn’t help hesitating a mere second to see the boy curled up on himself. It reminded Gohan of how vulnerable after Trunks was, after days of calmly sorting out the damaged bodies pouring in. In sleep, his mind processed the afterimages.

More and more people each day would seek refuge inside the huge cracked done of their corporation, and fewer scientists remained alive to keep the company running smoothly. Trunks had seen progressively more death and destruction at close hand since that night, and Gohan knew exactly what the substance was that comprised his nightmares. For he had seen such horrors himself.

“I have to admit you did get me there, Trunks. Not bad,” Gohan relented, staring down at the hunched figure. Trunks really WAS in a great deal of pain, holding his shoulder and fighting back what gleamed in his blue eyes.

“I know it was dirty, but I couldn’t resist,” Trunks answered, drawing in great draughts of air to counteract the sharp crack of pain spreading like a wave from his right shoulder. He wondered if his arm would move for a day or more.

“True,” Gohan nodded. “I’d say it was worth a time out. We’re done for the day.”

Trunks nodded, a slight smile masking the still surging pain. This time when Gohan leaned forwards and extended a strong hand, trunks outstretched his own ivory fingers. He shivered as they touched the rough palm of Gohan’s hand, and marveled in the strength of the grip. Only a small snap of Gohan’s figure tugged both of them to their feet. More ribbons of sand fell from Trunks back and made their piles in the sand. Gohan resisted a chuckle feeling sand dropping from the back of his gi as well.

Glancing down he saw his fingers were still closed around Trunks hand. Neither questioned the contact, and he felt his role yet again shift. It was not mere protection, Gohan soberly realized as he saw the pride glowing from the youth’s face. He let go reluctantly, seeing Trunks questioning look, and pushed tendrils of the boy’s lavender hair from his face.

“I must smell pretty ripe,” Trunks joked.

“That makes two of us,” Gohan nodded, chuckling himself.

It seemed so natural to raise his hand to pat Trunks on the back, as Trunks stood closer to him. Instead of removing it after the friendly contact, Gohan’s arm rested around Trunks slender shoulders, and he felt Trunks leaning into his body as well. Around his waist, Gohan felt the curling of Trunks smaller arm and pulled the boy towards himself more tightly. The light pressure of Trunks side against his felt safe and reassuring, and necessary.

“Lunch now?” Trunks laughed, glancing up at him.

“Yes,” Gohan nodded, feeling his own stomach rumbling in unison.

That fact reminded him of their similarities, and he did not fight the warmth arising in his stomach and being. Similarly, he didn’t stop the smile twitching his angular cheeks into a grin. That same expression graced Trunks visage as well, and he realized what a relief it was to see him smiling. It was worth a few moments of self-deprecation and stupidity.

*On the other hand, was it?* If he didn’t push Trunks hard enough it would be his own damn fault if the boy died at the hands of the androids. Could he chance letting Trunks fight at his side when the boy wasn’t ready? Yet he had to be.

“Earth to Gohan! You call me a space cadet, remember?” Trunks nudged him, giving his hip a squeeze as they stood there in silence.

“True,” Gohan nodded.

“What’s with the one word answers? Are you pissed that tricked you?” Trunks asked, swinging out from Gohan’s arm to stand right before him. Lavender brows wrinkled in a frown and Gohan again mumbled a curse.

“No and yes. I’m more pissed at myself because I should have known better,” Gohan answered, his eyes narrowing into that stern look that caused Trunks to tense.

“Oh,” Trunks answered, not sure of what to say.

He fought the impulse to laugh and joke whenever Gohan’s face hovered between a serious frown and a reprimand. Still he tightened his grip on Trunks shoulder and said nothing as he pulled the younger man towards him. The urge to protect overpowered the urge to reprimand, and Trunks wound his arms around Gohan’s waist, sensing an automatic need for body contact.

Fingers stroking Trunks soft hair, Gohan allowed more thoughts to spin through his brain. Oddly, the words “safety word” came into his head, and Gohan frowned at himself for another dearth of such thoughts. Not because they were centered on a male object of affection, but because they were surfacing at a very inopportune time. If he showed such concern for Trunks during times such as these, how could he possibly hope to be ruthless enough to harden his training? How could a warrior balance his concern for his pupil and still be as adamant as steel?

Piccolo had done it easily enough. Yet in teaching Gohan years ago, he had learned the softness of love. It was not a weakness but strength. He could still remember cowering in fear as Piccolo had thrown himself in the path of a Saibaman’s ray. At that moment, Gohan knew that Piccolo had accepted what he had called a weakness. Love.

*Love IS not a weakness*, Gohan reprimanded himself.

Yet why did he question it as he and Trunks glanced up at him expectantly, looking for more than just guidance at that moment? It was love that pushed Gohan to show the ruthlessness of Piccolo’s training all these days when he knew Bulma would be furious when she found out. Could he afford to be soft when any moment could be his last, and Trunks would be alone without a guide, without a mentor?

*Without a loved one,* Gohan mentally added as realization dawned.

By now Trunks had pressed his face into Gohan’s chest and his grip had tightened. Gohan leaned down again to pull Trunks face away and hold him at arm’s length. Held against the hard solid body of the older Half Saiyan, Trunks felt himself quivering from head to toe. He could hardly imagine what the other was now thinking, peering up at him with confidence and the surety that always preceded a training session.

Gohan’s eyes widened when he felt Trunks raise a hand of concern and touch the side of his cheek. Neither questioned what silence said. At that moment his sensei’s eyes held such pain and frustration that Trunks wished he could somehow ease it. In turn, the open look of trust and determination gleaming in those blue eyes called to Gohan. It was but a split second, but they both knew what the other was thinking.

At the same time Gohan’s fist tightened on Trunks shoulder, Trunks leaned up towards his mentor. There was something electric and tingling like ki in the moment, and he felt the darkness of concern on that troubled brow. He sought to brush his lips against Gohan’s cheek, but instead Gohan’s descending profile brushed past his. Firm lips found his soft ones, and Trunks relaxed against his mentor’s body as he was pressed to strong muscle clad in baggy gi. A slight brush of Trunks lips against his caused Gohan to shiver, and he swept his tongue lightly forward.

Yielding to the older half saiyan’s advances, Trunks parted his mouth and a surge of hot breath moved between them both. Minute cracklings of ki tingled over his body, and Gohan tasted what seemed like electric blue. He didn’t want to let go of the warmth he had found and protected through hard days of endless training. Yet he found himself angered that at some point he couldn’t have the power to keep his word.

Trunks would have to protect himself one of these days. Moreover, that realization made him drink all the more firmly from the soft moving lips tasting his for the first time. Gently Gohan boosted him up and felt the wrap of young slender arms around his muscled neck. Lips parting for breath, their foreheads pressed tightly and damp with sweat, pants fanning each other’s faces. As close as could be, cobalt blue eyes and ebony ones firmly locked, their determination shared.

“I won’t always be able to protect you,” Gohan found himself saying.

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t need protecting. We’ll both have each other’s backs, Gohan. I promise,” Trunks exhaled deeply, his gaze wide and full of wonder.

“I know,” Gohan began to mouth, but stifled his impulse to ruin the moment by moving his mouth again over Trunks.

Saying nothing, they basked and drank in the comfort that they could provide. Then reluctantly Gohan released him from the embrace, his mask of hard objectivity again arising. Licking his lips Trunks felt the awkwardness falling on them both.

“Gohan, are you all right?” Trunks asked.

“Food would be good. I don’t know about you, but my mom always cooks more than she can eat. And she’s closer,” Gohan answered, cutting off Trunks concerned question.

“Sounds good to me, but are you sure you’re okay?” Trunks answered, frowning slightly that Gohan had suddenly plastered on what seemed like a generic Son smile and tugged at his sleeve.

“Show me if you can fly any faster, Trunks. You’re going to need to crank up the pace to get there before its all gone, food wise,” Gohan laughed. Already he levitated upwards, and Trunks blasted off after him so he wouldn’t be left behind.

“Dammit Gohan, stop shutting me out,” Trunks found himself saying.

It was as if Gohan couldn’t decide between being the stoic protector and someone free to feel. Far more then just friend or confidant, but lover perhaps? In catastrophic times like those they now inhabited, love was a rare treasure that should be siezed while it lasted, lest it shatter forever unrequited. Would he have to settle for brief cracks in the fašade, or would that kiss be the prelude to something else, Trunks wondered? He didn’t know that Gohan had the very same thought as they blazed their way across the ruined wastelands towards Gohan’s mountain home.

*Am I his sensei, lover, or both?* Gohan pondered, his dark brows knitted in aggravation. Dare he even think of his own needs for one moment when so many counted on him?

*Perhaps yes…* he nodded soberly. Especially since love was the force that drove his father to greatness and beyond. Pure love in all forms no matter what was irrepressible.
Chapter 2 by StarbearerTM
Author's Notes:
This scene has a bit of intimate contact through clothes, but is rather hot. This is Future Gohan and Future Trunks, just to clarify, and happens in the midst of Trunks training. Many thanks to Lord Truhan for encouragement writing this pairing! I am using the timeline written by Lord Truhan as reference for this fan fiction.
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.

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 wrist later Trunks heard the thump of his 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 the younger Saiyan 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 tanned 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.

The lavender haired Saiyan 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. The future was theirs, and they only hoped there would be enough to explore what had been set afire between them.
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