Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Addictions ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Addictions

Rated: NC17

Pairing: Gohan/Trunks

Pairing Hints: Goten/Trunks, Videl/Gohan, Videl/Trunks, hints of Videl/Goten

Warnings: S&M, Gohan torture, drug usage, yaoi, depression, attempted suicide, no incest by some strange miracle… *blink*

Summary: When Videl and Gohan's marriage begins to fall apart, Trunks sees his chance to jump in and take what he's always wanted… but there's a small problem. What caused the marriage to crumble, and will Goten and Videl just stand by and watch their loves be taken away?

Inspired by: Hope is just a terrible desire, like an addiction. When the drug looses its effect, comes back ten times worse. He knew it, still kept deceiving himself, and hoping his life would be better somehow. He was wrong and the truth hurt him even worse. Hope was only an illusion, a drug, and he'd had enough of it. In the end, he simply gave up. (Twisted Mourning by Karen! Thanks JJ, for pointing that out!)

Gohan hated losing control. Within the last few months, it seemed that's all his life had been: out of control. All his life, things had been calm and manageable, but now… now everything was just fucked up. He sat on Trunks' desk, waiting for the President of Capsule Corporations to grace the lowly Son with his presence. Gohan was quickly growing impatient, and the drink in his hand was now warm, the ice long since melted. The evening was growing late, and Gohan was getting hungry, but he remained for the sake of his sanity. He couldn't face Videl… not right now… and he was slowly beginning to wonder if he could ever look at his wife again.

He sighed impatiently and turned, setting the glass down, eyes circling the desk. Trunks' office was so large and lavish. A bar filled with every kind of alcohol that had ever existed rested in the far corner, shelves of various types of glasses behind the counter. The desk that Gohan sat on was at least worth a grand or two, if not triple that amount. In boredom, Gohan reached out, fingers wrapping around a small metal stick that rested amid the collection of pens. He removed it from the collection of writing utensils and stared at the pointed end of the letter opener. He scowled as it realized it must have cost at least a few hundred dollars.

Trunks loved to flaunt his money.

Turning back away from the desk, Gohan crossed his ankles, eyes wondering over the pale dull walls, staring at the lavish and plush furniture. Opener still clutched in his hand, Gohan didn't notice the sharp edge brushing against his wrist until he felt the cool blood spilling across his skin. He pulled his hand back from the wound, glancing down as the droplets dripped onto his pants, staining the pale gray material. He chuckled and shook his head, wiping away the small trail of blood that had formed.

"Glad you could come, Gohan," Trunks smirked as he stepped in front of the demi-Saiyajin. Gohan jumped, the letter opener clattering to the floor at his feet. Trunks watched with a chuckle as Gohan's hand clamped down over the wound that had been formed. The darker demi cleared his throat and rose from the desk, clasping his hands behind his back. "I-I-I've been waiting for half an hour, Trunks! Damn it, I have things to do."

"I'm sure," Trunks nodded, kneeling down and grabbing the opener. He twirled it between his fingers as he circled his desk, plopping down in the leather swivel chair. Feet propped up on the wood, Trunks brought up the blade, allowing the glare of the lights to blind Gohan for a brief second. Blood dimmed the lights just slightly. "Want me to get a bandage for that wound, Gohan?" Trunks raised a brow.

Gohan watched in silence as the blade was brought up to moist lips. A tongue darted out, running down the length of the handle, dodging the blood. Gohan's brow narrowed and he scowled, but Trunks only smirked in response. The blade passed through Trunks' lips, running across his tongue, breaking the skin. New scarlet blood intermingled with Gohan's life fluid. Wet lips closed around the blade's exterior. Gohan watched with wide eyes as Trunks swallowed. The blade emerged from his lips clean. "Uh… no," Gohan managed to mutter. Trunks crooked a brow, watching Gohan intensely, before shrugging and settling the opener down on the desk. "How's Videl?"

"Damn it, Trunks! Stop fucking with me!"

Trunks grinned, eyes wandering up to the ceiling. "What an interesting choice of words."

The scowl on Gohan's face grew fiercer. "I know what you've been doing to me and I want you to stop it, you fucking freak!" Gohan stormed forward and slammed his fist on the surface of the desk, glaring at Trunks as if his eyes could cause the demi-Saiyajin to drop dead before him. Trunks met his glare with a chuckle. "Why, Gohan, I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about." Trunks allowed his feet to drop from the desk. He leaned forward, folding his arms, and smiled as innocent as the day he was born. Their lips were only inches apart, and Trunks could smell the mixed scent of liquor and blood.

Gohan swallowed, but he was tired of all the games. Just weeks after Chichi's death, he'd been fired from his job without reason. Weeks of searching for another job had passed while his marriage to Videl failed. It hadn't taken long for him to figure out just why he couldn't get a job. Trunks was keeping anyone from hiring him. The influence of Capsule Corporation stretched for miles, throughout the entire country, and though they didn't control other countries, their word may as well have been law. Unless Gohan moved to the other side of the planet, he didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell at getting a job until Trunks told people that he could be hired. "I want to know why you're blacklisting me!"

"I want you to work for me, Gohan," Trunks smirked.

Lips parting in a silent gasp, Gohan could only stare in disbelief at Trunks. The powerful demi-Saiyajin smirked, hand snaking out just outside of Gohan's vision to grasp the letter opener. With a smirk, Trunks leaned forward across the desk, claiming Gohan's lips violently, causing the darker demi to jerk back with a gasp. Hand clenched around the opener, Trunks jumped over the desk and grabbed Gohan's shirt, pulling the older demi close against him. The blade brushed against the Son's skin, causing Gohan to freeze as Trunks' lips again brushed against his. The skin was broken shallowly, blood soiled his shirt, dripping down onto his already stained pants.

Against Trunks' body, Gohan shivered.

Smirking, Trunks pulled back. He allowed his eyes to trace down Gohan's figure, and only a second later, the hand clutching the blade followed that same path, halting at the zipper of Gohan's slacks, just above the bulge that pleaded for attention.

Slipping the opener inside a pocket, Trunks stepped back and crooked a brow. "Go home and think about my offer. Get your conditions… figure out what you want. We'll do lunch tomorrow… discuss our circumstances."

With a nod, Trunks motioned to the door.

Dazed, Gohan could only turn and rush out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.

~*~

It was almost midnight when Gohan returned home to an empty house. There was only a plate of burnt meat and beans in the microwave, no note from his wife, not that he really cared. It was becoming more and more obvious that Videl was having an affair, and at the moment Gohan was too tired to care about anything. He scowled at the meal and left the kitchen in favor of a hot shower.

He had walked the streets for the past few hours, trying desperately to figure out how things had gotten so out of control. There was no sanity to life anymore. Gohan couldn't grasp anything, and then out of the blue Trunks had appeared, making a bad situation even worse.

Stepping into his bathroom, Gohan shed his bloody clothes, tossing them into the wastebasket a few feet away. He didn't know the first thing about doing laundry, and Videl sure as hell wasn't going to wash his clothes. Turning on the water, Gohan stepped in, wincing in pain as steam began to rise. Though his skin was on the verge of melting off his bones, Gohan leaned into the hot spray, eyes closed, sighing in relief. His arms extended, pressing his hands against the wall, head bowed. The scalding water roamed over every curve of his body, dripping down between the curves of his buttocks, causing him to shiver as the droplets clung to his hardened shaft and sensitive ball sac. His skin began to darken a deep red.

"Fuck," he hissed, resting his forehead against the coolness of the wall. Each muscle of his body ached and he couldn't take it anymore! He reached down, roughly grabbing the base of his shaft and jerking in harsh movements that were more painful than pleasurable. A quiet moan left his lips as his head struck the wall. He grunted as his teeth clamped down on his tongue, drawing blood. He cursed aloud, turning and leaning back against wall. The water sprayed down on him, burning his shoulders and chest, making him squirm in pain as his free hand cupped and squeezed his balls, nails digging into the thin skin. His heartbeat tripled as his breath came in ragged gasps.

Seed spilling and mixing with the water, Gohan slid down, knees against his chest as the water continued to spill down over him. He panted for breath, eyelids closed tightly as the aftershocks wore off.

Reaching up, he turned off the water and leaned back with a sigh. Trunks… no matter how hard Gohan tried, his thoughts constantly drifted back to the lilac-haired prince. The sight of Trunks parting his lips for the blood-stained blade… the taste of his tongue searching Gohan's mouth….

Eyes drifted over to the slacks resting on the floor. The letter opener had fallen from his pocket and rested on the floor, a small droplet of blood staining the silver. With the thick steam in the room, it almost blended in to the surroundings, but the small droplet that stained the blade refused to allow Gohan even this brief moment of sanity. Rising slowly to his feet, faint beads of blood tracing down between his thighs, Gohan climbed out of the shower and staggered over, kneeling down in front of the bundle of clothes. His fingers circled the silver, drawing it up from the floor to stare at the clash of colors. It was still warm, and the scent of Trunks' skin remained on the blade. Gohan sat back against the wall, eyes locked on the blade.

With a sigh, he broke his gaze, glaring up at the ceiling. His vision was blurry, and his head was throbbing from straining his eyes all afternoon. Gohan had lost his glasses early that morning, and Trunks' sudden determination, shocking demand for Gohan's life to be served beneath his….

It was just what Gohan expected from Trunks Vejita Briefs.

Brows narrowed as Gohan hissed, head falling back against the wall, eyelids sliding closed. Blood spilled from his palm as the blade pierced his skin. The scars from the previous wounds had just begun to fade, but Gohan couldn't seem to stop now. The pain made him shiver, ache for more, throb for anguish. Scars covered his body, faint and barely visible. Videl had not appreciated or approved of his desires and needs. It was just another factor that had prevented them from having a happy life. His lust for pain had always been there, lurking in the back of his mind. Battles, training, violence - they had just encouraged his addiction, but now it was more powerful than ever. The brief touches, the small nip… Trunks was the cause.

Gohan groaned as his arousal began to ache. He couldn't do this! With a growl, he tossed aside the blade, watching it skid to a halt against the opposite wall with a small clang. Fuck… this was Trunks! Trunks, of all people!

Sighing, he turned his head aside, refusing to look at the blade that was mocking him beneath the harsh glare of the lights. He wouldn't give Trunks the sick satisfaction of arguing over conditions. He would go to that damn luncheon, and tell the younger demi exactly what he thought of the offer.

~*~

"Sir, you need a dinner jacket."

Gohan stared in shock at the looming waiter that was scowling at him. The little luncheon that Trunks had mentioned wasn't exactly what Gohan had expected. When he had arrived at Capsule Corps that afternoon, Trunks' bubblegum-chewing secretary had handed him a small slip of stationary. On the paper, in Trunks' scrawled handwriting, had contained the address to some French restaurant. Irked beyond words, but lacking the rudeness to just completely ignore the invitation, Gohan had jumped in a cab.

The idea of needing a suit had never occurred to him. Gohan glanced down to his faded jeans and oversized sweatshirt and blushed furiously. He cleared his throat and offered the stuffy waiter a classic Son grin of embarrassment. "Uh, I'll go. Could you just tell Mr. Trunks Briefs that I won't be joining him this afternoon, please, sir?"

Beady black eyes widened. "You are Dr. Son?" The waiter coughed lightly, a gloved hand pressed against his black tie. "Please, sir, right this way. Mr. Briefs had been expecting you." The waiter spun, the tails of his tux flapping with the rapid movement. Gohan stared after the balding man for long moments before sighing in frustration and following.

The sounds of money and class seemed to echo out through the dinner hall. Candles burned on certain tables containing couples, leaving a romantic scent in the air. Giggles of elegant women overpowered the conversation of business men. As Gohan followed the penguin-like waiter, he could see Trunks all the way across the room. A cigarette burned between clenched lips while a golden lighter gleamed beside a half-empty plate. A wine glass, half empty, was being stirred absentmindedly in one hand. Long lavender hair were brushed back, curling around the prince's ears and forgotten. Trunks wore a dark blue suit that seemed to clash with his hair, but at the same time made the lilac locks even more soft.

"Dr. Son," the waiter bowed, motioning to the empty booth across from Trunks. Gohan scowled at the mischievous azure eyes, briefly noticing that the blue of the suit matched Trunks' eyes. "I've just come to tell you that I won't be accepting your offer under any conditions."

Trunks raised a brow, waving away the waiter as if the man wasn't anything more than an annoying bug buzzing in his ear. Gohan glanced at the old man as he wandered off before again turning to Trunks. "That's all. I'm leaving now."

"Roll up your sleeves."

Gohan paused in his movement to leave, throwing a glare at Trunks. "I will do no such thing."

Trunks chuckled, removing the burning cylinder from his lips. "Eventually," he shrugged, tapping the end on the crystal ashtray beside his empty plate. Gohan leaned back against the plush booth, glaring over the table at Trunks. It was then he noticed the burning candles between them. His scowl depended. "What the fuck is this, Trunks?"

"My seduction," smirked the prince.

What response could Gohan offer to that blatant comment? Trunks didn't seem to require one. The lilac-haired delinquent mimicked Gohan's movements, leaning back against the soft velvets of his seat. With a scowl, Gohan's lips parted to demand an explanation, perhaps curse the devilish bane of his existence, but he never got the chance. A pressure against his semi-hardness halted any thought of conversation within Gohan's brain. Obsidian locked on azure as pale lips curved into a sadistic smile. The pressure from Trunks' leather shoes increased, pushing the growing hardness down, against Gohan's right thigh, sending mixed waves of pleasure and pain through the darker demi. "Trunks…" Gohan hissed through gritted teeth.

"You're going to hear my conditions, Gohan. I don't think they are that… unsatisfying." Trunks trailed off as the penguin-butler returned, a menu extended towards the flushed Gohan. "Is there anything I can get either of you?" he asked, a hint of a French accent intermingled with just a bit of British. Gohan licked his lips, struggling to keep himself from panting as the toe of Trunks' shoe descended beneath his erection to press against his already scarred balls. Gohan winced as he felt the wounds from the previous night being reopened. "I… no…"

"Gohan likes fish," Trunks interrupted, offering the waiter a smirk. "Give him some fish… spicy." Devious blue eyes turned to Gohan. "You like things spicy, right, Gohan?"

All Gohan could do was swallow.

"Yes, sir," the waiter nodded with a crooked eyebrow, turning away. Trunks chuckled, eyes watching each stuffy movement.

"Damn it, Trunks!" Gohan snarled, sliding back away from the sly foot. Trunks frowned and pouted. "What, you wanted the chicken?"

"I am not taking this fucking job!"

"Amusing description of the position."

"Fuck you!"

"Eventually…"

Gohan jumped up and leaned over the table, hands gripping the edge of the table. He leaned forward into Trunks' face with a quiet hiss, not wanting to attract anymore attention than they had already earned. "I will not take this job! Leave me alone! I have a life! It doesn't include you."

The sparkles in the blue eyes died quite suddenly. Trunks' hand gripped Gohan's arm, and with his free hand, the sleeve of the sweater was shoved up, revealing the half-healed scars of the previous afternoon. Gohan stiffened, staring down at the marks for a brief moment, before yanking himself away and pulling the sleeve back down.

"I recall a maximum of three scars created yesterday. I see at least five on your arm." Trunks tilted his head to the side, gazing up at Gohan with pure innocence. Frozen, Gohan glared down at Trunks, waiting for the cocky remarks, the snide comments, the sarcastic suggestions, but they did not come.

"I'll pay you well… more money than you'd ever get teaching college or serving some half-baked laboratory in the middle of nowhere. You'll get all the crap you want… and this includes power, Gohan. Everyone at Capsule Corps will be at your beckon call. It's your choice if you want to use that power. I don't care."

Gohan suppressed the growl growing in his throat. "In exchange of what? What do you get out of all of this?"

"Nothing that you don't silently long for in your wet dreams." Trunks motioned towards the seat that Gohan had abandoned moments ago. "Sit down, and we will discuss conditions."

Sliding back into the seat, Gohan scowled. "I will not be your plaything, Trunks."

"Your mind is always in the gutter, Gohan." Trunks grinned, nodding towards the side. Gohan glanced up and stifled an mortified sob as he realized the waiter had been standing behind him for a few long moments. With a disgusted scowl, the waiter sat down the plate and stalked off. "Oh god…" Gohan moaned, folding his arms and burying his face in them. All the while, he heard Trunks' laughter.

"You know, Gohan. Though this is quite a large city, gossip spreads fast. I figure, in a good month, everyone that knows you will know about this, and you know how the truth gets stretched. I won't need to blacklist you anymore!"

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah…" Trunks chuckled, grabbing his wineglass and sipping the cool crimson liquid. Gohan glared up from his folded arms, cheeks finally returning to their natural paleness. The flute was sat down with a small clink. Trunks leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His fingers interlocked, chin resting atop. "I know you, Gohan, better than you know yourself. I've watched you since we were both kids. I'd sit outside your bedroom door when you jerked off, mesmerized every movement."

The redness returned to Gohan's cheeks. He shook his head, sitting back, black eyes wide with disbelief.

"I'd see you cutting yourself, whimpering with the pain. I would listen as you muttered about things being out of control when you were a teenager. You think you hate not being in control, but it's not that way. I've watched you lecture in your classes. I've spied outside your bedroom window when you're with Videl. I know what makes you tick."

"You sick faggot…"

"It's not that you hate not being in control. You want someone to take control for you, to guide your life so that you can live in simplicity. I've done that, Gohan. I have all the aces. I hold the reins. You will work for me. You will do as I say." Trunks smirked, licking his lips. "If you're a good little pet for me, you'll find pleasure in the things I do to you." The smirk faded, replaced by a scowl. "If you're a bad little pet… then I hope your love of pain is passionate."

His heart pounded in his chest. The smell of the fish was making him sick. Gohan struggled to swallow as he stared into Trunks' burning eyes, struggling not to shiver beneath the gaze. Trunks' eyes drifted down to the cooling plate. "Not hungry?"

All Gohan could manage to do was shake his head.

Trunks shrugged, leaning back and glancing at his watch. "What a shame. I must go. I am a busy man, Gohan. See you tomorrow morning." Trunks rose to his feet, straining his jacket with a chuckle. "I'll have some… proper attire sent to your home later tonight. Be there when the package arrives."

To Be Continued…