Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Second Chances for Love ❯ Close Quarters ( Chapter 2 )

 

Second Chances for Love

Chapter 2 Close Quarters

Summary: Taking a gamble, Future Trunks insists on not traveling back in time, but through space. What could be his destination, and what is the depths of his love for Future Gohan?

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, Future Gohan, or Future Trunks. Akira Toriyama does. This is fan fiction, and means no harm to the anime or manga.

Notes:

This story contains Yaoi, male/male. Don't read if you don't like such pairings as I do. This is Future Gohan and Future Trunks. Written with ideas given to me by Truhania, to whom I owe many thanks for getting me started on this!

 

Chapter 2 Close Quarters

Of all sensations, Trunks could readily return to, that of taste and smell were the most primal. Just by retreating a small distance into his memory he could call up the taste of Gohan's lips, and the smell of his slightly sweaty body. Nothing or no one else had the same distinctive scent, which was a slight tang of spice and tingling energy. These two recollections then provided the framework upon which Trunks could call up the image he had constructed in his mind's eye, through which Gohan would continue to live.

Many days filled up with the endless pace of training. Despite his mother's trepidation, and at his insistence, Trunks wanted to fight back. Why shouldn't he join the battle considering that they were the only two with Saiyan blood still alive? The future depended on their survival, and it only seemed rational that Trunks take his rightful place at the side of Earth's now strongest warrior.

Just thinking of him made Trunks heart skip beats. Lately he couldn't stand the thought of not spending as much time as he could around him. Hope renewed standing in his shadow, and in his presence. Both of them shared the bond of half Saiyan blood, and the burning desire for justice. To run and fight another day, or face the scourge of the Androids was the dilemma. Only by escaping to lick their wounds and protect what remained of the human race could they have any chance of defeating the menace that plagued them all.

“Trunks, are you listening?” sounded the voice through the nervousness.

“Of course,” he answered, his eyes taking in the sight of the ebony ones. He could not see his own reflection in them. They reminded Trunks of a starless night or the darkest mahogany wood. Yet they shone far brighter than anything pretty that remained in their world.

Was it his imagination when he felt those dark eyes staring at him with a heat that reached him greater than the sunlight beaming through the holes in the roof? As the muscular hand clamped down on Trunks shoulder, he felt minute sparkles of electricity tingling in their wake. Trunks felt the warmth in his touch, and felt his heart pounding as the gi-clad body approached his.

“I just can't trigger it, Gohan,” whispered Trunks, glancing up at him. Gohan's dark brows furrowed, not marring the angular perfection in his face.

There was no quality of sapphire that held the glint in the younger boy's eyes. Trunks in his sight was perfect. From the curve of his neck to the slenderness of his form that was just beginning to sprout with muscle. Not too muscle-bound was he, yet just enough to feel solid and reassuring when their bodies happened to press close. They would have to be fools not to realize the bond that grew ever stronger between them. A depth of feeling existed from which they both derived their greatest strength. It choked at his soul to see those blue eyes wide with fear of failure, far greater than his fear of death at the hands of the Androids.

“It's strong emotion, primal and deep. Like a switch thrown inside,” Gohan whispered, rubbing his hand down Trunks shirt clad shoulder. “You need to take all your anger, all your outrage and focus it to a narrow point. Then you let it explode in every cell of your body.”

“I hate them so much, and still it's not enough,” Trunks whispered, glancing up at Gohan's dark eyes. Again, he felt himself fixed into their depths. Even the scars seemed to increase the handsomeness of his angular features. His lip firmed as he clenched his teeth and glanced away from Gohan. Deprived of the beauty of Trunks eyes, Gohan frowned.

Those eyes shouldn't see such sorrow. Yet their world was rife with nothing but daily doses. Such eagerness Trunks possessed, and it was a welcome salve to Gohan's torn and hardened heart. Half of him wanted to lock Trunks away, keep him safe and innocent of such grief, while the other half wanted to protect him with every lesson they shared together. Fighting kept them together in the days, but Gohan knew how much he wished their nights…

“Trunks, what's wrong?” asked Gohan, his face serious as he penetrated that sapphire gaze again.

“I don't want to let you down! I want to fight them as much as you do. Please I have to fight. But I want…”

“I know,” Gohan answered, putting voice to the quivering words trembling Trunks young chest against his own. “It's love that triggers the change. Love and loss that leads to anger, and a focused rage. A frightening depth of feeling that few reach.”

“Gohan, I don't want to fail. I couldn't stand the thought of all the training being for nothing. I don't' want to let you down… but I can't…”

“You will. However, pushing yourself until you drop's not an option. I know you've been training even when you're not around me. You want to take them on with me. But you're not ready yet…”

“Promise me you won't go fight them alone Gohan, promise me,” Trunks whispered, squeezing him around the ribs tightly.

“I promise I won't fight them without you knowing first,” Gohan answered, his body tingling at the embrace of his student. For only a moment, they eased the embrace, their eyes again meeting.

“Don't try to trick me like that. Don't screw with me Gohan,” Trunks whispered fiercely. “I can see it in your face. You want to leave me behind. Are you holding back on giving me the answer because you think…?”

“No, I'm not, Trunks. You know better than that!” Gohan glared at him, releasing Trunks from his embrace.

“I have to know, Gohan! Everything is telling me that you'd rather leave me behind and take them on yourself! I don't know why, but …” Trunks trailed off. He pushed against Gohan's chest, trying to break away only to have Gohan's strong hand lock around his wrist.

“Don't make me promise something I can't deliver on, Trunks. I'd do anything to make sure you and Bulma were safe. Sometimes it's better if you stay alive then die next to me. You have to face the fact that one of these times I might not come back… and it's no good if you get in the way without reaching it,” Gohan answered.

“Damn it, Gohan, don't do this,” Trunks whispered. His jaw twisted in anger, but Gohan shook his head. How stupid could he be, giving him such hope and yet causing such pain on his student's face?

“Hatred's only half of what you should feel, Trunks. It's not hatred; it's the strength of the emotion. My dad triggered the change not just out of hatred, but also out of love. For his best friend,” Gohan explained, raising one hand to push aside a lock of lavender hair and tuck it behind Trunks ear. Trunks felt the soft brush of rough hands on his smooth flesh and then angled his face to the side. Some sudden impulse drew him to brush his lips to Gohan's fingers.

Gohan sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the petal soft contact. Trunks blinked up, wondering if he had done something wrong. As he backed away, Gohan's hand still pinned him down, increasing in its grip.

“I… it's nothing. Just forget it, “ Trunks whispered, wanting to voice what his young feelings were screaming, but hoping that Gohan would share. It seemed only natural, only right that the desire and the need would grow to stand not just by his side, but reach out to comfort him in other ways.

To his surprise, Gohan pulled him forwards, seeing the lost look and fear in Trunks' face. The impulse to protect and shelter overrode any reservations. He could feel Trunks need for reassurance, it equaled his own. It was not enough just to train him, spend time with the neophyte warrior. Rather he wanted to give so much more, but Bulma might not understand.

Just because she had lost, her love didn't mean that Trunks should be deprived of the strength of that emotion. Trunks felt the lump in his throat as Gohan's strong arms pulled him close. He pressed his cheek to Gohan's chest, and then wrapped his arms around Gohan's strong waist. Gohan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Trunk's lavender hair.

“Don't,” Gohan whispered. “It's not wrong.”

“I don't want to face them without you Gohan. Don't make me do it. Don't leave me… alone,” Trunks whispered.

“Not now, any way, Trunks,” whispered Gohan. “I don't want to see you dead. Because I don't' want to lose you too. Not when my training could keep you alive.”

“Gohan, don't you do something stupid like face them yourself!” Trunks demanded. “Promise me!”

“All right,” Gohan raised his hand and gave him a slight smile. “I promise not to take them on without you at my side. Damn you're just as stubborn as your mother.”

Trunks only answer was a small grunt, before he fell into Gohan's comforting embrace. What had seemed like the need for warmth between two bodies was far more then he could anticipate. The secure sensation of Gohan's arms enfolding him and the gentle caress of his hands along Trunks back was worth the pain and the fear of losing him. Especially since Gohan made no move to push him away and ruffle his head.

“I don't want to lose you Gohan. I couldn't stand it. Not after everyone else.”

“Nor could I,” Gohan answered, hushing him with soothing motions. He bent his head down to see the gleam in Trunks eyes. It seemed only natural yet again to brush his lips against the boy's forehead, and marvel at the quickening heave of his breath. Trunks tipped his head back, exhaling into Gohan's neck with hot pulses. His own hands were gliding along the smooth hard muscles under Gohan's red and blue gi, amazed at their texture.

Inclining his head, Gohan turned his face to the side, and then brushed his mouth over Trunks before the youth could utter another protest. The taste of Trunks soft lips was far sweeter then he could imagine, and the press of his slender body into Gohan's muscular one was sheer joy. Trunks raised his hand to plunge into Gohan's short hair, and grip the back of his neck while Gohan diverted is right hand and cupped the back of Trunks head. Sliding his finger through soft silky purple, he enjoyed tangling his fingers in his students… no his lover's soft hair.

So many emotions Trunks wanted to convey, he knew that Gohan shared them as their lips merged, and their breaths moistened their respective palates. Gohan tasted of stone and rain, while Trunks tasted faintly of that strange tingling antiseptic mingled with the sweetness of water. How soft his lips were, Gohan realized as he mapped them out for this time. It wasn't the first time they had shared a strong sweet kiss. Nor the forces of a protective and passionate embrace.

Gohan didn't want him to die because he loved him. As much as Trunks loved him in turn. For that love, his heart soared and he would do whatever he could to keep it alive. He would tear his fingers through android flesh and rend it asunder if it meant protecting Trunks. They would not destroy the last beautiful thing in this world that he cared about more than even the existence of the humans he swore to protect.

Reluctantly the sealing of their lips ended for breath. Resting his forehead against Trunks, Gohan panted deeply. Trunks felt his cheeks flushed, and Gohan saw how lovely the faint tinge of red in alabaster skin appeared. Alternatively, the curve of the fluttering lashes veiling those blue eyes. Sliding his arm around Trunks hip, he gently nudged the boy to walk alongside of him.

“We'd better get some rest, love,” Gohan murmured, the word not sticking in his throat. Trunks nodded, not wishing to let go of Gohan's hip.

Arms around one another, the two young men strode towards the nearest entry to a labyrinth of catacombs. Much like gophers, the human race had adapted to life below ground, forming a resistance cell of sorts. As more people lost their homes, they sought refuge in a place unmolested by the fear of imminent death.

Capsule had a warren of underground tunnels that accessed the subway system under West City. Bots and other droids had extended the caverns where more refugees huddled every day. Past the makeshift sheets hung to provide walls the two walked, hearing the whisper of voices and people peering from around the sheets. Some of them waved to the duo, and Gohan gave a strong confident smile back. Just the sight of him was enough to evoke slight positive expressions in weary faces, so they could slip back into their family groups again. Further along the tunnels were access points guarded by bots or people wearing battered armor. Gohan's karate gi and Trunks Capsule clothing admitted them with little question.

As times, before they slipped to the place where Gohan called his own. Not far from Trunks, but not far from his own mother and grandfather. Although he often ate meals with and spent nights under the roof of his childhood home, he sometimes needed the security of an alternative place to bunk due to the danger of traveling in the open air. When Androids rushed about, it was far easier to not draw attention to your home by flying merrily about under the open skies. Naturally, Bulma had offered Gohan a room at Capsule to stay when he wished, and the young man gladly availed himself of it.

Chichi spent many days helping the refugees in her own fashion, using her brand of herbal medicine to supplement Capsule's dwindling supply of antiseptics. More often than not, there were times he could see her, moving among the newly wounded dabbing sweat from many a brow. Her hair was tied back in an austere fashion, and her quick furtive embrace as they passed by spoke far more than any definition.

She knew better then to question why he fought. Long ago, any attempts to have her son be the scholar were rebuffed. She hadn't spoken much since the day he'd died. Over fifteen years ago, and it was still as fresh as before. He hadn't lived long after the androids had attacked the small village Gohan and his mother called home. Only a baby, the youth soon died after the brunt of the blast.

He would have been one year younger then trunks. His name was Goten.

Yet today he knew his mother was safely at home with his grandfather, the Ox King. Hiding in secret to grow her herbs in their garden tucked away in the remote mountains. So far, the Androids frequented populated places, not rough wilderness. Rather they enjoyed tormenting people as a source of amusement. Sometimes they would retreat to parts unknown, but always would find a need to cause mayhem.

“Your room or mine?” Trunks whispered to Gohan.

“Yours is closer,” Gohan answered matter-of-fact. Through the interior tunnels of capsule's basement, they wandered, to the living complex where Bulma and Trunks made their home. Past science labs and other places where those few still alive to help Capsule toiled.

In response to the widened midnight stare, Trunks answered, “Mom said she would be away all day with the group in the northern sector of Metro West… I'm worried that…”

“You know that she can take the tunnels, Trunks. There's nothing to worry about. So far nobody knows all the tunnels except for your mom, right?” said Gohan, reassuring him.

Away from the momentary diversion of sadness, Gohan returned to the task at hand. Trunks needed reassurance and something far more than either of them voiced aloud. Only the ministrations that someone could provide in the privacy of indoors. Instinct and his own heart were leading him to take the younger boy with him into his inner sanctum. All protestations ceased when Gohan drew him into the small chamber he called his, and let the door slide shut.

Trunks had crossed the threshold, and then turned to see Gohan leaning with his arm against the wall. Even though it was Trunks personal room, Gohan glanced about as if he owned the place. So reassuring was his steady gaze that the sense of leadership had cast its mantle over Trunks. Whatever his sensei wished he would do, and not just as a mentor, but something far greater.

A mischievous smile crossed his face, and then Gohan glanced down only a few inches to the hypnotic azure irises. They dilated to a small thickness of darkened blue, framed by lavender turned lilac by the light of the setting sun.

“Gohan,” Trunks whispered, squeezing a fold of Gohan's red vest in his fingers. Gohan spun about, and then pressed Trunks slender shoulders to the wall. A slight smile twitched up his lips and Trunks pulled him forwards. No questions were asked as Gohan hesitated only a slight moment and waited for the sign from the younger man that they had one another's trust.

Gohan leaned down to drag his lips across Trunks, which were slightly parted. Threading his fingers through Gohan's short but dark locks, Trunks pulled him downwards, until Gohan leaned hard sandwiching him against the cool wall. His solitary arm wandered down to slid between Trunks back and grip him closer. A teasing young tongue darted out, touching Gohan's and enticing it forwards. Did the sly tempter have any idea of the effect he was having, Gohan wondered and marveled? Such softness now burned nova hot against his gi, and he wanted so much more. From the way Trunks yielded and teased with his sweet mouth, Gohan knew the answer.

A nudge of Trunks body to the side spun them both so they rolled along the wall towards the low bed. A bit unsteady on their feet, Gohan pitched backwards, tugging Trunks with him so they both landed against a soft but firm surface. Now Trunks felt the soft grunt of Gohan's chest slamming into his, and felt his arm trapped under Gohan's back against the bedspread. That solitary arm still bound their bodies together, Gohan's fingers twisted into Trunks locks as Trunks other hand was gripping the spiked pieces of Gohan's hair.

“Whoops,” Trunks chuckled.

“You're getting to be a tease, you know,” Gohan rasped out, liking the feel of Trunks squirmy slightly on his body. He shifted his legs so they were on the bed, pulling Trunks along with him so they were nestled together. Glancing past Gohan's spikes of hair, Trunks saw his poster bearing the Periodic Table of the Elements, next to a glow in the dark star map, and other posters bearing schematics of circuitry boards.

The opposite view from Gohan's end was equally intriguing, yet he was too busy admiring what blocked it. Somehow staring past Trunks lavender sheen up towards the ceiling seemed a sin when he would much rather feast his eyes on the beauty astride him. Also noticing Trunks eyes diverting to the side was a bit distracting, so he reached up his hand to hook around Trunks shapely chin, admiring the contrast of his golden tanned skin on cream white. Visions of the youth bared to the waist during their workouts crossed Gohan's mind, and he chuckled.

“Are you with me, Trunks?” Gohan whispered hoarsely.

Trunks felt the tug on his chin and forgot any nervousness reflected in his momentary gaze away from what should be the focus of his universe. Here and now astride Gohan's strong sturdy body he felt something that had eluded him; shelter and stability. It was a sense of grounding that a relentlessly decaying world would not snatch it away from him and crumble to dust or disintegrate it in an alien blast. Such calm pauses of time were too fleeting, and Trunks mind quickly chastised him for losing even a second of what he was experiencing.

“Always, Gohan,” Trunks whispered back. Midnight depths heralded his full attention, and Trunks hair curtained his face as he leaned down to Gohan's head angling up. Fingers petted the shorter strands of black before migrating to the fronds of spiky hair reminiscent of Gohan's sire. This piece of a larger-than-life legend was clothed in the raiment of a hero. Irresistibly their lips again found one another's twisting lightly and delicately before firming to a sealing of mouths. Hesitance gave way to surety, and Gohan felt Trunks muscles relaxing in his body so it draped delectably over his own. Slim and hardening with solid muscle the younger half Saiyan had no idea how comfortable he was to his lover.

Their warm breaths again passed each other in the merged caverns of their mouths. Reaching forwards Trunks continued to explore the treasure captivating him. For this time, Gohan was all his and his alone. He didn't have to share him with the world that ached for a savior since the imminent death of all Earth's warriors. Only Master Roshi remained of those that taught the martial arts, if the two occupants of Trunks bedroom were not included. It took much convincing to keep the old master hidden where he could somehow be of some use to those few people who might have the courage to study to become fighters. Unfortunately, even that would be hopeless without the aid of the last Saiyans on Earth.

By its own volition, Gohan's hand slid under Trunks Capsule T shirt after pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. Gliding between skin and cloth it traveled its way up the bones of Trunks spine, stopping only shortly to massage each muscle along the column. Each small pressure of Gohan's fingers released a knot of tension left there by the stresses of the day. Trunks moaned softly, breaking the kiss only to surface for air and press his lips elsewhere over the angles of Gohan's firm jaw, steadily trailing towards the hollow of his shoulder and his ear. Gohan rumbled in his throat to feel the delicate lick of Trunks tongue along the rim of his right ear, hot breath searing his skin in short pulses. Then ensued the vibration of voice against bone when Trunks lay a kiss in the valley of his shoulder.

Slightly Gohan twisted his body, pulling Trunks with him. Together they rolled until their positions were reversed, and it was Trunks turn to see who hovered protectively above him. Solid muscular thighs bracketed Trunks slim hips, sitting delicately but pinning him down with the weight of his pelvis. Seeing Trunks mop of lavender hair pressed into the pillow, Gohan then smiled down at him reassuringly. That exotic slant to his eyes never ceased to intrigue him, and he thought nothing of the blend of features others would ascribe to Trunks father or mother. Rather he simply saw Trunks as an individual, not wishing to compare him to anyone else because there was no suitable standard.

Trunks reached up to pull at the neatly tied sash of Gohan's gi, and deftly unknotted it so it fell away. Angling his chest up, Gohan nodded and helped Trunks to pull the outer shirt off and over his head as he crossed his arms. Revealed then was the blue shirt underneath, glistening oddly like spun metal under the lamplight. Trunks analytical eyes admired the way it draped over the solid muscles each contour glistening softly. As the shirt dropped to the floor, it was soon joined by the thud of the weighted top. Gohan's weight lessened by the same degree, at least thirty-five pounds now removed.

“Your turn now,” Gohan nodded, tugging at Trunks shirt. He shifted to one side, denying Trunks the comfort of his solid body weight so the lad could sit up. Together they pulled the T-shirt up and off, revealing his own bared chest. Now on more equivalent footing clothes wise, their exploration could continue. A pulling on his baggy pants from Trunks convinced Gohan to sit astride him again, and resume dragging his fingers over smooth ivory complexion. It glistened with the slight layer of sweat developing, and Gohan couldn't resist the urge to scoot down Trunks legs to give himself room to taste its saltiness. Blue eyes closed and Trunks arched his neck to feel the hot drag of Gohan's tongue lightly along his pectorals, then the crease between them.

Two of the last of their kind together made a logical argument for the mutual attraction. Likes repelled in physics, but chemicals reacted that had the potential to form a stable system. As halves of a whole, he felt his body shift to press itself into Gohan's and they sought to complete what emptiness had been created in them. Layers of clothes commingled on the floor next to the bed as their owners sought refuge in what beauty and softness their growing love induced.