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It wasn’t as if I’d never thought about it before.

And Goten knows exactly how much I have thought about it (a lot, really). Has known, for a long time. It’s never been a big deal. We fuse a lot, so it’s hard to hide things from each other. Well, we haven’t fused in a while, but last time we did, Goten’s fantasies about my dad (for example) were starting to get pretty detailed and interesting. We don’t hold it against each other.

And then, a year ago, me-from-the-future came back. He brought his mom with him, so now I have two moms and a twin. Our moms keep each other occupied while our dads are away (which is most of the time, since they live together now, and not with their wives). Everyone seems okay with that, too.

And Gohan . . . poor, lonely Gohan finally has a Saiyan lover. As soon as my twin came back, Videl packed up and moved to her dad’s with Pan. I gather that Gohan visits them fairly regularly, and for all I know he’s still fucking her, but the other Trunks moved right in as if they were just picking up where they left off, or something.

At the time, I figured that was pretty much the end of that.

Before Trunks came back, I still had a chance.

Because no matter how much of a self-righteous cloud-riding dorkmeister Gohan can be, there have been many moments over the years – it was always something about his eyes, and a soft susurration of his energy that said there was a little more to his emotions than just anger, or simple irritation – when I just knew he was thinking about smacking the shit out of me, pinning me down, and fucking me right there on the floor.

But that’s the thing. I’ve never been able to get that reaction out of Gohan unless he’s pissed at me. And he’s got to know that’s why I never really grew out of that badass punk stage. Never stopped lording it over Goten, that I was stronger. Gohan hated that . . . but of course, Goten likes it, so it’s all good. I even managed to turn Goten into an equal share partner in troublemaking. He’s really good at it.

But whenever Gohan got stuck with the babysitting task (which was often, since our mothers didn’t stand a chance), it didn’t matter if me and Goten were being equally precocious. He always blamed me. Which was wise, of course. He was never fooled about the dynamic of my relationship with his kid brother, before or after the sexual aspect of it became known.

But after . . . after he realized what was going on, that’s when I started to get those looks.

And sometimes, he would smack the shit out of me, if he had enough cause (I tried so hard to give him more than enough). He’s one of only three people who can do that and get away with it, and I never fought back. Just looked into his eyes, and knew he was thinking about fucking me . . . got hard, and dared him to notice (he always pretended not to).

Sometimes Goten would look on, knowing me, knowing my mind well enough, knowing his brother well enough, to know exactly what was going on. And Gohan would always storm off in anger (probably retreating somewhere to wank), leaving us alone for a while, and usually Goten would finish what Gohan had started. We never talked about it because it wasn’t necessary, and those impish smiles always told me what Goten was thinking, as if I didn’t already know.

Yes . . . Gohan always wanted to fuck me – no denying that – but he never liked me.

It sort of reminds me of how my dad was, about Goku. Wanted nothing more in the universe than Goku’s cock; hated nothing more in the universe than the man it was attached to. I doubt Goku would have ever gotten past my dad’s pride, if they hadn’t fused, and even still, I sometimes wonder how Goku pulled it off.

And I guess it’s not quite like that, with Gohan. It was always a more casual thing than that. But poor Gohan barely had time to contemplate the awesome prospect of Saiyan sex before realizing that he had been left out of the bargain. And I have always sort of gotten the feeling that he blamed it on me.

But when my twin came back from the future, it seemed that all of Gohan’s problems were solved.

He’s got the guy he’s always dreamed of fucking (me), but a completely different version. Not the brat kid that gave Gohan hell for nearly twenty years. He’s got a me that learned everything he knows about life from Bulma and *drumroll* Gohan. No cocky Vegeta influence that drives Gohan up the wall.

And my twin is stronger than me, too. Gohan always thought me and Goten were lazy, and that we never appreciated how hard all the rest of them had to work to transform, but this poor kid had to work for it like everyone else.

So that should have been the end of it, right?

It was for a while. My family expanded, my second mom settled in, and Gohan disappeared with me-from-the-future into their little hidey-hole, apparently content.

My first clue, that all was not well in Gohan-land, was a week ago.

Mom (not sure which, but it doesn’t really matter) decided it had been too long since we’d all gotten together at the same time (you know, the whole crew and all) so she (they) threw a party, and everyone obediently came. Gohan and me-from-the-future and Videl all came together, with Trunks carrying Pan as if to let everyone know that they were all a family like that. And our little group of friends has been through so many shocks that no one so much as batted an eyelash about it.

So, me being the most generally shameless and brave person present, I walked over to where the happy little family was chatting with Goku, and I asked me-from-the-future if he was fucking Videl too. I mean, I just wanted to know. It’s not as if it’s a big deal. And no one acted like it was, really. Videl blushed. Goku laughed and did that hand-behind-his-head thing. Me-from-the-future gave me a knowing smirk.

But go figure, Gohan got pissed . . . and lo and behold, there it was. That look, just for an instant, that told me I was going to get fucked. The look that I knew so well . . . the look that always failed to deliver. Just for an instant, and then he put his arm around the other Trunks as the look disappeared, murmured something in future boy’s ear that sounded suspiciously like ‘jealous?’, and just like that I was dismissed.

So I blew it off, like I always do, and I went to find Goten, and we got into some things together, mostly food. Then we started throwing people in the pool. First Roshi and Oolong, because they deserve it the most. Then Krillin because he takes abuse so well. The next logical place to go was for Gohan and me-from-the-future, knowing we would probably get our asses kicked in the process, but that it would make the party less boring for everyone.

And we were headed that way, when I saw the look again. I remember running for a second or two, then using a burst of energy to move with as much speed as I had at my disposal, and then I thought my spine would crack as my back hit a tree, felt my breath cut short by a hand locked around my throat, and his body was pressed full against mine, my legs helplessly dangling around his waist. Only a few seconds, and I felt him, fully hard, rubbing against me through our jeans, and he whispered in my ear, voice tight with annoyance. “I don’t want to swim right now, Trunks.” As if that had anything to do with anything.

And he let me go, backing away as if he’d never touched me, and I noticed that everyone seemed distracted by the fact that Goten had been more successful than I, laughing uproariously at the my twin in the pool. Except for Goku, and dad, Piccolo and Krillin, all casting a wary eye in our direction, sensing a fight. If Goten and me-from-the-future sensed it, they weren’t concerned.

But then the moment was over. Gohan turned his attention to his poor soaked lover, who was climbing out of the pool and stripping down to his boxers. No one was traumatized; Goku gets naked in front of everyone often enough that it takes more than a scantily-clad Saiyan to break up a party.

And I noticed, with the luxury of being able to stare at Gohan unobserved, that it was just barely possible to tell that he had a raging hardon, underneath his jeans. I knew it was there, though, flat against his stomach, held in place by the waistband of his pants, and when he twisted a certain way, I could see the tip of it, underneath his shirt. I smiled to myself, as the other Trunks’s fingers lingered innocently there, as they kissed. And that look again, just for a second, over my twin’s shoulder.

They left the party not long after, perhaps because the sun was down, and my poor twin was chilly, without clothes. And then Goten found me with his little imp smile, and we left too, found a place suitably in the middle of nowhere, an unending forest of pine for timber, too young to be much disturbed.

And this time, we talked about it.

“He still wants you,” Goten said, stating the obvious to give me the go to vent if I wanted.

“More than he ever did, apparently.”

“Yeah.”

We walked for a while in the trees, our auras locked in a relaxed sort of mutual amusement, as we allowed the implications to set in.

“You should go for it,” Goten said.

“It might have just been a weak moment.”

“I bet you’ll see him again soon, without trying.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

I thought about it, as we walked. Me-from-the-future hadn’t seemed all that surprised, and for some reason, I hadn’t noticed Videl’s reaction at all. But I never considered that she would be a factor, beyond whatever permission might be required. She had adopted Gohan’s general dislike of me, but certainly not in the same way. Which is fortunate, since I don’t like girls.

And like an alarm going off in my head, I realized something.

“Trunks is fucking Gohan!”

“You think?”

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

“All the time?”

“Probably not. But when they’re with Videl, Gohan has to be in the middle. Trunks doesn’t like girls.” It’s funny that I didn’t realize till now why I blurted out that question at the party.

“I’m sure they get plenty of time alone.”

“I don’t know if it matters. He’s not me.”

“Nope. He isn’t.”

“He’s not begging to be smacked.”

“Maybe he does in private.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. He is you, deep down, you know.”

And maybe Goten is right. But it’s hard to see, really. My twin is just so . . . nice. Sugar and spice, and all that. Pretty remarkable, for someone who has been through as much as that guy, but then, he grew up with Gohan as a role model. No Vegeta, no Goku, no Piccolo except in his mentor’s memories. “Fuck, their relationship has got to be fucking boring!”

“You think?”

“Probably. I dunno. But Gohan still wants it, so he must not be getting . . . that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Goten concluded, and with that, he started stripping off his clothes. We had discussed everything there was to discuss, and unfortunately for several dozen trees, it turned out we both had a surprising amount of sexual frustration that needed to be burned off.

And it also turned out, three days later, that Goten was right.

We were just hanging out at our apartment in West City which nobody comes to visit – for some reason, we always have to go visit other people – and Gohan and Trunks came by out of the blue, like it was normal.

***

My twin says he wants to spend more time with me – we haven’t really put much effort into getting to know each other, since he came back – and it was a really touching conversation, actually, alone on the couch as Gohan and Goten went to do the brother thing elsewhere.

I actually started to feel uncomfortable after a while, though, as I began to get the impression that this Trunks wants nothing more than to learn how to be like me. How to bring out that side of Gohan that I can uncover so effortlessly.

Is that even possible?

It’s hard to say. He’s going on about something . . . something about dad, back in the day when I was a baby, awe and fear and insane amounts of pride at having his existence acknowledged. Yes . . . he’s getting there . . . but the kid has no clue what it’s really like, I realize, as he goes on.

His features are so soft, untroubled. Somehow, he’s pretty, in a way that I’m just not.

His mother loved him. Gohan loved him. No matter how hard his life was, he never had to stand in the shadow of the Prince of All Saiyans, not until he was old enough to handle it. No matter how tough his life was, he had no clue, what it had been like to learn to walk under those watchful eyes. He would never know.

“You’re scared of him,” I interrupted. And he looked up at me, confused.

“Of dad?”

“No, idiot.” And he pouted. “Oh, please. You’re scared of Gohan.”

The idea seemed to trouble him. “No, I don’t think I am, Trunks. I know he would never hurt me.”

“And that is exactly your problem, isn’t it?” I’m starting to think maybe he’s not all that bright.

But he suddenly turned his face away, blushing, and I know better than to second-guess.

“You’re scared of him,” I continued, taking advantage of his concession. “You don’t have the guts to piss him off.”

“But I don’t want to,” he whined, pouting again, eyes doe-like and pathetic. “I love him.”

“But you like it when he’s dangerous, don’t you?” I whispered conspiratorially, noting the way his hands seemed to tremble on his knees.

And then, Gohan and Goten were back, and my twin had eyes only for his lover. Sweet, romantic Gohan, who was acting normal and big-brother, like he always was with Goten. He took his Trunks’s hand as they went out the door. Just one look at me, over his shoulder on the way out, but it was enough.

We watched them fly away.

“Yup, he still wants you.”

“I wonder what that was all about?”

“Fucking you.” He grabs my ass to make his point, and I slap his hand away.

“Well . . . duh. But how? What did you guys talk about?”

“Nothing interesting. Videl is going to have another kid.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. What did you guys talk about?”

“About how he wants to be like me.”

“Yeah?”

“I told him he needs to stop being scared of Gohan.”

“He doesn’t have any reason to be.”

“But he should.”

“You think?”

It was a good question. Because if my twin could pull it off, there would be no need for me. “Well . . . eventually. Yeah, he should.”

“Yeah. You should just go over there one day.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

It was decided, then. Just like that. Probably my most intense forbidden fantasies were about to come true. “You want to come?”

“Nah. Not the first time anyway. Just go over there. Do what you do.”

“Yeah. I think I will.”

***

So, four days later . . . here I am.

Four days to think about it, for the first time knowing it will probably actually happen. For real.

And Goten has been smiling that little kinky smile that says he knows what I’m thinking about, all the time. He will want to fuse, after, so he can know what it was like.

The happy couple lives in a nice little house that Gohan built, in the middle of nowhere (you’d be surprised how many nowheres we have found the middle of on this planet), and I know they felt me flying over this way, felt Goten still back in West City. As I approach the house, I lose my clothes, stuffing them away in a capsule which I leave on the front porch.

It’s a pretty roomy house. I can feel them, in a room toward the back of the house, but I come through the front door, taking a little time to roam the hallways.

I can hear him, my twin, moaning, sometimes Gohan’s name.

Sometimes, just ‘master’.

I can hear the steady banging of furniture against a wall, getting louder as I get closer, and then the wet slap of skin against skin, and I pause for a minute, outside the open-framed door to the room, stroking myself lightly as I listen to the sounds of their fucking. And I wonder if it started when they felt me coming this way.

My back slides down the shaking wall as I sit on the floor, which vibrates nicely under my ass, and I silence my thoughts, give in to the rhythm coming from the next room, stroking in time with the pounding, losing track of time. And as Gohan screams my name, I come in my hand, whispering his, with half an amazed thought, that it was so easy.

I only take a few seconds to catch my breath before I get to my feet, wiping my hand on my hip, taking another few seconds to steady my legs, and I walk into a dimly-lit den, all dark furniture and stained wood paneling, and they’re sprawled across a black leather couch, Gohan on his back, Trunks laying across his chest. Both of them covered in sweat, winded.

I have a few seconds to appreciate the view before Gohan’s eyes open, fixing on me. And he seems content to watch, as I walk in his direction; my twin content to pretend as though I don’t exist, for the moment.

Those dark eyes never leave me as I make my way to the edge of the couch, kneeling on the wooden floor in front of him, knees apart, leaning back slightly, and I’m rewarded with a smirk for my submissive posture. My twin comes to life, sitting up, and a look passes between them, an understanding, and he leaves the room, retreating to some other part of the house.

Gohan sits up, and my eyes drift unconsciously to his cock, already getting hard again. I’ve seen him naked before, but I’ve never seen him hard, and I can’t help but notice that it’s quite a bit more impressive than mine, not that I have ever had a reason to be insecure. His stomach is a sticky mess. From him, or Trunks? And his eyes return to me, looking me up and down, as if it’s not the exact same thing that just left.

“You know . . . it’s different now, Trunks,” he says, almost apologetic, and I think I know what he means.

“I don’t know why you didn’t act years ago, Gohan,” I say, absently wondering whether or not I will ever call him ‘master’, like my twin does.

“Because it would have been illegal, Trunks,” he says, as if I am an idiot for not knowing that. Well, I guess I did know that. “But that’s not the only reason it’s different.”

“I know.” And I do.

All those times he held back, punishing me only as much as was necessary to appease the parental figures. But now, I’m in his territory. His rules.

I hope he doesn’t misinterpret my shaking . . .

“You can leave if you want, Trunks.”

“I know.”

I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming. I just want to feel it. I have seen that look in his eyes enough times now that I don’t need to see it any more. First comes the pain. And then the fucking, which is what I’m really here for . . .

But his hands are gentle, when they touch my face, sliding slowly into my hair, stroking softly. Thumbs rubbing my temples, compelling me to open my eyes, and look at him, and when I do, I wonder if he has somehow mistaken me for my twin, because that look is gone. Or rather, it’s still there, but instead of hate . . .

His eyes are locked with mine as he picks me up, setting me down on his lap, guiding my ass with his hands, rubbing me against his cock.

But Gohan likes to kiss with his eyes closed . . .

***

And it’s sweet.

Soft.

Smooth and dark.

Calming, and electrifying, at the same time.

Hot, and hungry . . .

It might be impossible, really, to describe what it’s like to be kissed by Gohan.

Just know that I dreamed about it for . . . ten years? Probably more. I don’t think there is anything else in the world I’ve wanted for that long, without actually getting it. Well, maybe one thing, but the nudging at my ass tells me I’ll get that soon enough. But this . . .

I never really believed he would kiss me like this.

Those looks that told me I was going to get fucked. That it would hurt. That I would like it, just like that. And I believed it.

But his arms are wrapped around my back, protectively, holding me so we’re touching everywhere, and I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, can taste it on his tongue. My hands are on his shoulders, on his neck, in his hair, and the air beneath our noses is getting thin, as we fight for it, neither of us willing to break apart just to breathe.

But alas, nothing lasts forever . . .

Desperate, even violent fades back to soft and sweet, his tongue barely teasing mine, and then he’s kissing me with his lips again. Breathing through his mouth again.

I open my eyes to find him smiling at me, pure vanilla, like Gohan. That sweet, boyish smile that I fell in love with, all those years ago. And he leans in again, whispers against my cheek . . .

“I love you, Trunks . . .”

***

“You love him.”

“No, I love you,” he says in my ear, rolling his hips against me for emphasis. “I love him too.”

“Is it the same?”

“No.” He pulls back slightly. “Yes, and no. Look at me, Trunks.”

My eyes find his, obediently.

“I never hated you, Trunks,” he says, voice pleading with me, eyes wide. “I just . . .” He looks down briefly, meets my eyes again, a blush on his cheeks. “You know . . . I thought about you all the time,” he says, smiling shyly. “But most of the time, I could control it . . .” He trails off, averting his eyes again.

“Except when you were mad at me, huh?”

“Yeah.” And that shy smile is back, as he takes my cock in his hand, idly stroking. “Trunks . . . tell me what you want.”

I return his smile, but there is nothing shy about mine. “You know what I came here for, Gohan.” I reach down and grab his other hand, and I pull it up to my lips, lowering my eyes, murmuring against his fingers, “But you should know . . .” I add, parting my lips to tease his fingers with my tongue, looking up at him through lowered lashes, “. . . it’s my first time.”

The hand on my cock pauses, and I smile behind his hand, nipping his fingers lightly with my teeth.

“Are you serious?” he says, and I’m trying – really trying! – to play the demure virgin for him, cause I know he likes it, but it’s so hard not to laugh, when I see his face. Like he was a little kid, and I’d given him an ice cream cone, or something.

“Yeah . . .” Yes, Gohan. I saved my ass for you. I quit teasing, and I take three of his fingers in my mouth, sucking them all the way down to the knuckles, and he gasps. Moans.

“Trunks . . .”

I suck on his fingers just like I would suck on his cock, if I weren’t feeling terribly impatient at the moment, trying not to think about how hot for me he must be if this is all it takes. Slow, deep teasing sucking, violent sucking, a bit of teeth . . . his breath getting ragged, and his hips jerking . . . but I make sure to leave his fingers dripping wet, and I break away from him, leaning back to lie on the couch, head on the opposite armrest, spreading my legs, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, again.

And he’s smiling to himself, as he touches his fingers to me, slicking me, pushing inside, with just his middle finger. The sharp hiss of breath through teeth – mine, and his – the pain is blinding for an instant, before I remember to relax . . .

“Wow, Trunks,” he says, grinning at me, pushing the finger in a little further, rotating it slowly, spreading the wetness. “You weren’t lyin’ . . .”

“Goten knows my ass if off lim—oh SHI—“ Fuck his finger is long! “Gohaaa—!“

Speech eludes me . . . and my whole body is thrashing, my back arched, head thrown back on the armrest, eyes squeezed shut as I block out everything except for Gohan’s finger, making myself a willing slave to that lone sensation . . . but he’s a cruel master. Ambidextrous, even . . . and as his other hand finds my cock again, the finger inside me begins to burn with what feels like every ounce of Gohan’s power . . .

I’m vaguely aware of kicking him in the face – I know it won’t hurt him – as I throw both feet over his shoulders, rocking my hips on that finger, thrusting my cock wildly into his hand. My eyes are closed, but my vision goes white as he jerks me over the edge, and I can hear him, as if from a distance . . . .

Oh wow . . .”

I collapse back onto the couch, trying to catch my breath, but my master is relentless, with both of his hands, keeping my orgasm alive long after my seed is spent. Till it starts to hurt, and then he lets up, leaving my body to mold to the leather, boneless.

***

A thought forms in the fog of my head, how sad it is, that I will probably have to go, now that I got what I came for. But as the blood returns to my brain, memory comes with it . . . and I realize we’ve just gotten started.

I can see him through barely-open eyes, staring at me . . . still hard, and stroking himself now, but not with anything like urgency. A strange cross of emotions in his features, somewhere between awe, and animal . . .

He brings his hand to his lips – the hand that’s coated in my cum – and his tongue flashes out, licking one of his fingers. Nothing in his eyes to tell me whether or not he likes the taste. Just that intensity, that tells me I’m about to get fucked . . . but that had been there before.

And then he takes his other hand, and scrapes it across my stomach, gathering up all the rest of the cum, and he leans in, like he’s going to kiss me, but instead . . . he traces my lips with a finger, and then his hands caress my face, fingers shaking as they smear my cum all over me, through my hair where he fists his hands, using my hair to pull my face to him, and then he licks me, the broad flat of his tongue dragging across my cheek, and my nose . . . lapping up the cum on my lips. Kissing me again . . .

***

And it’s deep.

Strong.

Rough, and pure.

The simple, perfect taste Gohan, with a bit of me, for spice.

It’s almost unbearably hot, and dirty . . . dirty like a smoky room.

I come up for air first – mostly because his bucking against my stomach seems just a little bit impatient – and I decide it’s time to give him what he wants.

“Fuck me, Gohan,” I purr in his ear, and he growls against my neck, softly, like a threat.

But I am so not scared. I wrap my legs around his waist, throw one arm around his neck, and reach with the other behind me to grab his cock and put it where I want it. My teeth latch on to his neck, and hold my breath as he moves his hips, nudging barely inside, not even half the tip – tears sting my eyes, my teeth draw blood, and I know that this won’t be anything like the finger – but he holds his ground there, disengaging his neck from my teeth, propping himself up on his hands. Studying me, like a puzzle.

That’s never a good thing, on the face of a Son.

“Why, Trunks?” he asks. All beguiling innocence as if that sort of thing was appropriate for naked, sweaty Saiyans.

Why what?

I struggle to remember the last thing I said, and come up blank, but he nudges me again, reminding me.

Oh yeah . . .

“Uh . . .”

Fucking Sons!

I can’t resist him, any more than I can resist Goten when he’s all wide-eyed and ‘fuck me’, but my pride demands that I take control of this situation, before it’s too late.

So I throw my other arm around his neck, and with the help of my legs hooked behind him, I pull myself up, face-to-face with him . . . his curious, and mine on fire as I close my eyes and kiss him, soft on the lips, just once. Sharing his breath again.

Fuck me, Gohan. Make it hurt. It’s what I want to say . . . but not what he asked.

Why is it so hard for me to speak the simple truth?

***

“Because I love you, Gohan,” and the hitch of his breath, the spike of pleasure in his aura as I say it makes it every bit worth the price of my pride. I open my eyes, just to see his sweet, vanilla smile one more time before I lose my mind . . . and I say it again.

Love you . . .

Schooling myself to relaxation – deep, slow breaths – I roll my body against his, chest to hips, flexing my knees to take him inside of me, not stopping until I can feel his sac slapping my ass, and I can take the pain for all of two seconds before I scream, my energy skyrocketing against my will . . .

His eyes close the second I push him inside of me, and time slows to a crawl, like it does in the fight, when we’re moving too fast for normal people to follow. When our minds are in that zone, there’s time for every twitch your opponent makes, because if you miss the wrong one, you die.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer than I do right now . . . but I don’t miss it, when his eyes roll back behind his eyelids. His jaw, slowly dropping open as his cock slides inside me, the tremor that rolls through his whole body when he hits home, and his teeth catch his lower lip, turning the skin white underneath.

The tears on my cheeks flash to vapor as I transform, casting Gohan’s face in light and shadows as his mouth flies open again, gasping for air, lower lip trembling, eyes wide shut with one eyebrow twitching.

Everything is times a thousand, even the pain . . . but pain is nothing to me, now. Every smell is sharper, every sound distinct, and I can feel every inch of Gohan quivering inside of me, hear his heartbeat quicken, feel the whining, deep in his throat.

He doesn’t transform . . . but he doesn’t have to. His power is weird like that. Like him . . .

I can sense him recovering, so I bring my lips to his ear again. “Fuck me, Gohan.”

A growl, as his hips pull back slowly, agonizingly, his cock sliding out of me inch by inch, leaving me feeling empty before slamming back home again, and he pulls my arms from around his neck, pushing me back, pinning me to the couch, hovering right over me and looking me in the eyes again, grin lopsided.

“Say it again.”

Fuck me, Gohaaa—“ No, I don’t miss it, his eyes with all his dirty secrets, or the sweat dripping from his sculpted stomach to mine as he flexes, pulling out of me and filling me again like the crack of a whip, not just once, but again, and again, slamming me down into the couch underneath me. My eyes close as I arch mindlessly against him for the friction, trapping my straining erection between us, against those sweaty ridges, and I can feel the edge already, just a stroke or two away.

But then I find myself jerked up by my arms, spun around and slammed against the back of the couch, and my head bashes against the wall behind me, and I feel the whip-crack of his cock one more time, reminding me that he was there all along, inside me, but the edge has slipped away from me, now. I can’t see him but I can feel him, kneeling between my legs, and his hands are still holding my arms down, hard enough to hurt, and I can feel his aura touch me as he leans in, his hot breath teasing my neck.

“Not what I meant, Trunks.”

It’s beyond me, to search my brain for whatever the hell he is talking about, but fortunately, life with Goten has honed my instincts.

I open my eyes, and dizziness threatens to close them again, as two Gohans merge into one, and split again before finally locking on his sweet, clueless face . . . and I don’t fail to notice his shortness of breath, or the thinly-veiled impatience in his eyes, or the way his hands tighten on my arms as he fights to keep his hips still . . .

“I love you, Gohan . . .”

It’s easier, now that I’ve already said it . . .

“How long?” he asks softly, eyes curious.

I ponder the question for about two seconds. “’s long as I’ve loved Goten . . . just different.”

“How long?” he asks again, growling, rocking his hips just slightly, moving inside me, making me whine.

“Uhh…nnh…since I was about . . . four?” Wet hiss of his breath, and I can feel him tremble again, inside of me, and his eyes are burning, now. “Maybe before.” I know I at least thought about kissing him, that young. I had kissed Goten, after all, so it was only natural . . .

And suddenly, my left arm is freed, and he brings his hand to his mouth, and don’t know whether to be aroused or revolted as he drools over his fingers, coating them with his spit before reaching down to take my cock in his hand, stroking me as he moves his hips again, thrusting slow, but deep.

“Come for me, Trunks,” he breathes, ragged, holding the eye contact as he picks up speed, slamming into me again, trapping the head of my cock in his hand and jerking it so quick that I couldn’t disobey if I tried. Sensation spinning out of control, and I can feel his whole body freeze in resistance as I come in his hand again, convulsing around his cock, locked fully inside of me, but I know he’s fighting it, won’t come with me. Not yet, and the hand on my arm tightens with the effort, hurting me, making me shout something at him, but I have no idea what because my brain is still frozen by the aftershocks of my third orgasm in . . . what? Fifteen minutes? Crazy. Even for a Saiyan . . .

And then his fingers touch my lips, and I taste my seed again. Fingers on my nipples, first one, and then the other, and then the palm of his hand is flat on my neck, spreading my cum all over my skin again, trailing it down my chest, and I realize I am practically painted with the stuff, now, as his mouth attacks my left nipple, licking up the cum, twirling around, teasing the nub into hardness with his tongue, nipping it with his teeth, hard, before moving his head to lick the other nipple clean, sucking on it, grabbing it with his teeth and pulling . . .

“Oh FUCK Gohan—!” And then he frees my other arm to grab my head by the hair with both hands and pulls my face to his, dragging his tongue across my mouth, sucking on my lips one at a time, licking my teeth, moaning into my mouth as I stretch my tongue to meet his . . .

***

And the kiss is feverish.

Sloppy, and wet.

Noisy, snarling . . . sucking air indiscriminately, from wherever it can be gotten.

Vulgar, even . . . sucking on my tongue, as he begins to thrust again, stroking deep, like resuscitation, bringing my passion back to life, and I know that this time will be the last.

And then he breaks the kiss, gasping for air as he moves his attention to my neck, licking, his hands still fisted in my hair, twisting, but the pain is nothing. Even his tongue is all but forgotten, as my universe narrows, my overtaxed brain honing in on what it considers to be the most important thing going on.

“Fuck me, Gohan . . .” It’s just a mantra, now, because he’s fucking me so hard now that the room is shaking from the couch slamming into the wall. “Fuck me . . .” and he’s found a steady tempo now, dependable, so that I can just twitch and he’s fucking me right where I need it the most, bringing me back to that edge quicker than I thought was possible.

“Oh fuck, Trunks . . . you are so fucking hot . . .” and his hands let go of my head, wrapping around my back and picking me up, standing up and still thrusting, and then he reaches out with a foot and sticks it under the couch, flipping it over, pulling out of me, throwing me over the back of the upturned couch, and my ass is in the air, blood rushing to my head as my upper body hangs down to where the couch is wedged against the wall. And then he spanks me, smacking my ass with the flat of his palm, not holding back, making it hurt, and I scream, struggling helplessly against his grip, bucking against the couch, a desperate whine for every sting of his hand.

“Such a fucking sweet ass . . .” he says, ignoring my pathetic whimpering to smack me a few more times before suiting his words, ceasing the smacking to touch me more gently, spreading me and then tasting me, rolling his tongue around my abused hole, pushing inside, soothing the soreness, making me wet again, and I buck back against his face, earning another slap that stings all the way up my spine to my fucking nose.

“Gohaaaaannn,” I beg, shameless, squirming under his hands, tight on my hips, my hands grasping for leverage and not finding it on the sweat-slicked leather. “Pleeeeeasssse . . .” A dark chuckle from behind me as his tongue disengages, and it’s not a sound I would ever have expected to hear from Gohan . . but now his cock is nudging me again, his hands pulling my hips back as he reclaims his territory, this time without any resistance at all.

Trunks . . . ” A whisper, reverent. But I barely hear it as he fills me again, almost lazily, sliding until he can go no further, pulling back out as if he’s got all the time in the world, teasing me, torturing me with slow, deliberate strokes, and he’s fucking killing me with this shit.

So I punch two holes in the bottom of the couch, and I’m expecting it this time, when his hands relinquish their grip, and he smacks my ass again, hard, as if he doesn’t know I’ll buy him a new couch.

But I’m free at last – his hands are gripping the bend of the couch instead of my ass, now – so I grab my handholds and push back to meet him as he thrusts, taking him deeper, faster.

“Gohaaannnn . . .”

But he’s pounding me harder now, the couch creaking dangerously beneath us, and before too long, it’s all I can do to hold on. And I can feel myself approaching one of those impossibly good orgasms . . . the kind you just can’t get on the first try, or the second. All those levels of resistance built up, and it takes that much more effort to crest the wave . . .

“Oh fuck, Trunks . . .” I can feel him losing control now, his power rising, something like wind in my hair, a charge in the air that makes my skin tingle in anticipation of the shock, and his pounding is getting wild, steady tempo long abandoned for something more artful, more vicious, more personal, like every thrust – each one backed up with his power, each attack stronger than my defenses can handle – says ‘I’m going to fuck you here, and here, and here . . .’

A series of splintering cracks and popping springs and I’m falling, landing on my hands and knees, tangled up in the mess of the now-destroyed couch, and Gohan grabs me up by my hair, pulling me backwards onto his lap, thrusting up into me, and he’s whining in my ear, reaching around to fist my cock, jerking it cruelly, irregularly, his mind on other things.

And it’s not enough for him, apparently, as he shoves me forward with his hips and a hand in my hair, slamming me against the wall, cracking the heavy oak paneling with my face, fucking me against it, and I can hear the whole wall splintering, but I don’t care. Don’t care about anything but the cock inside of me, stretching me, attacking my prostate over and over and I don’t even want his hand any more. Don’t need it.

And he’s found his tempo again, that timeless allegro finale, and his hands are pinning my arms again, this time against the wall so that the whole length of his body is slapping against my back, cracking the wall a little more every time he slams into me and his mouth is on my neck, whining against my skin as he licks up what’s left of my cum, but I can barely hear him. Hardly even notice, when we break through the wall into the next room, don’t notice the cuts and scrapes from the shattered wood, and I’m on my hands and knees again. Can barely feel his hand, spanking my ass again as he fucks me, and he’s saying . . . things.

Sweet ass . . .

(smack)

. . . fuck . . .

(smack)

. . . so hot when you’re blond . . .

(smack)

. . . . ohhhh, fuck . . .

(smack)

. . . Trunks . . .

(smack)

. . . come for me, baby . . .

(smack)

. . . just one more time . . .

I don’t understand what the words mean, any more . . . couldn’t really tell you one way or the other if he’s even speaking my language. I’m vaguely aware that his arms are around me again, pulling me back into his lap, fuzzily cognizant of the drool dripping from my chin to my chest, and there’s a small corner of my brain that worships the simple feeling of his chest against my back, the easy slide of skin against sweaty skin, and his hand, wiping the drool from my chin, fisting my cock again, mouth sucking on my shoulder, but his power is inside of me, pounding me, dangling me over the precipice and I can’t fly. . . can’t spare a thought for my protesting muscles, my overworked body, straining for another climax after so many in so little time because I’m almost there . . .

Trunks . . .

And there’s no sound. Only the stir of air against my ear, the vibration.

. . . come for me, baby . . .

My eyes flutter open, absently noticing that the entire opposite wall is a mirror, that we appear to be in a bedroom, but I only have eyes for dead ahead . . .

I can see my legs, spread, locked around his, and I can see him pistoning inside me – I probably couldn’t ask for a more perfect vantage point – but it’s like I can’t even feel him fucking me any more. Like he’s just a part of me, and we’re breathing together, moving together; two minds, two bodies, one goal. One will.

But it’s his face that captivates me. His face, that shifted my center of gravity, divorced my mind from the cock inside of me, made me forget what I came here for.

His sweet, vanilla face, eyes closed in a sort of peaceful rapture, features tense but somehow still . . . tender. And he’s kissing my neck, whispering . . .

Trunks . . .

The sight of his face in the mirror, my name on his lips . . . it touches . . . something . . . inside of me.

It’s something like a memory, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Something from my childhood, something I always wanted, always needed, but never found at home. Only found it with Goten, and now Gohan. Saw it in their dad, but never in mine, and I’m not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it’s . . . unconditional.

Infinite.

“Come for me . . .

I don’t know what the words mean, but they make me feel . . . warm.

And it spreads, outward from the center of my body to the farthest reaches in slow waves, building, and I lean on his chest, stretching my arms backward over his shoulders, around his neck, grabbing handfuls of his hair, arching my back away from him, mindless, utterly submissive to that warmth, as it penetrates my very soul . . .

I can feel him scream in my ear – I can’t hear it, but somehow, I know it’s my name – and he slams into me one last time, locking his hips, spasming, arms wrapped around me and holding me tight against him, and my wall of resistance cracks, unleashing a flood of ecstasy that threatens to knock me unconscious, but I hold on, riding the waves with him as my anchor . . . Gohan, shaking inside me, arms around me, desperate breath against my neck, and quivering lips, his hair wrapped around my fingers, and it’s almost not enough . . .

My vision is spotty, flashes of black, and I lose my transformation as Gohan leans forward, pitching me to my knees, sliding out of me, and I can’t help but feel relief, though I hadn’t quite realized that my ass was so much in need of respite, until that moment. Strong hands, rolling me over, then the familiar feeling of a hand on my stomach, and the other on my chest, and I open my mouth for his fingers, taking them inside, sucking on them like I did before . . . but it’s not the same, this time. There’s no urgency, no overwhelming hunger. Only the brain-melting euphoria, the tremors still shaking my body . . . and the anticipation . . .

The fingers pull out of my mouth, sucked clean, and his other hand brushes my lips – just once, gently – and this time, he takes both of my lips in his mouth at once, sucking on them and then pushing my mouth open gently, claiming me with his tongue, again . . .

***

And I have no words.

Nothing but the sure knowledge that I never thought a kiss could be this good. This perfect. Never thought that Gohan loved me like this, but I can feel it now, in his aura, somehow stronger than the man himself, and I wonder how I ever missed it, before.

I have no idea how long we lie there, just holding each other. Touching each other, kissing lightly, both of us on the edge of sleep, but neither of us willing to let the moment end. But after a time, he turns my face to his, smiling at me again, whispering . . .

I love you, Trunks . . .

I know, now, just how true it is . . . but it occurs to me, suddenly, that I should ask him . . .

“How long?”

His eyes dart to one side of the room before returning to mine, smoldering with a hint of his earlier passion . . .and he smiles, sweet and vanilla, like Gohan. Leans in, to whisper in my ear . . .

Since before you were born . . .

***

A flicker of movement, and I see my twin, rising from an upholstered chair in the far corner of the room, and I realize he’s been there all along, watching us ever since we broke through the wall, and he’s walking toward us, carrying a bowl of water, a washcloth, a comb, and my capsule.

“Videl is on the way here, with Pan.”

I panic, twisting to survey the damage behind us, and it’s catastrophic. I can barely identify the remains of the couch on the other side of the destroyed wall, but Gohan is laughing . . .

“Don’t worry; they don’t come back here.” Gohan has the washcloth, soaking it in the water, warmed with his energy, wringing it out, holding me still while he cleans me . . . meticulous, and tender, but innocent. My twin behind me with the comb, working the sticky mess out of my hair. It’s almost enough to make me hard again, but the exhaustion wins out, the contentedness, and I satisfy myself with watching Gohan’s face as he washes me, gentle and sweet, like everything about him.

Well . . . almost everything . . .

My twin tosses the capsule on the floor where it implodes, revealing the small bag that contains my clothes, and they dress me together, probably as quick as it could be done.

“She’ll be here in about five minutes.”

My eyes find Gohan’s, desperate for a second the fear settles in, that this is it. That I’ll never have him again, that he’ll go back to loving my twin, pretending like I don’t exist.

But there’s something in his eyes that tells me otherwise. Gives me peace. And he smiles at me one last time, a smile with a promise, leaning in to kiss me lightly, looking me in the eyes again.

“Bye, Trunks.”

“Uh . . . bye, Gohan . . .”

And then I’m being unceremoniously ushered out the front door by my twin, and I can feel Videl’s energy, almost here. And I toss a look over my shoulder as I prepare to take off, and find my twin smiling at me, a smile not unlike his lover’s. Sweet. Unpretentious.

“Come back when you can stay longer.” And he winks at me, before ducking inside the door, closing it behind him.

***

I feel no need to think, as I make my way to the nearest nowhere, and I can feel Goten coming to meet me. He’s not all that far away. I touch down in a fallow field, and I only have to wait a minute or so before he joins me. Wrapping his arms around me, tilting his face upward for a kiss, and as he tastes my mouth, he shudders, pulling back to look at me, eyes shining.

“So?” he asks, not bothering to hide the imp, smirking at me as if he had known how awesome it would be, and had told me so. “How was it?”

And it’s a struggle, to think of what to tell him. I cast around for a few ideas, but every description that comes to mind just seems so . . . lame. A word comes to mind . . . still lame, but maybe a bit better than anything else I could come up with.

“Vanilla.” And I can still taste it, on my tongue. The taste of Gohan, and even if I never taste it again . . . I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Happy (belated) birthday, V! I love you!