“I just…” Mirai stuttered. “I just don’t see how it could possibly have come about. Gohan and Trunks? Even your father and Trunks! It’s… just… I can’t take it all in.”
Goten let out a cynical laugh, shaking his head.
“It’s been years,” He chuckled with no humor. “and I still can’t fathom it all. It’s like I can sit for days trying to figure out how exactly he pulled it off and it still escapes me. It doesn’t even seem possible that one man, no matter how physically appealing, could change the views and lifestyles of so many people. Mirai, my father is straight. Or at least, for all I know, he was for a long time. I don’t so much know that gender has ever really fazed my father or if in the Saiyan culture things were different then they are here. Maybe Trunks knew he could manipulate my father’s beliefs by appealing to his instincts. Who knows?
“I believe Vegeta said it best once. That ‘in this world, humans believe that God gives us gifts. To the worthy, He gives special powers and talents.’ Vegeta believes that ‘perhaps so does the devil and to Trunks, he bestowed the most powerful gift of all. The power of sexual intimidation and manipulation.’ ”
Mirai nodded. While logically, it was fanciful at best, in the ways of spiritual philosophy, it did make sense. A balancing perhaps between the sides of good and evil.
“Vegeta has been my only solace through the years, the only one I could speak to about these things.” Goten continued. “Who else could there be? My father has gone back to life as usual, roaming about the universe, the flawless hero as ever before. Gohan speaks with no one, a recluse with his books in his own little pessimistic world. Vegeta, as surprising as it struck me, became my only confident about these matters, the only one willing to talk about it.
“I used to wonder about how much it hurt him, what my dad and Trunks did. Or maybe more specifically, what my dad did. I don’t think he could ever have been surprised by Trunks’ desire for my dad. In fact, I’m pretty certain he was just as aware of it as I was. But I do believe that his shock rivaled even my own when my father succumbed to it.”
Goten looked up, for once his face not marred with anger or sadness, just staring with red eyes up at the sky. Mirai sighed, sitting down beside the younger man, cursing himself for understanding why Trunks found this family so fascinating. They were all beautiful. Nothing less.
With dark hair and dark eyes, it may have been hard for people to realize just how unique they could be. Every attribute was powerful though, every contour strong and defined. The shape of their eyes was even a marvel, such a contrast to the cat-like structure of Vegeta’s family line. Round and shiny, it seemed the answer to every question in the universe could be found behind them and one could merely stare in the eyes of a Son and find an amount of contentment.
Their mouths were a wonder as well, not quite as thick and full as Vegeta’s or Trunks’ but interesting and unique to be sure. They could be wide and inviting when happy or small and compact when serious. Mirai thought about his own mouth, how sharp the lines were, how very distinct every shape was. The Son’s lips were very gradual, very balanced and soft. As a family, they were simply intriguing.
“Sometimes I wonder how much there was between dad and Vegeta that we don’t know about.” Goten continued, oblivious to Mirai’s staring. “Sometimes I wonder if they were ever really enemies at all. People will remark how odd it is that what were “mortal enemies” became what you could nearly call “friends”. But I don’t think that way at all. I don’t believe they were ever enemies or anything close to it. I think from the minute they met each other, there was just an understanding: a rivalry but never a hatred that spawns from enmity.
“Gohan once told me that they could understand each other in a way that no one else alive could. That fighting-wise, they were two halves to a whole; their minds so insync with each other that plans could be executed without a single word being spoken. He told me that one look passing between them was like an entire conversation between other people.
“I think sometimes that we never really can understand what there is between those two. Maybe, to my dad, Vegeta sometimes seems like the father figure that he never really had, his link or tie to who and what he was. Other times, they’re like brothers, inseparable twins with minds linked to one another’s. They alone can share the raw passion for life and fighting that they experience. But I can’t help but believe there is real love between them. I don’t think Vegeta would deny caring very strongly for my father and my dad has expressed deep feeling for him many times. But I think it’s a different sort of love than that between them.
“Maybe it’s my newly processed “Gay” mind that brings me to these conclusions. But somehow, I don’t think it is. How could you be the only person in the entire galaxy that could understand a person and visa versa, and not love them? And not want to be with them exclusively? What are the hours apart like for them? It must be like walking amongst strangers every day, with the one person you know away for the time being. The only two survivors of their race. They don’t look any different but we can only imagine how their minds and thoughts must vary from ours. Imagine the thoughts and ideas and feelings that must pass between them in just a glance. Imagine what conversations they alone can hold. Like their own secret language.
“And I’ve seen your father Mirai. I’ve seen the way he looks when my father has died. It’s like he can’t even comprehend it. Like he just stares off with this calculating, confused look plastered on his face. Like he was just holding a conversation on the phone and the line was severed permanently. Or, as I believe mostly, that the one person that spoke his language just died and he’ll be left in a world that will never understand him. But then, I wonder if even death itself can separate them or if, as I truly believe, their strength and love for one another can bend the boundaries of it.
“Imagine what we don’t know Mirai. Just imagine.”
With that being said, Goten yawned, slowly maneuvering his body on its side to fall back into sleep. Mirai watched as the warmth of the sun worked its magic on the young Saiyan and the lines of expression slowly melted, leaving the beautiful face carefree once more.
“Do you still love Trunks?” He whispered, wondering if Goten was too far into sleep to hear him.
“Well that’s a stupid question,” Goten yawned, surprising him. “Like Vegeta and my father, death itself wouldn’t sever it. I’ll probably love Trunks until forever burns to cinders.”
……..
Trunks walked the hallways of capsule corp. passively, yawning as his assistant prattled away about accounts and business matters that meant virtually nothing to him in the moment. His mind was poisoned with thoughts of Mirai, the same way it always was when he met a new challenge. As much as people despised him for it, it seemed hardly his own fault, the idea of a new pursuit always entangling his mind until it was executed. It seemed he could think of nothing else until he had them underneath them, until he’d broken them.
And then? It was on to the next. Yet, Saiyans always had held a particular fascination for him, haunting his mind for years until he could finally have them. He had long since given up the sad attempts to purge his mind of it and gave into the raw obsession Saiyans held for him. They were the only ones worthy. They were the only ones strong enough to sate his sexual appetite. But they only lasted so long unfortunately, their consciences, or rather family members, eventually taking their toll. It was a frustration to be sure.
But Mirai now consumed him. Trunks could only describe it as a devouring, a burning from within. It had completely dissolved all other thoughts and he tritely informed his assistant to go home and stop wasting his time with useless babble. What was the use of being at work anyways? To keep up appearances? He had better things to do.
Rolling his eyes, he caught sight of his mother, cursing his luck when she spotted him and waved her son over. Reluctantly he joined her out in the garden, smirking to himself at Vegeta standing in the kitchen, staring off into nothingness, deep in his own thoughts. So like his father, off in a different world and always refusing to be part of this one. It was quite a shame though, that he had unfortunately hooked on to the social system of this planet, following their taboos as though he were a native. You would think a prince of another world would be above the social “no-no”s of a lesser planet but apparently not.
Oh well, Trunks had to shrug. All in good time.
He walked towards his mother, seeing her feeble old hands working the soil of the ground, her knees covered in it. Truth be told, she often sickened him, with her smell of approaching death, the way her body was slowly rotting around her. The way her wrinkled skin barely clutched to the bones any longer, stretchy and thin around varicose veins. She wasn’t even very old, yet sicknesses in her body spoke promises of a short lifespan. Maybe it was something only a Saiyan could detect. Like a lion sniffing out the young, the sick and the feeble amongst the prey.
He crouched down beside her, removing his suit jacket and tossing it onto a lawn chair.
“You look tired,” He observed, simply adoring this mindless, useless chit chatting they always had to do. It was tedious and absurd.
“I’ve been having odd dreams lately,” she commented, rubbing her eyes with the back of a dirty hand. “They keep me up. Feels like I haven’t slept at all. Your father has been having them to, or at least I believe. Maybe you’ve noticed, he’s even more withdrawn than usual, off God knows where.”
‘Ah, an embittered comment about dad,’ Trunks thought to himself sarcastically. ‘how unpredictable.’
“What have you been up to lately,” She asked, planting another flower.
Trunks smirked to himself, adoring this little game of theirs.
“Oh, you know,” he grinned. “The same old. Running about, living my sexually debauched lifestyle, loving every second of it.”
“Trunks,” she shook her head in disapproval. “Why Trunks? Why? Why can’t you just be more like…”
“Like Mirai?” He finished for her. She looked up at him quizzically, startled that he had known who she would say.
“Sorry mother dear,” He spat, climbing to his feet and standing over her. “but I’ll never be your neutered little boy scout.”
She watched him as he went inside, shaking her head. He could see her in the window of the sliding glass door, planting another hideous weed and hating how her son had turned out. The way this game ended every single day. Check mate.
Vegeta hardly noticed him, standing against a counter and staring down at the tile, deep in thought. Trunk could only remark to himself what wonders it must be that could go through his father’s mind, what universes he’d seen or what unimaginable things he’d done. Trunks’ smile widened when he tried to imagine just how much sex his father had had throughout the span of his lifetime, what unbelievable species and creatures he’d pursued. The ideas were mind boggling.
He’d even seen his father at work, sneaking into his parent’s bedroom with he was a young teenager. He could remember never even looking at his mother, completely mystified by the movements of his father, the way the light could gleam off every muscle in his body when he’d piston into her. The way his father had breathed, the slight moans and breathy, perverted things he’d whisper, Trunks knew sexual fascination ran in the family.
“Trunks,” Vegeta said coldly, bringing him back to reality. Trunks grinned wildly, realizing he’d been staring at his father, growing hard just with memories. Ah, how hilarious life would be had he even the slightest amount of shame or embarrassment.
Vegeta stood uncomfortably, his back pressed tightly against the counter, hands clutching it. The same sort of nervousness he always had around his own son. It made Trunks wild, just imagining that Vegeta held even one thing sacred for his son, be it simply the fact that he was nervous around Trunks and no one else. He always took it for whatever sexual implications he could, walking towards his father and caring nothing for personal boundaries.
The older Saiyan tensed, perhaps fearing that at this closeness, Trunks would only need to lean in but an inch or so to kiss him, the heat from his son’s body radiating against his own. He’d been on the receiving end of Trunks’ sexual invitations one too many times and knew well enough to proceed with caution, however much he hated the fact.
“I heard you haven’t been sleeping well,” Trunks smiled sweetly, tilting his head to look at Vegeta’s face from both angles, at the same time breathing hot air against the sides of his father’s neck. “Bad dreams?”
“You could say that,” Vegeta swallowed, leaning back farther.
“I have those sometimes too,” Trunks breathed. “Keep me up for hours. The very VERY bad ones. Know what I mean?”
He let his finger trace the lower abdomen on his father, snaking a trail downwards before Vegeta viciously grabbed his hand, squeezing it painfully.
“You’re a fucking nympho Trunks,” The Prince hissed between his teeth, glaring angrily. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“Oh please,” Trunks laughed, yanking his hand away. “And where do you suppose I get it from? Mom? Oh yeah, I can just imagine it. Bulma Briefs, the hottest piece of loose pussy this end of the globe.”
Vegeta looked like he might at any moment strike Trunks across the face, his mouth set into a tight scowl, eyes fiery and intense. Trunks could only grin that much wider, seeing signs of his father’s sex face immerge, memories spurring him onwards as he leaned in closer.
“You know she’ll be dead soon, don’t you?” he asked. “You can smell it on her, can’t you? Rotten, festering. I wouldn’t give her more than ten years at best. And then what will you do? Hm? Who will you have then?”
He pointed out towards the window, watching as Vegeta slowly tried to calm himself.
“These humans will rot and die around you, but I’ll remain. When you bury her, keep in mind, I won’t age. I won’t weaken to the point where I’m no longer sexually capable. For as long as you live, I’ll be waiting for you to come to your senses and give up this pathetic charade. Or do these humans own that much of you that you’re no longer capable of making your own decisions, big bad Prince?”
Trunks spun around, pressing his backside against his father’s pelvis, feeling heat emanating from it. He cupped his hands over Vegeta’s, rocking back against the shocked older man. He let his head fall back onto his father’s shoulder, breathing hard against the thickly corded neck.
“You think of that when these ‘bad’ dreams keep you up Vegeta.”
He kissed the side of the Prince’s neck, slowly pushing away and walking towards the sliding glass door.
“Until then,” He added, turning around to observe the flustered man. “I think you might just need a cold shower…. Daddy.”