The routine was normal enough thus far, Trunks oblivious to Mirai’s spying. He would drift with only the most minimal amount of ki, lifting his body just far enough to see the whereabouts that Trunks inhabited. So far he seemed rather angelic, walking throughout his day with the interest of a zombie, caring very little for anything it seemed.
He apparently felt no obligation towards being courteous, refused to hold doors and barked obscene orders at the employees underneath his position. And despite his passive facial features, despite his inability to socially connect with anyone in a kind manner, everything about Trunks was unimaginably sexual.
His aura positively reeked of it, waves of pure sexuality melting off of his body. Every movement was an invitation to all around him, every glance, every lift of his eyebrow could silence anyone in attendance. His only downfall was the intimidation that it caused, many people avoiding him at all costs. He horrified them.
His beauty, however sought after, isolated him from those around, even his own mother and father terrified by it. The thought had only occurred to Mirai minutes after he had left his mother, that Vegeta, being as attractive as the man was, had no doubt been sought after by many people. The interesting part in all this? Did a handsome man fear every person that pursued him? Or only the ones that presented a sort of temptation? Was that it? Was that why Vegeta strayed so far away from his own son? He couldn’t even trust himself under the scrutiny of such a remarkable face?
It all struck Mirai as positively too Jerry Springer and so he avoided the thought for the time being, watching as Trunks drove home in his impressive black Lamborghini. A spacious mansion on the edge of the ocean, Mirai again remarked to himself that simple spoiling could be the problem. When you’ve been hand delivered everything on a platter, forgiven for your actions due to your prestigious name, what’s there to account for? A person could do anything and be forgiven for it with the flash of a handsome grin on an equally gorgeous face.
He watched with a scowl as Trunks flung a dish at an unsuspecting house maid, hollering that she was fired for unknown reasons. But did the bastard care that she was working out of a green card, spending all of the money she earned to buy her family’s way to America? Did he care that she had worked on her hands and knees, blistering the tips of her fingers to create spectacular meals that he didn’t even touch? That she had gagged when removing his sheets, finding enough used condoms to clog a toilet? That she had prayed for a raise to her God yet never had the courage enough to ask? No. He didn’t care.
The woman burst from out of the double doors, nearly colliding with Mirai that stood in the driveway, watching his other self randomly hurl objects around. He caught her as she tumbled down, holding her shoulders as she bawled into his chest, speaking in French so quickly Mirai could barely decipher the words.
“Shhhh Cherie’,” he ordered her, gathering her to him. “Go to see Bulma Briefs first thing tomorrow. There will be a suitable job waiting for you, trust me.”
With that he had pushed her away lightly, using the shadows to conceal his face which she had thankfully ignored through her blinding tears. She had stumbled away, relief and disbelief littering the features of her face before uttering out a thousand thanks you and leaving.
Mirai smiled, watching her go before it faded to a sneer, seeing his younger version had hurled a television through the window. He shook his head, glaring in disappointment. How could someone that was so completely him in every physical aspect be such a contradiction to everything that Mirai held dear? There were no morals there, no values or honor. He let his head shake once more, gritting his teeth in his mouth.
“Fucking monster,” he muttered.
……………………………………………
The club was as appalling as it was intriguing, the walls littered with shirtless men, each staring at him appreciatively. Perhaps that was the one aspect that both Trunks’ shared. The indisputable beauty and the vain knowledge of it. There was no shyness in Mirai as he passed by them, only a higher level of animosity towards any that might think to approach him.
Places like this seemed always absurd, pathetic excuses to escape your mind and twist your present reality to whatever sick fantasy you wanted. You didn’t find love in a place like this. You didn’t find a deeper, emotional attachment. You found something to fuck and possibly a good case of crabs if Mirai figured it right.
Yet he had followed Trunks here, keeping his energy level low as the Lamborghini tore through the lower streets. It seemed the heir to the capsule corporation also had no use for stop signals and raced right through several on his way to this morally debauched establishment.
Pulling into the valet, Trunks had handed over the keys, grabbing the poor attendant by the collar and whispering the words “scratch it and I’ll fucking kill you” before walking inside. Mirai had only shaken his head, waiting a few moments before pulling up his collar and entering as well.
And now he sat at an empty booth, taking in the colorful, swirling world around him, refusing countless drinks sent to him and rolling his eyes in reaction to wordless invitations. There was a time when such attention would have at least flattered his ego yet now, it only proved an annoyance, an impediment on the way to progress.
Trunks sat directly up at the bar, taking in the sights through the smoke of a cigarette and nodding to what must have been a few old acquaintances.
“Who’s the victim tonight Mr. Briefs?” The bartender asked, wiping off excess liquid from the glass counter.
Trunks merely scoffed, gesturing for another drink.
“I think the better question is how many tonight,” he laughed.
Mirai rolled his eyes, sinking back into the shadows when a man boldly sat down beside him in the booth. Keeping his manners in check, Mirai calmly asked him to leave, that he was waiting for someone.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” The man waved his hand, his bleached hair sparkling underneath the fluorescent lights. All in all, he was an attractive man, perhaps in his thirties and very handsome. “I won’t be here long.”
Mirai nodded, unsure of the man’s intentions since he didn’t seem to be overly interested. Gesturing for another drink to the waiter on duty, Mirai turned to him, grateful that the dark lighting could conceal his face.
“You’ve been staring at him all night,” The man said, nodding over to where Trunks sat, talking to a tall brunette in what seemed a rather tense conversation.
“Yes,” Mirai admitted, moving back farther into the booth so that his face was dramatically shaded. “he’s an…. intriguing character, isn’t he?”
“Among other things,” the blonde laughed. “The son of the great Bulma Briefs, heir to the capsule corp empire. And you’d know it within the first thirty seconds of talking to him. I’m Kelly, by the way,” the man offered his hand, Mirai gladly taking it as he realized the man had no impure intentions for him at the moment. “And what’s your name Blue Eyes?”
Mirai smiled, shaking his head.
“You could just call me that if you’re comfortable,” he laughed, finding himself strangely comfortable with his company.
“Alright then,” Kelly smiled, gesturing to Trunks. “And that’s Trunks Briefs, or as they refer to him around here, Adam.”
“Adam?”
“It’s more of a mock title,” Kelly rolled his eyes. “The first perfect creation of God. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Hm,” Mirai nodded, resting his chin on his knuckles. “I suppose I do.”
They both stared at the twenty-four year old, sitting there in all his glory, body tightly wrapped in a black tank top and tan leather pants.
“But word of advice,” Kelly cocked an eyebrow. “Under no circumstances, sleep with that man. Sure, if that’s all you’re in it for, he’ll give you the best lay of your life and I’m not exaggerating on that. But if even in the smallest part of yourself you just may think that you’d want more to it, keep away from him. The prettiest face in the world and the ugliest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”
“That bad huh?”
“Worse. He’s probably slept with over half of the people here worth looking at and torn them to shreds when he’s done. He’s no one to fuck around with unless you’re stupid enough to do it. I just wanted to warn you kid. There are enough victims around here that I’m surprised someone didn’t beat me to it.”
“I appreciate it then,” Mirai smiled. “But I have no intention of doing anything with him. Just admiring a pretty face you could say.”
But Kelly wasn’t listening, watching with wide eyes as the brunette that had been talking with Trunks reached up and punched him square across the face. Trunks of course seemed more or less unfazed, standing up and cracking his knuckles. Mirai’s blood ran cold at the detached look in the younger version’s eyes, absolutely no feeling or care registering.
“Oh God,” Kelly breathed. “I thought I remembered that guy. Trunks brought him in last night, I was sure of it.”
“Why did he hit Trunks then,” Mirai slowly maneuvering out of the booth, watching as Trunks continued talking to the man.
“Man was engaged to be married and also worked under Trunks, in more ways than one last night, I assure you.” Kelly swallowed. “Guess the guy didn’t know that Trunks had also been schtuping his pregnant fiancée for over a month now. But apparently, he knows it now.”
“Oh God,” was all that Mirai could mutter, watching in slow motion as Trunks sent the man flying 6 feet into the air.
…………………………………………………………
“Well, that wasn’t such a bright thing to do now was it Tony?” Trunks smiled sadistically, adrenaline pumping at an orgasmic pace. He felt the euphoria work over his body, his eyes fluttering with this sudden need to humiliate and destroy. He could swear he was working into a hard one just at the thought.
The brunette lay sprawled out on the floor, the music in the club turning off as several men encircled him, ready and willing to join in the fight.
“Tony,” Trunks said in a paternal voice. “call your boys off if you care about them. They’d be short work and you know it,” He reached down, grabbing a fist full of that gorgeous brown hair and nearly snapping the man’s neck as he pulled his head up. “don’t you mother fucker?”
Tony only cried out, enough incentive for his ‘boys’ to attack, trying as a group to tear Trunks off him. It was, as predicted, short work for the Saiyan as he took them one by one, hurling bodies like weightless objects around the room.
Mirai sat in stunned silence, recalling his mother’s warning yet obliged to do something about this outrageousness. A Saiyan using his powers against infinitely weaker beings! He felt nauseated.
Bodies scattered strategically around the room, Trunks looked down in sustain at his cigarette that had been literally punched out of his mouth only a few moments before. He grabbed Tony by the back of his shirt, throwing his face down only inches in front of the still burning embers.
“Pick it up,” Trunks spat.
Stupidly, the Italian refused, muttering curses at Trunks instead. ‘Oh yes,’ Trunks thought, ‘definitely hard by now.’
“Alright then,” he grinned, grabbing Tony’s arms behind his back and twisting them at an impossible angle. The screams that met the air were only accompanied by the horrified yells and whispers by the other occupants of the club. “Pick it up with your fucking teeth.”
Delusional with pain, the brown eyes could only roll up into his head, Tony’s face collapsing against the tiled floor.
“Did you not hear me?!” Trunks screamed in rage, grabbing the hair once more and yanking him up. “I said fucking pick it up!”
“That’s ENOUGH!” A voice came from behind him, Trunk’s rage blinding him to the familiarity of the speaker.
Whirling in anger and perfectly intent to castrate whoever had the gall so much as to disturb him, Trunk’s mouth flew open before forming the flawless, charming grin.
“My God,” he smiled, dropping his victim. “well, if it isn’t Mirai.”