Burn

Burn

Summary: [Future Timeline] Gohan is growing weary of losing to the androids, so he finds himself taking advantage of the one thing that he knows he can control: Trunks.

Warnings: Noncon, shota, maybe a little OOC on Gohan’s part

Note: You know…I’m not really a fan of shota, to be honest. Ha…but I’m writing it anyway. This is set before Gohan lost his arm. I don't know how old Trunks was when Gohan lost his arm, but...Trunks is fourteen and Gohan has two arms. The author has spoken. So there. Enjoy!


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“Channel your energy, Trunks! Harness it! Use your anger to fuel that fire within you!” Gohan shouted at the teenager several paces in front of him.

In the midst of the cold tundra, Gohan tried to use his words to push his pupil to the next level of his Saiya-jin abilities. The young boy screamed out his frustration, pouring all of his energy into becoming a Super Saiya-jin, just like his mentor.

Gohan almost allowed himself a small smile; his student was close. Trunks was walking the line, but he needed something more, something to push him over the edge. His smile dissipated into a slightly open-mouthed expression of expectation as a golden aura began to surround his pupil’s body. A dark eyebrow rose, watching lavender hair spike upwards.

Trunks remained in that state, halfway between Super Saiya-jin and not, for only a few seconds. Suddenly, the aura completely disappeared, and Trunks fell to his knees, his hands on the frozen ground below him, his breaths coming in hard puffs. Gohan allowed his raised eyebrow to settle into a resting position. For the past two weeks, this was as far as Trunks would get. He plastered on a smile and told his student how proud he was of him, wanting nothing more than to encourage the young boy. He was only fourteen, but he was fighting alongside his master, giving everything he had to defeat the androids.

He really was an amazing boy.

Gohan sat down cross-legged next to him, and Trunks copied his position. He kept his blue eyes lowered, though, angry with himself for not reaching the next milestone in his training.

“Trunks, you’re doing very well. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Trunks frowned, his angular features contorting into disappointment. “You don’t have to lie to me, Gohan. I know that I haven’t made any progress.”

Gohan kept the smile on his face, but in his mind he was inclined to agree. It wasn’t that he had made no progress at all… However, the progress that he had made in recent days had been slim.

“You’re almost there, Trunks,” Gohan responded truthfully. “I can feel it, and so can you. You just have to keep believing in yourself.”

The boy’s frown deepened. “It’s a little hard when the same thing keeps happening every day.”

“I know,” Gohan said with a sigh. Trunks glanced up at him with surprise, a little caught off guard that his master was agreeing with him. “But you have to realize that this is a very difficult step to make, especially if you are trying to get there without the right motivation.”

“What do you mean?”

Gohan regarded his student with a sad smile.

“From what I can tell, the way to reach the level of Super Saiya-jin is by using the pain of loss. Usually, it’s an…unplanned sort of event.”

Trunks furrowed his eyebrows. “I still don’t think I understand. I’ve suffered loss before, right? Then why am I still not there yet?”

“Well…it just may not be the right loss yet.”

Gohan’s face turned somber. Trunks began to regret asking. He never liked to see Gohan this way, a far-off look in his eye, as if he were remembering something painful. Gohan never discussed it, and Trunks did his best not to ask about it out of respect for his master.

“When my father died, I still couldn’t reach Super Saiya-jin. It wasn’t until Piccolo was killed that I was able to get there. Maybe it was the fact that my father died of a rather natural cause and Piccolo was killed right in front of me…or perhaps it was because I felt closer to Piccolo than I did to my father… I couldn’t tell you the reason why, but I know that the feeling of losing someone that I was that close to angered me so much that I…that I couldn’t contain it…”

He stopped then, seeing into a distance that Trunks could not follow. Gohan had never opened up to him in this manner, and Trunks fell short of what to say. Both remained quiet for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts: Gohan somewhere in the past, and Trunks guessing at the future. Would Trunks have to witness the death of someone close to him simply to reach a new level of power? He frowned. Well, that just wasn’t fair. Gohan, his mother, and Chichi were the only three he really had, and the thought of losing any of them was unacceptable.

It was a long while before either of them spoke. When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Gohan sighed and pulled himself up to stand. Trunks hesitated, then followed suit.

“So how about that dinner?” Gohan asked with a jovial smile, all remnants of the previous tension suddenly gone. “I hear your mom is coming to our house today. I’m assuming that you’re supposed to be there too. We should probably get going.”

Trunks gave a weary smile and floated into the air after his master. They flew to the Son house at a leisurely pace, but their speed began to quicken as they neared the small, dome-shaped house. The aroma of a feast was already reaching their senses, and both of them grinned with anticipation.

When they arrived, Bulma was already at the Son house, setting the dinner table. Trunks greeted his mother with a hug, while Gohan smiled brightly at his own mother, kissing her quickly on the cheek. Chichi turned her back to the stove, facing her son. She returned his smile and wrapped her arms tightly around her son.

“I’m glad you came!” she half-sobbed into his shirt. “I never see you anymore! Always off fighting those damned androids… Sit down, sit down!”

She motioned him towards the table, where Trunks had already taken his seat. As Gohan sat in his chair, both women placed plates piled high with a variety of foods in front of the two warriors. Once Chichi and Bulma had filled their own plates, they sat next to their respective sons.

“So, Gohan,” Bulma began with a smile. “How have you been?”

Gohan was already two-thirds through his second bowl of rice. He peered over the rim of the bowl that his face was practically buried in, and blinked his wide brown eyes.

“Hungry,” he said simply, before quickly finishing the bowl.

Bulma and Chichi smiled widely at each other. Trunks watched his master with intense blue eyes, wondering how he managed to appear so focused on food when the androids could be lurking just on the other side of the door. He picked at his serving of fish, wanting desperately to have a dose of whatever Gohan had.

“Trunks, honey, eat your food. You want to grow up big and strong like Gohan, don’t you?”

“Yes, mother.”

Trunks did not bother to glance in her direction, still absently pushing around his meal. Gohan paused, putting down his third bowl and pursed his lips as he contemplated the younger boy’s mood.

“Hey, cheer up, Trunks,” he said breezily. “You wanna spar after dinner?”

Trunks’ eyes lit up at the prospect of furthering his skills. Lately, he had been obsessed with the idea of becoming a Super Saiya-jin; he knew it would make Gohan happy to see him ascend to the next level. He wouldn’t admit it, but recently, he had also become obsessed with the idea of making Gohan happy. As one of the few to see him on a regular basis, he could tell that the continued tyranny of the androids was taking its toll on him. All of the lost battles were more than wearing on him, and though he seemed completely at ease at the dinner table, Trunks knew that the urge to win must be clawing at the back of his mind. At least, that’s how it was for him.

“Oh, no you don’t, mister!” Chichi said sternly, every bit of her fiery spirit manifesting in her tone. “I finally see you after weeks of you fighting those monsters, and you think I’m going to let you waste it by training?!”

“But mom—”

“I said no, Gohan!”

Bulma smiled. No matter how old or how tough Gohan would ever get, Chichi could always rein him in. Gohan ducked his head slightly, not out of any real fear, but mostly out of habit, and muttered his assent like a chastised child.

“Aw, come on, Aunt Chichi!” Trunks interjected. “We have to get stronger to beat the androids!”

“Trunks,” Bulma warned. In response, Trunks looked down at his plate. “I agree with Chichi. All you boys ever do is fight, fight, fight. It’s high time you guys just sat down and enjoyed life.”

“But how can we enjoy anything when those…things are out there killing innocent people!”

Gohan gazed at his student, reading the frustration he only barely concealed.

“Mom, Aunt Chichi, we have to train,” Trunks said seriously. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to beat them!”

The two older women frowned heavily. However, they were given no time to retaliate with their own arguments, as the front door let out a loud scream of protest. Everyone snapped their heads to the door, watching a large crack split jaggedly down the length of the panel. Gohan and Trunks immediately jumped to their feet, sensing no energy behind the rapidly fracturing door.

“Mother, Bulma, please leave the area as fast as you can.”

Though he didn’t see, both women nodded, recognizing the urgency of his request. As they hurried out the back door, they glanced wistfully behind them, both wishing that their lives could return to the peaceful days that had been.

Gohan took a fighting stance, and Trunks followed suit. Both stared at the door, ready for battle, but despite Trunks’ serious countenance, he was not as sure of himself as Gohan. Soon the door was completely destroyed, and of course, in the doorway stood the two androids, their cold eyes staring ahead blankly. Gohan mentally checked for his mother and Bulma’s energy signal, dedicating a fraction of his attention to tracking them as they fled the area as quickly as possible.

“Trunks,” Gohan muttered, “stay back, all right?”

Trunks bristled at again having been told to relinquish his half of the fight.

“No,” he hissed quietly.

“Trunks.”

Gohan’s tone was hard and decisive, but Trunks stood his ground. There was no chance for further disagreement as Eighteen advanced into the house. She pushed blonde hair behind her ear and airily assessed the household.

“Quaint,” she said with a smirk.

Gohan tipped his lips down into a frown, aware of the underlying disdain in her voice.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“What do we always want?” Seventeen spoke from the doorway and smiled. “To play.”

As if that were her cue, Eighteen lunged at Gohan, attacking him with dangerous speed. Gohan managed to block her barrage of punches, finally spotting an opening and landing a solid kick to the side of her head. The pretty android was sent flying across the living room, crashing into the fireplace. Pictures sitting atop the mantle crashed to the floor, a few of the bricks loosening from the structure, and falling atop her head. Eighteen stood, brushing off the debris as if it were a minor setback in a well thought-out plan. She cracked a small smile, vaguely excited for the battle.

“It looks like our friend isn’t pulling any punches today, Seventeen.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to call me a friend.” Gohan’s voice was menacing, and he regarded the mess they had made of the fireplace with a frown. “Why don’t we take this outside?”

He rushed towards Seventeen, knocking him back with four well-placed punches to the stomach and face. Eighteen and Trunks followed, meeting them outside under the starlit sky. Gohan continued his attack, aware that the dark-haired android was not defending himself. A line of sweat dropped down the side Gohan’s forehead, not out of fatigue, but because he was very familiar with the behavior. Seventeen was toying with him. He frowned, his anger fueled by the mockery of his effort.

Meanwhile, Trunks took his turn with Eighteen, tossing an energy blast towards her, then using the distraction to quickly disappear and appear behind her, slamming the fist created by his linked fingers into her back. She fell easily to the ground, and looked back at him mischievously. Trunks balked at the expression, but regained his senses in time to cross his arms in front of him as she directed her foot to his face. He was pushed back only slightly, and he grabbed her leg, spinning her around several times before letting her go. She allowed herself to fly a few meters away before stopping herself in midair. Trunks had been racing after her, and when she stopped, sent a hard right hook to her lip. Blood seeped from the resulting wound, and Eighteen reflexively punched him in the stomach. The teenager doubled over in pain, and Eighteen gave an axe-kick to the middle of his spine, sending him crashing to the ground.

Gohan heard the collision behind him, feeling Trunks’ energy waver momentarily, before burning brighter than ever. Gohan smiled inwardly, pleased with his pupil’s endurance. He flared into Super Saiya-jin, and his fist connected painfully to Seventeen’s chin. The android staggered, his dark eyes glinting, as he righted himself.

“Is that all you’ve got? You go blond, but that’s the best that you can do?”

Gohan growled, knowing better than to let his words affect him. He would not be baited.

“I’m just getting started,” he opted instead for a response.

“Oh, of course.”

Gohan released his frustration with a yell, and sped towards Seventeen. The young android stood still, unguarded, waiting for the attack. Gohan clenched his teeth and disappeared in front of him, leaving a blurred afterimage. Seventeen turned around, perfectly predicting Gohan’s whereabouts, and blocked the entirety of Gohan’s volley of punches and kicks.

From above, Eighteen watched her opponent pick himself up out of the crater he had just made. He glared up at her, and she couldn’t help a small chuckle at the determined teen. He was quite a handsome boy, and she just hated to kill him off so easily. She floated down next to him, leaning uncomfortably close. Trunks swallowed audibly, as she breathed against his ear.

“It looks like your friend is winning against my brother. You guys may actually have a chance this time.”

Trunks gasped and risked a glance to the side, momentarily blinded by the thought of victory. Eighteen laughed cruelly at his folly, and knocked him easily into the front wall of the Son home. Satisfied that he would be out of commission for a while, she floated over to the battle between Gohan and her brother.

“Come on, Seventeen. Let’s switch. Purple hair is a little boring today.”

Seventeen caught Gohan’s leg and threw him into a nearby tree. He turned his attention to his sister with a frown.

“No, I like this one. He’s feisty. And I don’t want the boring one. Go fix your toy and leave mine alone.”

Hearing the way the androids so carelessly referred to them, Gohan powered up dramatically, his golden energy bursting around him, decimating the tree he had been hurled into. Seventeen grinned and fell into a defensive stance, awaiting the product of Gohan’s fury.

Gohan lunged, flying at him with drastic speed, and just as he reached the rogue android, Eighteen appeared in front of him, crushing the heel of her palm into his cheek, sending him hurtling to the side. She followed up with a concentrated energy wave. As she heard his cry of pain, she smiled, turning to Seventeen.

“What the hell, Eighteen?!” He stomped his foot in a mild tantrum. “I was just about to get serious with the guy!”

“You should have traded.” Eighteen shrugged nonchalantly. “Let’s go. I don’t think blondie is getting up soon. I actually put a little effort into that blast.”

Seventeen huffed. “Whatever.”

He lifted himself angrily into the air and flew off. Eighteen rolled her eyes, realizing she may be getting a cold shoulder from her brother for the rest of the night. She lazily flew after him, knowing he wouldn’t go too far without her.

Beneath the rubble from the new hole in the Son house, Trunks stirred. He groaned as he climbed out of the debris, shaking the dust out of his hair. His body ached, but he ignored it as he searched around for his master. Sensing Gohan’s dwindling ki, he followed the shallow trench Gohan’s body made when he had slid across the grass. Gohan lay sprawled out on the ground, unconscious, his orange gi singed from the heat of the energy wave.

“Gohan!”

He kneeled next to the older man, gently nudging him with his hands, his own bloody palms leaking onto the uniform. He pushed lavender bangs from his face, atypically unfazed when they fell back into place.

“Dammit, Gohan. Damn! It! Gohan!”

Trunks quickly checked him, assessing his injuries the best that he could, and carefully lifted him over his shoulder. He rushed towards Capsule Corporation as swiftly as he could muster, cursing the androids with everything he had.


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Gohan creaked open his eyes, groaning. He surveyed his surroundings, noting the slightly cracked white walls, the once pristine cabinets, and the late afternoon sunlight seeping through the ash covered window. He smiled, some of his initial tension leaving him once he realized he was at Capsule Corporation.

“Honey,” the familiar voice of his mother called out to him, “how do you feel?”

He raised his hands to rake through his thick spikes, but stopped short, pain shooting through his shoulder. He winced.

“I’m okay. Thanks. Uh, where’s Trunks? Is he okay?”

“Gohan?”

Trunks stood carefully in the doorway, worry etched clearly on his strong features. When Gohan nodded in his direction, the boy smiled and briskly walked to Gohan’s bedside, opposite of Chichi. Bulma, who had been standing next to the raven-haired woman, gently tugged on her sleeve. Chichi glanced at her, and Bulma nodded towards Trunks, then the door. Chichi sighed and followed the genius out into the hallway.

“Gohan should be glad he has Trunks around,” Chichi chuckled once they had left the room, sadness tingeing the laugh.

“Yeah, I don’t know how we would have managed to get him here,” Bulma responded, wanting to be cheery, but fatigue was obvious in her blue eyes.

When Chichi nodded, Bulma rubbed her temples and continued. “Come on, I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

“That, my dear, sounds like a wonderful idea.”

The voices of their sons faded away as they journeyed towards the kitchen, both content to relax for just a moment before coming back to check on Gohan. Inside the medical room, Trunks frowned heavily at his master.

“Gohan, why is it that every time we fight them, they seem to go harder on you than me?”

The older warrior was upright now, his hands hanging uselessly in his lap. A half-frown adorned his lips, as he stared at his palms. Luckily, nothing on him had been broken; the force of the blast had simply given him a few burns and scrapes, and the impact had knocked him out cold. Trunks had sustained even less injury, wearing only a few bandages on his arms and legs.

“I don’t know, Trunks.”

It was only partly a lie; he did have a couple of ideas. The androids may not actually have viewed Trunks as a threat, going only after the one they believed may have a chance at defeating them. However, he had seen the way Eighteen looked at Trunks during their last few encounters, and inwardly shuddered at the thought of an android harboring any sort of feeling for his pupil.

Not that I can’t see why she would…

Gohan completed his frown, annoyed with his own thoughts. He had become increasingly aware of Trunks in the past year, since his voice had dropped and his form had become more solid with their training. His piercing blue eyes were always gazing up at him, always searching for something. If Gohan would let himself, he could imagine several things that he could give the boy, and none of them included martial arts. But Trunks was fourteen.

Right. He was fourteen. Hardly consensual.

Gohan was his master, and that was it. But Trunks was always so eager. Always ready to learn, always ready to please.

While Gohan had been so immersed in his thoughts, thoughts that were becoming dirtier by the moment, Trunks had climbed into the hospital bed, folding his legs with his hands in his lap. The older man tensed, suddenly very conscious of Trunks’ proximity.

“I don’t understand. Am I just that weak still? Gohan, you can tell me. Am I so far from being even half a match for the androids?”

Gohan watched the expression on Trunks’ face, recognizing his wounded pride. He had felt a similar pain when the androids had killed all the other warriors except for him. They had barely batted an eyelash in his direction, instead turning their attention to the older, stronger men. When they all failed, he had wondered how he could ever be of any use to the planet.

“Trunks, you’ll get there.”

It was a pitiful response, hardly answering the youth’s question. Trunks frowned deeper, but he said nothing further on the subject.

“Are you in any pain?” he asked.

“Only a little.”

Gohan’s clipped answers worried him, but he tried not to pry into the man’s private thoughts. It was clear that he was involved in an internal battle, but Trunks couldn’t stand to leave his side. He looked down at his hands.

Gohan spared a glance at Trunks, watching him fidget with his fingernails. He clenched his teeth, angry at the androids for mocking them. This last fight had been a clear reminder of how far ahead of them the cyborgs were. The entire time Seventeen had been toying with him, and Eighteen had thought of Trunks as nothing more than a waste of her time.

The handsome boy knew this, and Gohan could imagine what he felt. He had felt the same uselessness when he was younger, and he could remember constantly wishing that Piccolo were there to take away some of the pain. However, this time he was on the other end of the equation. He was to Trunks what Piccolo was to him, but Gohan was still alive. Maybe he could alleviate some of the turmoil in the boy’s spirit.

Boy. Just looking at him, Trunks could hardly be called a boy anymore. His body was slight, but still built as if he should be years older. While his heart was still innocent, his mind had seen more and processed more than anyone of his age should ever have to bear. Yes, Trunks was only a boy in age.

At least, that’s what Gohan told himself.

Trunks looked up, feeling eyes on him, and was met with Gohan’s charcoal orbs staring back at him. Trunks was taken aback by his master’s intense gaze, but was more than curious.

“Trunks,” Gohan started, “you must be feeling really shitty right now.”

“Wait, what?” he asked quizzically, having never heard Gohan be so blunt with his word choice before.

“Yeah, I mean, when I was a kid, the androids treated me the same way. As if they could be doing far better things than fighting with me. It felt terrible, to say the least.”

Trunks furrowed his eyebrows, relating to the feeling.

“But I was alone then, with my emotions. You, though, you’re not. You have me, okay?” Gohan brought his hand up to cup the younger warrior’s cheek. “You’ll always have me.”

His last sentence was spoken as if there was much more to it than he had said, but Trunks was given no real time to ponder, as Gohan’s lips met his in a heated kiss. Trunks widened his blue eyes, gasping against Gohan’s lips. His body wanted to relax, but his mind had already been sent into a frenzied panic. Gohan only left his mouth to continue a fiery trail down his neck, licking into the dip behind his clavicle.

“Uh…Go…han…”

Trunks’ confusion became even more apparent as his voice betrayed him. Instead of the unsure question that he thought he uttered, his ears heard himself moan Gohan’s name. Gohan responded to the sound, pushing Trunks down onto the bed, and climbing on top of him. Trunks decided to try again.

“Gohan,” his voice steadier this time, “Gohan…what…what are you doing?”

“Giving you what you need. What I need, Trunks. Do this for me…”

His master’s voice was heady, and Trunks caught the pleading in his words. He felt Gohan grind his hips against his leg, something hard brushing over his thigh. A strange mix of excitement and perplexity washed over him, and he regarded his teacher with hesitation.
Gohan didn’t wait for an answer and pulled the blue, long-sleeved shirt Trunks wore over his head, tossing it to the side. It quietly fell to the floor. He held Trunks’ hands above his head, enjoying the position they were in. Gohan had not be a dominant force in years, and he silently savored being on top of his student.

“Gohan…”

Again, Trunks was pretty sure he hadn’t meant for his master’s name to roll off his tongue the way it had, but Gohan took the tone for arousal, and engaged Trunks in another searing kiss, parting his soft lips with his tongue. Trunks resisted, a little harder this time, but Gohan was certainly the stronger of the two. Lavender hair fell across his eyes as he struggled, and the older man held him in place with one firm push into the bed.

Taking his lips away to breathe, Gohan regarded the flushed boy beneath him. He was breathtaking, and even though he was vaguely aware that Trunks was not as willing as he had hoped, he found another part of himself not caring. He felt a carnal need for his pupil, and he was sure that it was his Saiya-jin side. And if it wasn’t, it was a convenient scapegoat. Holding Trunks’ wrists with one hand, he loosened the youth’s baggy pants and pulled them and his boxers away deftly. The garments joined his shirt on the floor.

Gohan took a moment to admire his student, eyeing his erection with a growing smirk. Trunks felt his heart rate increase and his breaths were now coming in short pants; he was hot, very hot, and he wasn’t sure he should be feeling what he felt, especially not for Gohan.

Gohan released his hold on Trunks’ wrists, and placed both hands on his hips instead. He lowered himself so that he was eye-level with Trunks’ pelvis, and took the boy’s length into his mouth. Trunks cried out at the sensation, his breathing short as Gohan worked his mouth and tongue. With every bob of his head, he could hear the moans Trunks choked out, and reached down to stroke his own erection. Trunks hesitantly reached out to touch the spiked locks on Gohan’s head, tugging them, speaking between gasps.

“G-Gohan…please…please, stop… I don’t think…I want…this…”

Seeming not to have heard him, Gohan lowered his mouth as far down as it could go. Trunks groaned a mix of pleasure and fear, and spilled his orgasm down Gohan’s throat. Gohan moaned, the hum vibrating over Trunks’ erection, extending his climax.

When Gohan sat upright again, he licked his lips and watched his student’s chest rise and fall deeply, his clouded eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Those blue orbs sparkled with unshed tears and Gohan wondered briefly if that was good or a bad thing. However, Gohan was still unsatisfied and stripped quickly out of the training pants he was wearing. He felt an instinct overtake him as he flipped Trunks on his stomach, and lifted his hips in the air. Gohan licked between the boy’s smooth cheeks, and Trunks squirmed violently, reaching his arms out to grip the metal railing lining the bed.

“Gohan, stop…! Stop it! Please…”

Overpowered by lust, Gohan ignored his student’s protests, and pushed his arousal into him with a solid shove. Trunks cried out in pain, the tears he had been fighting against spilling down his cheeks in rivulets. He thrust into the boy, setting a steady rhythm, the tightness around his erection heightening his pleasure.

“Fuck, Trunks…I can’t believe you feel this good…”

Trunks whimpered underneath him, feeling awkward with Gohan’s girth inside of him, stretching him, breaking him. He was still confused, torn between his attraction to the older man and the pain he felt in his rear. Gohan continued to push in and out of him, pumping faster and faster as he used Trunks’ body to satisfy himself. That vague portion of his brain once again surfaced briefly, prodding Gohan to think about the repercussions of his actions, but his need surpassed his logic, and he gripped Trunks’ hips roughly, shoving himself hard into the younger boy.

Trunks gasped breathlessly, squeezing his eyes closed and clenching his teeth, choking back his sobs. Gohan moaned to the ceiling, feeling his climax approaching.

“Trunks…”

The way Gohan breathed his name suddenly settled Trunks. That moment of relaxation made Gohan gasp out of surprise, the pleasure that had been mounting inside of him brimming over the top in that simple moment of serenity Trunks displayed. He groaned carnally, as he came in waves inside of Trunks, his seed spilling out onto the sheets.

Gohan sighed lazily as he pulled out of Trunks, letting the boy collapse onto the bed. Gohan closed his eyes and smiled pleasantly, until he heard a rustling across from him. He opened his eyes to see Trunks backed in the corner of the bed farthest from him, watching him with suspicious eyes. Bright blue eyes that once held such high regard for him now stared back at him with concern and just a little fear.

It was the fear that finally caused Gohan to regain his senses. His dark eyes widened, as he realized what he must have made Trunks feel.

“Oh, Trunks, I…”

He held his hand out to his pupil, touching his knee, but Trunks shied away as if he had been burned. Gohan bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the young teen’s tear-stained cheeks.

“Trunks…I’m sorry… I just…”

“Why?” Trunks asked quietly. “Why didn’t you stop? I asked you to…”

Gohan gripped the white sheets tightly, looking down at his knuckles. He searched for a good enough explanation, but none came.

“Trunks, I’m sorry, but I just…I wanted…” He sighed heavily. “I like you, Trunks. I…like you. I mean, in a way that I shouldn’t.”

Trunks frowned, his previous fear beginning to spark into anger. “Then why do you?”

“Um…I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I’m sorry if I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“No.”

Gohan looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“No, Gohan. If you didn’t want to hurt me then you wouldn’t have.” Trunks pushed down the tears that threatened to fall again. “You would have stopped when I told you to. But you didn’t. You didn’t even care! You’re…you’re just like them! You’re just like the androids!”

The accusation struck Gohan deeply. It was as if someone had punched him in the gut, his breath leaving him just as abruptly. Trunks climbed out of the bed, ignoring the pain in his bottom, and wiped furiously at the tears in his eyes.

“I don’t like you anymore.”

“Any…more…?” Gohan repeated vaguely, like a lost child.

“In fact, I hate you, Gohan.”

Trunks walked deliberately but carefully out of the room, leaving Gohan with his declaration. Those damned tears washed down his face again, and he clenched his teeth. He had only gone a few paces, before he stopped and slid down the wall into a sitting position. With his legs hugged against his chest, he cried into his knees.

Gohan remained on the bed, listening to Trunks’ sobs, and felt his own tears pricking at his eyes. He buried his face in the palm of his hand, disbelief at what he had done clear in his expressive eyes. He let out a long, shuddering breath.

“But…I love you, Trunks.”


---
Well, there it is, folks. I’ve had this idea since May, and I’ve only now gotten around to writing it. I’ve been a bit anal retentive about this one, since I haven’t written a fic in…longer than a while, and I’m moderately pleased with it. I had planned this to be a one-shot, though I’m playing with the thought of expanding it; I have some ideas, but… Anyway let me know what you think!