Under Duress

Under Duress

Pairings: Goten/Mirai Trunks, Trunks/Goten, Mirai Trunks/Gohan

Warnings: Yaoi, not much else so far

Summary: Mirai Trunks temporarily takes up residence in the past, and Goten is determined to get into his pants. Present Trunks, still in denial about his affection for the youngest Son, just can’t imagine why he’s not too thrilled about Goten’s new obsession.

Note: Goten – 21, Trunks – 22, Mirai Trunks – 30, Gohan – 32

For the sake of eliminating confusion, I’ll try (emphasis on try) to refer to present Trunks as Trunks and Mirai Trunks as Mirai. Well, at least when the present Trunks is introduced. (Granted, it actually annoys me. I hate to call the kid “future,” but really, I can’t call him Bob. Or can I…? …No, no I can’t.)

Also, there’s no Pan. No. None. Eh, no Bra either.

Special note/thanks: This story was vaguely (possibly very vaguely) inspired by Pixelgoddess’s story “Watching.” If you haven’t read it, I recommend you take a look. It’s a great read.

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Chapter One: Showing Up Is Half the Battle
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“Oh! My boy! I’m so glad you’ve come back! You’ll never believe what’s been happening since the last time you visited! I have so much to tell you…!”

Mirai Trunks had barely climbed out of his time machine before his mother, or rather, a younger and less weary version of his mother, rushed over to him with a wide smile on her lips. She had heard the unforgettable sound of his landing while on her way to her private, basement laboratory and had completely dropped everything in order to see if her presumptions had been correct.

Trunks found his mother’s gushing turning to white noise, as he capsulated his time machine and placed it in its canister next to several other small capsules. He shoved the container into the pocket of his dark cargo pants and allowed Bulma to latch onto his arm and lead him inside.

This Bulma’s cropped blue hair and perfectly ironed dress was a sharp contrast to his mother’s long ponytail and jumpsuit. His lips turned upward, hardly listening as he noted the differences between his timeline and the one he had just arrived in. The pictures on the wall reflected a peaceful family and a close-knit circle of friends, similar to the old photos his mother kept in her closet. The décor held a pale blue theme, like and unlike the home he had just left.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Trunks blinked, turning his attention to his younger mother, and flashed her a charming smile.

“Of course.”

Bulma’s eyes told him that she knew otherwise but said nothing to disagree. She was happy to see him—it had been about twenty years since the last time anyone had heard from him. After she had practically dragged him into the lounge area, she urged him to take a seat on the sofa.

“So,” she started, her excitement evident, “what brings you here? How long are you staying? You know you’re always welcome here, and your room is still available!”

“Ah, well,” he started, quickly recovering from his surprise at her high energy. “I hope I’m not intruding, but my mother…you…said I needed a break. That I’d been working too hard. We’ve been rebuilding what the androids destroyed for about the past ten years, and Capsule Corporation is at the head of the reconstruction. Mom sort of pushed me into the position of President, so that she could devote more time to her inventions, but…”

He trailed off and shrugged. Bulma gave her son from the future a maternal pat on the knee, seeing fatigue behind the blue eyes that were so much like her own.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you came. It’s been so long! So much has changed. Even your father is more agreeable since the last time you visited. And Trunks—” She tilted her head at the paradox of her two “sons,” but continued on anyway, “—is all grown up now! He’s off at university with Goten.”

She sighed the wistful sigh of a mother with an empty nest. Trunks stared at her with a raised brow.

“Who’s Goten?”

“Oh, that’s right! You left before he was born! Yes, Goten is Goku’s second son. Chichi delivered him shortly after the Cell Games, and you guys are just inseparable, I swear.”

Trunks smiled, glad that his counterpart had such a friend in his life.

“So…how long do you plan to stay?” Bulma asked excitedly.

“Mom says as long as I like. With the time machine I can technically go home at any point in time, regardless of how long I’ve stayed here. I suppose I would be meddling with my age, though, by going home right when I left after having stayed any real length of time here.”

Bulma smiled, watching her son’s mind calculate the consequences of his time travel.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she said, knowing from years of raising her son in this timeline that he liked to solve his own problems on his own time. “Now, your father probably knows you’re here, what with that crazy energy sensing you guys do so well, but I’ll be willing to bet he won’t come out to talk to you.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure. Where is he?”

“Training in the gravity room, of course,” she sighed. “I can only get that man to come out for food and sex. And only sometimes for the sex.”

“…”

A bright shade of crimson bled across the time traveler’s cheeks, and he managed to look everywhere except at his mother.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want to know…” he muttered.

Bulma laughed heartily and patted his knee again.

“I’ve built an entire room for him to train in now,” she started, breezing away from the subject of parental intimacy for the younger man’s comfort. “You go and get settled in your room—you remember where it is, right?—and then take a look at that gravity room, while I make a few arrangements. I know everyone’s going to be excited to see you again!”

“Arrangements?”

Bulma nodded quickly and shooed him away, eager to begin the preparations for another one of her famous parties. This one, obviously, would be in honor of her son returning from the future. Mirai Trunks sighed, familiar with his mother’s habits—once she was excited about something, her focus was entirely dedicated to it. Stretching his senses, he felt for his father’s energy signal and followed the signature to this new gravity room Bulma had just told him about.

When he reached the door, he knocked, aware that Vegeta hated to be interrupted, especially while he was training. Only after a few moments did the soft hum of the gravity simulator come to a stop and soon after the heavy door to the room opened.

Vegeta stood in the door frame, dressed in his typical training outfit: spandex, boots, and gloves. He stared at his son from the future with intense dark eyes. Trunks, unlike many, was not intimidated by the gaze, and stared back at him evenly, with a certain amount of curiosity.

“Is the world ending again?” his father asked gruffly.

Trunks smiled.

“Not this time. I just stopped by for a…vacation. Sort of.” He paused. “How have you been?”

Vegeta raised his eyebrows, and Trunks couldn’t tell if he was pleased that he had asked or if he was annoyed with the obvious attempt at small talk. The look his features settled into next answered to the latter.

“Yeah, just fantastic,” he responded, his perma-frown ever in place. “Do you realize that you and your little boyfriend don’t even care to spar anymore? Have you been keeping up with your training, boy?”

“Yes, father. It would be too much of a risk not to.”

Vegeta nodded with approval.

“Wait,” Trunks started, squinting his eyes in confusion. “Me and my boyfriend?”

Another frown. “Yes. You and Kakarotto’s second little demon. As soon as you two hit puberty and discovered sex, any notions of serious training were out the window. It’s been much too peaceful on this damned rock.”

Past the bitterness, Trunks could hear the sadness that lingered in Vegeta’s voice. He absently played with his lavender hair, wondering if this timeline’s Trunks had also discovered his orientation the same way he had. He supposed it was only natural that this Trunks would latch onto his best friend. He had done the same thing before the Gohan of his time had died; granted, he had been too young to be considered anything more than a little brother to the older man.

“We should spar sometime,” Trunks said to his father. “I suppose in twenty years you would have managed to get a least a tad bit stronger.”

The words left his mouth before he could censor them, and for the briefest moment he feared for his life. The past few years in his timeline had brought out the cheekiness in his attitude that he had inherited from his father, but he usually managed to keep it in check. But he had said it now, and he couldn’t take it back, so he settled a challenging look on the obsidian eyes in front of him.

To his surprise, Vegeta did not lunge at him with intentions to kill or anything of the sort. In fact, he almost smiled. A pleased smirk adorned his lips.

“Yes,” he drawled. “And we can see what all your hard work has accomplished. If anything at all.”

Trunks suddenly found himself excited at the prospect of sparring with someone of his own caliber again. It had been far too long since he had been able to express his Saiya-jin side in battle. He followed his father into the gravity room, slipping off his Capsule Corporation jacket as the door slid closed.

What began as a friendly spar soon evolved into an all-out war, where strength became second to technique and strategy. And while Trunks was smart, Vegeta had years of experience on him. Vegeta soon had him pinned to the wall, smirking his most shit-eating smirk. He leaned his head back and smacked it squarely into his son’s face. Trunks felt his jaw slacken at the impact, his father’s hard forehead connecting to his equally solid one. However, he felt the sting twice, once from Vegeta in the front and the other from the wall in the back. The younger man cringed as his vision blurred, and Vegeta released him, watching him crumple to the floor.

Knowing that dark, judging eyes were watching him, Trunks used the wall for support as he lifted himself with a grunt off the tiled floor. When he lowered himself into a fighting stance, Vegeta smirked, his pride not hidden, and allowed Trunks to attack him. The blows were not blocked so easily this time, Trunks now fueled by a desire to win. Vegeta felt his competitive spirit and matched it with equal intensity.

The chamber seemed to shake with the sheer magnitude of their power. Trunks had momentarily gained the upper hand, pushing his father on the defensive, as he hammered a flurry of punches into him. However, Vegeta spotted one small opening. While one arm deftly blocked his son’s powerful fist, the other sent a painful uppercut to his chin. Trunks staggered backward, surprised that his barrage had been countered. He barely had time to notice the blood on his lip before Vegeta rushed towards him, a wicked smile on his face, and unloaded his frustrations at his other son’s lack of training on the perfect look-alike in front of him.

Trunks noticed the mild change in his technique but was unaware that he was the target of his father’s displaced anger. With Vegeta’s increased speed, it became more and more difficult to defend himself. At some point, he only felt every other blow, the attacks gradually melding together, and Trunks realized that he was most definitely losing.

Despite having his ass handed to him, by his technically dead father no less, Trunks had never felt more invigorated. At the conclusion of their brawl, both bruised and bloodied, they exited the chamber with rather contented expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gotten better,” Vegeta commented.

“So have you.”

From the year he spent with Vegeta in the Room of Spirit and Time, Trunks realized the compliment for what it was. He had been invited to spar with him again. The dark-haired man walked towards his bedroom, without explicitly saying good-bye, leaving Trunks to his own devices. He decided to follow the first portion of his alternate mother’s instructions and started towards the room he had used during his stay throughout the ordeal with the androids and Cell.

The room had been decorated just as the other guest rooms had. It was neat, with very few personal touches. On the nightstand was a picture that he had not seen in almost ten years: a group photo that had been taken just before the Cell Games. Both versions of Trunks appeared in this photograph, one an infant and the other just out of his teens.

With a nostalgic smile, he reminded himself to ask Bulma for one of those types of photos to take back with him to his timeline. He was sure his mother would love to see the product of her dedicated work on the time machine. Here, there was a Vegeta who actually wanted to train, and in turn bond, with his son.

Turning away from the framed picture, he popped open a capsule with a duffel bag in it. He gathered a spare change of clothes and headed towards the connecting bathroom to clean himself up.

His quick shower lent him surprising energy, and he felt the edges of his fatigue begin to wear away. Maybe his mother had been right about taking another trip through time. Originally, since Bulma was forcing him to take time off anyway, he had simply planned to retreat to an island somewhere; at least then he would actually be physically present if any threat were to appear…

He pushed his nagging thoughts of all the possible things that could go wrong while he was off gallivanting in another version of his own world. The guilt was hardly assuaged by his mother’s assurance that he needed to go, that he needed a moment to be with others like him. Frowning, he walked out of the bedroom with his hands in his pockets.

“Geez, Trunks, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you, sort of! Is that a wig? And what the hell is going on with your ki? It’s like you’re in two places at once!”

Cerulean eyes shifted to the cheery young man suddenly in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell this guy that looked eerily similar to Goku that he had confused him with…well, himself, really, but the wide-eyed man grabbed his wrist and tugged him along the curved hallway.

“You promised that you would get me into that spanking new club downtown! And that you would buy me some new clothes after what you did to me last week. AND where on Earth did that bruise on your arm come from? You know what, that’s okay, we can cover it up with a little—”

“Excuse me,” Trunks started, finally deciding to interrupt the mysterious stranger. “I don’t think I’m the one you’re looking for.”

“Wait, what?” They came to a stop in the hallway. “Of course you are. I mean, you’re wearing funny clothes and all, and you’re a little bit cuter today, but come on, I’m not that stupid.”

Mirai Trunks managed to push aside his urge to blush at the nonchalant compliment of his looks and gently twisted out of the grip the younger man had on his wrist.

“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m not the Trunks that you’re used to. I’m from the future. Well, an alternate future, at least.”

There was a slow blink and a long pause. “So you’re not… Okay. I see. That would explain the hair…and why you’re in two different places…yeah.” Another pause. “I’m Goten.”

Goten stuck his hand out for Trunks to shake. The Trunks of the future hesitantly took it, mildly surprised at the other’s almost lackadaisical reaction. Goten shook his hand vigorously with a broad smile.

“Goten, huh? Mom mentioned you. You’re Goku’s second son?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head to the side. “And you look exactly like Trunks.” When Trunks gave him a strange look, he put up his hands with a laugh and said, “No, I mean, obviously you do, but it’s just so…weird.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’ve heard stories about you,” he continued. “Yeah, that you saved my dad and warned everybody about the androids. From what I understand, if you hadn’t showed up, I wouldn’t have even been born.” Goten laughed again. “Thanks for that. I…appreciate it.”

“You’re…welcome? I guess.”

Mirai Trunks tried not to stare at the man before him, but it was so clear that he was of the Son family. As much as he looked like his father, he looked like his brother as well. With the reminder of his master clear in Goten’s face, he vaguely wondered if he would be able to handle seeing Gohan again. Not that he would say it aloud, of course, but that was why he chose to travel to this particular point in their timeline—he and Gohan would be about the same age. This time around, maybe he would be less of a younger brother and more of a…

Trunks mentally shook the suddenly very adult images from his head and returned his attention to the youngest Son, who apparently was talking and had been for quite a while.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

The lavender-haired prince could not stop the smile. He really ought to at least try to look like he was paying attention to people.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Goten winked at him, and this time Trunks did blush, looking off to the side to avoid the intense eyes that were boring into him.

“You know, you’re not at all like my Trunks.”

Mirai Trunks raised an eyebrow. His Trunks. So they were an item.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blush before.” Goten smiled. “Let me guess, you’re the strong, quiet type, right? Shy and sexy.”

It was becoming more and more obvious that Goten was hitting on him, and Trunks wasn’t quite sure how to react. Of course, if he was involved with the Trunks of this timeline, it was only natural for Goten to be attracted to him, too. However, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cross that line. He was already intruding in this timeline; he didn’t want to invade his counterpart’s territory as well.

When Trunks did not respond, Goten grinned.

“Oh, I should probably warn you. Trunks is gonna be pissed when he finds out that you’re here.”

“What? Why?”

A small chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. I’m sure he won’t be quiet about this…injustice.” He spoke the last word as he made air quotes with the first two fingers on both hands.

“Oh…”

“I should probably go find him, before he forgets that he owes me a new pair of pants. I’m sure I’ll see you around. It was nice to meet you.”

Goten gave him another grin and headed off towards the other energy signal, identical to the ki of the man from the future. Mirai Trunks waved slightly to the retreating figure, and he sighed, somewhat annoyed at the prospect of having to argue with his other self. Repressing the urge to immediately resolve any potential issues with his counterpart, he turned towards the basement lab where he knew his mother would be. Whenever he needed answers, she usually was able to provide. As he walked, he bit his lower lip, thinking about the boisterous young man he had just met and trying to not to be attracted to the energy Goten had brought with him.

He sighed, suddenly glad that Goku had not fathered anymore sons.


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Random note: One of my favorite words is lackadaisical. If the word weren’t so dang obvious, I would stick it in at every chance I got. Tee hee.

This is certainly going to be a multi-chapter story. I’m enjoying writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it. =)