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The Taste of a Cure	By : IuvenesL Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1388 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, and sadly do not make any money for writing DBZ smutfic.

Chapter List
- 1-The Taste of a Cure
- 2-Something Unexpected
- 1
- 2
THE TASTE OF A CURE
by Iuvenes Lascivus
This fic is dedicated to my girl, Veronica, for being my first fan, and for countless hours of� inspirational� conversation.
Warnings: Angst. Random plot twists. Everything that comes with mansex, and Saiyan instincts. Some things that might appear as though they should fall into other warning categories, but shouldn�t, really. The story diverges from canon slightly after Buu, and ignores GT altogether. Bad language. Trunks doesn�t usually say FUCK so often but he�s feeling bitter at the moment so I hope everyone will excuse him. Also, despite his respectable vocabulary�he�s a pretty smart kid, after all�he does not use perfect textbook English. Please excuse him for that as well, along with any other individuals that might have something to say in the course of the story. Except for Gohan. If he brings out your inner Grammar Nazi, the author will not take offense.
Author�s notes:
http://docs.google.com/View?docID=dgc3qqdn_83g7gxz9dj&revision=_latest

***

CHAPTER ONE
Caving In

I think I have a pretty serious inferiority complex.

So, this is where the psychoanalyst says, �Oh, that is interesting! Tell me about your mother.� Right? I don�t think it has anything to do with my mother.
Okay, well . . . maybe it has just a tiny bit to do with my mother. She�s a bit of a legend around the world, you know. An air-headed genius, beautiful even in her fifties, married to a man with a perfect physique, a man who doesn�t age, which fortunately no one has discovered is due to the fact that he�s an alien . . . heiress to what is undeniably the humblest multi-billion-dollar corporation in the world, headquartered not in a towering city building, but in a largish capsule domicile with a few labs and a couple of nice-ish rooms for meeting important and semi-important people.
Sometimes I think we�re famous because of that supposed �humility� � the media certainly makes a big deal about it � because no one really cares about great scientists or CEOs of multi-billion-dollar corporations, right? Not that much. I feel pretty much like a pampered rich kid anyway. What�s the big deal about living in a 100-room mansion? Who needs all that space?
Whatever. We�re famous, for whatever reason. Maybe it was my mom�s hot bod that first propelled the family into stardom � not that I look at her that way, you freak, but I know how to recognize these things in an objective sort of way � because as far as I can determine, no one outside the scientific community seemed to care much about my grandfather until mom was a teenager. If that�s the truth, then I guess I just came along and fit the mold. Lucky me, right?
I couldn�t tell you how many people want me, and I�m not really sure I want to know. I can tell you that a disturbing majority of females that I meet are downright obvious about wanting me, ranging from undressing me with their eyes to giving me a phone number, or a handle for one of those online �adult friend� things, or worse, trying to grab something. Women can be pretty shameless.
Men can be even more shameless, which I discover anew every time I venture out into the real world, admittedly as seldom as life allows. It can be a bit of a culture shock.
At my high school, guys tended to be more respectfully appreciative than shameless. There were a surprising number of appreciative guys, several times the statistical average. After all, me and Goten made it fashionable to be gay.
***
Sometimes lately I think my whole life is just a really, really bad clich�. As if the entire thing was the product of the unbelievably twisted imagination of some pathetic, emo thirteen-year-old girl who learned about true love from a mommy who boozes herself into incoherency every night because daddy beats them. As if normal, happy and perfect relationships just don�t exist, or aren�t interesting enough to make life worthwhile.
It wasn�t always that way. I used to be a whole person. I used to know who I was.
Now I just waste away my days thinking entirely too much. Trying to diagnose myself. Worried that my troubles are like worms, eating me away from the inside. Maybe I will run into that stupid fucking emo girl one day, and she can tell me exactly what sort of mental illness she stuck me with, so I can be cured.
The price of the cure is not an issue, and neither is the taste. I will pay whatever it costs. I will drink it down, and keep it down until it starts working.
Maybe then I will know what Goten seems to think I should know already.
***
We were adventurous kids, and started playing around with sex when we were really little � not sure when except that it was way before Buu, before Goku came back � and by the time high school rolled around, we were fucking like rabbits, as often as we could get away with it (which was pretty often; the parental reins were loose on both ends, if a bit less so where Chichi was involved).
It took years to convince Goten that everything would be alright if we told people. From the time we started public school, we had always been trendsetters, and it was pretty hard for me to imagine a scenario where coming out would be a bad thing at school. I mean, what were they going to do? Beat us up?
And sure enough, not only did we pretty much eradicate the social stigma against gayness at our school, but there were a good number of kids who started �experimenting� because it was what the cool people were doing. Not just that small and weird-ish group of kids that I�m sure every high school has . . . but people from every social circle. Thanks to our fans across the world, the phenomenon spread well beyond West City, and even now the global demographics seem to suggest that the effect might remain despite the loss of the much-beloved poster boys.
I would have been pretty worried about dad if he hadn�t figured it out on his own. I can�t tell you how grateful I am that I remained completely unaware of the prejudice against homosexuality until shortly before he found out, so I was spared years of angsting about it, though it was probably the worst few months of my life. And he was actually pretty cool about it, after scaring the shit out of me by even having a clue.

He didn�t bring it up until after the first time me and Goten engaged in full-fledged butt-fucking � he recognized the smell even after I�d washed up in the lake (sans soap, alas), a skill that demi-Saiyans apparently lack � but he claimed, with his usual hateful, nose-in-the-air ,�if you think I am an idiot, I will gladly disabuse you of the notion� Glare of Death, that of course he had known we were going that way for years, and he seemed to think it was all right and proper. �You are a Saiyan prince, boy. You deserve a strong mate. There is no one else who is worthy.�
Which really just begs the proverbial question, doesn�t it? You�d think he would have turned his nose up at mom � a human woman! � but he seems to like her alright. I mean, by his own philosophy, he should have . . .
***
. . . okay, so that thought makes me laugh uncontrollably, even though the thought has occurred to me many times before, with pretty much the same effect. But really, he should have gone after Goku years ago, right?
Well, to be fair, I know why he didn�t. I mean, on top of the fact that I have no real reason to think my dad would swing that way, other than the fact that it didn�t seem to bother him that I did. And even if he did swing that way, there�s nothing to say that Goku would. Other than the fact that he was also apparently unfazed by Goten being gay (and it was Goku that managed to keep Chichi from freaking out about it, miraculously, though it took her a couple of months to be happy about it). I mean, they�re both with women, and that is something that I have never even considered.
But anyway, the real reason why my dad would never go after Goku is almost certainly because his Saiyan instincts would make him the sexually submissive partner.
He�s actually the one that explained that to me, when I asked him why it just didn�t feel right unless I was �dominant� during sex; we tried it the other way, but neither one of us could get off. Dad says it�s because Saiyans are warriors, and our instincts are to follow strength in sex. Even in the rare cases where a female was stronger than her male mate, it still applied, but �dominance� is simply more clearly defined when it comes to sex between men.
And honestly . . . there�s just something about the image of my dad, on his hands and knees, getting his ass reamed by Goku, that�s just . . . wrong. Very interesting, I have to admit, but still wrong. And not just because he�s my dad, and I really try not to think about him like that. I mean, anyone who knows my dad would understand. That image is like . . . the antithesis of my dad�s life philosophy. Which, admittedly, seems to revolve around Goku a lot. But not like that?
Anyway . . . Goku figured it out on Goten�s side too � apparently the same way, caught out by the pure Saiyan�s uncanny sense of smell, and I hope that�s true because I find it really weird to imagine our dads having a conversation about it! � and pretty soon all the family and such knew, and thus Goten�s arguments for staying in the closet at school got a lot weaker.
So we came out our senior year, and then right after we graduated . . . bam. Goten left me.
For a girl.
***
Aside from a few other unpleasant consequences of that momentous event, the media noticed.

I�m expected to keep up with what they think about me, and usually it�s halfway-entertaining bathroom reading. Of course they decided that we, like our impressionable schoolmates, had just been �experimenting� all along. I didn�t bother to correct them (I never do). The women used to leave me alone for the most part. Now they�re all convinced they have a chance.
They don�t. And not just because I�m gay (I definitely am), because really, none of the men have a chance either.
They�re not Saiyans.
In fact, they�re not anything like me at all. What would I do with a human guy? Seriously. I�d break him. Well, I suppose I could be gentle � dad and Goku manage with our moms, after all � but what is the fun in that? Besides, strength is only a small part of it, and only really has to do with the sex. Sex isn�t everything, right?
Goten is just my other half.
We were raised, despite the celebrity of my family, in a pretty exclusive little social bubble. A social bubble that�s always in the midst of the most important things happening on the planet. It�s like the rest of the world is ignorant, while we�re the only ones that know the truth. We�re the only ones that know the gods, of the planet, and of the universe. We�re the ones the gods depend on when the fucking universe is in danger!
Goten is in that with me. He�s a part of it. None of those human guys are a part of it.
There are a few other guys in the bubble, but they�re ridiculously easy to mark off the list . . .
Our dads are out, of course. My dad for obvious reasons, and Goku is kinda like a second dad to me. And married. To a woman. Gohan is apparently happily married, and therefore probably straight . . .
Incidentally, I actually considered seeing what I could do to change that after Goten left me, partly out of post-traumatic shock syndrome (really), and partly just to fulfill a secret fantasy of mine that I would never have seriously considered as long as his little brother still loved me.
I was going to start slow on him, see if I could cry on his shoulder a little, feel him out for possibilities. But sadly, I realized pretty quick that Gohan still sees me as a little kid, and will probably always see me that way. He�s out of my league, on top of being married. And probably straight.
That�s it for the Saiyans. Nameks are asexual, not that I�m interested in green people.
The human guys . . . they�re pretty strong for humans, I guess. But Krillin is out (thank Dende!) due to being straight and married, and Tien is even more antisocial than my dad (and he�s got that freaky third eye!) and he�s probably straight, since I heard he once had a thing for some crazy girl with MPD or something that could supposedly do some serious damage with automatic weapons. Interesting, that he likes that sort of thing. But he�s still out, and on the whole I can�t say I feel like I�m missing much.
Yamcha is still pining over my mother. I could see him being gay and just delusional because he�s got this macho image thing going on, but whatever. He doesn�t interest me, partly because he is just lame, but also because he is one of those people that feels the need to remind me every time I see him that he is a heterosexual, usually with some idiotic and even misogynistic line about girls, always delivered with the full expectation that I will empathize, even though he knows better. Speaks pretty strongly for him being in denial, but who wants to be with someone who�s that stupid? Either he�s straight, or he�s fucking retarded. Or bisexual, but really . . . Yamcha just doesn�t do it for me. And he�s getting old.
That�s it. There is no one else, unless I need to explain why a centuries-old fart and a pig and Goten�s humongous grandfather aren�t really options.
And I guess that other people have been brought into that bubble through marriage before . . . but not really. Chichi met Goku when he was a kid. She was a fighter, and her dad studied martial arts with Roshi. My mom met Goku before Chichi did, and she was onto the dragon balls before then (which is, incidentally, why she found him). The dragon balls are a huge part of what we are, our little social bubble. Videl just happened to be the daughter of Satan, the guy who took credit for beating Cell when it was really Gohan. Most of the other people came to be a part of the bubble by fighting Goku, including my dad.

To understand why they all ended up being �friends�, you just have to know Goku.
I could go down a list of people who are somewhat slightly associated with the bubble � like the announcer guy at the martial arts tournaments! � but it starts to get really ridiculous. Me being desperate for someone I can relate to, but knowing it�s utterly fucking useless.
Out of all the people in the bubble, Goten is the only one that completes me.
Yes, that is a cheesy fucking line that I totally stole out of a retarded fucking movie, but I just can�t think of a better way to put it. Sorry. Unlike the idiots in the movie, we have actually been one person, more times than I can remember. After scary Buu got carried away by the only spirit bomb that ever did what it was actually supposed to do, fusion was a fairly regular occurrence for me and Goten, and by the time the other strong people (basically Saiyans and Piccolo) got tired of fighting Gotenks � we pretty much gave it up then, since fusing when there was no one to fight meant being alone instead of getting to hang out with your best friend � it had gotten to the point that we always felt like one person, even in our separate bodies.
***
So . . . in nutshell, that�s why I�m sitting here, all alone on a Friday night, feeling bitter . . . feeling like a half a person, jagged edges all broken and bleeding.
Goten claims we will never be one again, but I�m hoping he�ll show up tonight. And not because I�m a delusional idiot, either. Not exactly, anyway.
He�s between girls right now.
It�s happened quite a few times before. They all seem to be really cool girls � you know, the kind I might actually want to hang out with if they weren�t fucking my soul mate � but none of them have lasted very long so far. The first one lasted a month. It�s been a year since he left me, and there have been at least a dozen of them, week or two on, week or two off.
So yeah, me and Goten are still �friends�, right? Or at least, Goten doesn�t seem to want to let me go entirely. We hang out every now and then, and it�s not the same, not even close to the same, but I do it because it�s the only thing I know. I meet the girls, and it�s always just beyond uncomfortable, because, thanks to the mags, they all know our sordid history, or some semi-accurate version of it, possibly straightened out a bit by Goten. I have no idea what he tells them, and don�t want to know. But I meet them, and I�m nice to them, and I do everything I can to help assure them that I�m not going to infringe without being rude enough to actually say so.
But when the latest girl is gone, and he comes to me, wanting sex with no strings attached . . . how the fuck am I supposed to say no?
It�s the only thing I know . . . or at least, the only thing I know that I am still allowed to have.
Trust me, I want to say no � every time he comes to me, I pray to Dende for the strength to resist, and I hope that fucking pansy-ass Namek doesn�t wonder why I never come to visit his sorry green ass any more � I want to be strong and tell Goten to just go away and leave me the fuck alone because his heart just isn�t in it. I mean, that�s a fucking understatement. And there doesn�t seem to be a kami-damned thing I can do about that.
But I always cave, because that no-strings-attached sex is the only fucking passion he will give me, and it�s so fucking sad, but it�s also the only way I can lose myself enough to really pretend that he�s still mine. That he still loves me. It�s only a temporary, pathetically insufficient fix, and the inevitable coming down is a fucking bitch . . . but I still cave every time.
And he doesn�t love me. I wish that I could pretend, outside those occasional moments of passion before my brains rush back into my head. He�s been so fucking detached this past year, as if he doesn�t give a shit about anything, and all I can do is wonder what I did to make him that way. I know I did something, because my Goten wouldn�t turn against me if I hadn�t done something horrible. But we don�t talk about it. The subject of why is forbidden completely. He won�t even give me a hint, as if really does expect me to already know whatever it was that I did to make him hate me.
Kami, I must be such a fucking idiot . . . What the fuck did I do? I have no fucking clue. None.
Some people say that everyone has a soul mate, and that if you miss your opportunity to be with that person, then you�re just shit out of fucking luck. Maybe other people can pretend. Goten seems to be able to do it, after all. Sort of. I just can�t. I don�t know if there is really a soul mate out there for everyone. But I know mine.
Sometimes I wish I didn�t.
***
Maybe �inferiority complex� is a little too simplistic for what my problem actually is. I guess it just came to mind because I see myself as being superior to the rest of the world in so many ways. My mind can�t quite wrap around this irony that I�ve set myself: that I have so many things that all those people outside the bubble wish they had, but at the same time . . . nothing.
So . . . I don�t really wish that I never knew Goten. The only times I do wish that are the times when I�ve gotten so emotional that I�ve started ignoring reality altogether, because the reality is that I can�t even imagine life without him . . .
I always wanted to meet this version of me from the �future� that did grow up without Goten, so that I could thank him for going back in time and inadvertently causing Goten to be born by helping Goku to stay alive long enough to knock Chichi up again.
Now I just want to meet him so I can cry on his shoulder and curse him for what he did to me, and listen to his reassuring speeches about how it�s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I actually do that, in my twisted little fantasies. Cry on his imaginary shoulder, listen to him reminisce about his soul mate Gohan, who died in his arms. And this is all concocted from my imagination, of course � I find the idea of those two as lovers to be both incredibly romantic and a little bit scandalous � but it gives me a weird outlet for those inconvenient Gohan fantasies . . .
***
I�m jerked out of my thoughts as I realize that Goten�s energy is headed this way.
Well, well, well . . .
I�m sitting in the middle of nowhere, at least so far as the rest of the world is concerned. For us, it�s somewhere. But I didn�t come here so he would know where to find me. I can always feel him, just like he can always feel me. That�s part of what makes it so hard to forget about him. But only a small part.
I came here to let him know that I was thinking about him. That I wanted to see him. I was sitting here, thinking about him, the first time he came �back� to me, and it�s not something we�ve ever discussed, but I know he won�t come to me unless I�m here.
I stayed away a couple of times he was in between girls. Not away from him, but away from here. I�d go to his house, hang out, listen to him tell me why she didn�t work out, what he was looking for in the next one . . . but when I left his place, I went other places. Sometimes home. Sometimes other places in the middle of nowhere.
He never comes unless I�m here.
I was just over at his place a little while ago. He�s already got his eye on the next girl, and he was telling me about her various denizens, how he was planning on hitting all of them up tonight until he found her. She gave him her number, of course � Goten never has trouble getting those � but he likes doing it that way. Probably because calling a girl lets her know that you give a shit. �Randomly� meeting her in a dark club is a different thing altogether, and if you�re Goten, it�s likely to have the same result.
Usually when he tells me about those kinds of plans, I just go home and hit the spare gravity room, preferably on a setting that I can�t handle without transforming, until I�m exhausted enough to put myself out of my misery for the evening.
I�m not sure why I didn�t tonight. Because I�m a delusional idiot? Maybe . . .
So, it takes a little more effort than it should to stand up and dust the grass and dirt off my pants. It�s another ones of those odd inner conflicts, that I�ve been sitting here, hoping against the odds that he would come, and at the same time, dreading it.
It�s like every one of these misbegotten encounters takes away another little piece of who I am, and if I keep doing it, I�ll end up . . . empty. Just a shadow of what I was before.
Why do I still cave? Why do I still come here, hoping he�ll show?
I realize that he�s always come, every time I have been here. I guess I�ve just never really thought about it before because I only come when I know he doesn�t have anything better to do. Except for that first time, when I came here just to think about him. I didn�t expect him to show up then, offering a small taste of what I thought was lost forever.
So, I guess I came here tonight to test him. To see if he would ditch his plans to come here. I wonder if that�s what he�s actually doing, or if he�s just coming out here to taunt me. I can�t see him doing it � he hates me, but he�s not cruel � but why would he ditch his plans for someone he can�t stand? I know he�s coming here; he�s got a place in West City, and the girl is in West City. There�s no other reason for him to head this way.
That�s part of the problem with psychoanalyzing yourself. Specifically, I have a hard time facing my motivations until after the deed is done. Sometimes well after. My brain tells me that the horrible whatever that I did to Goten is one of these things, but any attempt to comb my memories of the days before I lost him for clues inevitably draws a blank, leaving me as wide-eyed and clueless as my dad�s favorite idiot.
***
Me and Goten trained in this place as long as I can remember. You can definitely tell; the land is pretty much blasted clean in every direction, almost as far as the eye can see, from the center of the field. There are boundaries to the blasted land that have a tendency to change fairly often, but we�ve managed not to destroy the forest on the northern edge of the destruction zone.
The trees cover the foothills leading up to a range of old mountains, capped with snow even now, in early summer. There�s a particularly gigantic mountain that cuts to the edge of the foothills in one spot, with a fair-sized river flowing from below the snow-capped peak, twisting around the mountain to end in a two-thousand-foot drop to a large lake deep inside the forest, in a huge bowl-shaped valley near the base of the mountain, hidden by the surrounding hills and dense trees.
I know where I am going, though. A quick flight over the low hills, and I�m dropping down to a place near the bottom of the waterfall, still hundreds of feet above the lake.
The pressure of the falling water at that spot could seriously injure or kill most people, but it only feels like a massage to me as I fly through the water as quickly as possible, coming out on the other side in a cave, completely hidden from outside view. A bit of energy to light the lamps, illuminating the cave. He�s getting close, and I want to be ready when he comes.
Another small bit of energy to dry my hair and my clothes, and a little more to dry out the bedding at the back of the cave, behind the fire pit we made for the cold winter nights. We set up the bedding back there when we were kids, often using it to camp out after long days of fighting in the destruction zone. We figured out pretty fast that it�s impossible to keep bedding from getting all mildewed in this cave. So Goten got the bright idea to ask Piccolo if he could make bedclothes that won�t mildew. Would you believe that he can?
Our innocent sexual escapades began here, and continued here almost exclusively; we can�t go all out in the cave, but the fact that it�s on the edge of our training field masks what we�re doing to anyone on the planet that can sense us. That is, if they don�t happen to wonder why we�re sparring in the middle of the night (a recent development � we favored daytime sex before the split), or why we never power up enough to really destroy anything. You�d think it would make more sense just to hang it all and have wild monkey sex out in the destruction zone, but we have only had the nerve to do that once.
Countless hours wasted away in this cave, sometimes with sex, but sometimes just talking, about our dreams, and our plans for our life. We could do that anywhere, just talking, but this was our cave, and we liked it here. We would sit for hours and watch the waterfall, sitting where the mist barely touches your skin, listening to the water as it patiently waged its war on the rock, above and below.
***
I can feel him, right outside now, and I realize that the tears are already streaming down my face. Every time he�s come to me here, I�ve been crying. It�s like his presence, just here in this place, brings all of those lost dreams to the forefront of my mind, overwhelming me. I can keep it under control, when I see him somewhere else. Usually. But in this place, I�m a slave to the past.
Maybe that�s why I can�t say no when he comes. Or maybe it�s just because I�m a delusional idiot, hoping he�ll snap out of it, and willing to take whatever drabbles come my way in the meantime, and to be thankful for them. And isn�t that just pitiful?
Ahhhh . . . but he is perfection. I can see him now, as he floats through the water, pausing under the nearest high water point, where I can just make him out through the mist, still dressed, in jeans and a button-down shirt, all the buttons undone. Hair plastered to his neck, corrugated water and refracted lamplight on his toned chest, nipples hard in defense against the water�s strength. A tantalizing stretch of exposed abs, with water rushing across them, accentuating the dips and planes, rushing down into his pants, with Goten�s hands the only thing keeping them from being taken by the water. His boots, unlaced and loose as always, are already gone . . .
As we�ve gotten older, he�s taken to coming through the water more slowly, and I know why. I�ve always done it that way . . . or I did before Goten turned my world upside-down. Now . . . in this place . . . it�s difficult to take the time to enjoy these little things like I once did.
My dad raised me to live on the edge, to savor those moments when you encountered something that was strong enough to make you feel, even if it was something small. All that water, falling freely from a thousand feet above, enough pressure to crush a human on the rocks below, is just enough to make a Saiyan feel alive. Goten never seemed to understand that, when we were kids. And when he discovered the joy, a ritual began.
Fuck, I love watching him as he savors that moment, turning his face up to the water, letting it try to beat him down. The water never wins. I can�t help but lean forward in anticipation, knowing what comes next. His hands slide around his waistband, to the small of his back, and the shirt escapes from his shoulders, gathering at his wrists, ballooning behind him, multiplying the water�s pull. He holds on long enough to let the water know he�s won, and then he lets go, and his clothes are carried away to join the boots, hundreds of feet below.
Perfection.
I don�t think he even does it for my benefit. Not exactly, anyway . . . and I don�t know if he ever really has. Goten has always had a thing for being naked, and when he discovered at the age of seven that his dad had a thing for it too, he became a near-incurable nudist, never wearing clothes in the cave, and playing naked in the yard with his dad at home. For some reason, Chichi tolerated that, but wouldn�t tolerate it inside the house. Anyway, once he accidentally discovered how helpful a waterfall can be with getting you naked, he was all over it.
He�s up to something tonight, though. Normally once the strip-tease is over, so is Goten�s moment with the water. But instead of stepping into the cave, he stays in the water, floating in front of the cave mouth, fingers trailing across the skin of his chest, managing delicacy while resisting the water�s pull. The water runs across his body in thick ropes, weaving around his torso, and then his thighs, breaking away at his knees.
His cock is getting hard, and it�s no surprise, really . . . the friction of the water might be enough to make him go numb if not for that element of pain to keep the senses alive. I�ve never done that before, but I can see how it might be . . . interesting. For a Saiyan, that is.
He arches his back, offering his chest to the onslaught, hands behind his head, almost absentmindedly bucking his hips upward. Goten must be feeling particularly on edge tonight, to seek this from the water. I can imagine how it feels, that bucking giving the slight sensation of motion, where numbness meets pain. Ah, Kami, but he�s beautiful . . .
I imagine that there is drool running down my chin to join the tears, now, and just when I start wondering if Goten can actually get off that way . . . he cries out softly as his hips stiffen, while his legs and arms seem to hang there, lifeless, his body suspended by his energy alone. If I wasn�t a Saiyan, I might have missed the explosion of his orgasm that was carried away in an instant by the water.
He hangs there for a moment of undetermined length, catching his breath, and then he jerks forward, tumbling into the cave, stumbling across the stretch of the cave floor that is always wet from the waterfall�s mist, and right there at the border between wet and dry, he collapses at my feet, crying and shivering.
Instinct pulls me down on my knees, reaching out to him, instinct that for some Kami-knows reason still guides me even though I know exactly what to expect. He pushes me away, screaming, a flash anger in his own tear-filled eyes that doesn�t belong there. It�s not a part of Goten, not a part of my Goten, my other half. I never saw it there, not until he felt that for me.
Oh, fuck, this is why I cry every time he comes, cause I know it�s coming, that crazy fucking Goten that I don�t understand, that I still can�t help but love, and just like that, I�m reduced to my own shivering ball of fucking tears huddling on the fucking floor. I know better than to try to comfort him. I know better than to hope he�ll offer anything for my own tears. It�s not what we are anymore.
Then what the fuck are we?
I�ve asked myself that question more times than I can count. I don�t know what we are anymore. I just know that I keep coming here because it�s the only way I get to see Goten feel again. It�s not the sex. Not really, though he does still seem to feel that, in his own way. Not just the little strip-teases in the water, either.
I mean, we still hang out as if we were best friends or something, but that Goten is not my Goten. Not the guy I love. The apathy doesn�t fit him any more than the anger.
But Goten, huddled over there on the floor, sobbing to himself over personal demons I don�t understand . . . that�s my Goten. This close, I can feel his pain . . . if not his reasons. When I can feel him like that, I think I have a chance. Like maybe if I just explained something, all his pain would go away, and I could comfort him again, like I should.
But that�s not what we are anymore.
I manage to gain some control over myself, and I notice that Goten has done the same. He flashes his energy to dry himself, making his hair spike out in a hundred crazy directions, like normal. He�s already got that look, the one that made me think everything was going to be alright again, the first time he came back to me. In retrospect, I don�t know why I thought that. It�s just lust: a pure animal sort of thing without any empathy.
He turns his back to me � it�s an exquisite view, but it�s hard to savor it like I once would have � and he walks over to our mildew-proof bed, tossing a look over his shoulder, as if to make sure I�m going to follow, before kneeling at the foot, legs apart, and stretching himself languidly over the mattress, inviting me with his body, to pretend.
I know what he wants. This intimacy, he will allow. Never to kiss him, or hold him, or to tell him I love him. But I can still taste him, like this.
I shed my own clothes as quickly as Goten had, if not so dramatically � no one is watching, after all � and kneel behind him.
I�m a prince at the altar of a demigod, touching his skin with reverence, spreading him, kissing his skin, kneading it with my trembling fingers. I�m not so far gone as to pretend that I�m kissing his mouth, but fuck I�m close, and my tongue is shivering as I stretch it out to tease him, milking the first moans from his throat as I taste him, breathing in his scent, raking my tongue over the pulsing ring of muscle there, slowly dipping under every bit of gathered flesh.

He struggles underneath my hands, whimpering softly, as if he wants to escape, but I know he doesn�t. I have my own struggle, fighting to keep my hands on his hips, and to keep my own hips still as I dip my tongue inside him, drawing it right back out again, reveling in his already-mindless bucking against the bed, the little whining sounds.
I push inside him again, venturing further, slowly dragging my tastebuds along his sensitive inner flesh as I pull back out, taking care to juice him in the process. Every inch I can reach is marked as my territory, christened with my undivided attention, and each time I push back in again, I stretch a little closer to what he wants, knowing I won�t get there, but striving all the same.
Time itself seems to gel, as my blood begins to abandon my brain for greener pastures. Goten�s bucking becomes rhythmic, and those indistinct sounds from beyond the altar begin to gain frequency, an atonal improvisation that I know by heart.
I leave the striving for another day, slowly pulling my tongue out of him completely, watching with a distant fascination as a trail of saliva hangs in the balance between us before breaking under its own weight, smiling to myself as his hips try to jerk back in protest, denied by my hands.
The chiseled body of my god has taken on nice sheen of sweat; his back heaves with his shallow breaths in a complex syncopation with the rhythm of his hips, still sliding against the sheets.
Inspired, I pull my next stop, gathering my energy, not to raise my power level, but in my hands; not concentrating it as if I were going to throw it at someone, but loosely guiding it, making it sink into Goten�s flesh, one millimeter at a time.
His hips stop bucking altogether, and his entire body seems to relax all at once, sprawled lazily across the bed, but I can feel his own energy spiking in response to mine. When he begins to tremble, I ease my invasion, beginning anew, stroking my fingers across his back, spreading my energy through him in slow waves.
Knowing it is about that time, I allow myself the luxury of acknowledging the existence of my own neglected cock, which seems to have been twitching violently in protest for some time now. I inch my knees closer to the altar, pulling Goten�s hips to mine, teasing his hole with a nudge, and I�m rewarded with a something like a crescendo, begging without words.
It�s not enough, but I indulge him with a few short thrusts, not forceful enough to push inside, and I concentrate my energy there, sending streaks of fire along the edges of his erogenous zones, not quite touching anything . . .
�Now.� A whisper, ragged breath.
Once, he might have said my name instead . . .
***
I crush the memory ruthlessly, and time stops dead as I hone my reality down to a single, focused point, feeding my emotions and distractions into the proverbial pinhead, taking aim with a vengeance. And I cave in . . .
Thrust.
The voice beyond the altar shouts something at me, incoherent, but clearly in approval, and for an instant, thought evaporates completely. It�s always like that . . . every single time I make that first thrust, pushing in to the hilt, feeling him quivering all around me. Becoming one with my god.
I have no idea how much time passes before I can think again, but recovery is inevitable at this point, and with it, reality returns. My eyes are closed, and I raise my head skyward, letting the tears wash my face and my neck, mingling with the sweat already trickling down my chest. In a few more thrusts, I will conquer my distractions, conquer reality, but I can�t ever bring myself to dive into that oblivion completely without first paying a little homage to the pain.
The sound of Goten�s frantic pleading invades my mental walls, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I pull my hips backward, watching my cock slide out of him in slow-motion, not quite all the way.
Thrust.
He is making strangled noises now, and he tries his damndest to push back with his hips, but my hands still hold him prisoner, and the feel of his struggle underneath my fingers drives me wild. I want more of it. I want to feel his whole body struggling . . .
So I run my hands across his sculpted flesh, up his back, confirming that every inch of his body is shaking with need, need for me. I press my torso against him, reveling in the trembling against my skin, burying my face in his neck, letting him feel my tears, taste them if he wants, when they drift down to his chin. My sweat becomes his sweat, and we�re so close that I can feel the slight suction at the small of his back when I move, as my hands find his. My body pins him down completely. Only my hips move . . .
Thrust.
And again.

And again . . .
My god whimpers his approval at my decisiveness, struggling underneath me with renewed strength as he begins to gasp, wheezing with desperation. My focus has returned, and all of my distractions become bound up with my energy, concentrated in my cock now, the center of my existence for the moment, sending waves of heat and friction through Goten�s body each time I slam home. I block out even his noises of encouragement, honing in on the wet sound of my lower body smacking against his, metronomic now, the feeling of him trembling underneath me, against my skin.
And just as I achieve what I have been striving for, that mindless state of passion, he whispers something intelligible, so soft that I wouldn�t have heard it, if my ears had been more than inches from his mouth�
�Trunks . . .�
***
My body freezes mid-thrust, and my hands spasm, losing their grip. I find myself sliding backward off of Goten�s body, pulling out of him with a wet pop, collapsing to sit on the floor, dazed.
He�s just lying there, trembling gently now, certainly not acknowledging his little slip. I turn him over onto his back, and he allows it, but he still won�t look at me. He never does, until the moment he�s ready to come, but I thought . . .
Did I imagine it?
I think it will be impossible now, to bury my thoughts again. But I can still hear my name on his lips, whether or not it was real.
It�s enough.

I push him back on the bed to make room for me to kneel between his legs, and I grab them from behind his knees, positioning him again. His eyes are closed, but I think I can see them roll back into his head as I plunge back inside of him, finding my discarded tempo quickly.
I empty my mind of any thought but the sound of my name on his lips, holding his knees hard enough to hurt him, bucking wildly. I lean forward, stretching his legs to the point of pain, coming face-to-face with my shut-eyed lover, half in hopes that he will say my name again. If he does, I want to be sure to hear it. But this has become a ritual for us by now, the eye contact. He will give it to me. Not much longer.
My hips start to jerk of their own accord, and right on time, long lashes part to reveal something I didn�t expect to see.
Anger, cold and fierce. Rage, where I expected abandon . . .

My brain is put on hold as my orgasm rules my body from head to toe, and I can feel Goten convulsing around my cock as I come, suspending my pleasure against resolution, incessant rapture against my will. And against his, no doubt, our energy is bound together, pulsing in unison, until the vibrations subside.
I feel his body finally go limp underneath me, and I look up, seeing that his eyes are closed again, his head turned away from me as he cries into the mattress, shaking in an obvious effort to bring his anger under control.
***
Yes, the coming down is a bitch indeed, and the pretense fades far quicker than the adrenaline rush. I can�t say that it�s any worse this time than it ever has been.
It rips me apart every fucking time.
I roll off of Goten and onto my back to lie beside him on the bed, and though I�m not touching him at all any longer, he robs me of even that intimacy, standing immediately. His back is to me, but already in his posture I can see the signs that he has turned it off, the passion having been burned away completely. After a moment, he turns to look at me, a cold gaze, utterly indifferent.
Meet Goten, my new best friend.
He eyes me up and down, the corner of his upper lip twisting slightly, as if in condescension. His earlier anger seems to be gone, but I can�t see how this is much better.
�You need to train, Trunks. You�re getting weaker.� Oh, right. As if he has been keeping up. I can feel every session he has, and I know he only trains with Goku about once a month, and even less with Gohan.
�You might not have heard, but I lost my training partner about a year ago,� I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice, and failing miserably.
�You have your dad, Trunks.� Oh, come on. He knows the problems there as well as anyone. But he anticipates my arguments. �And it�s not as if my dad won�t train you if you ask.�
That, I hadn�t really considered. Our dads have always trained us respectively, for the most part. Goku has sparred with us a good deal over the years, but I have never done any serious training under his guidance. But then, I haven�t done much of that with my own dad. In either case, it�s like leopards playing with kittens.
Goten nods, knowing he has made his point, and that I will obediently strive to follow his wishes, and he heads for the waterfall. Weak? I am not fucking weak!
�Goten . . .� I trail off, not really remembering what I was going to say. He has given me a lot to think about tonight. Maybe I was going to tell him I loved him. But that�s definitely not allowed.
He seems to realize my loss for words, and takes that as his cue, ducking under the water, vanishing from sight.
I walk over to the waterfall, leaning against the cave wall, waiting while I feel Goten below, fishing his clothes out of the lake, and then taking off toward West City. It�s still pretty early. Plenty of time for him to go to his apartment, shower, throw on his club gear, and find that girl.
For a moment, I entertain the idea of expanding the northern edge of the destruction zone. Just wiping it all away. Maybe, without this place, we are nothing. Maybe without it, I can move on.
But he said my name . . .
We are still connected. I know we are. But Goten gave me quite a lot to think about, indeed . . .

I sit in the mist of the waterfall, lulled by its sound, familiar since my earliest memories. I lose track of time completely, and after a while, I�m soaked to the bone, and my skin has long since started to prune up.
I have only managed to come to one conclusion, but it�s an important one.
I�m not going to cave in. Not anymore.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
To be continued�
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
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The Taste of a Cure

THE TASTE OF A CURE

CHAPTER ONE