Done

Pairings: 17xMT, MT/MGh
Warnings: Dark, Character death, Lemon (More noncon!)

NOTE: Sorry, I haven't been writing lately, but I've really had a lot going on. But anyway! This is actually the second part to my other story “Burn.” So, if you haven’t read that first, some of the references in the beginning won’t make sense at all. Oh, side-note: in my head, this takes place in the same universe as “Crush” as well (hence, the one-word titles). :D


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Pain.

It was the first sensation that he truly noticed, and there was a lot of it.

Trunks rubbed the back of his neck groggily, as he picked himself up off the dusty cliff. His blue eyes were dull, trying to refocus the world around him. He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he looked around, he realized there was definitely one less person on that cliff with him.

“Fuck.”

It was a simple curse, albeit a little harsh for such a young teen, but it was the only word that effectively summed up what he felt just then.

It had been a couple of months since the last time he and Gohan had spoken outside of training, and since they had spoken about what transpired in the medical ward after their joint battle with the androids. The only reason Trunks even trained with the older man was because he knew that it was the only logical thing to do with killer cyborgs lurking about. Granted, he was extremely on guard with Gohan; the man had stopped any friendly pats on the back weeks ago. However, Trunks could not deny that he still felt closer to Gohan than he did to just about anyone else. It made no sense to him, but he figured it was a by-product of growing up in a world filled with death.

Whether or not that was true was irrelevant.

Scanning the horizon, he saw plumes of smoke rising from the nearest city. He took flight immediately, knowing instantly what waited for him there. He flew into the city as the rainclouds gathered, showering over the broken buildings, piles of rubble, and deep indentations in the ground below.

Of course it was raining. It always rained at times like these.

The rain plastered his lavender hair to his forehead and ears but he did nothing to wipe them away. Trunks’s mind was determined to find what he knew had to be somewhere nearby, but his heart wasn’t sure that he could handle it.

Flying low through the destruction, he ignored the charred bodies of the city-dwellers, as if his eyes could only see the orange and blue of his master’s gi. His teeth chattered slightly; the rain was soaking through his clothes.

He knew he called Gohan’s name countless times, but he never heard his own voice. The beat of the rain was deafening. The stench of the corpses was almost overwhelming. His eyes swept back and forth over the terrain until finally he spotted the familiar training outfit and dark head of hair. With a quick breath he slowly lowered himself to the ground near his master.

His eyes wide, he dragged his feet towards the prone body paces in front of him.

“No.”

He squeezed his eyes shut but kept walking.

“No.”

His fists were clenched so hard that his fingernails pierced his skin.

“No.”

His heart was racing and the tears kept falling.

“NO!”

When Trunks opened his eyes, he was standing next to Gohan. But Gohan was face-down, his gi tattered and burned, his skin bloodied and bruised. Trunks knelt down and stared at the body, his hands poised in the air as if he were preparing to grab something. His eyes bored into Gohan, as if sheer willpower would bring him back. Finally, he reached down and wrapped his arms around the body, cradling Gohan to him, holding his cheek to him.

“Oh, God I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Every moment he ever spent with Gohan flashed in his mind’s eye. From the time he first could remember meeting him to the time Gohan kissed him to right then at that moment. Trunks had spent the last weeks of Gohan’s life ignoring him, angry about what Gohan had taken from him, and determined to make Gohan feel the same pain that he had the night he forced himself on Trunks in the medical ward. But if Trunks had known that today would be the last day he would speak to him, he wouldn’t have wasted it that way.

“Gohan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just thought…I just wanted to make you mad because… Gohan? I take it back! Gohan?? I said I’m sorry! I like you, you know!! I do! I like you a lot!”

He was sobbing. Tears ran unrestrained down his cheeks, mixing with the rain. The skies cried their own tears that day, but they were few compared to the ones Trunks shed.

“Please don’t leave me… Please, Gohan, I can’t do it without you! I can’t…”

He felt his grip on reality slowly fade as it dawned on him that he was alone. He was the last of his kind fighting an insurmountable obstacle.

“No… Gohan… Gohan… Gohan…”

He repeated the man’s name, shaking him, kissing him, punching him, anything to make him breathe, to wake him up, to make him live again.

“GOHAN!!”

He shook him violently, let him go, and screamed. He pulled at his hair, slammed his fists into the ground. He cried and his energy welled up inside of him. It was hot, hot like fire, and he couldn’t contain it. There was nowhere for it to go, and Trunks didn’t know what to do with it.

Just before he thought he would completely lose his mind, something suddenly snapped, as if a long forgotten piece had finally completed the puzzle. His aura flared a brilliant gold and his hair spiked up towards the skies. His eyes morphed from blue to teal, and his body shook from the sheer magnitude of power coursing through his veins.

Any surrounding buildings that were still standing shattered under the force of his energy. He didn’t care if the androids found him then. Secretly, he wanted them to find him. The Saiya-jin blood burning through his veins begged for vengeance. It was then that he understood his purpose. He would be the one to destroy the androids. For Gohan, he would save the Earth from utter chaos.


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Bulma worried about her son. Ever since he had returned home bearing news of Gohan’s death, he had barely spoken to her. He trained constantly; she only really spent time with him at mealtimes. She sighed, resting her head against her latest invention. It was a time machine, but you couldn’t really tell by looking at it. It was a little more than halfway done, looking something like half an eggshell. But if she could finish it before her son got himself killed, she was certain that he could use this machine to everyone’s advantage. She just had to convince him that it would work first.

She chewed her thumbnail. She also had to convince herself that it would work. So far, everything was simply educated guesses and far-fetched calculations.

Hearing a scuffle outside the doorway, Bulma looked up to see her son walking past, shoving his arms through his jacket.

“Trunks?” she called. The teenager stopped but didn’t turn around. “Where are you going?”

“Didn’t you hear the radio? They’re attacking East Capital. I’m going to kill them today.”

His mother sighed tiredly. “If I told you to stay, would you?”

Mother and son locked identical blue eyes. Trunks was the first to frown.

“No.”

“I’ll be finished with the time machine soon. If you could just stay out of harm’s way for a little longer, then you can take the antidote to Goku and—”

“So I’m just supposed to let those innocent people die, and do nothing to help them?! And sit here and wait for you to finish some crazy time machine that’s supposed to magically fix everything?!”

Bulma scowled, tapping her foot against the cold tile. She knew he had little faith in her invention but to hear it so plainly stung more than she was willing to admit.

“Fine. Go out there and get yourself killed! But throwing your life away won’t help anyone, and Gohan’s death would be for nothing!”

Trunks darkened visibly. “Don’t throw Gohan in my face like that! You have no idea what he means to me! And he would never give up on those people!”

“But he also knew when to act and when to wait! He knew that he would be no good to anyone dead, and neither will you.”

Trunks folded his arms across his chest and glared at the floor. The sight almost made Bulma smile.

If only you knew how much you look like your father.

There was a long silence between them before Trunks finally dropped his arms to his side.

“I’m still going. I’m doing nothing here but wasting time.”

Before Bulma had the chance to argue, Trunks was already halfway out the door. She sighed in defeat, drumming her fingers on the unfinished time machine. She glanced at her nails, looking at the grease under them, and wished for the days when she would get manicures any time she wanted. She frowned, realizing how long ago those days were. Her son had already had sixteen birthdays and he had no idea what it was like to live peacefully.

“That is no way for a child to live,” she muttered with determination and set to work on her pet project with renewed vigor.


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Trunks flared into Super Saiya-jin as he sped towards the Eastern capital. It wasn’t the first time that the androids had attacked the city. However, those that had somehow survived would foolishly rebuild pieces of the city, as if in denial of Seventeen and Eighteen’s existence. And like clockwork, every few years the cyborgs would destroy it again.

When he arrived, the town was in ruin. He frowned at the destruction, knowing that there were no survivors this time. A pile of rubble shifted, startling him. He turned quickly, his guard up, waiting for whatever or whoever made the noise.

There was a grunt, then a hand shot up from the debris, reaching out for something for leverage. Trunks steeled himself, for this hand gave off no energy signal. Another grunt and Seventeen pulled himself from the pile, dusting himself off. He smoothed down his hair, muttering softly. Trunks, with his sharp hearing, could just make out most of his words.

“Fucking Eighteen… Every day nagging about how I killed some guy… Not my fault she has terrible taste in men…”

Seventeen looked up from his grumbling to see a green-eyed teen staring angrily at him.

“Oh, hey, it’s you.”

“Yeah, and I have a name. It’s Trunks. And right now, I’m going—”

“To kill me. Right. Isn’t that what you said the last time? And the time before that? I think that guy you used to hang out with said the same thing.” Seventeen tilted his head, his black hair falling to his shoulder. “You know, I could use someone like you.”

Trunks balked. “What?”

“Yeah, I’m a little pissed at my sister. She’s such a pain,” he said, but his cold, emotionless tone contradicted his words. “But you…you would be a wonderful…tension reliever.”

Trunks had to force himself not to take a step back as Seventeen advanced towards him, but he didn’t expect him to come so close. Seventeen’s eyes held as little emotion as his voice, and the smirk that he wore forebode nothing pleasant.

The cyborg placed a palm on the other’s chest, gliding his hand over the white fabric. With his other hand, he touched his fingertips to Trunks’s chin, turning the teen’s head from side to side, as if inspecting him. Trunks grimaced, jerked his head away, and spit in Seventeen’s face.

Seventeen cursed loudly, stepping back and wiping his face. “And I was going to be nice to you, you dirty brat!”

He reached out and grabbed Trunks by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close enough that their noses touched. His pale blue eyes were sinister as he spoke.

“But now, I’ll have you begging for mercy.”

Seventeen punched him hard across the face, and Trunks stumbled, barely keeping his balance. When he recovered, he only had enough time to block as the android pummeled him with his fists. Trunks finally broke through his offense and landed a few solid hits of his own. He could tell he had improved since their last fight, but Seventeen was still stronger. He powered up, fueled by his anger, and kneed Seventeen in the stomach.

Taking advantage of the time he just scored, Trunks clasped his hands and brought them down on the back of Seventeen’s neck. As he fell to the ground, Trunks stepped back and launched a powerful energy blast towards him. But Seventeen regained his composure quickly and deflected the blast. Trunks hardly registered his speed, but Seventeen was suddenly in front of him. The android wasn’t playing around today. With a ki-charged hand, he punched him squarely in the solar plexus.

Trunks fell to his knees, the wind completely knocked out of him. Seventeen grabbed him by his now lavender hair, yanking his face up. He smiled down at him coldly, as he unzipped his pants. They loosely fell to the ground, exposing his semi-hard erection.

“You have two options right now. You can suck it willingly…or by force.”

Trunks stared at the young android, shocked and more than disgusted by the proposition. He remained quiet, not sure what to say.

“Oh look at that, time’s up. I guess I’ll just have to choose for you.”

Using his free hand, Seventeen pried open Trunks’s mouth and shoved himself in as deep as he could go. Trunks gagged on the swelling cock, squirming as Seventeen thrust in and out. Seventeen moaned each time he pushed in roughly, gripping Trunks’s hair tighter.

Tears burned at the rims of the teen’s eyes from all the gagging, but he refused to volunteer Seventeen any satisfaction. He felt like he was going to vomit. He sent his energy to his hand and fired it at Seventeen’s face. The android simply leaned to the side and laughed it off. The blast grazed his cheek, leaving a bleeding cut behind.

“Your struggling makes this even better,” he laughed sadistically. “Even your pathetic attack adds to my pleasure.”

Seventeen thrust into Trunks’s mouth again, this time holding it in until blue eyes started to roll back. Trunks grabbed at his hips, trying to push away, but Seventeen’s grip was firm. The android suddenly pulled out of his mouth and pulled Trunks to his feet by his hair.

Seventeen stared with a cruel smile on his lips, watching the teenager struggle to catch his breath.

“Why…?” Trunks wheezed.

“I could have sworn I told you this already. I’m annoyed, and this will calm me down. Nothing better than a good fuck to soothe the soul, right?”

Trunks widened his eyes at the remark. Seventeen chuckled. After a hard slap to the face, Seventeen turned him around and pushed him roughly to the ground, grinding his heel into the base of his spine. Trunks cried out in pain, mixed with a twisted feeling of pleasure, as the android unwittingly tickled his sensitive tail scar.

Seventeen dropped down to his knees and roughly yanked down Trunks’s jeans, exposing his tanned ass. He spanked it hard, and Trunks flinched, clenching his jaw tightly.

Suddenly, he felt a hardness pressed against him; he knew exactly what was to follow. Seventeen rammed into him, without preparation, and certainly without any regard for the teenager beneath him. Each thrust pushed Trunks’s face further into the dirt, and each shove earned another cry of pain from his lips. He gasped, Seventeen striking his prostate, and the dark-haired man smirked.

“You like that, don’t you? Tell me you like it.”

Trunks said nothing, desperately wanting to cling to the remainder of his dignity.

“Say. It. Punk!”

Seventeen slammed roughly into him with his demand, a hard thrust to accent every syllable. Trunks could feel the blood trickle down his thigh.

“No…” he whispered.

Seventeen tangled his fingers into lavender strands and wrenched Trunks’s head back, still thrusting. He leaned closely to the half-Saiya-jin’s ear and whispered menacingly.

“Tell me you like it, or I’ll slit your throat. And then who will save the world?”

Trunks swallowed, feeling tears stinging the corners of his eyes again. He closed his blue eyes tightly and mentally reminded himself that he had to put the Earth before himself.

“I…like it…”

Seventeen chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. He released his hold on Trunks’s hair and let his own head drop back as he rocked against the other man’s backside.

“Oooh, say it again…”

“I like it…”

“Again, my nasty little bitch…”

“…I…like it…”

There was a loud moan, and the android thrust into him a few more times before he came, filling Trunks with his sticky fluid. Seventeen dropped forward heavily to catch his breath. Once he regained his composure, he pulled out of the teen and dressed himself. He moved to kneel in front of Trunks and tilted his head up with his fingertips. He chuckled as Trunks struggled to hide his tears.

“You really are pathetic. No wonder your friend was so eager to die. Probably just wanted to get away from your sorry ass.”

At the mention of Gohan, Trunks had to fight hard to bite back a sob. Seventeen patted him on the cheek, a deceptively affectionate gesture.

“You are good for one thing, though. You’re a good lay. You certainly take damage well. We may have to do this again sometime.”

Seventeen stood and took flight, leaving Trunks broken and bleeding in the ruined city. After several long moments, Trunks rolled onto his back, pulled his knees to his chest and cried silently. His tears streaked down his dirt-stained cheeks, and the wind tousled his now dusty hair.

Why do I have to live this way...?

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