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Issues and A Lack Thereof	By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 804 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Issues and A Lack Thereof
- 1
The Prompt: Future Trunks/ Android 17/Yamcha

Well, in the "Mrs. Briefs and the Capsule Crop parties" fill she mentions walking in on Future Trunks, Android 17, and Yamcha doing it in the closet. So, I would like all of the naughty, sexy details please.
And obviously Yamcha has issues since he's sleeping with his ex's son and a perverted teenage cyborg. And of course Future Trunks has issues since he's sleeping with his mom's ex and an alternate time-line version of the man who helped murder his boyfriend. In the future. (Future Trunks/Future Gohan is canon I tell you! Canon!)
Anyways, Android 17 is just having a fun time with all of this.

The fill:

Trunks was so drunk he reeled and bounced from the walls. Juunanagou couldn’t stop from bouncing on the balls of his feet with a happy grin. Yamcha felt his stomach rise to flop and writhe and he was sure his skin was ash.

If anyone knew. If anyone found out.

He nearly threw up at the thought.

He wouldn’t be tortured. No limbs would be cut off (so long as Vegeta never found out), and probably not shunned by his friends. But from now on, there would there slightest doubt on their face as to his reliability. His sanity. His trustworthiness. They would look at him, and now what he had planned.

And it wasn’t even his fault.

‘It was the android,’ he would dramatically scream and fall to his knees to point towards. ‘It was him!’

But of course no one would believe that.

Juunanagou would just blink at them, looking emotionless as his sister did when backed into a corner. His words would drop to soft one syllables and appear almost confused. ‘What, me? You think I did this?’ And when confronted with the kittenish appearance he could give off at the drop of a hat, they would just say ‘no, not you, sorry.’

Juuhachigou did it all the time. Only Krillin remained relatively immune to the effects, and that was from the bizarre bond they seemed to have. Like witnessing her beating up his friends, and then picking her up out of a pool of spit, and then her overlooking the shortness, baldness, noselessness, weird jokes and being willing to pick her up out of a pool of spit. Neither would admit, even when pressed and harassed and teased, that they were a couple.

But everyone knew that Mrs. Briefs had found them in one of Capsule Corp’s closets, in some compromising position.

Maybe though, Yamcha was getting the immunization from all the contact with Juunanagou? It wasn’t intentional, and sometime he really didn’t even like the guy. More than a few times Yamcha had wondered what exactly had set the exact chain reaction that led to this moment off.

It was like being a kid again, scars new, and making out with a moody angry teenager that constantly outsmarted him and was never quite happy when Yamcha wanted them to be. He’d sworn off Bulma and her ilk during those three years spent preparing for the androids and knowing that he might die and knowing damn well that he couldn’t spent the rest of his life (long or short) with someone so capricious.

Then he had met Juunanagou.

It was one of the oddest moments of his life, which was really saying something as he’d been killed before by aliens that sprouted up like sea monkeys but without the water. Looking back on it, Yamcha tried to sum up exactly what had happened, what he’d felt, and always it fell short.

He was leaving the stadium, collar pulled up, baseball cap low and hoping no one would recognize him, and watching with amusement as some teenager was arguing with a cop hassling him. “What do you mean, I can’t scalp tickets? Is this not a free country? I didn’t know the Red Ribbon army was back!” And just those words were enough to make Yamcha look twice, and take in the infamous Red Ribbon emblem on his shirt. Which only made what he’d said even more ironic. Just like that, the tall fighter was able to notice the longish straight hair, pointed nose and chin, and how he looked so familiar. Yamcha had definitely seen him before…and that Red Ribbon…oh god.

This was the twin that Krillin had ranted and moped about before realizing he was a twin, Juuhachigou’s brother, the one android that he had never really seen before except for a brief moment on Kame Island. Just like he could read his thoughts, the android turned to look at him. There was a brief moment of narrowed shocking blue eyes hey, do I know you? Oh god.

Tanner, taller, maler, but still so much like that girl Krillin was into, and now for some reason he could understand why Krillin had such a crush on Juuhachigou.

He could only stand there while the other man came up to him, a small grin on his face and it would have been so easy for the machine to murder him right there. “Hi.”

Right now, he should have said something witty and if he’d been anyone else, Yamcha might have managed it.

Instead, he tried to run away, stumbled over his feet, and nearly twisted an ankle falling down. The hat went flying away, and people were muttering, ‘who is that?’ “Uuuggghffuck,” was all he could manage, looking up helpless at the mechanical terror.

Juunanagou took a knee to whisper to him, “I’ll get you out of this. But you’ll owe me.”

“Lifetime tickets to the game?”

“Starting with.”

He was helped away by the helpful android, right past the staring people into a dark alleyway blocks from the ballpark until his swelling ankle was the least of his concern. Bulma had definitely never done what he’d done, in public, in such a sleazy setting, in daylight, while sober, especially when they’d just met five minutes ago.

Did that make Juunanagou better, or worse than her?

And now here the psycho teenager, who had bitched when Yamcha took him out for burgers (‘what, are you ashamed to take me someplace nicer? Or am I just not worth it?’) to only complain more when taken to a nice place (‘I hate this, I can’t even wear regular clothes here and everyone’s staring’) was leading a taller, stronger purple-haired man through the hallways, muttered vague lines of support.

Juunanagou would get exactly what he wanted from him. No matter how reluctantly, those baggy black pants were coming off.

You just couldn’t fight the skinny little bastard off. As he’d stumbled away from the now-debauched alley, limping for more than one reason, he’d sworn to never think or discuss what had happened to anyone. Juunanagou was wiping his mouth, and chatting about how he’d stolen those tickets anyway, and wasn’t it awesome that Yamcha was a player and so Juunanagou could rig a game now, and did he like that jacket in the window, or was it too blue, and did he have any idea where Juuhachigou was, because Juunanagou hadn’t seen her in a month.

“Jeez, man.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up sometime. Wearing weird clothes and walking funny. I have no idea what she gets up to. How can she be clumsy enough to slip on ice?”

“...ice?”

“She goes up north.”

“Uh. Alright.”

“But that’s not important. When you’re taking me to dinner is way more interesting.”

Dinner, a grope fest under the table that ended when the management asked them to leave was followed by a movie where a poor usher boy finally had to yell at them to get out all while avoiding looking at the teenager going down the on trench coat-wearing gentleman with the wraparound sunglasses.

Since then it had all gone downhill.

Meetings in the locker room where Juunanagou would sneak in and surprise the hell out of Yamcha, getting jumped outside of his apartment to grapple and end up making out and just barely being able to find their way to his flat and close the door, waking in a bed he’d thought he’d previously been empty, and giving a hearty good morning just for allowing Yamcha not to wake up alone again, shopping with him and laughing at his jokes and realizing that he really did like the guy, and perhaps that was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

Poor Trunks. Why had he come back?

Nothing could have prepared him for what he had to witness on his arrival.

Especially when he came through the front door with a bag of dirty laundry and a smile, only to witness his parents rolling around on the living room floor while upsets the infant version of himself was crying. Blinded, he’d had to yell at his folks to pull their clothes on and then stumble upstairs to help his ‘little brother’ only to be spat upon by the colicky infant.

Thankfully, though, Bulma was able to call everyone over on the promise of food and free drinks. So then he had to watch his drunk friend Krillin who he’d gotten along so well with making out with one of the people he hated the most on the planet, a hatred so strong that it surpassed universes and time and drove him to smashing a fist into the smoky barbeque. Bulma had been the one to pull his hand out and dump her soda out onto it. Every muscle tight, veins bulging, tendons straining, irises flickering from blue to green as his hair fluttered upward and a tic began in his cheek.

Juuhachigou finally took notice of the death stares. “What’s his problem?”

“Oh.” Krillin finally tore his eyes away from her. “Hi, Trunks.”

“Why’s he glaring at me like that?”

Then Juunanagou finally showed up.

Surprisingly, he was polite and did nothing to embarrass his uncomfortable sister or her boyfriend (or whatever the hell Krillin was to her) or Yamcha. He drank nothing but water, remained quietly composed, and only casually muttered something filthy into Yamcha’s ear when no one was looking.

“So,” Juunanagou finally asked as the evening wore on. “Who’s the purple-haired guy, anyway?”

“Never you mind.” Yamcha could see the gears turning in his head. Perhaps literally there were real gears in that sleek head, spinning as they plotted.

“What do you mean?” He blinked the sweet blue eyes that had driven Yamcha (and Krillin) to insanity and drove them to humping on balconies, and risking the universe rather than killing them. The androids might not have been the evil murderers of Trunk’s timeline, but they were far from innocent. They’d planted some seeds in their minds with just a simple look and smile, forever ruining two of Earth’s defenders since how could they ignore a nubile twin who seemed into them?

“Don’t you dare,” Yamcha hissed, knowing that it was a doomed attempt. The gleam in the other man’s eyes refused to disappear.

“I’m just curious.”

“I bet.”

“How come he hates my sister so much?”

“He has his reasons.” Best to be vague.

“Had a thing for Krillin, huh? Yeah. We all lost money betting on him being at least bi.”

“You bet on his sexuality?”

“Oh yeah. But hey.” Juunanagou happily slapped his arm. “I made up the money lost by winning the bet that you weren’t straight.”

“Well, good for you.” It was the best he could do. That, and glower.

The android squeezed his arm, almost kindly if you didn’t know any better. But being shoved off a roof, naked, had stripped Yamcha of any romantic notions such as ‘affection’ or ‘caring.’

…Juunanagou hadn’t even meant anything by shoving him off. Just felt like it. Not even angry. How do you deal with something like that? Even Juuhachigou wasn’t that moody, even if she currently swamping spit with the guy whose hand she wouldn’t hold even when they were alone, as Krillin had told him during one of his frantically calls to Yamcha to ask for advice. “She says I might get the wrong idea.”

“Jeez, man.”

“But she totally likes me. I know. She wouldn’t stop by to see me if she didn’t, right?”

Yamcha’s gaze fell on his own android twin, curled up beside him, snoring, and taking most of the covers and sheets. “You can never tell with those two.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing!

“But if you really want her to respect you, you have to put your foot down. Don’t take her out shopping and to nice dinners all the time. Make her cuddle you. Make her hold your hand. Be a man about it.”

“…okay, if you say so. I’ll be tougher…But she doesn’t like going out to dinner with me.”

“Don’t put up with any bullshit. Don’t let her hurt you.”

“She doesn’t hurt me.”

“Don’t let her boss you around. Don’t do her bidding! Don’t let her get you naked on a rooftop! Or let her tie you to anything in public! Or put on a ball gag!”

“Uhhhh. I won’t.”

Blue eyes were fluttering open, partially hidden by the long eyelashes. Glaring at him, though of course Juunanagou probably hadn’t heard his entire rant on the dangers of uh, Juuhachigou. But he somehow seemed to sense that Yamcha was growing a spine partially.

One slim hand plucked the phone from his nerveless fingers, and any complaints disappeared when the teenager slid across him to rest directly atop the brainless fighter. He hardly noticed when Juunanagou hung the phone up while Krillin asked if he was okay, was he still there? When the short guy called back to find out if his friend was still alive, Yamcha was too busy trying to swallow as much of Juunanagou’s cock as he could and let it go to voicemail.

When sanity came back in the morning and after the darker android had left after a long breakfast that’s intermission involved loud sex on the breakfast table where Juunanagou continue to eat bacon while he bent the larger man over, Yamcha finally managed to regroup and discover a little shame. Krillin didn’t seem upset though, just thanked him over and over again and told him in great lavish detail how much Juuhachigou had enjoyed a more forceful version of himself. They’d even spooned afterwards. “But she still won’t hold my hand.

“…She did like that thing about tying me up in public though.”

Images festered until Yamcha was forced to hang up and run to find Juunanagou again.

They were ruining his and Krillin’s lives.

And now Trunk’s.

Rather than turning on Krillin and demanding that he stop this insanity, he just drank too much and brooded. He looked like his father when he did so, and it worried everyone, even Vegeta.

Juunanagou seemed to be doing calculation about how much alcohol it would take for the Saiyan to get fully plastered, and making Yamcha even more nervous. He wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing the dark-haired man, let alone how he felt about sleeping with Trunks, let alone all three together. This would end disastrously, but he had a weakness for blue eyes.

“Go bring him over here,” Juunanagou whispered.

“What? No!”

“Do it. You’ll like this as much as I will. As much he will.”

“He’s not into you. He wants to kill you and your sister.”

“So? Makes him a little hotter, actually.”

Yamcha glared at him.

“What? Look at those abs.”

“Ugh.”

“It’s okay. You can still spread your legs for me. I’ll continue to accept you.”

“I. No. Damn you.”

“You’ll love it.” A slim hand brushed against his hips, almost squeezing it affectionately and this was a horrible idea but Juunanagou looked so cute and sweet and how much damage could he do?

His voice cracked. “Fine. But he won’t go for it.”

“We’ll see.”

Thankfully, people were starting to shift away from the barbeque, moving towards the living room and kitchen and perhaps the bedroom. When he looked around, Yamcha couldn’t find Juuhachigou and Krillin, and wondered if they were in some moderately discreet spot with a piece of rope. Was Juuhachigou really into that? Was she the safer, saner twin? The good one? How could she be worse than the one sitting besides Yamcha and casually rubbing a denim covered knee into his thigh? She was pretty cute though, regardless. Blonde hair wasn’t even his thing, but well, he hadn’t thought it was Krillin’s either. They’d both preferred more exotic girls, but she had a nice chest that could make someone almost overlook her attitude. And if Krillin could get into her pants, he should jump on that gravy train and never stop, and now Juunanagou was slipping his hand up his shirt.

Maybe he’d had too much to drink too?

But then there was the warm taste of Juunanagou’s mouth and it was so easy to just close his eyes and give in. Somewhere nearby there was a gasp, then a strangled scream.

The android pulled away with a warm smack of wet lips and a disappointed moan from Yamcha. “Hi.”

Trunks could only stare with eyes that looked like they were about to fall right from his head and splatter to the ground. When the shocked gaze met Yamcha’s, there was disgust and fear in it, enough to make the tall fighter ashamed.

“Hey! Krillin gets to do the blonde one. What’s so wrong with this?”

The purple-haired man had an immediate sane answer. “He killed you in another timeline!”

“But not this one. Not yet.”

“What? What?”

“You can’t be serious! He’s a machine! A monster!”

“He doesn’t hurt anyone.” Yamcha petted his lover’s head. “Plus he’s cute. You can’t deny that.”

His mouth just opened and closed, meaning that he was losing the argument.

“Look, I know perhaps we didn’t get off to the best start, what with my sister knocking you into that angry troll—“

“How dare you!”

“But we can get past that.”

“Yeah, we can.”

Together, they looked at the half-Saiyan, as though he were the unreasonable one.

“In fact, let’s start right now.”

“Can you do that shiny blonde thing again? You looked pretty when you did that.”

“Personally I prefer you like this.”

Trunks collapsed right there, legs curled up, hand balled into white fists to contrast against the red and black brick. “Oh dear God.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m dead. I died, and went to hell. This is hell. It makes sense now.”

“Nope. We’re all alive.”

“Yeah, I actually consider this heaven more than hell.”

“What did I do to deserve this? Any of this?”

“Aw.” Yamcha gently nudged the guy with his foot. “Come on. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting. Hey. He’s not the evil one from the future that kills everyone.”

“What? What?”

“He’s just kind of a jerk now. But a hot one.”

The blue eyes were half-lidded as Yamcha continue to stroke his head. “Thanks.”

“Stop touching him!” Trunks sounded near tears, desperate, haunted, and probably not the least bit horny.

“Never stop.” The android looked so blissful.

Yamcha felt his heart squeeze tightly, as though Gero were here and was once against slamming his fist through his chest. It was hard to think straight, and he tried not to focus on how happy he was, how hopeful. “Never, huh?”

He still looked in ecstasy, joy far beyond anything a simple mortal could experience. “Until I get bored of you.”

“I should be surprised, shouldn’t I?”

“See? He’s just using you!”

“Oh, I’m used to it.” Yamcha heaved a sigh, feeling self-pity rise to mingle with his arousal, wondering when those two emotions used to not be so entwined? If ever.

And Krillin was the same way. No wonder they’d been such easy prey for the twins. The only question was why they’d wasted their time with the hapless humans who could only think with their erections, rather than meeting a real challenge. A challenge with a huge paycheck and luxury apartments, and sculpted abs and cheekbones and possibly drug connections.

The baseball player made decent money, but not enough to buy a white tiger to fight a lion on a yacht while behind them a symphony played as Juunanagou would no doubt have loved. And his apartment was nice considering he was single, but you could hardly play a decent game of hockey in it, to the android’s disgust. And Yamcha and Krillin possibly possessed the sculpted abs, and the taller human the cheekbones as well, but aside from Korin’s senzu beans, they had no drugs.

For them, getting high was beating up on the other until the adrenaline kicked in, or someone yelled at them to stop because they were messing up the rose bushes.

They should be banging some high rolling club owner, doing coke on his stomach while cracking the whip and making the lion leap through another hoop. Or maybe riding motorcycles and robbing banks? Yamcha had seen the dark gleam on the teenager’s face when they passed a dealership or leather shop or bank, or worse yet, all three in one go. “Let’s stop here. Oh. And here. And there!”

His hands tightened around Juunanagou’s skull, making the android only smile more. It was odd being with someone that he couldn’t physically hurt no matter how hard he might have tried. And if a stranger thought one of them was possibly being abused, it would be the smaller man. It was always the younger, prettier ones.

“Come on. He’s harmless. You can do whatever you want to him.” For once in his damn life, the longer-haired man didn’t argue.

From between the fingers, Trunks pale face peaked out. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“…can I kill him?”

“What? No.” Like the younger version that insisted on eating the block rather than stacking them, he had to be corrected. “Trunks, that’s not the game we’re playing now.”

“But I want to wipe the disgusting, evil machine off the planet.”

“You can’t. And he’s not so bad.” Yamcha kept his voice the same soothing, sweet tone. “Hey. Hey. You know that Krillin and Juuhachigou are together right, sort of?”

The half-Saiyan’s face was scrunched in disgust and disappointment, his tone whining. “Yeah.”

“So you can’t kill her. That would make Krillin sad.”

“But…”

“No, Trunks, he likes her.”

“Still. Wouldn’t he be better off?”

“No. He would cry, Trunks. And then we would all feel very sad.”

“But.”

“Have you seen Krillin cry? Trunks, have you? Because once you do, it changes you and it takes forever to feel happy again.”

“So that’s why she’s with him?” Juunanagou asked. “Because he cried?”

“Maybe.” Yamcha shrugged. “Either way, a terrible sight. So let’s do all we can to avoid it.”

“Fine.” Trunks was still pouting. “I won’t kill the blonde one. So long as she never hurts anyone.”

“Oh, she won’t. Unless Krillin’s into that sort of stuff…”

Trunks looked like he was driving peacefully along until an android poked his head up out of the backseat and grabbed the wheel. Damn Juunanagou. They’d nearly crashed into an eighteen-wheeler. “What?”

“Nothing. So, man, why don’t we have a few drinks and just relax.”

Under Yamcha’s charming grin, the one that had talked Bulma into kissing rather than driving a cleaver into his head as she’d so often threatened, the one that could make Vegeta only narrow his eyes and wander away rather than beating him to a pulp, the one that had managed to get a few girls into his bed through the years, that made Chi-Chi blush and Juuhachigou sneer, Juunanagou alternatively laugh and smile back, or glare at so strongly that it sent Yamcha running for cover…Trunks simply looked wary.

“Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“Sure you can.” Yamcha slapped his back, and was encouraged by a small tentative smile sent his way. “Do you have your whiskey neat like your parents?”

When he looked at Juunanagou, there was a queer expression on that pointed face. Was that respect written into the shocked eyes and pursed, slightly open mouth? Thoughtfulness?

“I don’t know. Anything.” Trunks looked up at him, so trusting that Yamcha felt bad.

“It’s okay.” He squirmed, fingers wrapped around a bottle of gin for support. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine.” The shorter man shrugged. “I think I need a drink.”

Juunanagou added ice cubes neatly while Yamcha poured and felt like he was handing a glass of poison to the other man. But then Juunanagou was carefully stroking his hand, soft fingers against his broken scarred knuckles, and Trunks was asking for a refill, another refill, one more, thanks.

“So, ‘Trunks’ was it?”

Immediately, Yamcha froze at the politeness in the android’s tone. He only sounded that way right before he did something mind boggling weird/destructive. That same tone he would take when talking Yamcha into coming with him into the adult store that would have given even Master Roshi a heart attack. That voice that had nearly, so close, made him call Krillin to invite him over to play with him and Juunanagou. And it had appeared when talking Yamcha into unbuckling his pants in some alley while parts of his anatomy swelled including his ankle, come on, what’s the harm and you could smell flies swarming from either the piles of garbage or the sweetness in his voice.

Trunks was stupidly chasing the straw in his drink with his tongue and barely looked up. “Huumph?”

“How would you feel about moving someplace more private?”

He blinked, slowly, trying to go over what had been said to him. “Huh?”

“Let’s go someplace quiet. Then we can know each other better. You can see for yourself I’m not some monster that goes around killing people and dancing in their blood.”

“Can I bring the bottle?”

There was the slightest dip of dark slim eyebrows. “Sure.”

Yamcha finished his own drink with the clink of ice against glass. He would need it. He would need others too.

“So, five drinks it was then.” Juunanagou muttered to himself, his tone sleek and reasonable.

Maybe this was why the androids prayed on such weak men. Because they could manipulate them all they wanted. As sorry as he felt for himself, he felt worse for Krillin. The poor guy was so obviously over the moon (that wasn’t even around anymore) for her. He’d crushed the remote, putting the entire universe at risk for Juuhachigou, and this was just from a fucking kiss on the cheek. How much more would he do for her now?

But him, what about him? How far did his own interest and care for his own android twin stretch? Was there something in him that would have made him bring his own foot down on the remote? Everyone seemed to understand why Krillin had done it, like being in love excused everything. If he wasn’t, did that make him better than Krillin, or worse? Better at what? Was that lack of selfish, all consuming love what made Yamcha bounce from a failed relationship to one that was almost solely comprised of mindless sex with an insincere man?

Juunanagou slipped past him to the bar besides the barbecue, looking like any normal human youth sneaking into someone’s parent’s liquor supply. “Hey.” His hand slipped out to discreetly grope the front of his jeans, while Trunks refilled his drink and added a bunch of umbrellas to it. Almost immediately, Yamcha felt himself stiffening, leaning closer towards the hand and Juunanagou purred, “You ready?”

Maybe he should just jump on his own gravy train, and never stop? Maybe it was just the alcohol talking?

Then he was being led towards the building, a wiry arm around his shoulder, the other around the Saiyan that began complaining that his drink was being jostled.

Truly, he was his parent’s child.

“So.” Juunanagou asked casually. “What’s this about me killing everyone in the future?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Trunks was drinking from his glass, face childishly shoved into it like his younger self would drink from a sippy cup held in awkward hands. “I really wish you had never existed. So much would have been undone. You and your sister.”

“What have we done? Besides beat you up. I mean, we were the innocent ones there. You picked the fight. We just ended it.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy beating us up!”

“Would you like to hurt me?”

“Yes! God yes.”

“Then how are you any better?”

The other man’s nostrils flared. “I’ve never murdered anyone.”

“I haven’t either! I mean. I’m sure those bikers survived. And those cops. And those zoo worker. Oh. Those carnies.”

“Jeez, man.”

Juunanagou held up an open hand, taking a pledge. “I never intentionally killed anyone on purpose. I don’t think my sister has either.”

“How kind of you. I still hate you.”

“Fine.” A heaved sigh. “Why don’t you have another drink?”

And Trunks did, eyes suspicious.

Inside, it was brightly lit, all the surfaces gleaming under the hanging lamps. A cleaning robot swept by, chatting some greeting while Trunks glared at it. There didn’t seem to be anyone nearby, or at least Yamcha’s darting eyes had missed them as they frantically swept the area.

If anyone saw them.

Juunanagou led them through the hallway, unafraid. Maybe Gero had given him information on Capsule Corp’s design? Either way, he knew exactly where to go, where all the closets were. Which rooms were soundproof and had beds or at least room to stretch out in.

Trunks looked as unnerved as Yamcha felt.

What exactly had Gero been planning? Was there something more than simply a murder spree in the madman’s plans? Was there an exact reason why he’d chosen those two?

…Why had he chosen them, anyway? An innocent exterior that would get the fighter’s guard down? Make it more humiliating to have his enemies beaten by teens? Or did he guess (not wrongly) that they could be used as some sort of sexualized bait to catch the fighters in a vulnerable state? If they turned out to not be quite strong enough to murder them outright? Not as though he and Krillin had shunned and turned their noses up at the chance to sleep with them. Gero knew them too well. That old nut had known them better than they had known themselves. ‘Hey, if Gero sends some sexy assassins your way, you’d turn them down right?’ ‘Hahaha, hell yeah. We’d never fall for such a stunt. But just for laughs, how hot are they?’

It would have worked so perfectly.

“Yamcha? Yamcha?”Juunanagou was snapping his fingers before the taller man’s eyes. “You okay?”

“Just thinking about how attractive you and your sister are.”

He was taken aback. “Oh. Thanks. Uh, my sister? You don’t have a thing for her, right?”

“Nope. Too mean for me. Yes, there is someone too mean, stop laughing. Plus she’s with Krillin.”

“Yeah, and she’s been spending a lot of time with him lately.” Juunanagou frowned. “I can go weeks or months without seeing her.”

“Weeeirrrrd.” Trunks was leaning towards the wall, like his knees were giving out. “So weeeird. Why would he like her?”

“Have you seen her?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“What about Juunanagou?” Yamcha brandished a hand at the android. Juunanagou smiled modestly. “See the appeal here?”

“No. He’s all skinny. Disgusting.”

Juunanagou would not let it go. “Really? You’re into bigger men then?”

“I. I.” Trunks just blinked large eyes, an angry blush rising to his face. “I don’t know! Don’t ask me stuff like this!”

“So you are?” Now Juunanagou was holding a hand out, to show off Yamcha. “Would you say he’s more your type?”

The mild blue eyes were huge, darting around to avoid looking at the other two. “Compared to you,” he allowed. “Sure.”

“Really?”

“Really?”

“Uh. If I had to choose.”

“The big strong muscles.” Juunanagou stroked his arm, making Yamcha jump. “The broad shoulders. Rugged handsome face only emphasized by the scars. The short masculine haircut. Yeah, I get it.”

“Wow.” Yamcha was nearly floating in joy, from pure bliss. Were his feet still on the ground anyway? Wasn’t like he couldn’t literally fly. Like a prized horse, being shown off, and perhaps the nicest Juunanagou had ever been verbally to him. Normally he felt like he was just a warm interesting body for the dark-haired man to have fun with, that wouldn’t break in two from a little roughness, hot mostly for the novelty of having sex with one of the fighters he was supposed to destroy. Another ‘fuck you’ to Gero.

‘Rugged handsome face.’ Really? Him? Masculine? It was a compliment that had remained even though Juunanagou had heard him singing in the shower to bad pop music on his waterproof radio. How they had just stared at each other through the glass partition of the shower door. Him holding the soap, Juunanagou nothing, and despite all they’d been through, how they’d met, it had been the most awkward moment together. He could see the discomfort on the androids face even through the steam, which only made the youth more of a mystery. Why was singing so unnerving? Was his voice so bad?

But asking about it would be weird.

‘Handsome’?

“I guess.” Trunks reluctantly agreed. “It’s just that he reminds me of someone I used to know.” He looked torn between sorrow and rage at Juunanagou.

“Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was cold enough to chill his glass.

“Come on. We won’t judge.”

He just stared at them.

“We won’t. Hell, our friends would puke blood if we told them what we do.”

“Euggh.”

“See?”

“Okay. Fine. It was…” The well-built teen seemed unable to go on. As though he’d sudden gone mute. Even he looked surprised.

“Who?”

Yamcha stroked his chin, trying to appear intelligent, wise, handsome, broad shouldered. “It was someone who lived.”

Juunanagou gave him a look that made him want to crawl into a hole. “Someone who lived. Thank you. I had no idea that it was a person who had been alive at some point.”

“I mean. He survived at least a little while from you and your sister killing everyone in the future.”

“We didn’t kill anyone! I don’t understand why everyone thinks we’re such monsters. Or how, for that matter, you guys knew we were being awoken.”

“It’s a mystery. Just like who Trunks likes. It will never be known.”

Now the android was annoyed. “Okay. Fine. Keep it a secret.”

“Oh, Juunana.”

“Go ahead. Lie to me some more.”

“Obviously it’s a touchy subject.”

“I’m fine with not knowing. It’s the lying to me that bothers me. It doesn’t anger me though; I’m just disappointed.”

“I can’t force him to talk about it.”

“You didn’t even try.”

“Because he doesn’t want to talk about it!”

“It was Gohan,” Trunks finally shrieked, voice rising to crack against the ceiling and drive an ice pick into their ears. Dust was nearly shaken downward, and even Juunanagou, who was fully capable of turning the stereo in Yamcha’s car to a decibel that would shake the window, winced.

“It was Gohan! He was my master, and I loved him. And he died.”

Yamcha couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at either of them. His heart was in his throat, bounding and sending blood flowing to his head almost painfully.

“He was the only person besides my mother I loved. The only one that lived.” The voice was full of static, of lightening, to crack and crash. Now the air was full of it, and everyone in the house must have sensed his rising ki if not just his voice alone was enough to warn anyone around.

“But then you killed him!”

If they’d been trapped in an elevator, right now was the point where Yamcha and Juunanagou would have fought comically over hitting the floor buttons, yanking open the doors, pushing the emergency switch. Instead, they were forced to stand there in the hallway and watch the mild blue eyes shift to those frighteningly inhuman green eyes, always cold even on Goku. The pale hair wafting upwards to soon change to a glowing gold. Any movement was withheld, out of fear maybe that he would finally snap.

“You let him live just long enough for him to train me, but then you got bored of fighting him, and, and, then you murdered him. You left him to rot in the rain!”

Juunanagou nearly took a step back. When Yamcha turned his head to glance at him, he saw a narrowing of the slim shoulders, almost uncomfortable, almost pitiable, almost guilty. Was he? Was he capable of such a thing? “I’m…sorry?”

“Trunks! He’s dead. He’s dead! You killed that android.” Yamcha found himself stepping before the smaller man, trying to shield him while simultaneously hoping he didn’t die. What would Krillin have done? Didn’t Trunks hate Juuhachigou too? He would have thrown himself before the Saiyan to protect her, just as he’d yelled at Cell not to touch her unconscious body, how he’d been ready to fight the hideous monster for a woman that surely showed no sign that she reciprocated his feelings. Just for her, for her sake, he was willing to sacrifice himself.

‘Still want to sleep with him’, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking to Juunanagou. ‘Still?’

“I never killed anyone Trunks.” The white, stainless hands were held up, small delicate wrists visible through the overlong sleeves. “I wouldn’t kill that kid Gohan.

“And uh.” His oddly bright, oddly faded blue eyes dropped to look at his shoes. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

Ice that had hadn’t known existed, would never have described it as such, seemed to melt around his heart and left him feeling soppy. “You know, you pretend to be so evil. Yet, I don’t think you’re that bad.”

Juunanagou scowled. “Just you wait.”

“Aw. I know you care.” ‘Handsome?’ Him caring?

--Then a door snapped open from the smooth walls, followed by a hideous shadowed face appeared, like some rotting skeletal monster, topped with hair like a Christmas tree left to spin in a tornado. Dead eyes stared at them. Its voice was the sound of a hundred coffins opening. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, Dad.” Trunks did his best to look innocent. All his rage his dissipated before his father, turning him into that kind-hearted polite boy again. Even his hair was neat again. “Go back to bed.”

Now Yamcha could see the blanket wrapped around Vegeta’s form, smaller than it had been during the ordeal with Cell. “What are you doing with the scarred fool?”

“Nothing.”

Those black eyes that thankfully Trunks hadn’t inherited narrowed. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, dad.”

“Why are you alone with him?”

Both Trunks and Yamcha glanced around them, realizing the lack of Juunanagou’s presence. Oh yeah. He should have been mocking the Saiyan’s hair and limited bed wear. But then Yamcha was distracted by the thought that maybe Vegeta wasn’t wearing anything under that blanket, and had to contain himself to keep from shuddering. The younger man was maybe thinking the same thing again, because his face was vaguely disgusted, and he refused to look further downward than Vegeta’s neckline. All of it only made the Saiyan more suspicious.

“I’m walking Yamcha to a spare bedroom. And myself to one as well.” Trunks was one of those drunks who thought they could walk perfectly down a straight line while reciting the alphabet and touching their stomachs and rubbing their heads at the same time. His voice only became more swollen with dignity, even as he hid the bottle behind his back. Head held high, even though it just made the alcohol fumes more apparent. Just like both his parent’s again.

“Fine then.” The narrowed eyes again, sizing them up. Behind them, Bulma was sleepily cursing the light. “Keep your foolish discussion down.”

“We will.”

Trunks collapsed as soon as his father closed the door.

“This is so messed up.” Trunks bemoaned. “How did you talk me into this?”

Juunanagou appeared from the corner of Yamcha’s eye, like an apparition. For a brief disorienting moment, Yamcha wondered if it was all an elaborate fantasy constructed by his mind. Him sleeping with Juunanagou and trying to add Trunks to their bedroom toys? No, ridiculous. Krillin was the one with the fucked up twin thing. Yamcha was as straight as a bow. The furthest he’d gone with another man is a few slips during mud wrestling. Juunanagou, his agile smooth-skinned lover was all in his mind, and the real one would have laughed while he beat Yamcha to a pulp if he knew what he was thinking.

It all made so much sense.

This was all just a side-effect from too many knocks on the head, too many senzu beans, too much death and fighting.

Yet, still he pointed at the figment of his imagination. “Blame him.”

“Oh, please,” Juunanagou spat. “Like you and Krillin haven’t messed me and my sister up enough.”

“What? What?”

Trunks burst into tears. “What am I doing here? Why am I doing this?”

Juunanagou immediately lost his glare, leaping over to pet his hair and smoothing it down. “It’s okay.”

He pulled away, as though on fire, leaving Juunanagou awkwardly holding his hands up. “You killed Gohan in a different timeline!”

“Uh. Okay. Fine. Let’s just go with that.”

“And you used to date my mom!”

“Well. What? Jeez, Yamcha, I didn’t know you were into older women?”

“She’s not that old! It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“It involves time machines.”

“Oh. Kay.”

“He’s from the future,” Yamcha continued to explain.

“You killed Gohan! My master! I loved him! He and my mother were all that was left!”

“I’m…sorry?”

“Because you killed everyone else! You and your sister!”

“Come on.” Yamcha tried his most soothing voice. “Let’s just move on before we wake Vegeta up again.”

They all agreed.

Halfway down the hall they could hear Gohan talking, saying something to his mother who replied in a low voice back. Maybe he was telling her about his latest test scores, or complaining about his homework load, or comforting her about the baby she was soon to have. It was bizarrely peaceful to listen to them, though of course neither of the two was particularly calm or happy. Chi-Chi was more stressed out than lately, fretting over how thin Gohan was getting lately (though she herself hardly looked as a pregnant woman should have, Yamcha thought) and the soon-to-be teenager still mourned his father. The loss made the tanned fighter wince, recalling the strained or not smiles all his friends exchanged over the years dealing with Goku’s absences.

Not his fault, really. He did the best he could. Of course. Really, they were all trying their best. Yamcha with Juunanagou, Trunks with the two of them, Krillin and Juuhachigou, Bulma, Chi-Chi and her sons, maybe even Vegeta. Maybe even Juunanagou.

They made a right turn, then a left, the android leading the way. Trunks seemed to be as lost as Yamcha. Or more so. He hadn’t been here in some time.

There was a thumping from a closed door, sounding like a washer and dryer had gotten loose and were now on the run. Yamcha shook his head. Dr. Briefs was so good with the complicated, but his wife was the one to have to fix the tiny stuff and keep the house from falling apart around the doctor while he worked.

With a wry smile, he walked over to the door. He would just shift the appliances over in a second; no one needed to be awoken by some thumping machine being smacked against the walls.

“Hey, do you sense Krillin?”

“Yeah. Now that you mention it. Why’s his power level fluctuating?”

“Dunno. Think he’d okay?”

Yamcha’s fist hit the button to open the door.

Out tumbled Krillin and Juuhachigou, like a stack of dominos. Or like a bowling ball from some old sitcom that would always go falling out whenever a closet door was opened. Spilling out like a bag of candy from a piñata that Master Roshi might have designed. Thankfully, or disappointingly, Juuhachigou’s dark green jacket had fallen closed if unzipped to hide everything but a flash of white stomach to nearly match the white skirt that had ridden up to reveal thighs nearly the same shade and a pair of ridiculous green shorts underneath. Her sneakers and long socks were on, and he wondered for the hundredth time what was with them and footwear.

Krillin was a mess. He spasmed, about falling off Juuhachigou, reaching for and failing to pull on his pants. A too-tight black shirt was all he’d been wearing, and it made Yamcha do a double-take. Hadn’t she been wearing that, under her jacket? Where was his underwear for that matter? On her? Kinda hot actually, and he made a note to remember such a thing. But then, did that mean he was or had been at some time wearing her underwear? Bottom line though, he looked ridiculous sitting half naked on the ground and still sporting an erection barely hidden with a pair of jeans thrown over in a denim puddle in his lap that made Yamcha glance nervously at Juunanagou. No one was making any eye contact, or saying anything.

Finally, Trunks broke the veil of silence. “Is that a tattoo on your butt? Does that read, ‘18’?”

Self-consciously, Krillin hands went to cup his ass. “It’s not a tattoo. It’s just written in Sharpie.”

“Jeez, man.”

“See,” Juunanagou muttered, pushing the other men further down the hallway. He turned around only to wave at his shell-shocked sister and her proud-horrified-happy lover. “Ruined us.”

“Just keep walking.”

Another right turn.

Something occurred to him, a piece of Krillin’s rants to justify (himself chiefly) that it was okay to like Juuhachigou. “Say, Juunanagou?”

“Hm?”

“You guys were totally human once, right? Like, born from a mother—“

“Jackal.” Trunks muttered.

“Like you can talk there, buddy. But you have mostly normal human parts?”

“You would know.”

“Aha. Yeah. But, like, everything works. Like it should?”

“What are you asking me?”

“I mean. Does the plumbing work? Can you have kids?”

“Why are you asking this?” Trunks sounded despairingly again. But he hadn’t killed Juuhachigou for sleeping with Krillin. A good sign.

Juunanagou was mystified. “I don’t know. I guess. I’ve never checked.”

“And your sister’s the same way, right?”

“Uh, yeah. For the most part. Bigger boobs though. Smaller—“

“Hilarious. But she can have kids too, then?”

“Why are you asking this!?”

“Because I didn’t see a condom back there.”

“Were you looking for one?”

“No,” Yamcha allowed. “But still. Do you like kids, Juunanagou? Because you might be asked to babysit? I bet pretty soon, too.”

“What? What?” Juunanagou looked panicked. “She can’t be…She can’t.”

“It’s okay. Krillin’s a good guy. He’ll make a good dad for your nephew or niece. Or both. Since twins run in the family.”

“Who cares about that? She can’t just up and have a kid. We didn’t vote on that.”

“You vote on things?”

“How can you even do that with two people?”

“I must admit, after Juurokugou died it has become more difficult to pass any bills.”

“Legislation must be very clogged over there. You should invite me and Krillin to help. Give us a vote.”

“That might require another bill. But I could petition for it.”

“I have no idea whether or not you’re serious.”

“You can break ties!” He looked so genuinely cheered up that Yamcha couldn’t resist grabbing that happy face for a brief kiss. And then grabbing his hand to kiss the back of that fondly. How could such a hand cause so much violence rather than making Yamcha joyful as he did now?

Trunks just stared at them wordlessly, with wounded eyes. So hurt and adorable, honestly hurt not just pouting that it made Yamcha reach out to cup his head and pull him in for a light kiss on the forehead. The hair against his fingers felt like Juunanagou’s, not Bulma’s. Now the half-Saiyan was blushing, looking torn between embarrassment and happiness. Blinking and not quite looking at the either two men.

Juunanagou was looking at them. It was hard to make out his exact expression. Was he delighted, or miserable? Jealous? Could he be jealous? The blank face was so difficult to read.

But kissing Trunks hadn’t been bad. The soft feel of smooth skin against his mouth, silky hair brushing his cheek. Warm. A nice kiss overall.

“Did you like that?” Juunanagou asked Trunks tonelessly.

The slightly taller man was still blushing. “It was okay.”

“No, you liked it.”

“Uh. Alright then.”

“Juunanagou?”

That familiar pursed mouth that Yamcha had kissed and been kissed by was set in a grim line. “You like kissing Yamcha. Let’s just get that on the record.”

“Fine. Okay. It wasn’t bad.”

“Meaning it was good. Meaning that you thought it was nice. Ergo! You enjoyed it. You enjoyed being kissed by Yamcha.”

“Er. Juunanagou? Are you okay?”

“What? What’s wrong with enjoying that?”

“It was just a peck. Wait. Didn’t you want this all along? Wasn’t this what you were planning?”

“No, not you making out with him. I thought he would be the meat, not you.”

“I’m not the meat. Hey. It’s okay. I won’t kiss him again.”

“No. You liked it and so did he. You should be with someone you like kissing.”

“Oh, knock it off. I like kissing you too.”

“’Too’?”

Trunks just shook his head, over Yamcha’s stupidity or the entire situation.

“Go ahead. Go back to kissing him.”

“Are you jealous? Are you?” Yamcha touched his head, trying to warm him up as he’d done earlier. The android leaned away.

“Stop it.” His voice colder than it was outside of when Yamcha might protest that perhaps he didn’t feel up to streaking naked through the park as it was only in the mid-thirties that night, or if Yamcha suggested that perhaps Juunanagou should come back to bed as it was three in the morning and no, he wasn’t interested in this Twilight Zone marathon. It always made him feel his age telling the teenage android off for something, being the voice of reason to calm him down.

Trunks began laughing, a harsh oddly boyish laughter that made Yamcha flinch when he realized how similar it was to Vegeta’s. Frantically, he rubbed at his flushed cheeks as though weeping from the force of his delight. “You’re jealous. Of me. For kissing Yamcha.”

“Shut up.”

“You aarrre. Hahaha.”

“Knock it off.”

“Are you sad because he likes someone else? Are you going to cry?”

“Fuck off. If he liked you so much, he’d be sleeping with you right now.”

“Oh yeah. Well, he’s going to.” A hand wrapped around Yamcha’s wrist, tighter even than Juunanagou’s. The android had always taken some amount of care to never really hurt the human too much. Trunks though, probably had never held anyone’s hand before, on top of being drunk. Before he’d worried about being humiliated; now he worried about making sure no bones were broken before he saw the sun again.

When he was pulled down for an awkward, dry kiss he could not physically turn away. Even as he stared straight into Juunanagou’s angry , handsome face, Yamcha didn’t have the strength to pull away and explain how he was the victim in all this. A largish hand cupped the back of his head, tugging almost playfully at the short dark strands. Trunks pulled away after another second.

“See.”

A dark look in light eyes. Then Yamcha was snagged the other way, yanked to the android as his cheeks were cupped and a tongue slithered out to brush against his lower lip. He nearly smiled, absurdly. There was just something cute about Juunanagou, even if he was glaring and being glared at in return by Trunks. It made Yamcha wonder what he would have done if he’d met the cybernetic boy as the others had done: rising from smoke and smashing in the head of their creator. Probably what Krillin had done, and just been scared but sure to avoid picking fights. Or would he have immediately ‘aww –ed’ over the sharp nose that would brush against his own when they’d kiss, the way he enjoyed being bitten in the pale undersides of his forearms right there in the hollow, the way his eyes grew when they were happy and the way they shrank when he was unhappy?

No, no more than Krillin would have complimented on how nice Juuhachigou’s ass looked in that skirt then. Or she would have talked him into having sex in his friend’s closets.

Maybe all that mumbo-jumbo about everything having a purpose was right?

They had met, as sleazy as it was, at the right time and place, just like destiny. He was meant to slip and nearly crack his ankle into pieces, and Juunanagou was meant to suck him off in that alley. And further back, Yamcha was meant to nearly kill Goku and fail, meant to stick around the tall man and help him defend the world, spend his life training for damn little, break up with the girl he’d once thought he’d marry, and then further help Goku and help contribute in some way since he couldn’t help in a fight by carrying the Saiyan away and never meet the androids then. And Juunanagou was meant to be kidnapped and experimented on by that insane doctor, to beat up by not kill the fighters, to be absorbed and killed by Cell, and then to steal and hawk some tickets outside a stadium that Yamcha was playing at.

Yamcha happily snuggled against Juunanagou, listening to the protesting noise from the other two men. Only after a moment of consideration, he pulled Trunks closer so there were twin heads, light and dark, parted identically and complaining bitterly in the same tone.

“Come on.” He summoned up enough strength to rub their head together so their forehead brushed. “We’re all adults. Let’s compromise.”

Two pairs of blue eyes, unmatching in shade in shape stared back. Yamcha nearly giggled at how they goggled back like they weren’t the ones to blame and had no idea what he was planning.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Look, I’ll be the meat, I’ll be the bread. I don’t care. I consider this more heaven then hell, too.”

“Yeah, but.” Juunanagou was wary, even as Yamcha stroked his hair.

“Isn’t this the entire point of why you.” He mentally substituted ‘dragged’ for something more polite. “Brought me here?”

“Maybe. But I’m having my doubts.”

“Why?” Yamcha squeezed his shoulder. “You know I like you, right? A lot.”

It was like he’d brandished a bloody poker in his direction only to tell him to relax since the cops wouldn’t be here for another half-hour. “What? Huh. Uh. Fine.” Stoic, sure he was in the company of madness, yet unable to do anything about it.

“I do.” Yamcha was shocked and a little frightened by how earnest he sounded. Better always with Juunanagou to keep a distance, to never be quite serious when it came to emotions. But, even if he might not be as blatantly, so desperately, so deeply infatuated with his android as Krillin was with his, he still cared for Juunanagou. Perhaps he would have hit that button on the remote, but he would have done it with the deepest regret and hurried to gather the dragonballs to wish him back. He was just doing his best. “I really, really do.”

He found himself stupidly grabbing Juunanagou’s hand, like some suitor from one of those romantic comedies Yamcha had once caught Vegeta watching, the Saiyan blank-faced as he tried to absorb the ridiculous earth customs displayed, trying in his stubborn way to understand what it meant to be the unmarried bridesmaid, the symbolism in a glass slipper, why that woman had so many dresses. The words, the right words or maybe the wrongest words to ever escape his mouth were caught and tangle in his throat. “I do, okay.”

“Fine. Just don’t try to serenade me outside my window. It’s bad enough when Krillin tries to do that to Juuhachigou. You don’t have a guitar, right?”

“Nope. Once I tried learning the accordion though.”

“Eech.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just bring a boom box to play in the rain.”

A corner of Juunanagou’s mouth twitched upward. “That should be fun. Maybe you’ll electrocute yourself?”

“Okay. You two like each other. Can I go now?”

“You?” There was a twinkle back in Juunanagou’s eyes. Yamcha would have staked his flat and everything in it, even Puar’s room which she stayed in whenever Juunanagou wasn’t there, that the android had no idea why now he was chipper. Just like Juuhachigou probably had no idea why she kept coming back to that annoying little monk’s house, and wouldn’t understand why she was suddenly sick in the mornings. Puar would have called that denial. Sad that he and Krillin would have to be the affectionate ones with the romantic notions and words. Yamcha, who could barely talk to someone once he liked them, and Krillin who had lost his virginity to Juuhachigou so drunk that when he woke up the next morning he had no idea what she was doing in his bed. The taller man could recall what the ex-monk had said when he’d called Yamcha for help. ‘”Uh, Miss Juuhachigou?”’ I said. And then she wrapped her legs around me and said that she liked how I called her ‘miss.’ And then…’

‘”Jeez man.’”

Reminded now of his roommate, Yamcha tried to imagine her reaction to all this. She was still adjusting to his presence, sighing at the merest mention of him and always adding ‘well, I suppose he’s better than Bulma.’ The shapeshifter had been the first to find out, walking in on Juunanagou writhing against the headboard that only lasted another two weeks, Yamcha’s fingers sheathed in places that shouldn’t have been. She had just stared at the shocked pair, then floated away and not returned until hours later. As far as Yamcha knew, she and Juunanagou hadn’t exchanged more than two words either.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What? I’m not touching you.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Now there was hot heat sliding against Yamcha’s neck and making his knees wet with just a simple lick. The taller fighter was reaching for him, to find the familiar body that still held novelty to it, for being both male and android and simply Juunanagou’s. The unaging, unmarked lithe body that Yamcha fit so perfectly around and on. As soon as his hands wrapped around his waist, Juunanagou seemed to be taking charge as he should be since this was his horrible idea in the first place.

He was grabbing the collar of Trunk’s jacket and pulling him in closer. “You’ve never had a fantasy about fucking the guy that killed your boyfriend?”

“Don’t call him that! And no. God, no.”

Juunanagou seemed to deflate for a fraction of a second, then snapped back together. “Fine then. I can share. I’m not my sister; I can be unselfish.”

“What are you talking about?” Yamcha had to ask, even as his hand went to yank at Trunks’ belt. The half-Saiyan froze, even when he unbuckled the damn clunky thing and let it fall to the ground to join his matching boots.

“Oh well.” He shrugged, a little not comfortable. “I tried to get her to share Krillin with me. But she wasn’t willing to. I mean, I was willing to trade you for him for a little while.”

“’A little while?’” The scarred man glanced behind him, while pulling Trunks’ shirt out of his pants.

“A night or so?”

Yamcha paused. “And what was her reply to this exchange?”

“She said she’d prefer to be sucked up by Cell again.”

“Damn. Not that,” he hastened to add. “That blonde’s are even my thing. I mean. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance with Krillin. Wait. No, I’m not.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Trunks’ voice was higher pitched than normal, and his hands kept closing and opening like some of the players on Yamcha’s team would do before they were up to bat. “Getting all angry when you’re trying to cheat on Yamcha anyway.”

Juunanagou ignored that. “How come everyone wants my sister more than me?”

“He’s right you know.”

“Shut up. Jeez, it’s like being back in that van with Juuhachigou and Juurokugou.”

At the raised eyebrows, Juunanagou explained. “They always tried to talk me out of everything. ‘Oh, don’t eat that, you’ll be sick when you go on the carnival ride.’ Pfuh. Like it mattered. Juuhachigou was able to wash her boots off anyway.”

Yamcha laughed. “No wonder you guys didn’t kill Goku. You didn’t even get close to the guy.”

“What’s that thing you said when you brought me that crappy t-shirt from your shitty team? ‘It’s the thought that counts.’ The obviously-not-well-thought-out-thought. The last-minute-half-assed-thought.”

“I thought you liked that gift.”

“Please.”

The dark-haired man started nuzzling Trunks’ leg, feeling the half-Saiyan jump and tentatively touch the top of his head. Juunanagou glared at them.

“Fine then.” There was the sound of zipper being undone, and Yamcha could nearly hear the blood draining from the purple-haired man’s face. Tanned as the rest of him, his penis was hanging from his fly and Yamcha could already feel it sliding into his mouth, silky skin over his tongue and teeth, jamming down his throat until he nearly choked on it, with the taste and smell of him all over his face. “Get over here, human.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You’re human too. Human enough.”

“Get over here. Suck me off before I decide to finally kill you.”

“Wait. I thought. He was over here…”

There was a devilish smirk on that face Yamcha was growing fonder of more and more. “I guess you have two cocks to suck. Better get started.”

Already, it was starting to twitch like he could read exactly what Yamcha had been thinking. Carefully, Yamcha’s hand wrapped around his lover’s penis, stroking it with just the tips of his fingers, fluttering up and down. Then Trunks was grabbing his head, rubbing his still clothed crotch into Yamcha’s face so his lips were pressed into warm, hot flesh. This thing, the thing he was kissing was going to be buried in either his ass or throat, and he tried to wrap his mind around that.

“Fine.” The Saiyan kept saying. “Fine. Fine.”

Fingers closed around his hand, tightening his grip. Yamcha could barely touch himself without falling over, another hand digging into his hair to shove him further downward.

“Juunanagou.”

“Yamcha?” Trunks sounded desperate. “Please. Please.”

He sighed, then let go of himself to unzip Trunks and pull him out as well. He didn’t look dissimilar from Juunanagou, and Yamcha had to bite his lip from making any jokes about size comparison. The android would probably just sneer and fuck him into a wall to prove him wrong and as punishment, but the boy from the future looked ready to cry enough as it was.

Casually, as though by accident, Yamcha gave a light lick to the Saiyan’s erection, almost trying out the taste. Immediately he was rewarded with a sob, so unlike Juunanagou who insisted on making the baseball player work for even a hint of his enjoyment besides the cutting half smiles. Shifting, always so quietly. It was easy to slide the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the smooth head while he hand went to cup and massage his testicles. All while trying to continue stroking Juunanagou off.

“Yammy?” Cold fingers grabbed his hair.

“Mmm?”

“Perhaps we should find a place a little more private than this hallway.”

Yamcha swallowed, pulling away from Trunks who could only look down and blink foolishly, like he had no idea why the older man was on his knees and his penis was out. “Sure.” He wiped his mouth and on his sleeve, glancing around.

“Mrs. Briefs probably already knows. She knows everything.”

“Grandma?”

“Er. Yeah. It’s okay though.” Yamcha tried to reassure Trunks. “I mean, she’s not easily freaked out. She’s probably walked in a million times on Vegeta and Bulma…Er. Oh.”

“All the more reason to take a leaf out of my sister’s book, (and that’s not a euphemism Yamcha, so don’t get excited) and find a closet.”

Trunks was grabbing for his belt, hair slightly ruffled and eyes dilated. His hands tugged nervously at the belt in his hands, like he was trying to pull it apart. Then he would reach down to pull up the waistband of his loose pants. “Hey. We don’t have to talk about this again, do we? After?”

“Nope. You don’t happen to have any lube in that utility belt of yours, do you?”

“What? No!”

Juunanagou sighed, the sigh of geniuses having to waste their time doing finger-painting rather than another thesis. “I guess we’ll just use mine then.”

“Dear god.”

“Juunanagou,” Yamcha asked carefully, not entirely unhappy that he had lubrication regardless of why. “Did you plan all of this?”

“Nope. I just thought we might have a moment alone was all. The third-wheel here was just a fluke.”

“Oh.” Bizarrely, the other two men were relieved.

“Now where’s the nearest closet…?”

Like a pair of eager puppies, they followed Juunanagou. Maybe it reminded him of the old days when the strongest fighters on the planet quivered in their weighed boots before him, because there was a authoritative snap to his step and a satisfied smirk on his face. Occasionally, he would reach out to grab Yamcha for a brief kiss and grope, who in turn would do the same to the stumbling Trunks. “Over here.”

“A little further?”

“How much further?”

“Goddamnit, this is just like being back in that van. I am the driver. You are my minions. Shut up.”

“’Minions’, huh? Krillin doesn’t seem to think that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“And did you see what he was packing?”

Trunks began choking.

“Did you see how hard he was banging her too? I thought someone had thrown rocks in a washer and dryer, Juunanagou. Lucky girl.”

Besides him, the Saiyan’s eyes had gone glassy. Juunanagou just glared and seethed.

“I’ll get you for that.”

“Promise?”

Now the android was grinning, showing off nice white teeth that Yamcha could clearly remember running his tongue over, one by one, yesterday. “Sure. As soon as we find a closet.”

So they all searched desperately, looping around familiar corners and even Juunanagou looked somewhat lost. “I think. Here?” Only to open the door on Dr. Briefs, suffering from insomnia smoking and leafing through some heavy book. Too late, Trunks threw himself down the hallway and covered his face as though a grenade was about to go off.

“Hello, lads. Up late aren’t you?”

“Oh, hi Dr. Brief.”

Yamcha looked for Juunanagou for support, and found the android looking off into another direction, as though he weren’t even here. Or better yet, here only because of Yamcha.

“Yeah, it’s late.”

“Very late.” Juunanagou said neutrally.

“Were you boys looking for the kitchen? I know you all eat more than those dinosaurs out back.”

The scarred man clung to that lifeboat Dr. Briefs had sent his way. ‘Yes! That’s it. Right.”

“We’re really turned around.”

“Oh. Well. Let’s see. It should be somewhere around here. Let me get my map…”

“No, no, we’ll just leave you be, Doctor. I’m sure we can find it on our own.”

Juunanagou began backing out of the room before Yamcha could even finish.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“Oh, well.” The purple-haired man (a shade that matched Trunk’s) was already nodding along, mind slipping away to focus back on his book. “Have a nice evening.”

“We will.” Juunanagou shot back merrily, ignoring Yamcha’s frantic angry stare.

“Alright then.” Then there was ash dropping to the pages as the doctor tuned them out completely. Yamcha grabbed Juunanagou’s wiry arm and dragged him back into the hallway. Together, they managed to pull Trunks up and hide him behind their backs as they crept past the opened door of the lab.

“Come on.”

“Oh god.” The half-Saiyan kept repeating. “Oh god.”

“He didn’t notice. He didn’t know.”

“Oh god.”

“It’s okay.” Yamcha rubbed his hair. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. This will all work out for the best.”

Juunanagou was smiling at him, something knowing in his face. Kissing him made it harder to walk, but the taller fighter couldn’t resist. Couldn’t resist touching him, feeling the warm skin through the cotton shirts, searching for an opening to slide his hand beneath and touch him properly, but then being distracted by a stiffened nipple to roll between his fingers.

The android was already melting into his larger form, while behind him Trunks was rubbing his forehead like Bulma did when facing a problem that couldn’t be simply destroyed.

“Oh god.”

Warmth slipped away as the teenager did. Tears nearly rose to Yamcha’s eyes. “Can’t you shut him up?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“There should be some empty room around here. Somewhere.”

“Where? Where?

“Goddamnit, where the hell are the closets here?

“How the hell are there no closets when you need them?”

“Calm down, Yamcha.”

Trunks slid open a door. “Here’s one.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was shoved into the tiny space and a tongue slipped in to replace those words. “Mmph?”

Yamcha pushed him further in, holding his shoulders to keep him in place while he explored the unfamiliar mouth. Somewhere behind him, there was laughter, and then the sound of a door being closed as all the light disappeared. After a moment, after he pulled away from Trunks to yank off his own shirt only to stumble into an already naked Juunanagou, did he notice the thin stripe of light coming from under the door.

“What do I do?” Trunks asked, confused. “Do I just stand here?”

“Get naked.” Juunanagou growled, biting into Yamcha’s chin before moving for the jugular.

“Then just stand here?”

The android sighed into the damp skin. Distracted, Yamcha could just barely reach behind him to grab the half-Saiyan and pull him closer. There was the sound of falling clothes as Trunk finally stopped holding up his pants, and one-handed, the scarred fighter did his best to yank down his underpants. Frantically, already half-hard, Juunanagou was grinding into him and shoving him further into the wall.

“Trunks, get over here.”

And Trunks could only shuffle over, kissing Yamcha’s arm awkwardly. He found some bravado to grope the older man carelessly before pulling away as though burned, settling for rubbing his shoulder and running a hand through his short spiky hair. How he’d let clipped it short after Bulma complained about him clogging the drain of her shower, only to discover that he kind of liked the neat man looking back at him from the mirror. Nothing like a desert bandit.

Scuffed scarred knuckles ran down Juunanagou’s smooth sides, and the android’s smirk was a visible white crescent in the gloom. His misshaped fingers were so unlike the teenager’s, who’s remained as smooth as you’d expect from an innocent youth that Juunanagou was definitely not. For the briefest moment, Yamcha allowed himself to wonder what would have happened to him had he never met Gero, had never been turned into a cyborg. Robbing banks? Dying in some high-speed shootout with his sister besides him? What had his name been when he’d had something more than a number? How different was he from that guy he’d been, with parents presumably and more than a fake ID he used to buy liquor?

Who was this guy, making the softest little cries in the back of his throat, without a past beyond waking up to do a crazy man’s orders anyway?

Did Krillin think of any of this while he made love to Juuhachigou? While he kissed her neck until she squirmed and tugged at him, grumbling for him to hurry up?

“Damnit, Yamcha, stop teasing me.”

Yamcha smiled into the longish silky hair, feeling warmth spreading to his fingers and making his stomach light with joy. “What do you want me to do then?”

“Oh.” Juunanagou snaked a hand to touch the top of Trunk’s head, making the man jump and glare at him. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Really, what am I supposed to do?”

Tanned hands, just lighter than the other two men’s, tightened around a clump of lilac hair. “Get sucking. Pretend it’s your beloved Gohan—“

“I hate you.”

“And as for you.” The angled eyes, now grey, fell on Yamcha. No sweetness in that grin. Or affection, or anything close to love or care.

But Yamcha grinned back stupidly, cupping the android’s chin to fully gaze at him adoringly. “What? What?”

Juunanagou fairly purred the words. “Bend over.”

“Oh, yes, please.”

And then he was shoved, face and chest into a wall, Trunks before him on his knees and fumbling with his pants while trying to touch himself. Then scrambling around with his penis once he pulled it out, unsure of what to do. He could see the circle of Trunks’ cock, peaking through the dark pants before he bent his head to slide the tip of Yamcha’s erection past his lips and the taller man couldn’t bring himself to see much further than the inches separating him from touching the dry solid wall.

Juunanagou helped Trunks, tugging down his lover’s pants and underwear so they fell to his ankles and never failed to make Yamcha feel like a jackass. Strong hands, stronger than the human would ever be, spread his legs and made him wince when they slipped cold to his entrance. Teasing, soft, before spreading him mercilessly. Helplessly, he felt a high keening cry building in his throat. No matter how he tried to hold it back, Juunanagou would wring every cry he could cry his chest until there were tears in Yamcha’s eyes and his throat burned and the neighbors were pounding at the floor and ceiling.

The door opened with the softest thud that wiped all noise from the closet’s cramped space. A figure not unlike the angel of death, only bearing now a flaming sword, but a surprised expression that was just as good. If only they’d had a flaming weapon of death to reign down upon their necks. Anything would be better than this moment, and what this meant the morning and the future would bring.

“Hi, Mrs. Briefs.” Yamcha could feel icy sweat trickling down his back. Her eyes were still goddamn closed.

Juunanagou just stared at her, mildly surprised. His hands rested solidly on Yamcha’s backside.

“I hope you boys are using condoms. There are some in the bowl by the backdoor. At least, there should be. Hopefully she and Vegeta didn’t take too many again…

“Oh hi, Trunks!”

The purple-haired man couldn’t be any more mortified. He had pushed himself as far away from Yamcha as he could, roughly a few inches. “Hi, grandma.”

“I had no idea you had the same taste as your mother?”

The sightless eyes were upon him. Yamcha carefully raised Juunanagou’s black shirt to cover his crotch.

“Well, I’ll leave you be. Breakfast isn’t for a few more hours, so don’t feel the need to rush. There’s a guest bedroom to the right here, fresh towels besides the shower.

“Oh. And I’m making pancakes.”

Yamcha’s head gently whapped against the wall. “Thank you, Mrs. Briefs.”

Just before she closed the door, Trunks managed a strangled request. “Please don’t tell my dad!”

“Yes, dear.”

The door closed. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Then it opened again.

“You boys have enough lubrication?”

“Yes! Jeez.”

“Hey, Mrs. Briefs?”

“Oh, yes, Juunanagou, was it? How’s your twin sister doing?”

“Uh. Well. I think.”

“The last I saw her, she was with that cute young man, with the short hair and muscles? Krillin, yes.”

“And what were they…no. Don’t answer that. So, any extra lubricated condoms in that bowl?”

“I think so. What size?”

There was a click in their throats as they all swallowed. “Uh, just bring a couple of every one.”

“Sure. Oh, and should I bring some to your sister?”

“You can try. I think she’ll probably just kill you for interrupting her and Krillin.”

Trunks spoke up, muffled from his head being shoved so far against a wall. “They’re done by now, though. Right?”

“Well…”

Juunanagou threw in, “Unlimited energy and all that.”

“Jeez. We’re not going to do that, though, right?”

“Boys.” Mrs. Briefs broke in. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’m not very comfortable with witnessing this.”

“Uhh?”

“I’ll just get you some condoms, and then be on my way.”

Then the door closed again.

“Well. I don’t know what to say.”

“Best not to say anything then.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Doesn’t help much, Juunanagou. Besides, we all decided to get into this closet.”

“Where’s my bottle of whiskey?”

“Think she’ll be back soon?”

“I don’t know.”

“I just had it right here. Didn’t I?”

“I think we have time.”

“...well, alright then.”

“Hey, Yammy?”

“What?”

“Do you really think my sister is pregnant?”

“I don’t know. But let’s make sure we avoid babysitting her twins, alright?”

“Seriously. I was just holding it. Right here.”
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Issues and A Lack Thereof