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Trainwreck Freudian Threeway	By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 1588 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Trainwreck Freudian Threeway
- 1
The Prompt: Bra/Yamcha/Trunks

I am such a pervert for requesting this, but since the Yamcha/Future Trunks fill turned out to be so delightful, I figured why the hell not. I guess the idea is that Bra and Trunks both like Yamcha, argue over who gets to have him, and agree to share. So they go and seduce Yamcha who is both freaked out by the fact that they're Bulma's kids and they look like her and Vegeta, but also turned on because they look like Bulma and Vegeta. And they are sexy.
As for kinks, how can a Freudian train-wreck three-way not be kinky enough for you?

The Fill:

For a guy as old as their Mom, he looked alright. More than alright, really. Definitely better than decent. She watched him tuck his wallet away and lean across the counter to pick up the box, and smiled into her ice tea. Then she glanced across the tiny bistro table at her brother, her dorky awful brother that her mother had insisted she bring along since he really, really needed some fresh air.

He was staring at their mother’s old friend like he would Goten, all distant and daydreamy. If their father had been here, he would have slapped that look right off his face. So Bra herself was unable not to. It was what her father would have wanted.

“What! What is wrong with you?!”

“Stop checking him out. Jeez, what’s wrong with you?”

He rubbed at both cheeks, one cut from her ring and the other bruised from the impact against the table. “I was not checking Yamcha out! He’s one of our parent’s friends! He used to babysit us!”

His sister leaned across the table, one eyebrow raised as she peered at Trunks over her sunglasses. “…well, we’re not babies anymore.”

“That is the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

“It’s the best thing. It’s an awesome thing. Look at him over there. All tall and tan. Nice hair, huh?”

His face was turning red behind the stupid handkerchief. “Shut up! Don’t you go crazy on me here. Not here, not again.”

“Well. If you don’t want him…” Bra smiled at the other man’s direction, enjoying the view of broad shoulders through a plain white t-shirt that tapered to a slim waist. Very tall.

“Don’t look at him like that! I hate that look.”

“Isn’t he nice though. Handsome, kind, pretty eyes. Great butt.”

“Eeeewww.”

She fluttered a hand in his direction, sneering. “Stop acting like you weren’t checking him out. Even the cashier could pick up on it.”

“Leave him alone, Bra.”

“You’re always saying that I should find a nice, dependable boyfriend. We both should, really. And I think he’s right over there. How can we pass up such a marvelous opportunity?”

“…what are you saying?” It was strange, now that she thought about it, how half of their conversations ended with him speaking in a hushed, horrified tone. He was such a wimp. A, she grinned at him, a Momma’s Boy.

“If he was good enough for Mom, why—“

“Stop. Oooh. Oh god. I’m gonna hurl.”

“I know what I like, Trunks. Why should I care who he dated before me?”

“Because it was our mother! Before you—before you were born!”

“Details. Age is just a random number. I mean, I’m younger and yet way more mature than you are. And, really, if you’re interested in him like I am, well, we can share. It’s important for siblings to have things in common.”

“I should have suffocated you when you were a baby and I had the chance!”

Bra yawned, casting one eye over onto the tall dark-haired man. “You always say that.”

“And you never listen. To anything I ever say.”

“Hey. HEY! Yamcha, over here!” She waved him down, smiling pleasantly as he grinned and waved back.

“Hey, you two. What are you doing here?” The fighter looked so happy to see them. When he smiled, he looked even handsomer. Trunks was all vacant eyes again.

“Just spending some time together. We do that a lot. We enjoy sharing things.”

Her brother snapped to and kicked her under the table.

“But how’ve you been lately, Yamcha?”

“Oh, fine. Just getting a cake for your Mom. Since it’s your Dad’s birthday.”

Wow. It was like he could read what was going on in their minds and had a perfect comeback to show disinterest; that was one hell of a boner killer. Trunks’ face was all grey.

Bra nodded like it was nothing. “Yeah, Dad’s birthday. What are you going to give him? I was planning on just a tie. He won’t get mad; he’s fine with whatever I do.”

“Can I go halfsies on that?” Now it was time for Bra to kick him and continue talking to Yamcha about nothing. Just nodding, discreetly enjoying the tight t-shirt, the sound of his laugh, the innocent maturity that meant he wouldn’t stare stupidly down at her chest.

Oh, yes. It was far too late to easily turn away. She had her eye and heart and vagina set on him. His hands were large, long, and had her brother couldn’t keep from gazing at them glassy-eyed. He had such grace about him, moving easily like the athlete he was. Unlike her mother’s saunter and father’s stomp, thankfully. When he left, leaving them with a lovely view of his high, tight ass and broad shoulder and the smell of aftershave lingering, she had to repeatedly kick Trunks back to his sense.

Yeah, okay, she might be willing to share him with her weirdo brother. Maybe he could have Yamcha weekends, since it’s not like he had anything to do then, anyway. And she could have weekdays?

She smiled at her brother, trying for innocence. “Trunks…you know, I’ve always cared for your opinion…”

It took three ripped sweater vest, ten torn handkerchiefs, twelve hours, and a gallon of tears before Trunks came to see her side of the argument. Just getting him to admit how he felt was a pain in the ass, let alone accepting that she agreed with him, that they could come to a compromise to actually discuss this, that they would act on their feelings. The mutual promise to never discuss this with their parents took five seconds. His office smelled of stress.

She made a staple of her hands before her. “Trunks. Let me be blunt: we both are into the same guy, who may very well be into both of us.”

He looked across the desk at her, her dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, adorned with her usual classy amount of jewelry, him in a suit he’d already begun to sweat through creepily. “Or not into either of us.”

She held her arms out. “How could he resist? Us? No one could say no.”

“Well.” Now he was smiling, if looking down at his loafers. That had tassels on them. God.

He desperately needed someone. Someone strong and with a sense of humor and maturity to finally get him out of his mother’s house so Bra wouldn’t be awoken in her room down the hall by his screams when he walked in again on their parents going at it. Bad enough that they were in the first place, without Trunks’ gibbering shrieks. Why, why couldn’t he knock?

But she was beginning to digress. “Call a cab.”

“What?”

“Call one. I have some place to take you.”

While she had him bending to her will. Always try to make a sale during a moment of weakness, as her mother would tell her. Of course, their mom would be utterly freaked out and hysterical if hearing what her children were planning on doing, whom they were planning on doing. And then she would tell their father. Who would…cry. Then lock them in some sort of cage their genius mother would design and feed them food and pamphlets about the evils of sex through a slot in the wall. All this passed through her head, the exact location of that slot, and whether or not their mother would think to put a proper restroom in their cages, as she hustled Trunks into the back of the cab and gave the cab driver the address.

“Where are we going? Oh, is it that yogurt place? Are you finally taking me?” He looked at her with the same blue eyes that she saw in a mirror’s reflection. But his were bigger. ‘A little angel,’ they Grandma would chirp, pinching his cheek and ignoring Bra’s rolling eyes.

Bra held him in place in the backseat. One handed. He fought like a wiggling fish Goten was trying to catch. She had an easier time than the other half-Saiyan since there were less scales to contend with.

“How did you get so strong for someone who can’t even turn into a Super Saiyan?”

“What? Oh, that. I was able to do that blonde shiny thing since I was two. But you know,” she shoved a blue lock of hair out of her eyes. “I don’t do the blonde thing. Maybe it works for Marron and her Mom, but me and my own mother, we don’t do that.”

Trunks began to weep without tears. “We’re not going to the yogurt place, are we?”

Bra rolled her eyes and began digging through her purse. “Why does everything we do always end with one of us crying in a car?”

“Because you’re evil! Worse than anything!”

“Stop struggling,” she hissed, like one of those awful mothers at the supermarket yelling at their kid in public. At least their own mom would wait until they got in the parking lot before going off. “People are looking.”

“You’re sick. Sick!”

“Stop fussing. It’s messing up your hair. And it already looks bad enough.”

“I’m telling Dad!”

“No, you won’t. And even if you did, everyone knows about your own odd little issues. I’m the nice, sweet one.”

“To who!?”

“Daddy.”

Trunks froze, eyes narrowing and mouth puckering, considering.

“I’ll tell him you said some stuff to Yamcha, came onto him, and began flirting.”

“He won’t believe that!”

“Yes.” She finally managed to find one of the little bottles she’d swiped from Trunks’ minibar in his office. All classy expensive vodka that had rarely been touched. Bra admired the bottle in the sunlight that managed to come through the grimy windows. Then she cracked the seal and top with her thumb to spill the clear liquid onto her brother’s suit. “And you were drunk.”

By the time it dried to a gross reeking tackiness, they were already there. The driver had had enough of them both and Trunks’ sad limp tip did nothing to remedy the situation.

“So. We’re here.”

“All I said was, that Yamcha was handsome enough. That’s all. I should have known you weren’t interested in an internship at the office.” He pulled away the damp shirt he was mumbling into.

Her stupid older brother who had been the first person after her father to hold her, gazing at her with wonderment on his face until their Mom’s screaming for her daughter finally made them hand Bra over. Who had changed diapers and taught her to draw and let her take the blame for many mishaps since their Father could never be all that angry at her. A good guy, the nice one in the family, besides that other Trunks who fought androids and lived in some post-apocalyptic-Mad-Max future that justified those stupid boots both Trunks loved so much. But that Trunks lived in a time of heroes or villains, so it was easier and noble to be so honest and decent. This Trunks had grown up with parents that were all for eye-gouging. He was tallish, handsome enough to make secretaries flirt with him sincerely, a sense of humor that didn’t involve schadenfreude.

“What’s the plan, then, huh? Going to march up there, and demand he sleep with one of us.”

“Both, actually,” she muttered, looking up at the apartment building.

“What? Oh, oh god. What?”

“Let’s call it what it is: a threeway.”

“No. NONONONONO—“

“Shut up. Don’t make me slap you.”

“Why, Bra? Why?”

“We’ve been over this. Just close your mouth and follow me.”

“What are you going to do?” He sounded close to tears again. “Please don’t go crazy. What are you going to do?”

“Come on.”

Getting buzzed in was no problem. Just hit random numbers until someone finally let them in. Didn’t even have to do her innocent little girl voice and say that her Grandma was inside. She hadn’t called ahead to see if he was there, wanting the element of surprise, even if this put her at a disadvantage on the Trunks front. Her brother might flee and refuse to be alone with her again, ruining all her plans.

…unless she got her parents out of the house for awhile and invited Yamcha over for some reason. Hm.

At his front door, the numbers much more impressive on the brass besides the bell than on the crumbled paper she’d scrawled his address on from her mom’s address book. She breathed in the air, ignoring Trunks’ presence. This was his door, where girls and maybe, maybe guys had stood outside and spoken and entered and left. Savoring this moment.

There was a voice rising in volume behind the classy dark wood.

She knocked on the door politely, and was stunned to be let in immediately by a distracted Yamcha who waved both her and brother in. Yamcha was screaming at his telephone, arguing with someone, oh yeah, well, I don’t care, don’t care at all what you do, whatever, WHATEVER. Just like something out of Bra’s own house. He threw down the phone at the couch, muscles jumping in his jaw and throat.

Trunks was a step away from holding her hand and cowering behind her.

She only lifted her head higher, meeting his dark eyes. What would her father do in this situation? She smirked. “Problems?”

“Oh, yeah, you could say that.” He was brooding, glaring down at the phone. Almost ready to start tearing one of his decorative pillows apart. “A real problem. A real jerk. Forget it though.”

Bra sat down on the couch and felt like a character in a movie. Outstretched her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a solution?”

An hour later, she was drunker than she’d ever been before in her life. Hell, this was only the second time she’d had more than a glass of wine during a fancy dinner. And that first time, she and Marron and Pan had been toasted, driving and screaming out the car windows for the world to fuck off because they were so, so awesome. They were immortal badasses. Until the sickness became swimming in and had to throwing up on her shoes (that were unfortunately both canvas and pink), shoving Pan over to the wheel of the car despite the dark-haired girl being the youngest and most inexperience behind the wheel, but Marron kept shaking her head and going no, no way, when someone would get hit in this moving hit-and-run, she was not going to be the driver. And Pan forgot which was brake and gas, and Marron kept shrieking ‘I told you so, I told you so,’ until Bra began screaming in fury, and then throwing up again out the window while Pan started to really panic, crying, ‘Oh god, she’s dying, isn’t she?’

No one was hit, let alone hit and abandoned, but she still got icy looks from Juuhachigou for throwing Marron out of the car at Kame Island before fleeing, and Gohan still didn’t want Pan around her until her (Pan) nightmares at least ceased. All that goodwill and trust pissed down her leg, like when she’d gotten home and for some reason didn’t realize that she had a bathroom right inside the building rather than having to use these bushes. Plus having to throw out her comfortable sneakers.

At her own home, her Father had just literally shrugged at the smoking car half buried in the giant oak tree out back and her Mom hadn’t even noticed.

This probably wasn’t going to end the same way. Or at least not with her parents apathetic. Their disappointment was going to be the worse, to deal with. If Trunks squealed anyway. She cast a blurry suspicious eye on him, seated at the coffee table gazing up at Yamcha with his chin on his hand, all admiring. Enjoying Yamcha’s stories about running around the desert and countryside with Goku.

Personally, she preferred to hear about the guy’s current life and if there was anyone living here, and what the hell was up with the scarves in his drawers (yeah, she’d snooped), and was that some kink thing…? At least there was nothing creepy in the guy’s medicine cabinet.

…Besides all that flavored lube stacked in a huge pile that tumbled out as soon as she’d opened that one door and oh crap, had anyone heard? The stuff that made her stare at her reflection after it gone down looking over its shoulder, and nod. Yeah, this is the right guy. A heavily used old fashioned razor and some shaving cream in another drawer, toothpaste, cologne…otherwise normal bachelor stuff. She had to run the water to hide her giggling.

Fixed her hair and pouted her lips before applying more lip gloss. Wondered if her brother was making a move, or laying down the blocks for what was to occur soon enough. But they were just drinking and talking, looking at each other. Making meaningful eye contact. Trunks muttered something, and Yamcha laughed and playfully slapped a shoulder.

They looked more like father and son, or brother and brother than lovers, which was ruining everything. What if Trunks was right, and Yamcha did just think of them as nephews/nieces? What if this was nothing more than an exercise in frustration and rage, as usual? She probably would be better off getting drunk with the girls again than this. Better off helping her Mom going crazy in her lab, or getting her ass kicked alongside everyone else by Marron’s Dad until Juuhachigou threatened to set the scrabble board afire to everyone’s cheers. Or even helping poor Chi-Chi cook dinner for that terrible family that couldn’t keep from shoving even utensils down their throats. Anything was better than hanging out with her stupid brother and Yamcha, talk about how Bulma had poisoned Oolong to go to the bathroom a lot with one word.

Definitely. Next time, she would take up Marron’s offer to go hunting with her crazy uncle, even if those two could be horribly bloodthirsty and all for tearing down trees with their bare hands. Or go with them and read books and sun herself like Marron’s parents did, ignoring the crazy android and their crazier daughter.

Maybe she would take the final plunge and join her father in his training chamber like he’d always wanted and dreamed of, only to be foiled by her utter disinterest in fighting.

Then, then she saw Trunks reach out and squeeze one of Yamcha’s biceps, laughing and blushing, looking shyly at him through his stupid purple hair. Yamcha squirmed a little, but didn’t look unhappy. Shit was getting real. Bra nearly ran back into the room, trying to appear casual, graceful, sexy.

The older man looked all guilty at the sight of her.

“Oh, don’t worry. Continue. Go ahead.”

Ugh, but it sounded so creepy to say stuff like that. Like she wanted to watch them go at it. Sure, maybe she would take a picture on her phone to use later as blackmail, but the image of them locking in an embrace was one that made her want to ruin another pair of shoes. Still, this was the lot she’d chosen. So she waved a hand, gesturing with all the grace and poise of the princess she was. “Go ahead. So long as I can go after.”

“What?” Yamcha sputtered while Trunks stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just that after you get done with the entrée, you can have the main course.”

“Oh. Thank god.” The tall fighter grabbed at his heart. “I thought you were talking about…what. What. WHAT?”

“What?” She blinked innocently, staring back at Trunks as well, for agreement on how odd Yamcha was acting.

“Yeah, Yamcha, what’s wrong?” Trunks looked at Yamcha, blinking. Bra wanted to pet the top of his head. Such a good older brother. Even better than the badass Future Trunks, in his own way. Stupid loafers and all.

“What is this?” Black eyes narrowed at them, reminding Bra of spending a meal at the Sons’ house. “Did—were you set up to do this?”

“Nope.”

“Of course not.”

“Then…why? Wait. What exactly are you two even plotting to do?”

“’Plotting’?” She rolled her eyes. Yamcha flinched a little. “We are two adults who are looking for a somewhat steady relationship with a likewise mature man.”

“What’s the problem here?” Trunks was doing that little eyebrow raise thing their mother did when she was cornering you and using your own logic to smack you in the head with.

“This is the alcohol speaking.” It was clear he was talking to himself. “Just the booze. Why did I let you two start drinking? I mean, look at who your parents are…”

“What?”

“…God knows how they can’t handle their alcohol…” He was wincing, face puckered in pain at the memory of some incident.

“What, you saw our parents drunk? Like, Christmas drunk, or Thanksgiving drunk? Or Halloween drunk?”

Trunks rubbed his chin. “Holidays are not good days for their livers, now that I think about it.”

“I hold that Halloween’s the worse. Mom screaming and insisting she can fit in her old costumes, Dad stealing candy from kids…But, anyway,” Bra waved aside the discussion of her parents. “We’re not like them. We can hold our booze.”

In the back of her head, she heard Bra and Marron shrieking as their car narrowly dodged another oak tree and Bra vomited again out the window.

“Totally.” Trunks was nodding, like he’d never gotten toasted at office parties and woke up passed out on top of the copier machine, pants down, with hundred of blurry copies of his ass to be collected by their ashamed mother.

“If you two say so…but I’m not sleeping with you.” The relaxed posture disappeared and his eyes began to resemble a deer that Marron’s uncle would try to strangle with his bare hands. “Can’t believe I even have to say that.”

“Did someone,” he was looking shifty. “Put you up to this?”

“Nope.”

“My sister.”

“Shut up. You were practically drooling over him, earlier.”

Now Yamcha was turning a fetching shade of red that went surprisingly well with his tan. No wonder her mother had such a long relationship with the guy…ugh. Her brain was her worse enemy. They all needed to come together, push all thoughts of Vegeta and Bulma out of their heads, get naked, and go for the man’s huge collection of scarves.

Speaking of which.

“So, Yamcha, are you sure, absolutely sure,” her eyes trailed a line down the front of his shirt, “you don’t want to try out some of those lubes on us?”

“What?”

The dark eyes were huge again.

“You have what?”

“It’s nothing. Really. Why were you going through my stuff? Of course you were going through my stuff. Jeez.”

“Hey. I didn’t know it was in there. All those bottles fell from the medicine cabinet like dominos.”

Trunks got up and ran to the bathroom, like the little boy who would race downstairs to the Christmas tree at four in the morning while their Grandmother taped it and forced them to watch during the holidays until Vegeta broke the projector, to Bra’s cheers and Trunks and Bulma’s sorrow. ‘You looked so cute in those pajamas with the little feet.’ ‘I know.’ Why, why now could she not stop thinking of her family? Remember being small and carried around by her father, how her mother would get flour in her hair when she’d cook pancakes, how Trunks would leave his shoes on the stairs until their Grandpa tripped over them and broke a leg.

Yamcha wasn’t even in those memories. He was in…others. Teaching Trunks to play baseball. Helping her tie her shoes, huge and patient. This was too fucked up. Her brother was, God help them all, totally right. He wasn’t into them, and that was completely understandable. They were lovely, beautiful, exotic people, but he saw them still as little kids. She actually was starting to feel disgusted with herself, for trying to go for an older man who had watched them grow up.

“Oh my god, you have strawberry! We have to use this. Oh. Coffee. Yes, this one.” Her brother ran out with a scary glow to his eyes, the one their mother got when she had a ‘bee in her bonnet’ that would send their father fleeing. She and Trunks should just stick to messing with…someone else. Anyone else. Even Marron’s weird uncle who always stared strangely at Trunks would be a safer bet, because at least they hadn’t grown up calling the man ‘Uncle.’

Though Marron would be pissed.

“We have to use this.” He handed Bra cherry flavored lube. “I even found one I thought you’d like.”

“Yeah. About that Trunks--”

But then, it was too late because her brother was literally throwing himself at Yamcha, launching through the air, to grabble with the guy and wrestle him down to the floor. Screaming, tauntingly over one shoulder, “Mine!”

“You utter bastard!”

“Totally mine! Saw him first!”

“Oh gfah, get ofw.”

She watched her brother undress the taller man, and sipped at her drink. It was all very distant, happening to some other girl that Bra was watching. And this girl was totally content at seeing her brother wear down the will of the older man beneath him, biting painlessly at his neck, running a thumb teasingly against a darkish nipple. Which upset the girl, and drove her forward off the couch and onto the rug next to the other two. The audience of one shifted uncomfortably. It was all rather disquieting.

The girl took an offered tube of lube, and the penis offered casually from her drunk, terrible brother, who held Yamcha’s penis out like a joint from one of those after school specials. Wanna take a hit? She inhale and exhaled. The audience has mixed feelings.

“Bra? Hey, Bra? Can I have a go, first?”

That blue-haired girl handed her brother condoms and shared another drink with the pinned man. The dark-haired man was shaking his head in disbelief, this was so terrible, he informs everyone listening. Jeez, what were they all thinking? While the purple-haired boy slid a condoms limply on what was not at all limp and no one could bear to watch him get undressed. Yamcha kept touching and playing with that stupid handkerchief and the girl didn’t have the energy to ask about his own collection of scarves.

She couldn’t look at Trunks naked at all. The sight of him trying to fit a penis inside him thankfully refused to stick in her head, and was instead rejected. When she looked away, she saw the reflection of their fucking on the TV screen. Her brother did not last an admirable amount of time, something that might have made her laugh at a totally different moment that did not involve her undressing and being pissed at herself for starting all this. Once you started, you couldn’t really stop it. Even to walk out would be futile. Come this far, might as well go all the way and come.

It was what her parents would have wanted, in a bizarre way. She was her mother and her father’s daughter, who were not above underhanded tricks. It was not her fault she was this way, the girl wanted to tell the audience watching. Not her fault.

She wanted to tell Yamcha that, but he was too busy grabbing Trunks, either tears or sweat running down his face and plastering his hair to his face, holding her brother close to him while he finished. Trunks was smirking a little, like he had a secret that he wanted to share with everyone. Discreetly, still controlled by invisible strings by someone she couldn’t see, Bra had to hold her camera up, turn the flash off, and take a picture. No matter what happened, she would have to hold her upper hand. Poor stupid Trunks. And poor Goten and Marron and Pan, whom she would certainly end up sending this picture to when Trunks pissed her off.

Then she went to shove her stupid brother off. “My turn! You selfish prick!” But her heart wasn’t in it. She felt like her father did, when he continued training, even after losing to Uncle Goku in another sparring contest again and could never quite beat the strange, simple-minded Saiyan. Or her mother, making Thanksgiving in, failing even to make the rolls come out unburnts, until Grandma was begging her to stop, and Dad was passed out before the TV and the parade floats, and Trunks was crying and Bra was calling the pizza place for an extra large order.

To Yamcha’s credit, and to her relief, he knew exactly what he was doing until her eyes were fluttering shut and she could ignore who exactly was doing this. This was nothing like going out with some stupid boy who didn’t even know how to take her bra off. Who, when fumbling around, would make some crack about her name to try and defuse the tension that would have her throwing him out of her car. Life was too short for that bullshit.

Her brother had found Yamcha’s porn, to her and the older man’s discomfort. And he had no problem with putting it in the VCR and watching it, bottles of lube spread out around him, while Bra rubbed her forehead and Yamcha ran a hand through his hair. Such a goddamn weirdo. She was definitely going to send that photo around, to wipe off the raised eyebrows and smirks that the others got when she complained over her strange older brother. Now they would see, and understand.

Bra nearly laughed when imagining their father getting a hold of such an image. He would either strangle Trunks, or refuse to be around him at all. Run and hide in his ship, while Trunks refused to stay at Capsule Corp for more than ten minutes. Probably murder Yamcha, either way. Or perhaps go off the deep end and act all protective of Trunks and hide him in that cage. Make him wish more than ever he was that Future Trunks with his badassery and maturity and sword.

But after this, she had to reevaluate her love life, hell, her life in general. Maybe she would give into her mother’s wishes to meet a nice student boy to go through the boring routine of life with, or take that long slow slide that Chi-Chi seemed to suspect and start dating Goten. Ahahaha, no. It was hard not to giggle, even while he kindly shifted her into a more comfortable position for them both. Maybe she would just give into curiosity and start dating a girl; someone in the family should do that, after all. God knew she had plenty of cute female friends…anything was better than reenacting this experience. My god, was she so damaged after this to right off half the population?

Well. Not that she didn’t have such good and healthy standards. But still.

…if she started dating girls, at least her wardrobe would double. Maybe Marron, since she (Bra) did look so good in pink…

“Bra? Could you pass the cherry lube?”

“God, Trunks, what, don’t have enough over there!”

“You’re such a greedy little pig!”

“What the hell are you doing, eating it?”

“…just pass the lube.”

“Gross. So gross. How are you eating—no, don’t tell me. Wait. Are you that flexible?”

“Well, yeah. Martial arts and all.”

“That explains so much…Ew. No! I don’t wanna see it!”

“Wanna hear something really weird?”

“Oh god what?”

“Goten was the one to teach me. And he said Future Trunks sent him a link to the webpage that taught sex positions.”

“You must be eaten alive with envy.”

“…no.”

“Ew. I don’t even want to know.”

“This is just like being with your parents,” Yamcha sounded both grim and accepting. “But at least you’re not making out with each other like they did. Or talking about Disney.”

“…what?!”

“WHAT?!”

“They didn’t tell you? That…surprisingly shocking considering their track records with boundaries.”

“Oh my god! Get off me! That’s sick!”

“Disgusting! Where are my pants!?”

Only later, watching her shirtless but still scarf wearing brother with his pockets stuffed with bottle of lube, did the old her come back and caused her to pound harmlessly against the cab’s window. “And I didn’t even get off!”

“If it makes you feel better,” Trunks held out a blank-looking tape that unlike the rest of Yamcha’s stuff, did not involve showing off a pair of twinks being chastened by a large gay bear-type. “I grabbed this. For blackmail.”

“What is it?” Nothing would shock her anymore.

“Not entirely sure. But it’s homemade and the label said something about K1817?”

Bra smiled, and considered briefly whether or not to delete that picture she had of him on her camera. She nearly pushed his hairless bare arm in old sibling affection. The audience leans forward in suspense. “Thanks.”
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Trainwreck Freudian Threeway