Chapter 3 - Driving Home

Warnings: Yaoi. Bugger off.

Disclaimer: Hmm. Money. I’d like some, but I don’t have any. Not mine. Yeah. If it was…there’d be a lot more [insert rant here] because [insert company here] just sucks.
I curled tighter into a bed, squirmed, flipped, and yanked the pillow over my head, and pressed it way down as tight as I could.

I could still hear the soft crying.

I don’t know why she bothers. It isn’t like it changes anything; it isn’t like he made her happy. I really don’t see why she loved him. I love her. Isn’t that enough?

I growl to myself, spring out of bed and stalk to the window. I’m not allowed to sleep in class, I’m not allowed to sleep in Trunk’s car, I’m not even allowed to sleep in my own frickin' room.

Well, fine. I won’t then.

I take a short flight to your house, trying to keep my ki nil and not crash face first on the dirt and not wake Vegeta up all at the same time. Not waking Vegeta is big priority. If he’s asleep. He could be training for all I know. He does that often.

I tap your window gently, playing the shave-and-a-hair-cut-two-bits over and over again until you get up. I used to do this a whole lot when we were kids, but I stopped at 11 when you told me to grow up or get another teddy-bear. I never really did figure out why you got so ticked.

You squint at me through the window after you finally stopped squirming and threw a pillow at the glass. By the way, I can hear you swearing. I have really good hearing.

‘What the kami-damned fuck do you want? Do you know what frickin’ time it is?’


I know it bugs you that I’m so chipper, so I make sure to do it.

‘Time for you to wake up! You sleep too much as it is, do you know how much of your life you’re wasting snoozing? Geez, Trunks-‘

That really gets you going, so while your eyes boggle and you take your arms off the top window to gesture and your face contorts into indignant and righteous rage (spike and dye your hair and you’d be Chibi-Vegeta-san), I dart inside your room and under your covers.

‘You were asleep the whole ri- Get out of my bed! Get out right now, Goten, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

I pulled the covers over my head into a makeshift hood and smiled and stuck my tongue at you.

‘I’m going to Grandma’s house, you big bad wolf.’

Your jaw drops, and you’re trying very hard not to scream. I smirk.

‘So, have you been boggled today?’

Before I know it, your hand is on my shoulder and pulling me out, but I tackle your chest and drag you into bed under me, keeping you there with my weight and your shock. You stiff freeze for a second, two seconds, face a rictus of horror, then burst into a frantic struggle like a wet cat, trying to beat me off and run without touching me.

I just clutch your chest and one arm tighter and wrap my legs around yours until you can’t move anymore.

You struggle harder so I raise my ki, ‘Goten!’ and you instinctively raise yours to match and beyond, ‘Trunks! Stop it! Please!’, still stiff and levitating a few inches off of the bed.

I remove my head from your chest to look up at you, just like I used to, ‘I need to sleep here tonight. I can’t go back home right now. I’ll go later, but I need to sleep here right now. Please Trunks? Just for a little while?’

‘Fine, but get out of my bed Goten.’

‘I want to sleep here.’

‘Then let go of me.’

‘I want to sleep with you. Like we used to. It didn’t bother you before. Please Trunks?’


You looked at me funny, and I felt like I could almost read your mind.

‘…Fine. But let go.’

So I did. You scooched against the wall, sitting up and still looking at me in that way.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’




You say a lot in that sentence. How much we know each other, that we can explain five years of situations and feelings and crap in one word.

‘You gonna lay back down?’

You do. Stiffly, of course, but you don’t give me your back. I stare at you. I want you closer. I want you by my side. I need a friend, Trunks. I don’t want you all the way over there, with just your eyes to keep me company.

You understand some how, and reach out and grab my hand, pulling it between us and squeezing. I grip you tighter back, painfully, and stare at you. The smile dies on your lips, and you think for a while. You let go of my hand and reach for my shoulder, and I have my head buried in your chest and my arm around your waist in an instant.

Your body’s still stiff and unwelcoming; and I can feel the grimace you so tactfully won’t voice. You tap my back awkwardly in short quick brushes that are meant to be comforting, and try to brush my hair back without actually touching me.

‘So, what was all that boggling crap you pulled?’

‘It’s a word Gohan told me.’

‘Gohan found a word for that?’

‘It means surprised. Mentally challenged or puzzled.’

‘Oh. Not what I thought then-‘

‘What were you thinking?’

‘Oh, nothing. Maybe like how you must be boggled everyday, you can’t even remember 3 hours ago, can’t expect you to remember yesterday.’

I hit your back.

‘Yeah, mostly by you.’

‘You’re boggled by me.’

‘I just can’t figure out why I’m friends with such a stuck-up jerk.’

‘Cause you’re an idiot, Go-chan.’

I growl and squeeze you and tickle your chest with my hair until you stop giggling and beg me to stop. Most people don’t know that you’re ticklish on your chest. But I do. Most people don’t know that you sleep topless either, or have an all-body tan. But I do.

After the giggles die down, you’re silent for a while.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

And I already know what you mean. It has nothing to do with boggling.

‘Uh uh.’

And I hold you closer and don’t say anything and pretend to sleep. You don’t move, and I just listen. I have good hearing.

Your heartbeat is going a mile a minute, so fast it’s scares me, and my own pulse speeds up just listening to yours. Your skin is still cold and hard and trying to shrink away from me, but you’re sweating. I can smell the fear in your skin easier now, Trunks.

You waited a long time before you touched me, until your pulse slowed.

I was awake this time too.

You wrapped an arm around me gingerly, waiting for me to awake or react, but I didn’t do either. You sighed, relaxed, and curled around me, smelling my hair. After a thought you wrapped a leg around mine. You always were possessive. You squeezed me gently, sighed again, relaxed, and satisfied.

You tried to keep still. I could feel it.

Then you started to shift around in my hair, sniffing, your pulse acting up, your nose brushing against my forehead, then face and nose in an Eskimo kiss, your lips brushed quick across my head and a dry, simple, hard kiss on my temple. Your hand was petting and grabbing my back and neck, while your leg pulls me closer still and I feel your hips roll once towards me, but then I feel the tip of your tongue slide from my nose to the very tips of my hair where you keep your head arched and body still.

I feel you quiver and breathe, in my arms you let go of me gently after checking my face and turn carefully in my arms to face the wall. If it weren’t for that I think you would’ve ran.

You do boggle me. I don’t think I’ll ever completely understand you, and that’s the better half of the deal. I’ve always waited for you to make the decisions, to create the plans, to provide the alibi when my tongue was caught. You know what you want Trunks. I know what I want. You’ve always gone after what you want, so I can’t understand why you’re doing it now. You do boggle me.

I open my eyes to stare at the back of your neck, before cuddling you again and molding my head to fit under yours.

The smell of your fear floods the room and your temperature drops.


I don’t say anything at all.

I don’t know what to say anyway.

I just lay there with you; with your back pressed against my chest and listened to the breath you were holding back, and felt the flashes of hypothermia and heat stroke rack your frame.


I know I’m awake now. I can hear it in your voice, the despairing and pleading tone. Your heart beats irregularly beneath my hand.

I lick your neck slowly, dipping the tip of my tongue into the base of your neck, trailing a wet, thin and cold trail up your neck and blazing skin, and felt your body stop completely.

I pull back to study you.

You’re in shock. Severely so.

I wrap my mouth of the soft side of your neck and run my lips and teeth over the taught muscle, sucking gently on the skin and rubbing with my tongue.

While you remember how to breathe, I explore the end of your jaw, the juncture of your shoulder, trying to drink your skin and tasting your sweat and oil, listening to you pant and moan and tremble beneath my mouth and fingers, one hand caressing your chest and nipples while the other pets and combs your hair. You’re so vocal, so responsive under my touch, my name whispered among your pleading words that make me want to swallow you whole. I can feel your heart pound under my hand and beside my chest like a primal desert dance an it’s all I can do not to scream. My heart beats an answering drum and duet to yours.

You turn over to catch my face, and stare wild up at me, your eyes desperate and hungry and afraid.

You fear I’m playing with you. I can see it in your eyes, the Brief’s confidence erased, the Saiyan ferocity gone, only a young love-sick boy left.

I hate and love the way you look. Tender. Fragile. A little suicidal.

I smile a shy, warm smile. I don’t want to startle or hurt you.




‘What are you doing?’

‘Tasting you.’

‘Oh. Why?’

‘Because I want to. I like to.’


And I kissed you for the first time, both of us with our eyes open, and even though you were groping me a few minutes ago and I had just finished giving you the best hickey I ever gave anyone…We’re shy.

Your lips are dry, and I’m hesitant, we’re missing completely and barely moving, and I’m suddenly so scared my neck is locked, you’re reaching up and brushing your lips against mine and I can’t hold my eyes open, the moment so intense that the temples and side of my nose echo and ache and it’s so hard to move my lips and I want to so bad-

But…you’re not moving. You’re still stiff and hard, and just as unwelcoming as before. But…I don’t…

I stare into your eyes, watching and feeling your emotions stumble and stagger in their race to get your attention, and I smile so gently I can’t even feel it it’s not even there, and lean down to press my lips to yours.

Your gasp is like a shriek in the silence, your body stiff and hard and paralyzed under me. I lift off of you to nibble at your lips, feeling you tremble and flush, before collapsing boneless and limp and sweating beneath me, closing your eyes and parting your mouth in surrender.

It’s amazing, I’m not even doing anything like I’ve seen you do with your many dates, and you can’t do anything but quiver and yank in those ragged, dying breaths. I frown a bit, and tease you a little, wondering if maybe you weren’t ready. This wasn’t-what you wanted? Not yet? Maybe I was wrong? But I was sure-


You don’t even open your eyes, and I’m a little startled by the sound of my own voice. It’s guttural and darkly low and lusty, and I cough a little to clear it up.

‘You Ok?’

You still don’t open your eyes; just keep up the picture of intense pain and capitulating control. You close your mouth to swallow, before opening it with another of the needy gasps that’s keeping you alive.

You weren’t ready.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

You snap your eyes open dangerously at that, and look at me frantically and give a small shake of your head.

Oh. Right. Ok. I’m not gonna argue with that.

It’s kind of weird, kissing and touching you like this. You won’t participate and you won’t make a sound, but you respond vibrantly to everything I do, from small caresses on your arms to licking the inside of your bottom lip.

I’ve never seen you shy Trunks. I’ve never seen you vulnerable.

You’ve done things in public with girls that I would never dream of doing anywhere, and you were more than in control a few minutes ago. I purr in my chest reassuringly.

This feels weird, like kissing a statue, doing whatever I want, giving me a huge power rush and heating the magenta butterflies in my stomach, and you let me do whatever I want. And you love it. Or look like you do. Feel like you do. Sound like you do. Actually, you sound like you’re about to pass out.

I let go of your lips to let you breathe; enjoying the seasick buoyancy of your chest as I rise and fall with every ravenous breath you take, feeling the bulge near my lower stomach and the January cabin heat of your body.

I smile at you again, at the picture that you make. That almost sounded romantic. The things you do to me. The things I do to you. Which are a lot more obvious right now…but that thread of thought is giving me cavities, so I press my lips to your jaw and my stomach into your hips and hear you vehemently make the sound you make when you’re trying really hard not to scream.

I purr contentedly as you thrash your head to the side and move my lips to your collar before you hit me on accident, your hands shackled to the sheet as you try really hard not to move. I don’t know why. I don’t know why you taste like rum, and little bit like charcoal. I don’t know why you won’t kiss me back. I think it’s safe to say you want to. Dende knows I want you to. I think it’s safe to say you’re about to pass out; your breathing is too fast and shallow.

I lift myself up on my hands and knees, giving you your space while still keeping your face parallel to mine. You-you are beautiful. Tanned skin with a light fuchsia tinge drawn straight across your cheeks like a Japanese painting, your eyes closed and lips full and begging, your hair an odd mix with your skin and flat against your head and flared around the pillow like an aura.

You are beautiful. I’ve seen you all my life, and that’s never changed. Time can’t touch it, how you look in my eyes and mind. You are.

Ugh, I’m going off on one of those sappy romantic trips, must think practical thoughts, must think practical thoughts.

I stick out my tongue and trace your bottom lip, sliding agonizingly down your chin and cheek to your neck, licking without my lips actually touching your skin, so it’s slightly shameless and insulting and-

-Dammit Trunks, come on!

I grab your head and hair and kiss you firmly, solidly, with all the passion and just right to kiss you, you’re mine Trunks, so quit fooling around and just do something, anything, you’re wierding me out like—

And you take control again.

And I’m strongly aware of it, for the way you’re burying my body into the bed and weaving through my hair, burning the blood in my skin with your mouth, covering me like a marvelously steaming water doused so heavily in alcohol I think I’m going to pass out now…

But don’t stop Trunks. Don’t stop for anything.

I open my eyes a few slits to look at you, look at you looking at me, feel your fingers on my ear, my hands squeezing the life out of your pillow next to my head while I clutch your shoulder, and our mouths clash and I can feel your tongue so far down my throat I think I’m going to choke but I’m sucking you down farther, I want you farther, I want you inside, whimpering and twitching as you run your fingers up and down my chest and over my stomach…

Like I said, I’ve never seen you shy Trunks, so when you pulled off my shirt and straightened up to yank off yours, giving me the finest study and appreciation for geometry and proportion and perfection ever…well, it was nice and better than nice and hot and oh so very, very tempting…but this is really fast. A little…too fast.

And while your mouth on my skin is…Dende-but you’re good and I want us closer but so much way closer…I feel like I’m drowning I feel like I’m falling and I want to but I can’t see, slow down Trunks, just a little.

I flip our positions and shackle your hands to the bed, pull my mouth away and try to breathe and get a grip on my body—until you deliberately wrap a leg around my waist and pull us all that much closer together with a daring, sullen sulky look in your eyes, and oh so fucking hot look in your eyes while you slide us up and down and against each other.

I groan as I feel my lungs fail and my blood rush, the bones in my arms turned into green Jello as I struggle to stay in control and slow, even though I can feel how hard I am and I know you can, because I can feel you too…

Dammit Trunks, I wish you wouldn’t tease, I can’t, keep up like this…drive me crazy…with just your leg…

The very last of my resolve is pulled up to lift my head and close my mouth and stare at you again, hoping you’ll see the pleading and pathetic look in my eyes and take the hint.

You just keep up the sultry sullen little boy act though, and because I wasn’t giving you what you wanted, determined to tease and pout with those beautiful lips you have until I do.

I shake my head a little and try to speak, but my throat holds everything back. You scowl at me, and slowly lick your bottom lip, giving me a full view of everything I was missing.


Before I realize it, my mouth is already down and open to meet yours, but I stop in time to see you glare before slowly licking my neck instead, since it’s the highest thing you can reach and I give a strangled shriek, feel you smirk before moving to suck on my shoulder, each change in strength or spot punctuated with a thrust of our bodies together.

I’m whimpering and moaning with everything, unconsciously begging you to do something, anything, but-

The crash of the door opening stops everything like death.

Vegeta stands in the doorway.



He’s looking at me.


I’d say he’s glaring at me, but that isn’t nearly strong enough.

More like he’s beating me to the bloody pulp I deserve to be for touching his son with his eyes and will alone. And I am touching his son, and was about to do a lot more than that, and with me on top it looks like I’m forcing it and…oh wow am I screwed he is so going to kill me. He is so going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. Oh shit.

I’m the son of the man he hates the most and he’s always seen me as the weakest of the weak, at least that’s what I’ve always thought, and here I am doing the ‘gay’ thing with his son, he’s always thought me useless—

And then his eyes move to Trunks. And they haven’t change hostility.


Without thinking I snarl, every muscle in my body primed and eager to beat his arrogant ass down a peg, this is mine, canines naked hackles high and a deep growl resounding out of my chest. I dig my fingers around Trunk’s wrist, so hard and solid I know there will be custom made bruises on them in the morning and arch my back and shoulders while trying to shield him with my body at the same time.


Vegeta’s eyes flicker briefly to me before going back to Trunks, but I think I caught a small bit of surprise and maybe even approval in them.

I don’t risk looking at Trunks, but I want to badly, I need to know how he is right now, and I gamble a really low baritone purr for comfort, before continuing the jagged threatening rumbling from me.

Vegeta continues to glare.

I continue to growl.

You, Trunks, are the one who breaks the tie.

I feel your tongue on my chest, starting at my solar plexus and crawling a slow quest to my neck and up the curve of my jawbone, a small kiss, before you leans back and I hear your hair and weight on the pillow.

I get an out-of-body experience that happens sometimes, and it’s really useful in battle when you want to predict your opponent’s next move. And me and Trunks, we’re having a battle right now.

Picture two boys on the bed both shirtless with tousled hair and swollen lips, one sullen and sulky and just completely nonchalant, and the other straining to rip your throat out, showing the teeth and muscle to back it up.

Predator and prize.

Neither is ashamed. Neither is embarrassed. Neither is sorry, and both are saying the same thing: Get the hell out.

With the curse word included.

I continue to growl and squeeze your wrists even though he isn’t looking at me; he’s looking at you. My teeth hurt, and I’m dying to tear into something…I don’t like the way he’s looking at you. He isn’t coming near you.

You’re mine.

I’m dimly aware that there’s some type of paternal/progeny telepathy going on, and I feel a bit like an outsider but I really don’t care! I don’t care if he is your dad, I don’t care if he is a hundred times stronger than me and second only to Goku you’re mine and I’m terrified but he’s not going to hurt you! He isn’t coming anywhere near you.

His stance changes, maybe even relaxes a bit, and he looks back at me.

‘Keep the noise down brats,’ and steps out and closes the door without giving me his back. Or even taking his eyes off of me. I don’t take my eyes off of him.

The door clicks and I close my mouth by slow degrees as I listen to the footsteps recede and reach out for any variation in his ki. Any sign. Just give me a reason.

The thunder fades from my throat when there isn’t any, after he’s down the hall and in the shower and my hackles settle ever so slightly.

Asshole. Try to hurt what’s mine; if he or anything ever tries to hurt you they’ll be having one damned time screaming if they can even manage that. After I’m done with them they’ll be lucky if they can pull the breath in to scream.

It takes me a while to realize that you’re wriggling in my grasp and calling my name softly.

I let go of you immediately, worried, and check your face for pain, damn, I was so worried about Vegeta hurting you and I’m doing it instead and I didn’t mean it that way, Trunks, really, it was on accident, I didn’t-

You wrap an arm around my neck while your leg yanks my body down and our mouths mesh together, your tongue suggestive and warm and everywhere while not breath exists between our bodies and my eyes roll up and I melt into the salty warm water that you’re bent upon electrifying and charging with every squeeze of your thighs and palms taunting the muscles in my back. I hear you snicker in the most demonic way possible as you lick my neck and the shell of my ear while my own whimpers and moans echo down your throat right before you stick your hand in my pants.

And press.

And I scream

I yank in a breath

You squeeze

I give a gurgled shriek

You kiss my face reassuringly, and I take the opportunity to lift my self onto my forearms and try to get some oxygen back into my brain and body while my blood is eloquently manipulated with your hands. I look at you in shock, disbelief, and admiration while you smirk back.

Our short adolescent lives were just seriously threatened by your own father, we’ve decided we’re mutually physically attracted to each other and probably emotionally as well after one year of hopeful and despairing observation on my side and about three years plus of frustration and violent denial on your side and you’ve already got my hands in my pants.



Only you Trunks.

Only you.

You’ve always moved quickly.

And I’m moving right along with you. I kiss you passionately and let out a gargled scream for a manual reaction and try to pull you even closer, even closer than we already are, one hand squeezing and groping you ass while you purr back and I whimper as you grope and fumble to get my pants off.

My own hands fumble to slide your drawers off, and I take the ininative to let go of your mouth while you growl your discomfort and pull both our pants off and throw them to the floor before tackling you again, my tongue around your silky smooth canines while my hands squeeze and massage to coax out the most gratifying bits of hysterical whimpers and jerks from you ever.

And it’s all in fair play because you’re doing the same thing. Only…harder.

Your left hand squeezes hard, and I mean hard, so much that red and white flares up behind my eyeballs my spine turns to white-hot liquid as I feel skyscrapers of sinful pleasure and gratifying fear because I have lost total control and I’ve never felt better. I don’t think I ever can.

I wrench my mouth away just in time to scream, my heart beating so fast and hungry I’m worried it might come out of my chest and I wouldn’t care, my nails scraping down one of your biceps and my other hand squeezing right around the tip, really small, before thrusting my hand down quick-like, and bringing it draggingly back up your shaft.

You scream in cadence, just after-echoes after mine, body arching under me as your nails scrape black across my muscles, the pain only nailing down the pleasure and making it that more stronger and beautiful.

I collapse on top of you, breath short and body slightly too hot, but I love it the way I love spicy food: Change is a good thing. Change is a great thing. Change is a wonderful thing.

Trunks and sex are even better things, but just Trunks is a wonderful, great, really good thing all by himself.


The after flow swims through me in neon chilly emerald green, like cigar smoke, and I feel like I’m flying. Not just that my body is going, but the thing that’s me, my soul, my mind, whatever, is…free. Flying. And I’m not alone. I’m not…


But right now air is a great thing too, and I struggle to put more in my lungs. I hear you do the same, and one hand slaps idly and rubs at the back of my neck and shoulder, while my own hand curls around your neck and along your side.

And as your breathing levels out and you begin to press idle, eager kisses to the side of my neck and my fingers start to play along your side and dart shyly to what parts of your stomach and skin that I’m not laying on…I wonder idly how loud we would have to be to get Vegeta up again.

And judging from that sultry glint and dirty smirk and still hungry sheen on your eyes and mouth, and the mirror equivalent I know is on mine…I think we’re going to find out.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my first real posted lemon. Hmm. And this is the end of the ficlet. I enjoyed it. Very low stress, but I added stress by not wanting to make either seem really dominant or submissive, I just can’t picture that. It doesn’t fit. Trunks seems to have the stronger character, but…I have a feeling that Goten is the real force behind the smirk. Feeling I have, mostly to do with fusions. The beginning name to the fusion dance shows the dominant figure, in Gogeta it was Goku. When Vegeta gets mad, people see it easy. When Goku gets mad, people feel it easy. Because anger doesn’t get used up a lot, Goku, Gohan, and Goten can a hell lot more mad than what Vegeta or Trunks can. They have more potential for it, but it doesn’t show because they save it up. Like electricity. Or something. Right. So that’s why Goten was pretty much the dominant here, even though I tried really hard to make them equal but Goten still leads off by a little bit, even though Trunks kept on nagging at me that he should be the one in charge, he was the one who was really suffering, he was the one that was really daring and drastic.

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