Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:            Trunks/Vegeta

Disclaimer:        Sadly, the boys don’t belong to me. But I’m sure they’ll have more fun if they did.

Published:         9th April 2004

Archive?            Please ask first

Warnings           Incest. Unbeta-ed.

 

Summary: Sequel to Sons. This is Trunks’ story, when he went back in time to search for his own mate. 

 

Note: Sons was about Vegeta’s sons — Trunks and Mirai and their rivalry. Fathers is about Trunks’ fathers — Prince Vegeta and King Bejita. In this story, Vegeta of the alternate timeline will be referred to as Vegeta, and Trunks’ father will be just Dad to him.

 

 

Fathers

 

 

1st Pass

 

 

Wherever Trunks appeared, it wasn't what he expected. He had been expecting empty, black space or a cloud of dust and rocks. Instead, he was confronted with…

 

…fluffy, reddish clouds.

 

Not the metor dust cloud type found in space, but the cotton candy kind that can only be found on a planet.

 

Blinking in astonishment, he did a rapid check of the surroundings, glad that his mother had updated the time-machine with the same features she installed on spaceships. The sensors did a sweep of the place and confimed that, yes, this *is* a planet in a location in space where a planet should not be. And yes, this *is* the coordinates of Vegetasei’s location.

 

Trunks looked at the instruments again, a grin breaking out on his face. This should make his quest easier — he wouldn't have to go hunting for Frieza to look for Vegeta, not when Vegetasei was still around. In fact, he hoped fervently that this better be Vegetasei after all and that there was a Vegeta here. 

 

Trunks searched for a desolate spot, which according to the sensors constituted the majority of the planet, and set the time-machine down. Then he sat back and reviewed the reports flooding in.

 

Vegetasei — and it was looking more and more like Vegetasei by the second; those were definitely images of tailed beings with distinctive spiked hair — seemed to be in the middle of a war. An interplanetrary war, and Trunks hoped that his guess was correct for there was nothing as ugly as a civil war. There were other beings too, aliens of various races dressed in the spandex and plated armor his father used to wear when he first came to Earth.

 

It also appeared that Vegetasei was under seige, and had been for quite some time. The planet was war-torn and devastated; large tracts of barren land interspersed with rubble. Some of the crumbling buildings contained life-forms, but most of the Saiyajins appeared to be concentrated in a large fortress that seemed to be a last bastion. The sensors on his time-machine were crude and limited, and Trunks reckoned that he wasn't going to learn anymore by just sitting there. It was time to to jump in the fray.

 

And according to the computer, there was such a battle going on relatively nearby.

 

Trunks got out, sniffing the air. Smells wild. Feral. Bloody and metallic and earthy all at once. The air was heavier, as was the gravity, but it was nothing to him. He shrunk the time-machine and pocketed the capsule carefully.

 

Then, grinning madly, he powered up and took off. On his way there, he ramped up to Super Saiyajin, partly because that was the smart thing to do while heading for a battle and mainly because if Vegeta was there, he wanted to impress the hell out of the prince.

 

~

 

Snarling and heaving with exhaustion, Vegeta was close to his breaking point. The Saiyajins had been fighting non-stop for two days — though it certainly felt like forever — and Frieza's troops seem to be unending. As soon as they wiped out a platoon, another wave of fresh troops would crash upon them.

 

Frieza had timed his attack well; full moon was at least another week away and they were still reeling from the last wave of attacks on Supply Depots 3 and 4, two of their largest and most important depots. His father had been injuried in that battle and hence, it had been up to him to lead the defense when Frieza's troops started attacking the perimeter guard defenses. They *cannot* lose this — once the perimeter falls, Valta, Vegetasei's capital, would fall shortly.

 

Most of his fighters were down and those remaining were flagging fast. Worse, he could feel a large ki approaching. It doesn’t *feel* like Frieza but that wasn’t good news. Vegeta himself was the strongest, even stronger than his father, and so he cannot, *would* not, fail.

 

But it was so damn hard.

 

Vegeta screamed as another blast caught him in the back and he dropped to the ground, only managing to catch himself at the last second in a stumbling crouch. Looking up, it was as if time slowed down when he saw another blast coming his way. It was a huge one, orange and hypnotically pulsing. Bitter regret and helpless frustration consumed him and he could only wrap his arms around his ducked head. There was no way he could possiby avoid it in time. There was no way he could possibly dreg up enough energy to shield himself.

 

This was it.

 

He always thought, in his youthful folly, that the best death a warrior can have would be in battle. To literally go down in flames. Such a dramatic way to go; song smiths would immortalize his brave deeds forever and wouldn't that be grand?

 

He changed his mind.

 

It was a *lousy* way to die. Excruciatingly painful and stupid.

 

It was a lousy *day* to die. The sun was shining and he hadn't got laid yet and why the fuck was he thinking about that now?

 

Then, between one indrawn breath and exhale, when he was vascillating between opening his eyes and facing sure death like a Saiyajin warrior, or ducking to minimize damage to himself because he *really* should be thinking about how to survive this, Vegeta felt himself whisked away.

 

Ki swirled around him, pulsing and tingly-warm and *protective*.

 

Eyes snapping open in shock, he found himself looking up at a golden god. Worried green eyes looked down at him and distantly in the background, he heard the boom and felt the shockwave as the fireball impacted.

 

"Are you all right?" The god asked huskily.

 

“Uhh..." Vegeta blinked, suppressing a shiver. The god had a really nice, clear tenor.

 

Golden hair and green eyes. And Vegeta was certain that if he looked, the incorporeal being would have a tail, furry and thick, just like a Saiyajin.

 

Every Saiyajin kid knew the legend.

 

"Vegeta?"

 

The gorgeous god knew his name? "Yes?" Vegeta squeaked, to his utter mortification, ebon eyes wide. Of course he knew.  Vegeta was the prince — every Saiyajin alive probably knew who he was. And the royal family always had a distinctive look.

 

A sudden flare of surprise and amusement in those intense green eyes, and Vegeta felt himself reddening further. Tearing his gaze away, he cocked his head upwards.

 

His spikes. His *flame-shaped* spikes. Vegeta blinked again in shock and *looked* at the rest of the Super Saiyajin.

 

~

 

Trunks gazed down at Vegeta, taking the opportunity to memorize every curve and angle of the prince's face. Vegeta was just like his father… and not like his father.

 

The first time he saw this timeline's Vegeta, he had a shock. Vegeta was so young! His father had always looked youthful, and it wasn't only because Saiyajins were a longer-lived race than Ningens. But Vegeta — it was easy for Trunks to think of the this prince as Vegeta and not as Dad and that made his knees all the weaker for reasons he's trying not to think of right now — was *young*. A teenager, Trunks was sure.

 

Then Vegeta had turned and Trunks. God. Trunks was in love all over again. He had not seen his father in three years and that had helped; now his feelings for his father were some sort of abstracted hero-worship and physical attraction. But seeing this Vegeta not only triggered memories of his father, it also flooded him another realization.

 

Trunks wanted his father, but at the back of his mind, he always knew that he never stood a chance. Too many reasons stood in his way. And now. Now he had a chance at a fresh start, with no competing mate — Trunks felt a possesive snarl at that thought; there had better be *no* lovers in the background.

 

But, more importantly, Trunks suddenly *knew* that he wanted this Vegeta. Not as a replacement for his crush on his father, but as himself. Vegeta was not his father; Vegeta was not the same person as his father. One glance and Trunks was fascinated.

 

Vegeta was too thin, a hollowed gauntness in his cheeks and a weary cast to his carriage. However, the fiery spark of defiance still burned strongly in his eyes. A harsh scar ran down the left side of his face from cheek to the corner of his lips, but instead of marring his regal beauty, it seemed strangely fitting. A proud testament of his warrior heritage and his survival. It made him look fierce and also vulnerable. And frankly, it made Trunks want to lick it, all the way from cheek to lips, over the slightly parted lips and suck them. 

 

Gorgeous.

 

"Um. You can put me down now." Vegeta's voice broke through his daze and he tore his gaze away from the too-distracting scar. The damn scar was like a blinking neon arrow to Vegeta's lips. Kiss here, it yelled.

 

Oh. Yeah. Let go of Vegeta. Easiest thing in the world. Trunks sternly reminded himself that they were in the middle of a fight and forced a casual smile.

 

~

 

Vegeta’s gaze travelled from the tips of those intriguing spikes — which brought up a slew of questions he was *not* going to think about now — down past those mesmerising verdant eyes and further down….

 

And abruptly realized that he was still cradled against the god's chest, strong arms carrying him easily. Dressed in a white top with an odd logo on it, simple brown pants and a matching jacket with little pockets all over, Vegeta decided that godly clothes were really odd indeed.

 

"Um. You can put me down now."

 

Or not. Vegeta wouldn't *really* mind if the god continued to hold him like that. It was a little embrassing but *really* nice. The god was hot, like a welcoming furnace on a cold day, and had a strong, competent aura around him.

 

Green eyes that had looked slightly preoccupied quickly sharpened into focus at Vegeta's voice and the god lowered him carefully to the ground. Large hands trailed up Vegeta’s hips and lingered at his upper arms, as if reluctant to let go. "Right. Sorry about that."

 

Fighting the urge to shiver again, Vegeta ducked his head surreptiously and yes, to his relief, there was a tail. A thick, *golden* Saiyajin tail.

 

A *thick*, golden tail. Damn.

 

Vegeta looked away, abruptly realizing that he had been blatantly *staring* at the god's tail and that was as crude in Saiyajin culture as staring at his crotch. He also realized he couldn't keep calling the tall stranger a god.

 

"Are you—" Vegeta asked hesitantly and changed his mind; asking someone if he was a god *was* a little dumb. He rubbed his scar self-consciously, all too aware of his own grimy state. Next to the tall, well-built god, he felt scrawny and ugly. "You're a Super Saiyajin, right?"

 

"Yes," the stranger grinned. 

 

"You look— Vegeta narrowed his eyes, staring more closely at the taller male. He carefully avoided the green eyes. "Familiar."

 

"Yeah, you could say that." The other's grin turned rueful. "My name is Trunks—"

 

An explosion cut him off and Vegeta whirled around. Frieza's troops were storming the gates, and from the looks of it, even the last few cannons they had were down. "Shit!"

 

"What?" The light-hearted tone was gone. The god—Trunks was all steely-eyed business now.

 

Even though he was already shaking in his boots, Vegeta dredged up the remants of his flagging energy. "They've broken through."

 

"They?"

 

Vegeta scowled down at the arm blocking his way. "Move aside. I cannot allow Frieza's troops to—"

 

At the sound of the ice-jin's name, Trunks stiffened. "Ah."

 

Before Vegeta could blink, Trunks was in front of Vegeta, large hands on his shoulders. "Stay here. I'll take care of it."

 

"But—" Vegeta was stunned. He hadn't even *seen* Trunks move. Golden warm ki eddied around them, abruptly reminding him of how Trunks had saved him from the blast. Was this the power of a Super Saiyajin?

 

"Stay. Here." Trunks' look was fierce. "Please. You're in no shape to fight."

 

"Doesn't matter! I'm the prince... the last Saiyajin remaining—" Vegeta knew that Trunks was right, but he had his duties.

 

"You’re not. Not the last Saiyajin that is. Please." The hands on his shoulders gripped tightly. "Trust me and stay here where it's safe. I'll take care of the Frieza's troops."

 

"All right," Vegeta lied. He had no intention of staying *safe* when his people were dying.

 

Stepping back, ki spiking to hair-tingling levels, Trunks *winked*. "Trust me."

 

Vegeta stared as the Super Saiyajin took off. And blushed again.

 

~

 

Trunks touched down near the front gate to the city. The gate was ruined, a twisted heap of metal; another war casualty. Looking around him, the rest of the city was not much better.

 

Suddenly, Trunks was glad that he came, and not only because of Vegeta. He could make a difference here. And Trunks was amazed at the warm rush that sudden conviction gave him.

 

In fact, if the reactions of the fighters were anything to go by, nobody in this timeline had seen a Super Saiyajin before. Certainly nobody he fought with was even near his level and he hadn't been fighting at full strength, Trunks noted smugly.

 

He strode quickly through the city grounds, trying to locate a familiar black flame. The few Saiyajins that were still outside were staring at him with grateful, wide eyes, but he ignored them. He had no doubt that Vegeta would follow him into battle once his back was turned and so he had been determined to end the fight quickly.

 

Vegeta was helping another Saiyajin up the steps into the large building, his slender frame almost swallowed up by the larger figure. Trunks walked up quietly, taking the chance to stare hungrily at Vegeta again.

 

Yup. Still gorgeous and eminently lickable.

 

The Saiyajins around him were mostly dressed in ragged, loose clothing, cinched with bands that held the flaring material down. Vegeta himself was dressed in dark blue pants and a long-sleeved top. Slim red-gold bands wrapped his wrists and a matching pair adorned his upper arms. The red-gold metal also extended from his ankles and halfway up his calves, and a wide band on his right thigh served double-duty as a holster for a dagger as well.

 

Trunks was initially surprised; somehow he had always assumed that Saiyajin clothing would be like what his father was dressed in. Then he remembered his mother saying how she made his fighting outfits based on the ones he had been wearing when he landed on Earth, when he was still under Frieza. 

 

"Vegeta!"

 

Both Saiyajins turned around. The larger Saiyajin looked familiar but Trunks wasn't interested in him at the moment.

 

"Trunks!" Vegeta appeared flustered. "Um, this is Radditz. My bodyguard."

 

“Hi!” Radditz grinned, curious and enthusiastic. "Great fight!"

 

Trunks gave a perfuntory nod and turned his attention back on Vegeta. "Are you free now?"

 

Vegeta glanced at Radditz. "Uh, I should be. Radditz--?"

 

The burly guard's welcoming expression cooled slightly and he gave Trunks an accessing stare as he removed his arm from Vegeta's shoulders. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping me, Vegeta. I'll see you at dinner?"

 

"If you're sure." Vegeta seemed torn. He was still worried about Radditz but it was obvious he was also wanted a chance to talk to Trunks.

 

"Go. This is nothing," Radditz said airily, indicating his bloodied leg. It looked messy but it was just a flesh wound. As he limped off, he turned to look back at Trunks, a warning glint in his eyes. Trunks raised a brow and turned back to Vegeta.

 

"I. Uh." Vegeta seemed flustered as he raked his hand through his hair. His ears were red. "I just wanted to thank you. I saw you fighting and it was. Wow. I mean..."

 

Trunks could feel an evil smirk bubbling up. Luckily, Vegeta was looking everywhere else but his face. He had never heard his father at a loss for words. Not even when he gave Trunks the requisite sex talk at puberty.

 

"I am a Saiyajin too," Trunks replied.

 

"Oh. Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. I've never seen you before..." Vegeta trailed off, undeniably curious and yet not wishing to offend a Super Saiyajin. His eyes lingered on Trunks' hair and features, another burning mystery there.

 

Powered down, spiky hair upswept and black, Trunks’ resemblance to the royal family was even clearer.

 

Trunks knew what he meant; if he was a Saiyajin, why hadn't he appeared to help before today? "I'm not from around here. In fact, I just landed on Vegetasei today."

 

Vegeta's eyes widened in surprise. "But I've never—"

 

"Vegeta!" A loud voice boomed across the hallway. A well-built, bearded male was limping in from the doorway.

 

"Father!" Vegeta turned with a smile.

 

Trunks stared. Vegeta's father? His *grandfather*! Well, of course Vegeta had a father and Dad had told him about King Bejita before, but he never imagined that King Bejita would look... So much like his father, with the same flaming spikes that appeared to be a royal heditary trait. Except that King Bejita had a beard. And he was taller. Burlier. And the beard!

 

His *grandfather*!

 

Trunks goggled.

 

Recovering, Trunks introduced himself smoothly. Apparently, King Bejita had seen him fight, over the survelliance equipment, and was full of praise and admiration. Trunks puffed up like a cat on a wintery morning.

 

Just as Vegeta had done, King Bejita's eyes soon strayed to his hair. However, while Vegeta had been more polite, King Bejita bluntly asked, "Are you of the royal family?"

 

Trunks hesitated, wondering exactly what to say. Wondering if his interest in Vegeta would be forbidden because Vegetasei had incest laws as well. He was feeling definately intimated under King Bejita's accessing stare and he felt like a kid of six again, caught by his father.

 

"Yes, yes I am." Trunks ran a hand through his spikes slowly. He always looked like his father, especially in his features, but ever since he had made the wish, his obvious resemblance to the Vegeta lineage became all the more obvious. "Could we talk somewhere more private?"

 

Curiosity burning in both father and son's eyes, King Bejita led the way through a series of corridors, Vegeta following. Trunks brought up the rear of the royal trio, his eyes focused on Vegeta's swaying rear.

 

"Vegeta's room. It's private," King Bejita said simply as they stopped in front of a stout door. He turned to his son. "Besides, I think you'll like the chance to change."

 

Vegeta looked down at himself with a grimace. “Yeah. I’d love to, but…”

 

Trunks grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything without you.”

 

Vegeta did not look convinced but his desire to be clean won out and he hurried to an adjoining room, which turned out to be a small bathroom. “Don’t ask him anything yet, Father.”

 

King Bejita laughed and limped over to the door. At his bellow, a guard trotted up smartly.

 

“A glass of verlot for me—“ King Bejita turned to Trunks. “What do you want to drink?”

 

Trunks looked up from his contemplation of Vegeta’s bed. It was comfortable and clean, with functional sheets a washed-out pale blue, and a thick blanket in faded navy. It was also a bed meant for one person, Trunks was glad to note. “Um. Water will do.”

 

King Bejita rolled his eyes in amusement. “Bring up a jug of water, a jug of kreland juice, and another glass of verlot. Some meat rolls and whatever they’re serving for dinner today.”

 

After the guard left, Trunks continued his examination of Vegeta’s room. He could feel King Bejita’s thoughtful gaze on him. 

 

“Like what you see?” King Bejita’s tone was slightly sarcastic.

 

“Actually, yes.” Trunks smiled, wondering at the change in the older monarch’s mood. The room was big but the furnishings were sparse and worn.  Functional and quietly elegant. He hadn't expected much anyway, not from a world at war. Threadbare rugs warmed the stone floor and a radiator stood in the disused fireplace. There were no adornments on the wall, but a balcony that overlooked a private courtyard provided a beautiful view.

 

Outside, the sun was setting and drew a warm, amber oblong across the high-ceilinged room, almost catherdral-like. King Bejita stepped out to the balcony. "Come out here with me."

 

Curious, Trunks stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants and ambled out to stand beside his grandfather. The private garden below was unkempt and overgrown, but Trunks liked it. It was lush and beautiful like a virgin forest.

 

King Bejita turned and leaned back against the stone rail, keeping an eye on the bathroom door and another on Trunks. "What are your intentions towards my son?"

 

Trunks choked.

 

His voice was soft and deadly. "I've seen the way you look at my son. Hell, I see that kind of look all the time."

 

Caught. Embarassingly too. Had he really been so obvious? Trunks' cheeks burned as he stuttered, "What kind of look?"

 

King Bejita snorted contemptously. "Don't act dumb around me."

 

"I—" His mind raced over all the possible replies he could give and his mouth simply went ahead without consulting the rest of him."—love him?"

 

Way to go. Trunks resisted the urge to slap himself.

 

King Bejita's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Try again, boy. You barely met my son this afternoon. You don't even know him."

 

"But I do!" Trunks remembered to keep his voice down at the last second. His traitorous mouth rambled on, his brain having froze in confusion and mortification. "Um. You see, I am from another timeline. Crap. Can you pretend to be suitably surprised when I repeat all this later? Anyway, I do know Vegeta. Sort of. See, I am from your son's future. He's my father."

 

Incredulous eyes bore into him and Trunks grinned sheepishly. "Hello, Grandfather."

 

~*~

 

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