Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:            Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:        Don’t own DBZ

Published:         25th March 2004

Archive?            Please ask first

Warnings          Incest. Unbeta-ed.

 

Sons

 

7th Scrawling

 

Chibi Trunks’ POV

 

 

Itching, sweating, buzzing like a thousand tiny bees under his skin--

 

I give another involuntary shudder, a little ripple that shimmies from the base of my skull right down to my cock. What the fuck is *wrong* with me?

 

Steals another look at Dad under the pretext of wiping the sweat from my brow, but my glance lingers--

 

And see Dad looking back at me, a faint annoyed expression on his face and I realize I don't care. I don't care that I'm caught staring, that we're supposedly in the middle of a training session, that this would only piss Dad yet further on top of all the shit so far — I stare back hungrily, abandoning any pretense that I'm all right. That I'm not falling apart inside. That I'm not wanting, that I *need* him. 

 

"Trunks, if you can't concentrate..." Dad starts to turn away, frowning. 

 

The whine of the gravity winds down but the thrumming in my ears doesn't; it increases until I can't hear anything else but Dad. The muffled tapping click of his boots, his even breathing. I swear I can practically hear the thudding of his hearbeat… or is that mine?

 

The door slides open and cool night air wafts in, clearing the humid, sweat-laden air in the training room and I gives another shudder. Hot, I still feels hot. Burning, sweating. Can't think of anything but—

 

—touching him. Stopping Dad from leaving, holding him close, next to my skin.

 

"Trunks! Let me go." Calm, deadly voice.

 

I shake my head. The world tilts and stretches into seriously bad geometry. 

 

A pause. Then, quietly, carefully, "Trunks?"

 

I ignore the question. Concentrate instead on what's really important, like licking a wet stripe from side of Dad's lips and under the curve of sharp cheekbone to ear.

 

Shallow intake of breath, almost a gasp. This close, I can see Dad's nostrils flare as he sniffs hard, rapidly. Could feel him tense. Just had to lick him again.

 

“Stop it Trunks. I mean it — I don’t wish to hurt you—“

 

I decide that Dad talks too much, but my hands were both occupied so I lean in and cover his mouth with mine. And Dad's mouth was still open so my tongue just slips in, like coming home, and god. Slick and searing and easy. Felt so right, so necessary. Like breathing.

 

But it’s not nearly enough. Something’s missing… *wrong*. My hands tighten and I press closer, squashing Dad against the wall in my attempt to achieve full skin contact. I’m shaking, panting hard and my tail is out of control behind me. Spraying the air liberally with musky phermones and I realize that Dad’s not unaffected. His errection presses hard against my abdomen, stiff and hot, and a needy whine builds up at the back of my throat.

 

Dad makes a muffled noise of protest and tries to push me away, closing his mouth and jerking his head to the side with a probably painful twist. Abruptly bereft of that gorgeously hot mouth, I follow like iron to a magnet and press my lips to his again, but he refuses me.

 

“I know it’s overwhelming. It’s just a physical reaction—“

 

I writhe, hearing him but not listening. His words just washes over me. Burning. I’m burning, moaning. My heart’s jumping like it wants to break out of my chest.

 

“—just hormones you’ve never learned to control because—“

 

My tenous control snaps. “Please please, oh god I’m so—“

 

Dad stops struggling, throwing an arm around me, crooning. My voice drops to a whimper, slurring drunkenly. “So hot Dad…” His hand strokes my back and he just curls around me. His touch is soothing and oh. Oh God. So good. I fold into him, seeking comfort, wriggling into his arms as I used to when I was younger, eyes tearing. 

 

“Dad…”

 

Suddenly, I’m torn away and flung backwards. Too stunned to react, I land clumsily.

 

Mirai.

 

My lips twist, baring teeth. He snarls at me like a rabid dog and I stand up, growling my own challenge. His eyes are wild, his golden hair snapping in a static cloud around his head.

 

“Mine.”

 

All I hear is the pounding of blood, the call of instinctive challenge. We’ve been skirting around this for days, but hell, for me it has been *years*. I will not wait no longer. Suddenly, everything falls into place — why I’ve been baiting him for days, why I had been acting like a bitch in head. Why this all just feels right, like I *know* what to do next.

 

My smirk is ugly and confident. “If you’re Saiyajin enough to keep him.”

 

“You arrogant brat!”  A fist slams into my stomach and I barely manage to catch the other. An inaudible click, our eyes clashing for a second. And the battle begins in earnest.

 

My blood sings. I was never Mirai’s equal before in battle — he is almost two decades older than me — but tonight, I feel like I might just win this.

 

Hormones like the highest grade octane are thrumming through my veins and I’ve never felt so *smooth*. Not power or strength exactly, but that feeling where your body is working just right. It's like being high, but better. Loads better. I remember experimenting when I was younger, moving from beer to hard liquor, then to various little pills, white and blue and all deceptively cute colours of the rainbow. Even as a half-Saiyajin, drugs couldn't really affect me, not strongly. Any of the so-called 'highs' I've heard about was transient and disappointing for me.

 

Humans and Saiyajins are really wired differently.

 

The fight continues. Mirai isn’t holding back at all and I realize that I’m no longer looking at a weary time-traveller or some older doppleganger of myself, but the battle-hardened soldier Dad speaks of. I should feel worried, but I’m not. Still high on the power that’s humming beneath my skin, I don’t feel pain or fear, and I fight on, taking hit after hit and occasionally scoring a good one in.

 

A well-timed kick crushes my left arm against my side and I hear a sickening crack. I look down in surprise and bad, bad move. He kicks me hard and I hit a wall, plaster crumbling around me.

 

"Enough, Mirai." Dad steps foward, a frown on his face.

 

"No," I wheeze out, swaying slightly before my equilibrium recovers. The fight *consumes* me and I know we won’t stop till one of us is physically incapable of getting up.

 

"Not nearly enough." His eyes are hard, his tone low. I've never seen him like this before and I smirk. Finally he's showing some Saiyajin mettle.

 

“Concede, Trunks.” Dad says, a hint of worry in his tone.

 

“No.” I cannot.

 

“Mirai…” Dad’s frown deepens. “This is needless.”

 

Mirai shook his head, eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t think so. I think we *need* this. We’ve been needing it for a very long time.”

 

"Come on then," I taunt as I float upwards, tail swinging. I don't feel the pain from my broken arm.

 

He doesn't hold back. Ruthless, like he means to really kill. I should be terrified, but I think that part of my brain has shut off. All I can focus on now is fighting and my opponent.

 

I'm fighting like I had never fought before, but I'm losing. Beaten back, bit by bit.  Muscles screaming, skin slick with sweat and blood. Both arms are useless now, cradled close to my body as I stumble clumsily to avoid his blows. And he draws it out, eyes feral and bared teeth blood-stained from a cut lip, as he pummels into me.

 

"Vegeta is mine."

 

"Mine, mine, mine," he chants, eyes glinting.

 

Starting to feel the pain now. Everywhere, god, oh crap, it hurts. Don't have the energy to retort — it's all I can do to keep breathing. To keep my eyes open.

 

And then.

 

It starts to sink in. I've lost. Lost Vegeta. I blink, eyes and throat suddenly hot, and I want to curl up. My movement falters.

 

Lost. I've lost.

 

My vision blurs into a streak of red and I give in, closing my eyes. Suddenly so tired. We're not fighting now. When did we stop? Mirai drives in fist after fist, his voice a drone in the background that I'm not listening to.

 

"...mine... don't you ever.... leaving... mine....dare to touch him..."

 

Instinctively, my arms have curled more tightly around my middle in a protective gesture, but then, it doesn't matter now. I don't care.

 

“Stop!” I instintively turn towards Dad’s furious voice. Loud thwacks tell me that he’s blocking Mirai’s fists.

 

I. Lost.

 

"Stop it Mirai! Now." I don’t think I ever heard Dad so angry before. My eyes are still closed but I can feel him next to me as he pulls Mirai off roughly and gathers me up gently. 

 

*Lost.*

 

And that... Hurts. Hurts more than anything else right now. Makes the agony in my arms and ribs seem like a paper cut.

 

Makes the numb blackness that claims me a relief. 

 

~*~

 

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