Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:            Vegeta/Mirai, Trunks/Vegeta

Disclaimer:        Don’t own DBZ

Published:         28th March 2004

Archive?            Please ask first

Warnings          Incest. Unbeta-ed.

 

 

Sons

 

 

8th Scrawling

 

 

Vegeta rubbed his face tiredly, wondering how in hell he had let things get so bad. Freedom of choice has always been an issue from him — a result of his past under Frieza — and he was determined let his son and lover work out their frustrations by themselves. He thought that any interference on his part would be constituted as favoritism.

 

When they had started fighting, he had stepped back, realizing the fight as something Saiyajin and instinctive. The proud royal hated when others interfered with his battles, even if it was with good intentions to save him, and he extended the same courtesy to his sons. And yes, they had been correct -- they both *needed* it.

 

But *not* at the cost of his son's life.

 

Back on Vegetasei, such territorial battles did frequently result in death. A fact Vegeta accepted... when it did *not* apply to his son.

 

When the fight started, he had initially been amazed, then proud — he had never seen this level of intensity from them before. Mirai always held back, except perhaps against the andriods. It irritated Vegeta but he had accepted it. Oddly enough, while Mirai was raised in a war-zone and no stranger to life-and-death battles, something always held back from going all out during training. Perhaps it was because he was raised by Bulma or perhaps it was because he was not raised among Saiyajins.

 

Trunks was different. Trunks never held back. He always thought that Trunks was more Saiyajin than Mirai. He knew that Trunks would do anything for him, he knew Trunks loved him -- he just hadn't realize...

 

Vegeta's head snapped up as a faint groan issued from the bed. In quick fluid strides, he crossed the small room and sat down carefully at the edge of the bed.

 

Trunks made another small moue of pain as he tried to open his eyes. Vegeta reached for a small senzu on the small table beside the bed and gently pressed it against Trunks' cut lips. Automatically, Trunks opened his mouth and started chewing the small legume slowly.

 

“Trunks? Are you all right?” Vegeta asked quietly.

 

"…you know I’m not." The teenager finally replied sullenly. He kept his eyes on the thin blanket covering his body.

 

“No, I guess not.” Vegeta hesitated, before picking up one of Trunks’ hands in his own. “Trunks, what you went through—“

 

“I know. I guessed,” Trunks interrupted, eyes drawn to the clasped hands. “It’s some Saiyajin thing right?”  

 

Vegeta nodded, his thumb stroking the back of his son’s bloodied knuckles. “Instincts are very important to us… and sometimes our desires drives us in spite of ourselves.”

 

Trunks flushed. “I guess I couldn’t control myself—“

 

“No!” Vegeta broke in. “No, Trunks. It wasn’t your fault.” An indrawn breath, ragged and sad. “It’s no one’s and everyone’s fault, including mine. I am the eldest and I’ve been a full Saiyajin all my life. I should have known better. I didn’t want to intefere, but I should have told you.”

 

“Dad?” Trunks asked in a small voice after a long pause. “Did this happen often back on Vegetasei?”

 

“Yes. Yes, it did.” Eyes far away in nostalgic memories, Vegeta began talking. He spoke of the intense mating urges that drove Saiyajins, the bloody mating challenges between competitors, the exquisite intimacy between a well-matched pair.

 

“It all sounds so beautiful,” Trunks murmured wistfully. “Savage, mediaeval, but beautiful nonetheless.”

 

Vegeta considered his choice of words and smiled ruefully. “Strangely appropriate.”

 

Trunks nodded earnestly as Vegeta picked up the bottle of water on the bedside table and took a long draft. “It sounds weird, but it just does. I love hearing you talk of Vegetasei; it all sounds so much more *real*, more alive than the life I know on Earth now. If Earth was a safe pink, I see Vegetasei as an exciting blood-crimson.”

 

The elder prince grinned, looking boyish for a moment. He offered the water to Trunks but the younger declined. “A poetic comparison.”

 

Trunks looked embarassed but continued, the words tripping excitedly. “I mean, after I made the wish, my senses felt awakened. Like they had been muted all my life but I’m only experiencing what I *could* be now. Like I had been underwater and I’ve just got onto land. Like I had been …incomplete before and I’m fixed now.”

 

“Your Saiyajin half had always been stronger.”

 

Trunks nodded. “It — the wish — felt right. Now, I couldn’t imagine living without my tail.” He stroked his tail reverently. 

 

“Aa.” Vegeta was quiet for a moment, thinking hard. “You *are* a full Saiyajin in my eyes, even if you’ve never made the wish. You are a Saiyajin in heart and in mind.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.” Vegeta scooted forward, pulling Trunks to him in an embrace. “I’m proud of you, full or half-Saiyajin.”

 

“Still proud of me even after my …recent behavior?” Trunks’ voice was very small.

 

Vegeta made a noncommittal sound, his breath a soft puff against the side of Trunks’ neck. “You went after what you want. I am not angry.”

 

“But I didn’t get it. What I want.”

 

“No.” Vegeta rubbed his hands slowly across his son’s back, knowing there was no easy way he could remove the knots of tension there. “I will always be Mirai’s. Mirai’s lover.”

 

Trunks bit his lip, arms tightening around his father.

 

“And you will always be my son.”

 

~

 

Mirai’s head snapped up as the bedroom door opened. While Vegeta was with Trunks, he had showered and changed. The bloodied clothing, he had incinerated out of guilt. He was still angry and he didn’t regret his actions, mostly, but still, he shouldn’t have lost control like that. 

 

“How is he?”

 

“Fine.” Vegeta shrugged, padding across the room towards Mirai and sat down gracefully on the couch beside his mate.

 

Mirai eyed him dubiously. “Fine?”

 

“He has recovered physically—“

 

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

 

“—and I talked to him. About us.”

 

“Us? *Which* us?” Mirai gave a frustrated scowl. “Damn it Vegeta! I’m not in the mood to banter now!” He dragged a hand through damp, tangled hair, wincing as it caught.

 

“Stop that,” Vegeta slapped Mirai’s hand away and then turned, pulling his taller lover to sit between his legs. His hands glowed faintly with ki as he ran gentle fingers through the limp purple hair, the heat drying the thin hair quickly.

 

“Us. Why he was behaving the way he was, why you reacted the way you did, why I didn’t do anything.”

 

Mirai purred, tilting his head back slightly as slim fingers raked soothingly along his scalp and through his hair.

 

“And about how I will never leave you.”

 

Mirai stiffened, and then suddenly twisted around to face Vegeta. His blue eyes were wide and shining. “You really mean that?”

 

“Of course I do!” Vegeta frowned angrily. “Do you think I’m with you for fun? I made a commitment and the word of a prince is not given frivolously.”

 

“Yes, of course you do… It’s just that…” Mirai trailed off, cheeks pinking. “It sounds silly but the past few days, ever since Trunks told you he loved you, you didn’t do anything. To discourage him that is. I thought…”

 

“You thought that I was trying to lead him on as well?” Vegeta’s frown deepened when Mirai gave a sheepish nod. Vegeta was furious at himself; he hadn’t realize he had been hurting his mate as well. “I didn’t do anything because I didn’t think there was a need. We *are* leaving soon and Trunks knows that. I have been with you for almost seventeen years; I have never left and will never leave you.”

 

“Oh.” Mirai felt weak, a brillant smile breaking across his face.

 

“Trunks is my son. You are my mate,” Vegeta said simply, as if the distinction was clear and obvious. “I love you.”

 

A little wriggle and kick, and Mirai was lying right over Vegeta, kissing him desperately. “Love you too.”

 

“Mmm.” Vegeta purred when they broke apart for air. “We’re leaving tommorrow.”

 

“We are?” Mirai blinked. “What about—“

 

“Trunks? He understands.” Vegeta tried to pull his lover back down, but Mirai straightened his arms and looked down, eyes worried.

 

“Just like that? What about… uhm… his feelings for you?”

 

“See, there’s this useful invention called the time machine, and this interesting phenomenon called alternate timelines,” Vegeta smirked. He had plenty of time to think while waiting for Trunks to wake up.

 

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Mirai smiled in relief. His eyes sparkled with amusement. “At the risk of sounding corny, I’m sure somewhere out there, there’s a Vegeta just for him too.”

 

Vegeta groaned and yanked the purple-haired man back down. “That was terrible.”

 

“Mock all you want, but I know you can be a sap underneath.” Mirai growled and leaned in to kiss Vegeta’s neck. “Admit it. You believe in soul-mates too.”

 

Vegeta groaned again, but it was a more needy, hitched sound that trailed off as Mirai began sucking slowly at the sensitive skin at the side of his throat. He tilted his head back, replying shakily. “I’ll deny it even under torture…. Just there, oh yes. Nnnngg…”

 

“Vegeta? You know, I was thinking,” Mirai mumbled as he mouthed the arched column, licking and sucking. Vegeta made the sexiest little mews whenever he did that, even though the prince would deny that under torture too. “Should I make a wish too?”

 

“For what?” Vegeta ran his hands under the thin cotton of Mirai’s shirt.

 

“You know, so I can be a full Saiyajin too. To match you.” Mirai slowed down, tensing slightly.

 

“Doesn’t matter to me either way.” Nimble fingers danced over pebbled nubs that peaked immediately.

 

“It doesn’t?” Mirai asked, stopping together in confusion.

 

“No. I might have thought so in the past, but not now. You’re Saiyajin where it counts.” Vegeta shrugged, withdrawing his hands to unbutton his mate’s shirt swiftly. “In fact, while I’m a bit mad at you for beating Trunks up so badly, I have to admit that it turned me on too.”

 

“Really? You liked it? The alpha-male possessive behavior?” Mirai grinned, his voice lowering huskily. He pushed himself up again, wagging his brows and leering playfully.

 

“Oh yeah.” Vegeta peered up at him coyly under lowered lashes with a breathy exhale. His hands paused at one of the middle buttons. There was something alluringly submissive and yet predatory in his eyes as he wriggled *just* so. “So. Very. Saiyajin.”

 

Oh. God.

 

Something sparked in Mirai, hot and sharp, and he *smirked*. Looking down at Vegeta, a lock of purple hair falling rackishly over his face and his lips crooked in wicked smirk that promised. Promised something hard and rough and incredible. Something delightful and quite possible painful and Vegeta’s cock gave a happy twitch.

 

“Good.” A soft, yet possessive edge, and that was new. Vegeta suddenly realized that he *liked* it too.

 

Bracing himself on his knees, Mirai clasped one hand over Vegeta’s wrists and pulled the bound hands over Vegeta’s head. And then reached down with his other hand and ripped Vegeta’s stretchy blue top in a fluid motion.

 

Vegeta arched up, fluffed tail flicking wildly. Offering himself wantonly, eyes heavily lidded and lips curving up sweetly, and *that* display was only partly faked. Seventeen years and Mirai never got tired of looking at the perfect, slender body.

 

Bending down, Mirai planted another soft kiss, his own mouth loose and relaxed as he slid his tongue searchingly over Vegeta's lips. “Gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous like this.”

 

“You don’t let yourself go enough,” Vegeta purred, rich and harsh with desire. He wrapped his legs around Mirai’s waist. “I love it when you’re stripped bare and primal. When you’re out of control.”

 

“Always afraid I’ll hurt someone,” Mirai groaned into the valley between Vegeta’s shoulder and neck, tongue flickering out to taste the musk and sweat. “Mom always said—”

 

“Let’s not talk about your mom when you’re humping me,” Vegeta squeezed his legs and his hips gave a particularly hard, sinuous roll. His tail snaked in through Mirai’s half-buttoned shirt and swept over the exposed skin, elicting a full-bodied shiver from the younger male. “Anyway, your lover isn’t a weak Ningen.”

 

“No, he’s a very sexy Saiyajin prince,“ Trunks panted, releasing Vegeta’s wrists. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Vegeta’s pants, and with a lascivious grin, he tore them off as well.

 

Scraps of fabric tangled between their bodies. Vegeta rocked his hips impatiently, a hand reaching down to fist Mirai’s erection in an obvious demand. “Come on, what are you waiting for? A red carpet to my ass?”

 

Mirai cracked a grin as he reached over to the desk beside the couch, fumbling clumsily for the tube of lube inside. “You’re so demanding and pushy, even as a bottom.”

 

Vegeta ignored him, slicking two fingers wetly in his mouth. He drew his legs up, resting one over the top of the couch and the other up to his chest. Mirai watched enraptured as Vegeta slid a finger into himself. The other wet finger worked in past the tight ring of muscle as well, a honeyed moan spilling from his lips as the two digits wriggled and found his prostate. His other hand stroked his cock slowly, molding it fully erect. Sooty lashes slid down further, eyes almost closing, as he fucked himself leisurely on his fingers.  

 

Mirai slicked his own erection absently, his full attention on the lean figure in front of him. Confident, even in a classically submissive position, Vegeta was still very much in control. Mirai decided he would very much like to see his mate lose that control.

 

Crouching over the smaller male, he squeezed a large dollop of lubricant onto his finger and quickly slipped it in alongside Vegeta’s fingers. A strangled yell and Vegeta gave a hard jerk upwards at the surpise invasion. Mirai crooked his finger, jabbing hard at the spongy nub he could feel and smirked as Vegeta yelped again.

 

“Ohhh yeah like that… there…” Vegeta’s eyes rolled back, mouth slack with pleasure as his own fingers started moving frantically with Mirai’s. His other hand worked faster, pre-cum already smearing across the junction where the thumb met the first finger.

 

“Stop, not yet.” Mirai pulled out knocked Vegeta’s hands away. Holding onto Vegeta’s wrists, he leaned forward and breached Vegeta in a smooth thrust.

 

So tight, so hot. So very right. Like coming home and it doesn’t matter who’s on top, just the heated slide of skin on skin, just each other. Seventeen years and still new every time. 

 

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut with a low groan, almost painful, but he opened his legs wider, thighs quivering, fingers clenching in their entwined clasp. Mirai kept his eyes open, sharp azure fixed on his lover’s face. A heavy tail ran across his lower back and ass, the lush fur dragging across his slightly damp skin and Mirai decided then and there, he would make that wish, if only for a tail.

 

A bead of sweat dripped onto Vegeta, just at the corner of his lips, and Mirai bent down to lick his off. After a few deep breaths, Vegeta opened his eyes with a shaky smirk and bent his torso further, flexing and raising his legs to rest over Mirai’s shoulders. The new position opened him up further and Mirai slipped, bumping against something that had Vegeta crying out.

 

Hips snapped back and forth. Mirai suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear Vegeta make those sounds again. And Vegeta does, cursing and mewing and moaning and howling. Demanding for more, begging for harder.

 

Something gloriously hot and tight coiled within, buzzing and sparking in its intensity, hurtling them along. Neither was in control now; Mirai was thrusting madly, desperately into that silken heat, and Vegeta was babbling incoherently. And then they were there, a few more jerky pumps, a tight clenching of entwined fingers and groins, and Vegeta arched like a bow, impossibly tight as Mirai stopped, hilt deep and quivering, waves of purest sensation crashing over them.

 

“Urrhh.” Mirai blinked fuzzy eyes. “We sh’uld move… bed…”

 

“Mmph.” Vegeta agreed, a langorous smile on his lips.

 

“Soon… ‘fore we pass out,” Mirai tried to say firmly.

 

“Yes.” Vegeta could only summon enough strength for a decisive nod.

 

“Or we’ll end up with cricks in our necks when we wake up.” Mirai remembered the last time that happened.

 

“Move then.” Vegeta sighed, and then buried his nose into the wonderfully musky hollow of his mate’s neck and purred. “You’re the one lying on me.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Move.”

 

“Mmhh.”

 

~*~

 

Trunks stared into the mirror, fingers smoothing down his lapis blue tunic absently. He never thought he would look like this.

 

Happy. Content.

 

Mated.

 

He had been a bit of a sullen brat when he was younger; unrequited love does that to a person. After his father and Mirai left, he had sulked around for a while before deciding to pull himself together. Piccolo had a large part to do with that; the stern Namek abruptly showed up one day and slapped — literally — some sense into him. When the ringing in his head stopped, he realized to his dismay that he *had* been a whiny, immature brat.

 

His father left Mirai’s time-machine with him but he hadn’t felt ready. And he realized that it was because, subconsciously, he still knew he wasn’t ready for Vegeta. In any timeline. When he showed up, he would want to impress that timeline’s Vegeta, sweep him off his feet and…

 

And he wasn’t going to do that if he didn’t *grow* up.

 

He took three years. He spent some time travelling the world, and then he spent some time travelling the worlds. Mom had built him a spaceship, similar to the one she built for Dad, and he went, careful to head in the opposite direction he knew Dad and Mirai had gone.

 

Finally, on his twentieth birthday, he woke up and went down to the basement where the time-machine was kept. Staring at it and knowing that, yes, he *was* ready. Mom was happy with Yamcha, their on-off relationship over the years finally ‘on’ again. In fact, Yamcha had proposed a month after Dad had left with Mirai, when he was finally certain that the Saiyajin prince won’t be coming back to fry him despite his mother’s repeated assurances that she hadn’t been *with* Vegeta for years.

 

Trunks snorted. What an idiot. But his mom was happy and she had Bura now. Trunks shuddered. Cute kid but god. It was fortunate that she was fully Ningen for she had her mother’s quick temper and impulsiveness.

 

“Trunks? Are you ready?”

 

Trunks turned, a smile curving his lips when he caught sight of his mate in the doorway. “I’ve been ready ever since I met you, Vegeta.”

 

The younger male flushed and Trunks strode forward, pulling the prince into his arms for a kiss.

 

“Trunks… our clothes…” Vegeta protested weakly. However, his lips parted readily under Trunks’ searching tongue and his hands clutched the front of the taller Saiyajin’s tunic, crushing the fine brocade.

 

“Who cares.” Trunks murmured amidst the soft kisses, arms tightening. Happiness welled up within him, warm and vibrant and golden, and he felt as if he ascended for the very first time.

 

When he had keyed in a random coordinate, set to an alternate timeline so as not to influence his own, Trunks had been assailed by doubts. What if Vegeta didn’t return his feelings? What if Vegeta already had another? What if he travelled a hundred timelines and …

 

But all that was swept away when he landed on Vegetasei. To his surprise, the large red planet was still around; Frieza hadn’t destroyed it. Instead, Vegeta’s father — his grandfather, King Bejita, and god one would think one couldn’t be further shocked when one was a time-traveller but still!  — didn’t sign an agreement with Frieza. Vegeta wasn’t handed over to Frieza and instead, the Saiyajins had been fighting a decade-long war with the ice-jin.

 

Vegetasei was a war-zone, torn and plundered. The Saiyajins fighters were weary and outnumbered, but they never gave up. And when he met their leader, a prince too young to be in a war, he understood their devotion.

 

Vegeta had been sixteen when Trunks landed. In need of a good meal and bath, a harsh scar bisecting his left cheek, clothes torn and armor cracked and bloody, Vegeta looked gorgeous. Trunks fell hard. Vegeta was just like his father, and also not like his father in a hundred small ways, as he was fond of discovering. 

 

Vegeta had been trying to gather the remnants of his troops in a losing battle when Trunks landed like a golden god. Neither side had ever seen an ascended Saiyajin in action, though legends abound. That afternoon, Trunks rewrote lore.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Vegeta asked softly.

 

“Actually, about the first time we met.” Trunks smiled sheepishly, pulling his lover onto his lap as he sat down. Vegeta knew all about his past and his time-machine. It *was* hard to hide his obvious resemblance to the royal family. “When I left Earth, I had grandiose dreams about sweeping you off your feet and then, I suddenly thought, what if you didn’t return my affections?”

 

Vegeta blushed again. “Oh. Well, you don’t have to worry about that. You certainly swept me off my feet with your impressive entrance.” He gave a shy smile as he rubbed nervously at his scar. “I had the biggest crush on you for days; I couldn’t even talk to you without stuttering or blushing.”

 

“I know. It was so cute.” Trunks grinned. “That was the reason I waited for days before jumping you.”

 

“What?” Vegeta was torn between anger and embarassment. Trunks caught Vegeta’s hand before he got bitch-slapped and wrapped his arms around his feisty lover. “You mean you would have told me earlier?”

 

“Frankly? I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you, but I thought it wasn’t the most prudent thing to do in the middle of a battle. After that battle, I actually thought of going to your bedchamber that same night.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Vegeta struggled to get his hands out but Trunks only tightened his arms with a wicked smirk. Vegeta’s tail lashed warningly from side to side.

 

“You were blushing so prettily when you thanked me and you couldn’t look me in the eyes. I was amazed; my father never blushed.”

 

Vegeta gave a mortified moan, pressing heated cheeks against Trunks’ shoulder. “Oh god.”

 

“*Days* I waited, I tell you. Days! Do you know how blue my balls were?”

 

“Good. Hope you were in pain, you lout,” Vegeta pouted.

 

Trunks mock-gasped. “You are so evil.”

 

“Lots and *lots* of pain.”

 

“My lover wishes me lots and *lots* of pain. And blue balls,” Trunks lamented dramatically. “Does this mean he doesn’t want to be my mate anymore?”

 

“Oh! The ceremony!” Vegeta cried, wriggling frantically. “Get up, we’re late!”

 

“Don’t fret. It’s *our* mating ceremony,” Trunks grinned as he released the prince. “They’ll definitely wait for us.”

 

It took just a month to defeat Frieza but it took a year to rebuild Vegetasei to some semblance of civilization. Though they *were* mated, King Bejita was adamant on a public ceremony. Vegeta grumbled but surprisingly, Trunks was thrilled by the idea of publicly announcing his claim on Vegeta.

 

It was a very Saiyajin thing to do.

 

“How do I look?” Vegeta tugged at his tunic and short cloak worriedly. 

 

“Like you’ve been ravished,” Trunks replied drily as he slipped an arm around his mate’s. Vegeta glared and Trunks laughed happily as they walked out.

 

 

~*~ End ~*~

 

 

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