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The whole thing starts like this: Trunks and Goten are out in the backyard because Vegeta kicked them out of the Gravity Room, wrestling on the artificial grass of the bright green Capsule Corp lawns that surround Trunks’s house. It’s a beloved pastime they’ve shared since they were snot nosed brats. They’re still snot nosed brats according to their fathers, but at nineteen and twenty years old it’s a little funny that they still enjoy doing this shit. Saiyan blood eternally thirsts for grapples with your boy best friend that detail intense gazes and panting into each other’s mouths, apparently.
Goten ducks under a spectacular right hook. He’s not wearing a shirt. It has to be a cheap ploy for victory, a distraction he knows will drive Trunks insane, Trunks thinks, biting his lip and catching one of his fists.
“You’re getting sloppy, Goten,” he teases, squeezing his hand and dragging him closer.
“Yeah, ’cause we’ve been at it for fucking hours,” Goten retorts, bringing a leg up and launching a kick square at Trunks’s chest. Trunks lets it land, not really because he couldn’t dodge it—he kind of just wants Goten on top of him. So they topple over together, hands ripping apart as they go. Trunks can’t stop the sleazy grin from spreading across his face when Goten straddles him, bangs matted together with sweat and dripping right onto Trunks’s nose. Goten beams back at him, and then he socks him right across the face, knuckles colliding clean with his cheekbone.
Trunks groans, and then spits blood right back up at him. It splatters next to his blinding smile. “You’re full of shit,” Trunks snickers, blood trickling down his chin.
“Hey,” Goten says, drawing his fist back and shaking the blood off, “I had to get you back for basically giving me a concussion earlier.”
Trunks could kiss him right now. He won’t, but he really wants to. He wonders if Goten would kiss him back. He probably would. And then he’d say some shit like, “What was that, man? Practicing on me for when you finally land a girlfriend?” Trunks hates him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Instead he reaches up and grabs Goten by the shoulders, sitting up as much as he can under his weight so he can punch him in the face for probably the thirtieth time today, but Goten intercepts his master plan by parrying his fist and reeling back before he’s butting their foreheads together hard enough to make blood squirt gratuitously between their faces. Trunks yips and falls back, head hitting the ground again.
“Fuck,” he gasps, blinking away the momentary blurriness, licking at the the blood that’s seeping between the cracks on his chapped bottom lip. He can’t stop grinning.
Goten squints at him through the blood that’s dripping from his lashes. “Dude. I’m beating your ass, stop looking so fucking happy about it,” he quips, even though his shoulders are quaking like he’s trying not to burst out into laughter himself.
“Sorry, sorry.” Trunks doesn’t know what he looks like at the moment, but he feels like he doesn’t appear sorry at all. He’s enjoying this way too much. “You gonna get off me?”
Goten rolls his eyes. His hips shift just the tiniest bit, grinding down (unintentionally?) just slightly against Trunks’s dick, and the fact that Trunks restrains himself from moaning out loud is a goddamn feat for the books. Goten’s fangs peek out from beneath the furl of his lips.
“You gonna throw me off?” he taunts, throwing Trunks’s manner of asking back at him, and that’s all Trunks needs before he’s barking out a laugh and hurling Goten off, bowling them across the grass so Trunks ends up above him, sitting between his legs.
“Check and fucking mate,” Trunks sneers, smirking down at Goten.
“I don’t think so,” Goten counters, wrapping his legs around Trunks’s waist and crushing him closer, grinning when Trunks tumbles forward so they’re chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, just centimetres away from being lip-to-lip, too. Trunks can’t help it—he blushes like a fucking idiot, feeling the heat of it spread across his cheeks, up his ears, down his neck. Goten must really be trying to murder him. Trunks hopes his father will avenge him if he ends up dying.
“What the fuck,” he splutters, nails digging into the dirt where his hands are firmly planted on the ground, framing either side of Goten’s hips. “This isn’t even going to help you win, doofus. You just put both of us in a weird spot.” His heart is going to vibrate out of his chest. This is so lame. Trunks is so lame.
Goten’s smile widens. He looks otherworldly, with his canines glimmering and blending effortlessly among the rest of his blunt teeth, brown eyes catching the evening sun’s gentle glare and gleaming like honey. (Trunks has it really bad, holy shit.) Goten’s hair fans out around his head as if it’s a halo. “Can we just call it a tie?” His legs squeeze around Trunks tighter.
“Ghhh, fuck, let go or you’ll fucking break my ribs,” Trunks snaps. Or give me a fucking boner.
“Don’t wanna,” Goten sing-songs, driving his heels into the small of Trunks’s back with enough force that it actually really aches, colliding with his tailbone. But with the hurt comes some kind of sick pleasure—whether that’s because where Goten has him is where his tail used to be before it was removed at birth or because it’s Goten hurting him and every time Goten hits him it feels like a kiss, Trunks doesn’t know. Or maybe it’s because Goten is the only one who can really tap into the call of his half alien urges with him, the two of them parodying the barbaric sort of bond they would have shared if they lived on the homeland of their fathers.
Whatever it is, Trunks can feel his blood rushing south, and he needs to get out of Goten’s hold before their lifelong companionship gets ruined because Trunks popped a boner during a spar. Actually, Goten probably wouldn’t stop talking to him over that. He’d just laugh in his face and then forget it ever happened, or something, but Trunks has his father’s royal pride, so the idea of that happening is just as mortifying.
“Motherfucker,” he grunts, glaring halfheartedly down at his best friend. “You are so fucking annoying.”
“You love it, though,” Goten argues, and bam, there goes Trunks’s chill. He launches a fist forward and aims it right at Goten’s nose, watching the younger boy throw his head back with the impact as blood gushes out of his nose and splashes over the grass. Trunks abstractly wonders if Goten looks like this, all pretty with the pale column of his neck exposed, when he cums. Goten laughs through the blood that’s leaking out of his nose and into his mouth as he turns his bright gaze back on Trunks. “Niceee. Almost broke my nose for real, man.”
“But I didn’t, right?” Trunks asks. “Your mom’ll actually murder me if I did.”
“Nah, you’re good.” Goten snorts out another chunk of blood. “It’s just a bit fractured, I think. Should be fine by tomorrow.”
“Cool.” Trunks wheezes when Goten’s thighs squash him tighter. “Shit.”
Goten knows he’s got him, so he surges forward, taking advantage of the brief moment Trunks is off his guard and sweeping them both over so he’s mounted on top of Trunks again. Trunks pants as he’s spun onto his back yet again, swallowing a whimper when Goten wraps a loose, mocking hand around his throat. Yup. Trunks is definitely hard. It would be a miracle if Goten didn’t feel it, actually, with the way he’s sitting right on his dick. Goten tilts his head. “Looks like it’s my win.”
“Cheater,” Trunks shoots back weakly, coughing a little when Goten’s hand curls tighter in warning. His blood thrums with anticipation, but he’s already exhausted from countless homework assignments, so he throws his arms up in exaggerated surrender. “Fine. Your win.”
Goten smirks, withdrawing his hand before getting off of Trunks, dropping on the ground next to him. “Man, this blows. I’m so bored.”
Trunks’s brows raise. “I thought you had to go home soon?” Goten throws him an inquiring glance, so he elaborates, “Because you, like, have a date tonight?”
“Oh.” Goten folds his arms behind his head and lays back on them. “I cancelled on her. Wasn’t really feeling up to it.”
“Wowww. Douche,” Trunks drawls, knocking their elbows together as Goten chuckles. Trunks’s heart is soaring, even though his face is about as level as it would be if they were watching paint dry. So maybe he was dreading Goten going on that date and then having to hear every detail about how good the bang was after. Whatever. “You’re free tonight, then?”
“Yeah,” Goten confirms. “You wanna play Street Fighter?”
“Dude,” Trunks laughs, “I was thinking of doing something more fun than just staying in and playing video games.”
“Like what?” Goten hums, turning to face him now.
“Couple girls in my organic chem class invited me to some frat thing tonight,” Trunks answers, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “You wanna come?”
Goten’s eyes widen just a fraction. “No way. Like at one of your rich kid university frat houses?”
Trunks snorts. “Yeah, man. They’re not all that, though. Rich kids are trashier than you’d expect.”
“We should totally go,” Goten says, turning over to lay on his stomach and grinning like the sun coming up over the horizon. “I bet there’s gonna be hot chicks.”
Of course that’s what he’s thinking about. “You’re always fucking thinking with your dick,” Trunks scoffs, starfishing on the lawn. “But yeah, okay. Tell your parents, though.” He smirks at Goten sideways. “And ask if you can sleep over at mine. We’re probably gonna get fucked up. Your mom’ll beat your ass if you come home fried at four a.m.”
“Ughhh.” Goten buries his face in the grass, which is gross, but he’s already got blood crusting on his cheeks, so it’s not that bad of an addition. “Yeah, it’ll probably be fine. Let me call her.”
“Mm.” Trunks kicks him in the shin. “We’ve gotta shower, too. We’re not showing up covered in blood.”
“Aww. But that would be so fucking sick.”
After about an hour of Goten negotiating over the phone with his mother and attempting to appease her by telling her he’ll do all the chores and help her with the cooking tomorrow even though Trunks knows he’ll be way too hungover to do any of that properly, Goten finally lets him know he’s in the clear. It’s actually a wonder how the guy manages to screw so many girls with such a tiger mom. Trunks has to give him his credit where it’s due. He watches Goten pull on one of his tank tops and has to swallow his spit when he steps into a pair of Trunks’s jeans. This was such a bad idea. Trunks is going to fall even further down the ‘developing unrequited feelings for your straight best friend’ pipe hole tonight, he just knows it.
“Goten,” he calls from where he’s slumped on his bed, “come over here. Lemme get your nose.”
“Oh, shit,” Goten curses, bounding over like a fucking puppy, “does it look bad? Trunks, you fucker. I wanna get laid tonight.”
“No, oh my God, it looks fine,” Trunks hisses, reaching for a box of gauze pads just as Goten sits between his legs. Goten’s nose really does look fine, it’s just a little bruised. That punch would have led any human man to get plastic surgery for the damage, so it’s a good thing neither of them are human. Fully. Goten leans forward as Trunks slinks a smaller, skinnier pad out of the paper packaging, closing his eyes in that stupidly all-trusting way when Trunks, the guy who fractured his nose in the first place, cups his jaw. Goten’s thick lashes brush against the apples of his cheeks. This is so bullshit.
“Hold still,” Trunks says, positioning it over the bridge of Goten’s nose. He rips a bandaid out of its wrapper next with his teeth, sticking it in place over the gauze. “There we go.”
Goten blinks. He goes cross eyed trying to look at Trunks’s handiwork. It’s adorably endearing. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “Does it look dumb?”
“The gauze?” Trunks questions, taking off his shirt. “No, it looks good. You look like one of those real rough, hands-on guys. The girls’ll be all over you.” He clambers over Goten’s knees. “I’m gonna change.”
“’Kay,” Goten replies, and Trunks can feel his stare blazing on him as he slides his sweats down. Trunks wills his face not to go cherry red when Goten whistles, “Nice ass, cupcake.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Trunks coughs, whipping out a pair of jeans from his drawer and pulling them on. “Don’t get so fucked up you can’t fly, by the way. I am not carrying you home on my back.”
“You say that now, but if it happens you’ll definitely do it anyway,” Goten says, dimples popping when he grins. It’s true. Trunks has done this on many occasions. But still, bluffing can’t hurt.
“Ugh, just try not to,” Trunks says, wrinkling his nose.
“You’re right, dude. Trying to hold a conversation with Vegeta when I’m crossed is hell,” Goten admits with a chuckle. “Remember last time? He was trying to explain Saiyan history at, like, three in the morning and we had to sit through it for two hours.”
Trunks groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He was so excited to explain it, too,” he recounts. “But don’t worry about that. My parents are going out tonight, too. And they’re taking Bulla with them.”
Goten’s jaw drops just a little. “... Are they not coming back?”
“Visiting my aunt for the night,” Trunks explains, lifting his shirt by the hem and holding it between his teeth, tugging his rhinestone studded belt through the loops on his jeans. Oh, yeah. He’s gonna look like a real playboy asshole with this on. Perfect for emotionless hook ups. No strings attached. Great for distracting himself while the love of his life goes out and dicks down every girl in sight. “My grandparents are going with them, too. Family gathering stuff.” He’s too busy trying to fasten the clasp at the right level of tightness to notice the way Goten’s eyes cloud over and fall half lidded.
“Sweet,” Goten says, and Trunks looks up just in time to see him swipe his tongue over his teeth. “Guess we won’t have to worry about making too much noise.”
Trunks almost falls on his face. Goten has no idea what it does to him when he just says shit like that, even if he means it completely innocently and Trunks is just the one being dirty minded about it. “What— I mean, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Goten’s smirking, the lilt of his lips too coy to be good for Trunks’s heart. “Okay.”
Trunks should punch him in the nose again. “Whatever. Let’s go downstairs now, maybe.”
Goten slides off the bed as lithe as a cat, stretching his arms over his head like he knows the arch of his back makes Trunks’s mouth go dry. “Whatever you say.”
His father is joining the hooks on his mother’s necklace, careful hands working at the nape of her neck, when they walk down the stairs. Bulla’s falling asleep on the couch even though she’s fully dressed in some poofy little thing Bulma picked out for her, with matching scrunchies holding her pigtails in place.
“Oh, boys!” Bulma exclaims, turning around.
“Keep still,” Vegeta grumbles, even though he’s looking at them out of the corner of his eye, too.
“Hey, mom, dad,” Trunks greets, smirking at the state of his sister, who is beginning to drool onto the expensive leather of the sofa. “Bulla’s way too tired to go with you guys, I think.”
“Well, it’s not like you will be home to watch her,” Vegeta scoffs, whirling Bulma around by the shoulders after her pearl necklace is fixed in place and smoothing out her blouse. “Where are the two of you going anyway?” He pointedly addresses Goten when he says, “You’d better not get my son screwed. I plan on training with him tomorrow—”
“Oh, Vegeta, stop hounding them,” Bulma interrupts him, giving him a slap on the back. She’s all smiles as she turns to look at them. “Drink responsibly! Don’t die!” Well, that’s pretty solid advice.
“Thanks, mom,” Trunks says dryly, at the same time Goten goes “You’re the best, Bulma!”
Vegeta is eyeing them up and down judgmentally, face settled into its mundane scowl. “You two look so trashy,” he criticizes, putting a hand on his hip.
“Sorry we aren’t wearing our Sunday best to a frat party,” Trunks snorts, nearly jumping out of his skin when Goten snags him into his side. Vegeta arches a suspicious brow.
“Well, you look great, Vegeta!” Goten chimes, effortlessly withstanding the full flare of Vegeta’s glower. He really is his father’s son.
“Is that Trunks’s shirt,” Vegeta says, more a statement than a question. “Are you wearing—”
“Vegeta!” Bulma cuts in, Bulla balanced on her hip and looking very cranky that she’s been woken up. “Let’s go. Mom and dad are waiting for us in the car.”
Trunks wants to crawl into a hole and die. That would be really nice, right about now. Goten still has his dazzling grin aimed at Vegeta, almost like a challenge. There’s something flickering between the two of them, and Trunks has zero idea what it is. Goten’s hand twitches around his hip. Vegeta glares at both of them for a couple more seconds that feel like centuries before he says, “Fine, whatever,” and pivots on his heel to follow Bulma out the door.
“Be safe, boys!” she calls, and they’re gone in a flash of blue. Trunks and Goten just sort of stand there, still stuck to each other’s sides, as the rev of the engine gets further and further away outside. Trunks forces a laugh out of his throat as he detaches from Goten, watching a strange expression cross over the other boy’s face.
“Soooo.” Trunks shoves his hands into his pockets. “Let’s get outta here?”
Goten’s face resets. Okay, odd. Weird. He smiles. “Fuck yeah.”
“Shit, one sec,” Trunks hums, stepping to where his family’s alcohol cabinet is. “We have to bring something. I’m getting us a free entree, I don’t wanna show up empty handed like some dick.”
Goten stares at him as he shoves three bottles of straight vodka into a backpack. “Your parents aren’t gonna kill you for that?”
“My mom won’t give a shit,” Trunks replies, locking the cabinet back up. “And my dad hardly even drinks. So.”
“Practices that ‘body is a temple’ shit, doesn’t he?” Goten laughs as Trunks slings the bag over his shoulders and walks back over to him.
“You know it. We should probably take a page out of his book, actually,” Trunks notes, zipping up the pocket in his pants where his phone is. Zip up pockets. Badass. “You think we should bring water?”
“Nah,” Goten says, rolling his shoulders. “Hey. You wanna try fusing while we’re crossed?”
Yeah. Trunks doesn’t know if he’s going to survive tonight.
Samantha and Avery from organic chemistry had seriously neglected mentioning that the party was at a fucking mansion. With a pool. Trunks is a pampered rich kid himself, and as the son of the one and only Bulma Briefs he’s practically a young god among these guys, so it doesn’t really phase him. But Goten is a country mountain boy through and through, so his eyes go comically wide as he takes everything in. It’s kind of cute.
“What the fuck,” Goten breathes, eyes glued to two girls in stringy bikinis that walk by. “This is a fucking—high class ass frat party.”
“Like I said, don’t expect anything too impressive. Rich kids know how to commit drunken property damage in a way you wouldn’t believe,” Trunks snickers, winding an arm around his shoulders and dragging him closer as they saunter over to where the bouncers are. He’s in his element now. He’s Trunks Briefs. Sophomore king of the world. Goten sometimes makes him feel so, so small because of how fucking in love with him Trunks is, but out here he’s in control, and he’s more than ready to get drunk off of it. In the literal and metaphorical sense. “Come on.”
“Trunks! My man!” one of the guys at the front—Alex?—says, leaning in to dap him up. His snapback looks ridiculous, and his muscles are so obviously just for show. Gym rat commercialized. “You made it!”
“Had nothing fucking better to do,” Trunks says, reciprocating the handshake and thumping the guy on the back when he’s hauled into a bro-hug. “Brought a friend with me, too.”
Goten ducks out from behind Trunks. “Heyyyy.”
“Hey, man,” Alex greets, leveling him an amused grin. “Shit. You’re just as jacked as Trunks.”
Goten wraps an arm around Trunks’s shoulders. “We work out together a bunch.” His fangs flash almost possessively from between the stretch of his grin. Although that might just be wishful thinking on Trunks’s part.
“Anyway,” Trunks says, separating himself from Goten like they’re kids again for the second time today—seriously, what the fuck is up with that?—and dropping one of his backpack straps off his shoulder, “we brought shit.”
Alex’s brows shoot up. “Fuck, really? You didn’t have to, dude,” he says, accepting the bag like it’s fucking gold. “This is high quality shit. What the hell?”
Trunks smirks. “I’m not some cheapskate.” He leans in just a tiny bit closer and lowers his voice a little when he asks, “You guys got the other stuff?”
“Yeah,” Alex snorts. “There’s a whole fucking selection if you know where to look. Go in and help yourself.”
Not that Trunks was planning on doing cocaine or anything, but at least now he knows the option is open.
“Thanks, man.” Trunks claps him one last time on the shoulder before turning to Goten. “Let’s go.”
They’re walking into the house, threading through the neon sea of sweaty bodies as the bass of the obnoxiously loud music beats in time with their hearts when Goten asks, “Did you know that guy?”
Trunks furrows his brow. “Who? Alex?”
“Whatever his name was,” Goten snaps, oddly confrontational.
“Like, yeah? He’s always at these things. And I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be a future business partner,” Trunks answers, blinking at Goten’s tone.
“... Cool,” Goten says, even though it sounds like he doesn’t find it cool at all. Trunks is about to ask him if he’s feeling all right when they’re promptly swarmed by a shit ton of girls in crop tops. And guys in crop tops. Nice. Double win.
“Trunks!” one of the girls who’d invited Trunks to this thing in the first place—Samantha—giggles, barreling into him. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you made it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Trunks shoots back, winking for good measure, and she eats it up. They always do, when he settles into his little rich playboy douchebag persona. “You already fucked up?”
“Yeah,” she slurs, pressing her tits up against his chest. “You still sober?”
“Unfortunately,” Trunks chuckles, placing an easy hand on the small of her back. “Wanna help me fix that?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Of course I do, baby.” Realistically speaking, she’s an attractive girl. Half a head shorter than he is, with platinum blonde hair that glimmers like moonlight, big hazel eyes and all. She would probably be the model wife, pretty in a frilly apron and the type to have dinner hot on the table waiting for him when he gets home from a grueling day of work—but then again, Trunks doesn’t have to worry about conforming to bullshit standards like that, considering his mother married an alien terrorist.
Nonetheless, it’s a good distraction from Goten. Trunks turns his head just to check on him, expecting to see him already chatting it up with a girl or with a drink in his hand, but instead, he’s just staring right at him. Darkened eyes boring into Trunks as a girl slinks up to his side and tries to grind up on him. Trunks hates how territorial he feels at the sight, but he forces himself to smile in Goten’s direction and mouths, Be right back.
Goten purses his lips. Trunks watches, agonizingly, as Goten winds his hands around the girl’s hips, never breaking their eye contact. Then, he mouths back, Okay.
Samantha is dragging Trunks off by the wrist and pouring him a drink—some ungodly combination of Bacardi and Pepsi—before pressing the red solo cup into his hands. “You wanna smoke, too?”
“I was planning on it,” Trunks says, downing a gulp and wincing at the momentary sting. “Not cigs, though.”
She grins. Her teeth gleam, pearly and white. But she doesn’t have those sharp canines that are always about to bite into him. “We’ve got weed,” she says, watching him chug the drink like a lion watches its prey. “You have a curfew, Trunks?”
“Curfew?” Trunks parrots, raising a brow. She’s teasing him. He smirks, throwing an arm around her narrow waist. “Baby, I’ve got all the time in the world.”
She preens under his flirtation. Hook, line, and sinker. It’s so goddamn easy when it’s not Goten. Trunks downs two, three, four more shots, and then he’s in the backyard with Samantha tucked under his arm, her manicured hand splayed on his chest. There’s a little gaggle of stoners hanging around the backyard pool who Trunks recognizes for the most part—these are all kids who he’ll most likely be doing business with when he’s the CEO of Capsule Corp, after all. For now, though, they’re just guys who are going to roll him a really good joint so he can forget about any debilitating feelings he may or may not have for his best friend. Speaking of which, he told Goten he’d be back, and he is currently not back. Shit.
“Trunks!” a guy wearing a navy blue bandana calls, just as he finishes taking a rip from the purple glass pipe in his hand, smiling infectiously. Lee. “Hey, buddy!”
“Yo,” Trunks greets in return. “I have rolling papers.”
Samantha giggles next to him. “Always so prepared.”
There’s still smoke seeping out of Lee’s teeth when he laughs. “Bring them over. They don’t call me the master roller for nothing.”
The girl next to him, Avery—the other girl who’d invited Trunks—rolls her eyes. She’s wearing blood red eye contacts. “Nobody fucking calls you that, man.”
Lee acts out being stabbed in the heart. “Everybody calls me that.”
Trunks nods sagely. “It’s true, Avery. He really is the master roller.”
Lee grins at him impishly. His black hair is shaggy and untamed, and looks too much like the black hair Trunks aches to run his finger through everyday. “Come over here, Trunks. I’ll show how to do it reaaall nice,” he beckons, and Trunks isn’t sure what it is—maybe the alcohol, starting to make him hazy—but he pulls away easily from Samantha despite her protests and steps to Lee’s side, close enough that their shoulders press together when he fishes the rolling papers out of his jean pockets.
“Yeah?” Trunks challenges, chancing veering in just a little closer. From the way Lee’s smile brightens, Trunks supposes he’s got this in the bag. Trunks licks his lips. “You’re a man of many talents, aren’t you?”
“Knew you’d appreciate it,” Lee says, knocking his hip with Trunks’s. “All right, now watch and learn…”
It really is transfixing to watch the guy roll the joint, fingers working intricately at his craft, top lip curled in concentration as he wraps the paper neatly over the weed chunks. Trunks sort of feels bad for considering fucking him just because he’s a Goten knockoff, but whatever. It’s not like Lee has to know that.
(Maybe the rich playboy douchebag persona is more than just a persona.)
What. Ever. Trunks’s hand is spidering across Lee’s shoulders, and he’s really about to bend down to kiss him, when—
“Trunks!”
It’s—Goten. Motherfucker. He’s clearly at least a little wasted, Trunks can see that much from how flushed his cheeks are. There’s a smile splitting across his face, and maybe it’s just Trunks’s imagination, but it looks strained. Like he’s forcing it. The same girl who was grinding on him has her head on his chest, and she’s looking at Trunks from beneath her mascara-thickened lashes like he’s a bug of some sort. Trunks has to resist the urge to glare right back at her and tell her to get the hell away from Goten for good measure.
“I finally found you, man,” Goten booms, words blending together a little, and he staggers slightly when he walks over, eyes flickering over Lee. “Who’s this?”
Lee arches a brow, looking back at Trunks. “Friend of yours?”
“Yeah,” Trunks affirms, trying his best not to sound as weary as he suddenly feels. “You wanna smoke, ’Ten?”
“Oh, is that what you guys are doing?” Goten asks, cocking his head. “Looked like you two were…”
Trunks blinks. What. “Haha…”
Goten raps a fist against his chest. The force behind it would have sent anybody else flying. “Jusssttt kidding!”
Okay, then. “So. You want a hit?” Trunks inquires again, because he would really rather be talking about anything else.
“Nah, dude,” Goten sniffs, and Trunks can see the way his eyes flitter over to Lee again, who’s still rolling the joint. “I’ll be in the pool.”
Trunks stares at him. “You didn’t pack a swimsuit.”
“You think that’s gonna stop me?!” Goten whoops, sweeping the girl who’s been clinging to him all fucking night into a bridal carry. “See ya!”
“Pretty hyper guy,” Lee comments as Trunks watches Goten peel his shirt off and dunk himself into the pool with whoever the hell that girl is. Trunks can feel his heart breaking and breaking and breaking as the girl shrieks with joy and wraps her arms around Goten’s neck, but it’s fine. It’s chill.
Trunks laughs, shrugging a shoulder. “Yeah,” he agrees, pulling a lighter out of his pocket when Lee’s finished with the joint. “You can have the first hit. I’ll light it for you.”
“Mm, thanks,” Lee says, bringing the filtered end of it to his lips. Trunks flicks the lighter to ignition, and when there’s a steady flame he steps into Lee’s space and lights up the twisted end. Lee’s eyes close when he inhales, and then he exhales right in Trunks’s face, the strong scent of it hitting him all at once. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“Smelled rank as hell, so I know you’re not lying,” Trunks scoffs, accepting the joint and lifting it to his mouth. He breathes in and feels his lungs burn with it, hot in his chest, and then the smoke billows back up his throat and out of his mouth when he breathes out. It’s not hitting just yet, but the dull of his senses is definitely commencing. His father would smack him into another universe if he caught him doing this shit, probably. “Yeah, shit, that is good.”
“Yeah.” Lee’s leg is between Trunks’s. “You know what else could be good?”
Trunks rolls his eyes. “Corny fuck.”
They’re kissing. It’s good, honestly. Really good. Lee pulls Trunks closer by his dumb rhinestone studded belt and moans into his mouth, and Trunks thinks he’s really, really into this. Majorly. All right. This is good. Lee licks a stripe up the roof of Trunks’s mouth and Trunks groans at the feeling, finding the small of Lee’s back and drawing him closer, and they part for air after a few more seconds pass of eating each other’s faces off.
“You’re a good kisser, Mr. Briefs,” Lee teases, the slant of his grin gleaming with spit.
“Shut it, dude,” Trunks shoots back, matching his thrilled expression. This could be really, really good. It’s not Goten, but it can still be good.
Shit. Goten. Trunks looks over at the pool just because some sixth instinct, not yet killed by the weed and alcohol in his system, tells him to, and finds Goten staring right at him. Again. He’s illuminated by the underwater lights, different colours dancing on his skin every time the lights change their hue, pool water slicking his hair back and sliding off the broad breadth of his shoulders, down his impassive angel face. The girl is still in his arms, pretty pink bikini barely covering anything just the way he likes it. Trunks swallows as he meets his gaze. Can feel Lee tug on his belt again. Trunks has to look away. He has to—move on from whatever the hell this is, and then he can be free. But why is Goten looking at him? Why is—
Goten kisses the girl. He shoves his tongue down her throat.
And he’s still looking at Trunks.
Trunks is really, really fucked up. That’s his introduction statement. He’s had a few more hits from various joints, and he’s been drinking like a fish. If he were writing an academic paper or giving a speech at a press conference, that is what he would open up with—I just want to preface this with saying: I am so fucked up right now. It’s not like he could actually do that, but the thought of it makes him giggle. Of course, he’s half Saiyan and half royal Saiyan at that, so it’s not like some weed and alcohol can really incapacitate him, but he’s definitely inebriated enough that people’s faces are beginning to kind of blur together or pop out from the unfocus of their bodies. Depends on if they’re important to Trunks or not.
Anyway. Lee is here. Lee looks like Goten if Trunks squints and ignores the several ways he does not look anything like Goten. And Lee is sucking him off quite nicely right about now, so Trunks thinks the guy can make him happy for a little while.
“Fuck,” Trunks groans, “I’m gonna—”
He cums. It’s not the best orgasm he’s ever had, not by a longshot, but it’s good enough to make those substance-enhanced endorphins swarm his brain, good enough to help him pretend it’s Goten on his knees in front of him with Trunks’s cum splattered all over his face.
What time is it again?
Trunks is helping Lee back his feet and zipping his pants back up when something grabs him arm. He whips around, blinking, and it’s Goten.
“Heyyy,” Goten says, tugging Trunks closer just as he finishes fixing his belt. Trunks can’t tell if Goten is just as crossed as he is. Goten’s eyes aren’t bloodshot, though, so he probably isn’t. “Ready to head back?”
Trunks checks his phone. It is… four in the morning. Wow. Yeah. “Yeah,” he says out loud. Lee is wiping the fucking cum off his chin when Trunks turns back to him. “Hey, see you around, man. Thanks for the blow. I’ll text you.”
Lee snorts, like he knows it isn’t true, and it really isn’t. “Sure, dude. Get home safe.”
Goten and Trunks have to stumble a good distance away from the house first before they can start flying, which kind of sucks. Trunks can see Goten beginning to gather his ki at the soles of his feet and preparing to launch off when they’ve just crossed the threshold of the door they came through, so he has to snatch him back down to earth before anybody notices he’s drunkenly levitating a couple inches off the ground.
“Sorry,” Goten mumbles, “forgot.”
“S’fine,” Trunks says, hand still wound around Goten’s wrist. “Come on. We can fly out of here once we’re just a little further away.”
They’re decently out of proximity of the house and all the half-dead uni students it’s fostering when Trunks realizes Goten’s pants are still fucking soaked from the pool. “Goten. Go Super Saiyan,” he commands.
Goten’s brows furrow with confusion. “What?” He looks down at himself when Trunks points at his bottom half. “Ohhh. One sec.” He flares golden, eyes swimming teal, and his pants dry instantaneously. Goten turns the power up off like a goddamn light switch. “Pretty practical, isn’t it."
Trunks snickers in response. They take to the skies then, and they’re flying lopsided back to Trunks’s house when Goten slides his hand into his. Trunks’s heart definitely does not start hammering in his chest. Because that would be stupid. So it doesn’t, okay? Okay.
“Trunks,” Goten says, just as Trunks is wrestling the whole ‘in love with your definitely straight childhood best friend’ crisis for what must be the third time today, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah? What is it?” Trunks hums, not looking at him, focusing on the boundless clouds ahead.
“Did you fuck that guy?”
The question is like a curveball. Except a curveball wouldn’t do shit against Trunks’s superhuman skull, so it’s really like his father has just aimed a mega strong ki blast right at his face with the gravity cranked up to five hundred times normal.
“Huh?” Trunks blanches, staring incredulously back at Goten. Goten, who never gives a shit about Trunks’s love or sex life. “Lee?”
“Yeah,” Goten confirms, and he’s averting his eyes. “Just curious.”
“Uh. No,” Trunks answers. “He just sucked my dick. I didn’t feel like fucking anyone tonight.”
“Oh.” Goten’s voice is tiny. “Okay.”
They land in front of Capsule Corp (after flying the whole time holding hands) and Trunks fumbles for his keys as Goten drapes himself across his shoulder like a well-loved blanket. Trunks pats his head as he opens the front door. “Tired?”
“Yeah. But also no,” Goten answers, swinging into step with Trunks when they walk inside, automatic lights filling the darkness of the house. They kick their shoes off and line them up as neatly as they’re capable of. “My brain’s, like, going really fast.”
“Did you just drink?” Trunks asks, grabbing himself a glass and the water pitcher, missing terribly when he tries to pour the damn thing. Water splashes messily over the expensive granite. “Fuuuck.”
Goten rips a paper towel off the roll sitting on the counter and gets to wiping the spill up like it’s second nature. “I did, yeah, and then I had, like one edible, so I’m not too fucked right now. I mean, we can smoke again if you want. I don’t wanna sleep yet.”
Trunks takes a sip of his water after he’s successfully managed to get it into the cup. It’s lukewarm. “Yeah? I can handle it, but are you good?”
“I’ve been fucking crossed before, Trunks,” Goten snarks, chucking the wet paper towel into the bin. “Let’s go to your room?”
“You got it, boss,” Trunks drones, hitting a wall on his way to the stairs.
They flop onto Trunks’s bed as soon as the door is shut behind them—which is kind of gross, considering they’re still in their outside clothes, but Trunks can’t bring himself to really care, not when Goten’s practically snuggled into his side.
“Do you know how to roll a joint,” Trunks says, producing a bag of weed and rolling papers out of his pocket.
Goten pouts. “No.”
“What the fuck, don’t look so sad about it,” Trunks consoles him, rubbing his back with a giddy grin. “I’ll do it. Okay, I need something to roll on…”
“You can—use my back,” Goten offers, and Trunks actually thinks every cell in his body freezes.
“Uhhh.”
When Goten takes his shirt off, Trunks swears it’s happening in slow motion. Goten lays back down on his stomach, head propped up on his forearms, looking up at him through that half lidded gaze that’s enough to make Trunks’s dick twitch. Goten’s back is a milky stretch of pale skin, well trained muscles adorned with a couple moles here and there. Trunks wants to do a lot more to him than just roll a joint on him, he thinks.
“Shit. Okay.” Trunks is biting his lip so hard it might start bleeding. “Hold still.”
Goten’s still gazing at him, lashes grazing his cheeks every time he blinks. “Mhm.”
Trunks smooths the rolling paper out between Goten’s shoulder blades, his angel wings, watches the younger boy shiver at the contact. This is not going to end well. Or maybe it’ll end spectacularly. Trunks really doesn’t know. Goten’s always been the one guy he could never predict, and he’s been trying since their mothers used to make them share a playpen. Goten keeps his eyes steady on Trunks as he deposits the weed in the paper’s middle, gets to rolling as Goten really does try and keep his word to stay still. But the slight movement of Goten’s breathing, that insignificant lurch up and down, it’s driving Trunks insane. He rolls the best joint he thinks he’s ever seen in his life and pulls away like Goten’s back is a furnace.
“Done?” Goten asks, cradling his face with a hand.
“Yeah.” Trunks’s fingers are curled around his lighter. “You want the first hit?”
Goten wets his lips with his tongue. “Can we shotgun it?”
Oh. Oh. Trunks feels incredibly parched, all of a sudden. “Sure. You want me to—?”
“Yeah.” Goten’s eyes are glazed over. Trunks is bringing the filtered end of the joint to his mouth like he’s on autopilot, lighter hovering over the twisted end as Goten holds his gaze.
“You’re gonna have to come closer,” Trunks says around the paper, and Goten hums affirmatively as he obeys, moving to fucking straddle Trunks’s lap. Trunks tries not to think about the connect of their hips as he lights up the joint, giving it a second to simmer before inhaling deep in his lungs. His mouth is still closed when he moves the joint away from his face, gestures with his hand for Goten to lean in—and he does, cupping Trunks’s face like they’re about to kiss as he tilts his head, slotting their lips together when Trunks opens his mouth and exhales into his mouth.
The smoke lingers between the two of them before it seers down Goten’s throat, and then Goten reels back to breathe it out once it comes back up. He doesn’t move from his position on Trunks’s lap, and Trunks doesn’t remind him to get off, either.
“You never asked if I fucked her,” Goten finally says, after a few slow moving moments pass between them.
Trunks blinks blearily up at him. He could let Goten stay here forever, he thinks. “Who? That chick you dove in the pool with?”
“Yeah, her,” Goten confirms. “Let’s do that again, by the way.”
“Well,” Trunks begins, “I just assumed you did.”
Goten’s careening back into Trunks’s space as Trunks takes the hit again, tipping his head up as Goten meets him halfway to receive his share. Trunks drops his jaw and gives it to him, pours the steam of it into his mouth, and Trunks feels the way Goten’s breath hitches this time, nicking Trunks’s bottom lip with his teeth before moving back.
“I didn’t,” Goten tells him as the smoke curls past his lips. “I didn’t fuck her.”
Trunks is too crossed for this shit. “Okay.”
“You’re so fucking dense, you know,” Goten says, scooting closer up his lap.
“The fuck? I am not,” Trunks denies, but his hands are settling on Goten’s hips anyway, dick throbbing at the way Goten jolts. “Just say whatever you’re implying to my face already.”
And then Goten kisses him. It feels instantaneous, and it feels natural, as if they could have been doing this the whole fucking time, and Trunks is going to sue someone if that’s the case.
“Trunks,” Goten gasps, bucking his hips as Trunks licks into his mouth, hands fisting in Trunks’s purple hair. “Fuck—”
“Goten, Goten, wait,” Trunks groans, forcing himself to pull away, even when Goten chases after him so fervently he knocks their foreheads together and this is everything he’s ever wanted for his entire existence. “We can’t— We are so fucked up right now. I don’t want shit to be weird between us when this all wears off—”
“Shit could never be weird between us,” Goten argues, kissing across Trunks’s jaw. And that’s true, it really never could be—Trunks is sure that a piece of his soul was taken from him and nestled in Goten when he was growing in his mother’s womb as Trunks learned how to walk and waited for him to be born. But also, Trunks is so in love with Goten he thinks if they start fucking casually and never go past that it’ll shave years off his lifespan.
“Yeah, but—” Goten kisses him quiet. And Trunks lets himself be shut up, the back of his head bumping against his headboard as Goten swipes his tongue over Trunks’s teeth, mewling when Trunks firms his grip on him and shoves past his tongue into Goten’s mouth. Two can play this game. It seems like Goten’s forgotten which one of them is really stronger here.
“Goten,” Trunks hisses when they part, taking in the blush that’s starting to blossom across the apples of Goten’s cheeks, prickling hot down his neck, splaying over his bare chest, and oh, fuck, Trunks can feel himself flushing, too. This is so stupid. They’re acting like they’re fucking twelve all over again. Well, twelve and thirteen.
“What,” Goten grouses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, hands trembling where they’re cupped over Trunks’s shoulders, and Trunks realizes, belatedly, that Goten is just as nervous about this whole thing as he is. The thought of that—of charming, effortless Goten spread out across Trunks’s lap and quivering—is electrifying.
“Goten, I’m—” Trunks sucks in a breath. Okay. Fuck it. He’s just going to say it. What does he have to lose, at this point? “I’m—in love with you, dude. I don’t want to just… fuck you and have it mean nothing.”
Wow. He’s being surprisingly coherent about this.
Goten’s eyes are wide open, pupils dilated from their kiss and probably also the weed. Trunks didn’t think it was possible, but Goten’s face goes redder. “You— really?”
“Why the fuck are you so surprised?” Trunks snorts, enjoying watching Goten squirm under his scrutiny.
“I don’t know, Trunks, maybe because you spent a whole school year at that stupid fucking rich kid university and made so many new friends without me, and then when you came back for the summer you didn’t even notice how all over you I was—”
“You’ve been all over me since you were like three!”
They’re both out of breath, staring at each other incredulously. Trunks feels like the world’s biggest idiot, so he tries to save some of his dignity when he says, “You’re the one who’s always fucking—hooking up with girls and shit, and you’re always talking about girls, I didn’t even think you were into guys—”
“I was obviously trying to make you jealous!” Goten throws his arms up like the admission makes any of it fucking better, and he looks a lot more like his mother when she’s frustrated than he probably knows. “I didn’t—I didn’t think for even a second you’d feel the same way, so I—”
“Goten,” Trunks says, willing his voice to stay stable, “I’ve been you.”
Goten looks floored. Trunks takes advantage of his rare quietness and adds, “It was always going to be you.”
And Goten lunges for him. All right, so that was the correct thing to say, then.
“Trunks, Trunks,” Goten whines, knocking Trunks over so he’s laying on his back with Goten on top of him, just like when they’re roughhousing in Trunks’s backyard, except this is way better than sparring, Trunks decides when Goten kisses him again, gnawing at his lips and licking into his mouth. Trunks jerks his hips right back up between Goten’s legs when he feels the other boy going for his belt, moaning into his mouth when Goten pulls back to suck on his bottom lip.
“You and this stupid fucking belt,” Goten grunts, tugging it off with more force than necessary and then flinging it off somewhere.
“What, it’s fucking awesome,” Trunks says, and then he cuts himself off with a moan as Goten ducks his head into the crook of his neck to suck at his skin, hard enough to draw blood, all while he’s rolling his hips down onto Trunks’s very present erection. Trunks could really cum in his pants right here. “F-Fuck, Goten, don’t— it’s gonna leave a mark—”
“Good,” Goten groans, slipping a hand under Trunks’s jeans and palming him through his boxers, “I wanna leave marks all over you. Show everyone who you really belong to.”
Trunks’s dick jumps at that, and Goten can definitely feel the way it spits into his boxers, but he still scoffs in Goten’s face. “You are so fucking cringe—”
“Stop talking and get your shirt off.”
Trunks follows the order instantaneously, sitting up just so he can wrangle his shirt up over his head, throwing it onto the floor when Goten pushes him back down onto the bed. Trunks’s hands are clumsy as they grope across Goten’s hips to find the zipper of his jeans—Trunks’s jeans—and Goten lifts his hips with a whine as Trunks shucks his pants off, wrestling them down Goten’s legs and tossing them into the growing pile on the floor of their clothes.
“T-Trunks,” Goten mewls when when Trunks slides a hand under his boxers, popping his dick out and rubbing a thumb over the leaking slit, “shit, take yours out, too—”
“Not so tough now, are you?” Trunks tuts, talking big game when he knows he isn’t going to last for very long, either. He tugs his own dick out and then crushes Goten closer with the arm that’s snaked around his waist, taking both of their cocks in his hand and rubbing them together. Goten keens into his cheek as he rocks his hips, the slip and slide of their wet dicks sending sparks through them, sloppy sounds bouncing off Trunks’s polaroid photo adorned walls. Trunks feels dizzy with how good all of it is. “Goten. Can you go more than once?”
Goten whines, high-pitched and needy, nods where he’s got his face pressed against Trunks’s shoulder. So Trunks doesn’t let up the pace, strokes them both until they’re panting into their kisses, and when Goten cums all over himself with Trunks’s name on his lips it’s like a dream come true.
“Trunks,” Goten heaves, collapsing against Trunks’s chest, licking Trunks’s cum off his pecs, “Trunks, more—”
“You’re so good, so good, baby,” Trunks groans, moving his hand up and down Goten’s sensitive, twitching shaft, watching it throb and start to harden under his touch. “Fuck. I could have been making you cum like this the whole time.”
That makes a sob break past Goten’s lips, and he looks fucking gorgeous when he cries, all swollen lips and wet lashes. “You can make up for it now,” he breathes, moving down, and Trunks’s eyes go wide when he realizes he’s kneeling on the bed so he can suck him off. “You can make up for it tonight.”
“Shit,” Trunks grunts when Goten kisses his tip. “Have you ever even—?”
“First time. First time with a guy in general,” Goten tells him, licking at the pre cum that’s beading across his shaft. A dopey smile curves his lips when he says, “Show me how you like it.”
Trunks thinks he might have a heart attack. Seriously. He’s taking Goten’s—gay virginity. “Okay,” he exhales, threading a hand through Goten’s hair. “Don’t rush it…”
Goten promptly shoves the entire thing down his throat.
“What the fuck!” Trunks wheezes, throwing his head back with a groan when Goten laughs around the dick in his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks as Trunks thrusts his hips. “Fuck, Goten, you’re— too fucking good at this, oh my God.”
Goten purrs at the compliment, the reverberation of it buzzing across Trunks’s cock. Trunks looks down at him as he fucks his face, feels his heart pulse in his chest in sync with his dick at the way Goten’s eyes are so full of adoration, glossy lips swollen with the strain of Trunks’s length, drooling all over him and making the cutest noises every time Trunks drives it right down his throat. Trunks would really like nothing more than to cum all over his face, but he has other plans for where to put his dick, so he pulls Goten off of him by the hair on the back of his head, watching his saliva melt in strings and follow him out.
“Was it okay?” Goten asks, licking his lips.
“Wasn’t bad,” Trunks teases him, grinning at the way Goten glares at him, getting himself comfortable in his lap again and winding his arms around Trunks’s neck.
“Shithead,” he grumbles, and it sounds so affectionate Trunks thinks he might explode.
“Goten, do you want…” Trunks trails his hands down Goten’s ass, giving it a little squeeze.
“Obviously,” Goten groans, and even with as cocky as he’s being, Trunks can tell he’s anxious. He keeps his eyes on Goten the whole time as he reaches into his bedside drawer for some lube—watches Goten’s face morph with shock when he sees what Trunks is holding. “What the—you just have that in your fucking drawer? And it’s—” He squints. “Strawberry flavoured?!”
Trunks snickers as he digs two fingers under the waistband of Goten’s boxers. “I’m fucking gay, it shouldn’t be a surprise. Take these off.”
Goten does as he’s told, blushing as he shimmies out of his boxers, gasping cutely when Trunks seizes him again. “Trunks…”
“Don’t worry,” Trunks hums when he drizzles it onto his fingers, “I’ll go slowly.” He presses a kiss to Goten’s neck as he slips a finger inside him, holding him in place when his back arches.
“Trunks!” Goten shrieks, nails clawing into Trunks’s back. “Fuck, it feels—weird—”
“Give it a second,” Trunks whispers, adding another digit, scissoring them slowly in and out of Goten’s hole, massaging that winking rim every time he eases out. “Promise I’ll make it feel good, ’Ten.”
Goten moans brokenly, thighs quivering as Trunks works in and out of him, hips trembling when he finally feels comfortable enough to sort of ride the comfortable intrusion of Trunks’s fingers. “I’m—oh—”
“Gonna go deeper,” Trunks tells him, kissing at his jaw. “Just relax.”
Goten really does the opposite of that when Trunks crooks his fingers further inside him, hitting that sweet spongy spot right on the mark judging from the way Goten whines his name and crumples in his arms. “Trunks—Trunks—right there—” He sobs when Trunks wrests his fingers out of him, whimpering when Trunks stations his hands back on his hips.
“Think you can handle it?” Trunks asks, angling Goten’s hips so his hole aligns with his cock.
Goten gulps, looking down at the gleaming tip of Trunks’s dick, and then back at Trunks’s face. “Yeah…”
“You sure?” Trunks huffs, just barely kissing his entrance with his tip, no matter how badly he just wants to fucking bottom out inside him already. He won’t until he’s sure Goten’s ready.
“Yes, I’m sure, just—” Goten cuts himself off with a sharp moan when Trunks gives it to him, sliding him down so about half of his dick is enveloped within Goten’s walls. “Fuck!”
“Hurts?” Trunks asks, about to move him back up and off, but Goten grabs his wrist like he can tell what he’s about to do, shakes his head vigorously.
“It’s f-fine, keep going,” he groans, his entire body twitching, wrapping himself around Trunks like he’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Trunks—”
Trunks really doesn’t need to be told twice. He slowly manhandles Goten down a few more inches, gritting his teeth as that tight heat clasps him. “That’s it, baby—” It’s amazing. It’s better than anything Trunks has had wet dreams or fantasies of. Nothing can compare to the way Goten moans when he’s sitting on his dick like this, nothing in the world. Trunks hisses as he drags Goten down so he’s fully swallowed down the base. “It’s all in.”
“Oh—mmm,” Goten whines, wriggling in Trunks’s lap. “Sh-Shit, it’s good…”
“Yeah?” Trunks asks, groaning as Goten pushes him back by the shoulders, moving up and down on his dick. “Fuck, Goten, I’m—I’ve been wanting this for ages—”
“Should have said something sooner,” Goten moans, nails curling into Trunks’s scalp. “You fucking idiot, we could have been—fucking the whole time—”
“Shut up, I know—”
“Were you thinking of me?” The pads of Goten’s fingers pillow across Trunks’s jaw. “When you were with that other guy. Were you thinking of me?”
Trunks can’t hold back the sadistic smirk that twists his lips. He’s more like his father than people think. “Are you still hung up on that?”
Goten chews on his kiss-reddened lip. “Just answer me—nnghh—”
Trunks really wants to give him his damn answer by just kissing him stupid. Let his body tell him he’s always on his mind, tormenting him so sweetly. But Goten would probably beat the shit out of him mid-fuck if he did that. So Trunks yanks him closer, watches his eyes go starry as he thrusts up into him all at once and murmurs, “Of course I was.”
Goten’s thighs clamp around Trunks’s waist. “Ah—”
“I always am,” Trunks mutters, watching Goten’s pupils dilate at the confession. “Always, Goten.”
Goten is trembling in his arms. “Didn’t seem that way when you were—ahnn—having so much fun letting that guy suck you off,” he mumbles petulantly, whining when Trunks wraps a hand around his dick. “Oh—oh, Trunks—”
“Don’t get jealous,” Trunks croons, working Goten’s dick and bouncing him up and down on his own, “I only have eyes for you.” He nibbles on the shell of Goten’s ear harshly enough to draw blood. “Baby.”
“Trunks!” Goten cries out, and he’s cumming as fast as a bullet, getting it all over his stomach and chest, slumping against Trunks as he’s fucked through his release. “Ah—hhngh—”
“Shit, I’m—close, too,” Trunks grunts, moaning into Goten’s mouth when he’s pulled into a sloppy kiss.
“Inside,” Goten gasps, delirious with the orgasm and all the substances, probably, “do it inside, please, Trunks, God, I need it—”
“Fuck, Goten,” Trunks grunts, canting his hips one final time and then spilling inside him for what feels like an unending few minutes, leaning back when Goten collapses against his chest. They lay there for a while, piled together like dirty laundry, and Trunks stares at his ceiling as he feels his own cum leaking out of Goten’s ass and onto his own thighs, vaguely wondering if he’s ruined everything between them.
“Trunks,” Goten says, snapping him out of it.
Trunks forces himself to meet Goten’s eyes. Feels his heart beating stupidly fast at the way Goten’s dimpled smile widens.
“For the record,” Goten starts, cuddling up against him, “I’m in love with you too. Like, in the gay way.”
Trunks laughs, open and relieved and overjoyed. “Thanks for specifying!”
“Mm.” Goten pecks him on the lips. Trunks is pretty sure he swoons. “Should we shower?”
“Probably,” Trunks says. “But I am so fucking tired.”
“Good point,” Goten agrees. “Goodnight.”
They’ll deal with it in the morning. Trunks’s last thought as he tugs the blanket over them and closes his eyes is that he really, really hopes neither of his parents barge into his room tomorrow morning.
Hopefully.