Love, A Game..

Chapter 19

Mirai Trunks stood on the hill overlooking the remains of his home city. The late afternoon sun slanted through the line of hills bordering the metropolis, casting a faint golden glow on the ruined houses and buildings. On one side of an office block there would be darkness, cracks and scars hidden in the suffusing black. The other was lit in warm yellow, illuminating every last broken window and blast mark. In the failing light the ruin this city had suffered was all too obvious.

Oh, my love, my darling,
I've hungered for your touch
a long, lonely time . . .

The lavender-haired teenager unconsciously clenched his fists as he thought, once again, of the devastation the two androids had levelled on the town. The final battle had been fought here, in this very city, only a few days ago, when the twin killers had cut a swathe of destruction through the formerly thriving capital the scale of which had never, in their sixteen-year-reign, been equalled. Despite Trunks' best efforts to keep the last fight as quick and clean as possible, Juunanagou and Juuhachigou had insisted on destroying people and buildings not even in their way. The city had shown signs of wreckage before; now it was a desolate ruin.

He supposed he'd been foolish to think that everything would suddenly become perfect once he'd finished off the androids. The truth was far from it. His mother, still grieving for Vegeta and the friends she'd lost sixteen years ago, had fallen sick and been too disheartened to attempt a cure. Before Trunks was even aware there was anything wrong, she'd simply disappeared, the spark of life that had kept her going for so long extinguished.

Nobody needed him any more. The people of the world he'd saved were grateful, to be sure, but they didn't want to know him now that he'd played his part. He'd fulfilled his role and now could fade quietly away from the rest of civilisation, an unwanted relic from a painful past no-one wanted to remember.

What could he do? He didn't belong here any more, he didn't belong anywhere. With the two androids gone his purpose for living had been removed, the fire that had burned inside him all that time, fuelling his strength with the desire for revenge, was quenched, unable to warm him any longer. Trunks wasn't meant to be alone, he couldn't cope in a world by himself. All his friends and family were gone, passed on into the Other World leaving him behind. There was nobody and nothing left for him in this world.

Time goes by so slowly
and time can do so much.
Are you still mine?

But maybe ... maybe there was somebody left for him in another time, another place. Gohan ...The eleven-year-old he'd fallen in love with in the alternate universe where the Cell Games had taken place would still be there, still be waiting for him. Gohan loved him, just as much as Trunks adored him in return. Maybe now that Trunks' mission was completed, they could at last be together.

The thought of returning to Gohan buoyed the lilac-haired teenager as he flew back down the hill to the wreckage of his former home. If he could only find the right capsule, he could heal his own wounds and prove his love for the other demi-Saiyan all at once. In the year since he'd come back to the future timeline, he'd been constantly sick with longing for the feel of Gohan's arms around him, of Gohan's hands on him, of Gohan's mouth on his. The short time they'd had together had been the most wonderful time of Trunks' life, something he cherished always that helped to warm him when he found his bed painfully cold and empty. He'd been sure never to rush the younger boy, but to his delight Gohan was as eager to experiment as he was. The two had spent many hours in secluded places exploring one another's bodies, seeing what happened if one pressed here or bit there or rubbed a certain way, always safe in the knowledge that their connection went deeper than any physical bond.

Mirai recalled in vivid detail the first time he'd brought Gohan to climax, the wide-eyed wonder in the chibi's face as he experienced pleasure much more intense than any other emotion he'd felt in his short life. He'd clung sobbing to his older koibito, whispering his name over and over. Ever since that moment there was nothing so satisfying to Trunks as the sound, the sight, the feel of Gohan reaching his peak. The obsidian-eyed demi-Saiyan loved him, and that single piece of knowledge sustained the teenager throughout every dark hour he'd spent since then.