The Patron
Disclaimers : Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Ball GT's story line and characters are copyrighted to Akira Toriyama and the various companies who produced the anime and merchandise. This work of fanfiction was produced exclusively for entertainment purpose ; no money exchanged hands nor was any other kind of material profit made from this.
Category : Romance, Angst, Songfic, Humour, Lemon, Love Triangle & Yaoi.
Pairing(s) : Tr/Gh, Vg/Bm, Gt/Vi, Gt/Tr, Gt/Bra
Rating : NC - 17
Warnings : Threesome, Bisexuality, Angst, Graphic Sex & Language.
Spoilers : None that I can think of, unless you've never watched Dragon Ball.
Notes :
ü Trunks has grown up and assumed his position as President of Capsule Corps. Gohan married Videl years ago, and is a professor of literature. Notice there is no Pan. I did not want to get into the sad, sticky issues of children and divorce in is fic.
ü Chapters one, two and three were written by Ninjin alone ; the others chapters are co written with Hervé.
Archive : Ask my permission first.
Feedback : Of course! Comments and criticisms always received with extreme happiness!!!! Just click on my name above to access my email.
Website : http://www.blurty.com/~little_ninjin
Dedication : This is dedicated to the Truhan ML. This chapter is a modest token of thanks for their friendly support and creative energy..
~~ooO@Ooo~~
Part One : “No New Tale To Tell”
“Come on, Gohan,” Videl sighed, as she looked out the passenger side window of the SUV. “It might be fun.”
“I have my doubts,” the dark demi-Saiyajin said tightly, as he gripped the steering wheel.
“How many of these things have you made me turn down, in all these years?” She groaned. “We never get out of the house, Gohan.”
“What about the University ball?” He mumbled, grasping for straws.
“Three years ago!”
“Movies?” He tried again.
“A matinee during lunch?” She laughed. “And that was six months ago.” She pointed to the highway exit, with snapping fingers. “There’s our turn, honey.”
Gohan rolled his eyes behind his thick glasses. “I know where The Capsule Corps offices are, Videl,” he muttered. I was there this morning, he thought. His mind reeled with anger, recounting the last exchange he’d had with the current reigning monarch of Capsule Corps.
“Listen, I know you two have your differences-” Videl tried.
“Just leave it, Videl.”
“Gohan, don’t make this hard, please!”
“I didn’t make it that way,” He turned into the exit ramp, cleaning his teeth with his tongue, frowning in disgust as he pictured the purple haired bastard surrounded by his simpering passel of brown-nosing corporate whores. Goddamn you, Videl! he thought, gnashing his teeth together, as he girded himself for another round of teasing from the snot nosed punk named Trunks Briefs.
How many years has it been, He wondered, since he started this shit? Ten? Fifteen? He ran his tongue over his teeth again, as he recalled the latest installment of their battle of wills, earlier that day…
~~ooO@Ooo~~
Rich mahogany French doors were pushed open by two attending secretaries in obscenely short skirts, revealing the huge interior cavern that passed for the main office of the current Capsule Corps president. The walls were covered in garish red paint with gold trimming, furnished with white overstuffed sofas and swivel back chairs. They were overpowered by a gigantic cherry wood desk, topped off with two hand made Italian shoes, swinging to inaudible music. Gohan decided it was more appropriate for a decadent orgy, not business. But business it was, or so he thought, when he was summoned by His Majesty’s secretary.
“Ahem,” Gohan feigned a cough, trying to keep his ire under control as Trunks ignored him, listening to music on his headphones with closed eyes, mouthing the lyrics with a soft whisper. “Sorry to disturb your party!” Gohan gritted, coming forward, tapping at his desk. Trunks’ left eye squinted open, and he cracked a smile, motioning to one of the chairs behind Gohan, before his other eyelid opened, and his stare ran over Gohan’s blue suit, as if taking inventory of him. Gohan pursed his lips tightly, then turned to sit, conscious of the glassy blue stare on his back.
“So what do you want, Trunks?”
“That’s my question, Gohan,” Trunks smiled, putting his headset in his desk drawer, after his feet swung to the floor. “What do you want?”
“Quit talking in riddles,” Gohan crossed his arms as he sank uncomfortably into the overstuffed chair.
“I haven’t said any,” He shrugged, making a mock frown. “I was setting the tone of our conversation.”
“Spit it out.” Gohan looked at the bright red walls in derision.
“I hear you’re losing your chair at the University.” Trunks said, very quietly.
“That’s right,” Gohan frowned, as he continued to stare at the walls through his thick glasses.
“Too bad you couldn’t keep your students interested,” Trunks clicked his tongue. Gohan’s glare shot back to the younger demi-saiyajin, who laughed again, when he saw the deep crimson stain beneath the black frames. “I mean, I can see…” Trunks lowered his voice and chuckled, “why they would sign up…” his eyes lingered over the suit, narrowing as he registered Gohan’s deep intake of indignant breath, then looked back up to the eyes hiding behind the glasses. “But once you start talking, all the good looks in the world can’t make dusty old poets that exciting.”
Gohan’s fury was kept in check, with a series of deep breaths, as his eyes glittered with all the anger he fought to contain. “The entire department was cut back,” he clipped sharply, “not just me.”
“Ah!” Trunks stood up, nodding, as his hand ran down the paper at his desk. “True. You weren’t the only one,” His teeth bit into a cigarette, which he lit with a small brass butane lighter, and then capped before he put it back into his jacket. He held the box up, and with a lift of an eyebrow wordlessly offered Gohan one.
“No. No thank you.”
“So polite,” Trunks chuckled, putting the box down, as he turned his back, fidgeting with something out of Gohan’s sight, keeping the cigarette between his teeth. Loud music began blaring through hidden speakers, making Gohan jump in his seat. Trunks whirled back around, nodding his head back and forth as he inhaled a plume of smoke, then took the cigarette out of his mouth, as he mouthed the lyrics:
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
Chicka chicka dee
Do me like a banshee
Low brow is how
Swimming in the sound
Of bow wow wow
Aw baby do me now
Do me here I do allow
“Do you mind?” Gohan yelled, snapping his teeth together.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!” Trunks took another drag, letting a plume of smoke escape his lips for a moment, as he regarded Gohan with hooded eyes, then opened his mouth to suck in the errant cloud, abruptly. “I’m in a position to make you an offer.” He crossed his arms, and licked his upper lip with a curled pink tongue. “I think people in this position can afford to be autocratic.”
Gohan looked away, again, this time feeling his hatred boil over the veneer of politeness he’d carefully crafted over the years.
“What’s the matter, Superman? Can’t accept a hand?”
That was the limit. Trunks began calling him Superman sometime in his mid teens, long after Gohan had put away the disguise Bulma had created for him. It was long forgotten in the attic of the home he and Videl had rented across the street from the University after they had gotten married. Trunks, as a teenager, used the name as a jeer whenever Gohan was in sight. Hearing it again that morning made Gohan’s blood boil.
“I don’t accept hand outs,” Gohan snapped, glaring at the younger demi-saiyajin who blew smoke back at him.
“It’s not a hand out.” He threw a bright red folder in the air, toward Gohan, who caught it easily with one hand. “You earned the credentials in your resume, I assume.” His lips quipped, as his eyes lingered on Gohan’s hand for a moment, then flicked back to the hard obsidian behind thick lenses. “But it is a favor.”
Gohan’s hands shook in rage, as his resume stared up at him, black laser print on watermarked cotton paper, just as he’d ordered them from the University copy center earlier that morning.
“Where did you get this?” Gohan said, tightly.
“Oh, Capsule Corps is a big supporter of ivory towers,” he winked, earning a sneer from Gohan. He grabbed the gold and white pack of cigarettes, and made a jerking motion, resulting in several cigarette butts jutting out in varying degrees of separation from their packaging. He brought his hand up, as he continued to stare down Gohan, as he bit down on the highest candidate.
Hit me you can't hurt me suck my kiss
Kiss me please pervert me stick with this
“Can you cut the fucking music?” Gohan rasped, breaking the stare, his cheeks red with anger. He flipped the page, checking the bottom of his resume for any strange notes His Majesty’s courier might have left as evidence of unscrupulous covert tactics.
“Do you find it distracting?” Trunks smirked, clicking his lighter shut, as he took a drag off of his next cigarette.
“As a matter of fact,” Gohan ground out.
“Can’t distract Superman,” Trunks chuckled, placing his cigarette in his mouth as he turned and shut the sound off. Trunks gingerly extracted the disc, before flicking the off switch with the hard nail on the back of his index finger.
“What’s this?”
Trunks turned and saw Gohan hold a green piece of paper out, obstructing his face from view. “It looks like a photocopy?” he laughed.
“You know damn well what it is!” Gohan snapped, “It’s an acceptance letter! You’ve been pimping me out to other schools!” He stood up abruptly, sending the papers on his lap fluttering to the floor. Trunks laughed again, as the taller demi-saiyajin turned around and bent down, growling in frustration as he frantically picked the papers off the floor.
“What an interesting point of view you have!” Trunks laughed, again.
Gohan shot him an angry look behind his leg, before he stood erect, shoving the papers back into the folder.
“I’m not interested in your offer, Trunks.”
“Are you sure?” a lone brow went up, as he smirked back at him, his eyes suggestively rolling over Gohan’s tall frame. He was shaking with indignation, goading Trunks to go further. “I mean, you don’t even know what I want. And there you go- making what looks like a counter offer, to me.”
Gohan snarled, throwing the folder in Trunks’ face blindly. Papers floated down around Trunks, as he stood, shaking his head with crossed arms, clicking his tongue.
“Here I am, offering you a favor, and this is the thanks I get!”
“Fuck you!”
“No, that wasn’t the offer, but thanks,” Trunks brushed his hair back, snickering as Gohan gritted his teeth. “I was only offering you some different positions, you know,” he put his hand on his chin, as he perched one hip over his desk. His brown silk pants rode up his thigh. He had not bothered to gather up the material as he sat, and the pants clung to his leg and pelvis, molding against powerful definition. Gohan found it difficult to take his eyes away from the sight. He straightened his glasses attempting to frown.
“So- you want to know what your options are?” Trunks said, quietly.
“You don’t have any power over my life,” Gohan replied.
“If you let me,” Trunks scooted off the desk with imperceptible movement, his hair boyishly bouncing as he strode toward Gohan, “I could offer you the chair at any American University of your choosing.”
“Impossible,” Gohan mumbled, trying to look at the wall behind Trunks as he came closer.
“Possible!” Trunks beamed, stopping mere inches from Gohan’s face. “Like I said, Capsule Corps loves funding the arts.” He tilted his head, then audaciously dusted Gohan’s blue lapel with quick, economical strokes. “We basically own the ivory tower, Superman.”
“I won’t be bribed into a position,” Gohan whispered, confused by conflicting emotions as he caught his scent; a mixture of rich tobacco and sandalwood.
“It’s not a bribe,” Trunks smiled as his hand went back to his side. “It’s just hiring from the top.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gohan choked, as Trunks turned away. “You don’t own the university system!”
“Get your head out of the clouds,” Trunks sneered, as he sat behind his desk, putting his shoes back on the table. “If I canceled all my university tax shelters- just my family’s personal portfolio- there wouldn’t be a university left open in the world for you to bore love sick girls at.”
Gohan went to the door, determined not to lose his cool after so many humiliating turns. It’s always like this, with us, Trunks thought to himself. He acts so disapproving, as if he were so pure.
“Don’t you want to know my conditions?”
“What for?” Gohan snapped, his head turned back to face Trunks while his hand pushed down the lever. “I’m not doing this, Trunks.”
“Come to my party, tonight.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?” Gohan’s hand dropped, as he turned around in gruff curiosity.
“That’s the condition,” Trunks gave a crooked smile, putting his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “Not really a good example to set for my VPs. You’re getting a better bargain.”
“This is my life, Trunks!” Gohan groaned. “Not some game -”
“Bring- what’s her name?” He snapped his fingers and rolled his eyes.
“You know her name’s Videl!”
“That’s right,” He nodded, grinning back down at him charismatically. “Quite a catch there?” He clicked his tongue, giving Gohan another wink. “Better keep your eyes open, Superman. I heard Lois Lane had a thing for Batman.”
Gohan’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Oh, so you did manage to cram a few Saturday morning cartoons in?”
“I’d rather rot in hell,” Gohan husked, “then go to your fucking party.”
“That’s too bad,” Trunks laughed, “because I heard the devil himself is coming.”
“Geez,” Gohan shook his head. “You just don’t quit!”
“No, I don’t,” Trunks shot up in his desk, his feet hitting the floor with a loud clap. “Not when I know what I want.”
Gohan paused for a moment, wondering if he’d really caught some double meaning in that statement. “So you can sympathize with my feelings,” Gohan managed. “I do not want to go to your party.”
“Do you know what makes a successful business man?” Trunks asked briskly, cutting Gohan of with a wave of his hand. Gohan clenched his jaws shut in consternation as Trunks went on. “Of course not. You’re not a business man.” Trunks hit his desk with his palms sharply, smiling at Gohan’s startled reaction. “To be a success, you have to use a carrot and a stick.”
“Stick?”
Trunks pointed his finger at Gohan and crooked his thumb up, bending it and making a mock blast with his puckered lips. “Kryptonite, Superman.”
“Blackmail,” Gohan said, grimly.
“Don’t make me talk about using ugly words,” Trunks shook his head. “It’s so cliché. It’s the last thing I want to experience with you.” He cleared his throat. “My sister…she’s a wildcat, isn’t she?” His lips curled in a wicked sneer.
“What do you mean?” Gohan stood defensively in front of his desk.
“She is so affectionate,” Trunks crooned. “I think it runs on Mom’s side of the family…a Briefs woman will just positively throw herself all over a man.”
“Where are we going with this, Trunks?”
“To the party,” Trunks voice became thick, as he stood up, holding a new folder, this one manila, with several glossy black and white photographs. Trunks tossed it at Gohan’s feet, as he crossed his arms again, surveying the dark haired demi-saiyajin. “Go ahead, bend down,” he thrust out his chin and narrowed his eyes. “You might want to see what the camera man came across when my sister came to visit your campus, last week.”
Gohan’s cheeks burned. “She was in the neighborhood- we just had lunch!”
“In your office?” Trunks chuckled. “Let me tell you something,” He growled, as Gohan bent his knees, keeping eye contact with Trunks, “when you screw in your office, tone down the public display of affection.”
Gohan frowned as he flipped through the folder. “This doesn’t prove a thing!” He held up a photo of Bra held in his arms- the most explicit affection detailed in the collection. “That is a perfectly platonic hug! Don’t you know the difference?”
“Bra’s had a crush on you for years,” Trunks sneered. “And you finally decided to take advantage of it.” He shook his head in disgust. “Superman isn’t so super, after all, huh?”
“What are you going to do? Tell the papers an unemployed professor had an affair with a seventeen year old girl?” Gohan gave a gruff laugh. “Not very newsworthy! Unless you plan to implicate your own sister, and drag her name through the mud!”
“No. But I’m pretty sure Mom wouldn’t want you to benefit from Capsule Corps’ generous support of the arts, and demand that any university you are received at loses it’s funding. That would make you,” Trunks mottled his chin then chuckled, “unemployable.”
“All for a party?” Gohan breathed, incredulously.
“Not a bad offer, huh? You get to work at any university you chose, these prints and the negatives will hit the incinerator- and all you have to do is show up, tonight.” Trunks winked again, and shook his head in mock gusto. “It’s black tie, of course. Seven o’clock. In the main lobby,” he tapped his desk, “Downstairs.” He pointed at the photos in Gohan’s hand. “Leave those.” He smirked. “I wouldn’t want them to get into the wrong hands.”
Gohan dropped the photos on the floor, spilling them haphazardly at his feet, then turned on his heel, disappearing through the door without a word.
~~ooO@Ooo~~
It was the worst confrontation the two had, to date, Gohan decided. What brought this strange interest in his career was beyond him; but it was the inflammatory innuendo that tore into his gut. He glanced at Videl, who was checking her bun in the visor mirror. She seemed very preoccupied with her appearance, tonight. It’s only because we’re going to a formal party, Gohan told himself, as he noted her low cut black silk mini dress. But she never looked like that before. Her perfume made his nose itch. It was her usual scent, but it was overpowering, tonight, as was her garish red lipstick.
He turned the wheel, braking as they entered the long driveway, which was really a small road, into Capsule Corps office parking.
“We won’t stay long,” Gohan muttered, as he killed the engine.
“No- don’t be that way!” Videl wailed, as he cranked open the driver’s door and swung out.
“I’m not being any way!” He ground out, slamming the door. Videl sat in shock, half believing he would storm in there alone, leaving her in the SUV. When the door opened, she looked in ire at the demi-saiyajin glaring at the ground.
“Honestly, Gohan, what’s gotten into you?”
“Let’s just say I’m not a party animal.”
“Gohan,” she sighed, brushing his errant black shock of hair away from his glasses, “just relax. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.” She smiled sweetly at him as she pressed her breasts against the black cummerbund of his tuxedo. He remembered Trunks’ snide remarks about Lois Lane, as he looked down at her dark head, and fought back a frown. Instead, he sighed back, giving her a quick hug, then raised his hand from her back to click on the auto alarm.
“Let’s get this over with,” he groaned, taking her hand and starting toward the glittering dome towering ahead of them, gleaming in the black night.
~~ooO@Ooo~~
Videl socked him in the ribs when they saw the valets at the main entrance, working over a red carpet that was rolled out to the drive. Men in elegant tuxedoes, and women in glittering formal gowns were assisted out of their limousines and various imports, as the cars were quickly sped away.
“Didn’t you know he had valet service?” She muttered, tightly.
“Hey,” he replied between his clenched jaws, “I haven’t been to one of these since I was a kid!” He snorted. “Even then, it was only once. Bulma banned dad for bringing a beer bong.”
Videl held back a laugh, punching Gohan again, playfully, as they stepped into the revolving glass doors.
Her laugh transformed into a gasp, as they took in the white silk banners that dropped from the center of the high crystal topped dome, fastened to the faux columns at the first story. Moonlight magnified by the clear crystal dome glowed against the pale material, giving the entire lobby a haunting, pale blue cast.
“Oh, Gohan!” Videl choked. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful place!”
People milled around tables covered in fine white linen, offering delicate crystal flutes filled with pale champagne, made almost white in the moonlight. The seafood was presented with shrimp, curled like fingers over deep red cocktail sauce; scallions, olives, and loads of caviar were scooped into ice cups chiseled into the shape of leaves, cascading over a bed of ice.
They tentatively walked forward, staring in awe at their surrounds, Gohan nearly forgetting that he did not want to be there.
A figure, clad in glowing white, stepped forward, from a circle of dark silk suits. Trunks’ teeth matched the white silk of his tuxedo, as he sauntered toward the couple, then stopped, under the direct column of moonlight pouring down from the eye above him. The light dripped over him, like a lover, touching the fine expanse of his broad chest, lingering over his smooth brow and chin, setting off his deep tan against his ethereal hair and eyes.
“Glad you could make it,” he smirked, letting his eyes roam over Gohan’s silk clad body, before he turned a high wattage smile on his wife. “How are you, Videl?” He stopped and extended his hand, his ingratiating smile in place as she took it. “You’re even more stunning than I remember.” He brought her hand up to his mouth, and gave her knuckle a brief kiss. “Gohan,” He smirked, turning his head to the dark demi-saiyajin, “you won’t keep such a lovely wife if you don’t let her come out and shine, more often.” He ignored Gohan’s outraged expression, as he looked back at Videl, flashing his white teeth again. “She’s quite a gal.”
“Isn’t she?” Gohan said, tightly, groping for her hand. “If you’ll excuse us, Trunks,” he inclined his head with a jerk, “we’re going to go and shovel some of that undercooked fish bait down our throats and wash it down with a glass of that champagne you probably bought based on the price tag,”
“Gohan!” Videl shrilled, as the band began playing a pulsing jazz rhythm. “Don’t be rude!”
“He might be right!” Trunks chuckled, crossing his arms as he shot a challenging glare at Gohan. “At least, where the overpriced and undercooked issues are concerned.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t make the purchase. Mom did.” He wrinkled his nose. “You know Mom…”
As if on cue, Bulma’s peal of laughter could be heard across the room. Trunks turned his head, gesturing with his hand, directing their line of vision to the older woman across the vast room. Bulma was wearing a spaghetti strapped gown that reached to mid thigh, in a style that was too young for a woman ten years her junior. Her hair was cut in a boyish mushroom, similar to her son’s, and her makeup was theatrical, to say the least. Further in the background, diminutive figure with spiked hair could be seen in silhouette.
“Oh, great,” Trunks cleared his throat nervously. “Dad’s here, too.”