Father and Son
A DBZ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. I hope this is rather obvious. I am its characters without permission. I am making no profit of any form.
Warnings and notes: This fic was written for the Dragonball Z One-Shot Fanfic Contest 2003 (). We'll see if it wins anything…
It contains angst, yaoi, incest, and generally dark subjects. You have been warned. I appreciate reviews (here or sent to swiftskyes@hotmail.com), be they critiques or a general good/bad word. Enjoy.
Begun 11.5.02
Completed 3.28.03


Trunks slept softly, as a true saiya-jin should. One day he would sense danger even in his sleep, but now he was an infant and he snored quietly in his father's arms.

He was a good son.

Vegeta did not allow moments like these very often. He refused to show weakness, even to the boy's mother, but sometimes he felt the need to have a moment like this, when Trunks slept and he could think.

Vegeta thought about his son's future -- the trails and the battles -- while his son slept on, ignorant. He thought about how he would raise his son: he would not raise him as the humans did, so weakly, and he would not be the cruel beast that Freezer had been to him -- he would be his own father, and he would raise a Prince.

He predicted who his son would grow to be. He was afraid Trunks would grow up weak, or foolish, or human. He wondered about the power hidden deep within that infant form. Only one thing did he not wonder about, and that was what his son will look like. That, he knew. He could remember every detail of the Trunks that came from the future, the keeper of the body that his son would one day have. He had had all the time in the world to study the boy -- the boy who was nearly a man.


He did not know the boy's name, and that was not all that eluded him. Vegeta did not know who he was, how he had come here, or why he was so powerful. But the boy's mannerisms, his appearance, and even the thickness of his hair -- that Vegeta knew by heart.

He had been watching the boy carefully from the first moment. He hid his stares, yes; but they were there.

He had seen the boy fight. He knew there was something special about him, because the boy was more powerful that even Vegeta and he could transform to a super saiya-jin. There was something about this boy -- but that was not why Vegeta stared.

He stared because the boy was beautiful.

There was no way that Vegeta could ever have denied it. The boy was a combination of beauty and strength, and he was perfect. Looking at him made something stir in Vegeta's gut, warm and coiled. It was lust.

He would take this boy in a second, if he could. The boy's body begged for it -- his hesitancy and his vulnerability asked for it, and the strength of his body meant that he could take anything that Vegeta could give.

But Vegeta stayed silent. This was not the time or the place for it. He only watched the boy while they waited for Kakarotto, and then watched him fight, and then watched him leave in the time machine.

He held no regret. He did not show disappointment. But when the boy waved to them from his place in the air, Vegeta felt as if those ice-blue eyes were focused on him.


Trunks was stirring now, and Vegeta rocked him, softly, until the noises faded.

How could this fitful baby ever grow to be that boy from the future? This child was so delicate and still so young.

He could remember the feeling within him when he had learned that they boy from the future was his son. It had been something akin to shock, but wider and more solid -- as if a fist had struck his heart.

But the lust had not faded.


Trunks was still beautiful and he would always be beautiful, even if he was Vegeta's son. He was still a perfect dichotomy of strength and vulnerability, and he still stirred that long dormant feeling in Vegeta's gut. Sex was for reproduction, that was a fact -- but this was the exception. Trunks he wanted to ravish, Trunks he wanted to strip naked and use, and take, and have.

Father and son did not seem real, not when this young man was so different from his own young, new child. It was different; it was separate. He did not feel guilty. He felt only two things: battle rage, and the desire to touch that light silk skin.


It was silk. It was silk, stretched over muscle, callused to knots at his finger and joints. Vegeta could remember the tickle of that skin against his fingertips. Now, pressed against his bare arms, his son's skin was even softer, even more delicate. Vegeta could not connect them in his mind, the boy's skin and the skin of this child, yet they were inseparable. It was the same skin -- same cells, same genetics -- but it was a different person. This child was his son. The boy from the future was someone else's offspring -- a different Vegeta, one who had been weak, one who had died.

They were not the same person, that boy and his son. They were not the same, but one day they would have the same skin.


The Room of Spirit and Time was everything that he wanted it to be. It was a place to train, it gave him the time that he needed, and it was isolation: only him and Trunks.

There was no one there to see his lust, to see his weakness -- there was no one there save for the one person that he wanted to get alone.

Vegeta was in no hurry. He let things play themselves out. He trained, and he watched Trunks's blue eyes follow him. This was the father that Trunks had never known -- the great fighter, the strong man, the legend. That natural curiosity built, accumulated, and then reached a point when the foundation was built and Vegeta could erect his temple on top of it.

Before anything happened, he made his son fall in love with him. After that is was easy, and then it was all free for the taking.

Impregnating Bulma had been an unpleasant task. It had been his job. But the feeling of his son's skin was a pleasure like he had never known. The texture of lavender strands between his fingers set pleasure walking footsteps up his spine.

Nothing was ever said about father and son, and as long as it was unvoiced it was not real.


But this, this child in his arms, this child was real, and the child was his.

It had been half an hour, now. He couldn't spend much more time. But he didn't want to put Trunks down. He didn't want to let his child go.


When the year ended, when the hourglasses had almost run out, they stood at the door, ready to go, knowing they had to, but reluctant to leave.

They were both silent.

But this was the end -- Vegeta knew that. It was this and nothing more, and he refused to let the final moment pass him by.

When Vegeta stepped forward, Trunks did not seem surprised. The emotions in his eyes read of relief, as if he needed this, as if he wanted this just as bad, only he had been afraid to be the one to come forward. They both needed the goodbye. When they met it was an enfolding of limbs, fitting together gracefully, almost perfectly. When they kissed, Vegeta tried not to think about the fact that he would never touch Trunks again. He let it be any other kiss in any other moment. He pressed the teenage body against the door, held lavender hair in his hands, and explored that young mouth. Their bodies rocked together. There was something heavy in Vegeta's chest. The words "I love you" wanted to come out, but he bit them back and refused to admit that they might be true.

They pulled apart to the sound of voices on the other side of the door. In the hourglass, the last few grains of sand were falling.

"We should go," Trunks said.


Vegeta placed his son in the crib, and Trunks made a tired, mewling sound.

There were things to do.

He wanted to fight something -- he was anxious, full of energy, and he wanted to release it on unsuspecting flesh.

He loved his son, this newborn child. He worried for the long future that lay ahead. But he knew who Trunks would grow to be. He knew how tall he would grow. He knew that the purple of his hair would not fade. He knew that Trunks would grow to be a fine, strong fighter, and that he would reach the level of super saiya-jin earlier in his life than any other had so far.

He knew who his son would be. He knew it very well.

But his personality would be different -- they were not the same people.

Vegeta did not want to think about falling in love with this boy, this child of his. But he knew it was possible. Trunks had something, something that he could not name, something that could have been spirit but might have been only a physical form, and Vegeta had been drawn to it. It could happen again.

So he left. There was no reason to tempt fate. He was not that stupid. Trunks was a good child, and he would grow to be a good man, but slowly the lines between future and present were blurring and it was too dangerous to think about lusting after his own flesh and blood.

And Vegeta turned away.