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In all things, Trunks was an overachiever, an early bloomer.
At nine, he was already manifesting signs of a respectable alpha. Protecting what and who he could—that was the root of his pride. And on that moonless night, when his body burned hot enough to bend his bedding, and his ki grew violently erratic, Vegeta was the one to establish order and understanding. Rituals long lost to time were resurrected, and Trunks regained himself, earning a new identity.
There he learned that he was something special, extraordinary: he wasn’t just a first-class Saiyan; he was also an alpha, born to lead, rule, and guard.
As expected of my son, Vegeta had said, proud. Only the best will descend from our royal line.
Not every Saiyan had a secondary gender; even among the current Saiyans, neither Vegeta, nor Goku, nor Gohan, nor Goten had one. Trunks was the first; he was the only.
When he had first inquired about it more the morning after, and Vegeta gave him a thorough lesson of secondary genders, something just clicked. He finally understood why he felt how he did for Goten—why it had to be him. Somehow, Goten had become his kin, a friend, a part of himself, and while Trunks trusted that Goten could take care of himself, it was his responsibility to protect what Goten couldn’t. That was where it started; that was where Trunks would end it.
And for a few years, Trunks settled into his new shoes with little difficulty. The only alpha in a sea of betas, Trunks weaved his life with much ease, dutifully following his father’s guidance and his mother’s footsteps. He was a humble, quietly confident guy who happened to be smart enough to be fast-tracked into a respectable college. There was no reason to lord his status, so he didn’t.
But then Pan was born.
She was cute at first. Energetic, cheerful, she had a big head with big, black eyes and a sharp set of teeth that ruined his smartphone when Bulma gave it to her to play with. She was strong, too—capable of flying around the world five and six times before her little limbs got tired. She was daring, braving to fight her Uncle Goten, then her father, then his father. She was confident and headstrong, adorably stubborn, and significantly smarter than her peers.
She also turned out to be an alpha.
And that was the problem.
It wasn’t so much that Trunks minded that he had a fellow alpha; on the contrary, he had originally thought it nice that he wasn’t alone in bearing a secondary gender. But where he handled his boundaries just fine, she pushed right past them. She was bad enough when she was eleven; she became insufferable when she turned sixteen.
And almost as if she took a sick pleasure in irritating him, she visited their house every month. Almost once a week. For several hours a day.
Today was just another unfortunate evening. She was lounging on one of their couches, surfing through their TV.
“You smell,” Pan said rudely as soon as Trunks took off his jacket. He was used to her pushing his buttons by now, and didn’t react much except to swallow down another forbearing sigh.
“It’s been a long day,” Trunks replied, loosening his tie with two fingers. It was thrown on the couch on top of his jacket. Pan’s eyes followed the motion, her mouth tightening into a scowl. “Staying in an office for twelve hours in stuffy clothes would make anyone smell.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She stalked up to him, leaned into his space. It was close, too close, and Trunks felt his instincts flare up. He already felt his hands twitching at his sides, ready to push her away.
And then she, standing on her tippy-toes, pressed her nose into the upper part of his shoulder, right near his trapezius, breathed in—and he froze. It was like his mind just shut down, his instincts screaming in its place. Without even realizing what he was doing, his hand shot forward, squeezing her throat hard enough to keep her in place, but thankfully—mercifully—not enough to harm. Only when he felt his father’s ki flare in the gravity room did he snap out of it, stumbling away from her.
“I-I’m sorry, Pan-chan,” Trunks breathed. Wide-eyed, his hands shook at his sides, his exhales coming out in shaky pants. Because that—that was uncalled for. He didn’t even know he was capable of doing that to someone he considered a friend. It had never happened before; something strange triggered him, and he wasn’t sure what it was.
But in complete contrast to his building nerves, Pan only sniffed, rubbing her windpipe with her hand. Even though he had choked her, she looked about as bothered as she normally did. That was to say, she didn’t seem to care at all.
“You should be.” She glared at him, then drew closer again. Naturally, he took a few steps back in response. “Here I am, stopping by because I’m worried about you—"
“—You really don’t have to—”
“—And this is what I get.” She grabbed his forearm, and Trunks, in his best attempts to rein in his instincts, allowed it. Trapped between the wall and Pan, Trunks grinded his teeth, a warning growl crawling up his throat.
Then, lowly, she asked:
“Does Auntie Bulma know you sleep around with your secretary?”
“…What? Ow—” Her sharp teeth sunk into the side of his wrist, drawing pinpricks of blood. The metallic scent, saliva, and Pan’s pheromones stirred between them, and his teeth began to ache.
The last thing he could remember was wrenching his arm from her grasp and lunging straight for her neck.
Goten, I fucked up.
Those were the words on the edge of Trunks’ lips, guilt parching his throat. Here he was in Gohan and Videl’s dining room, sitting next to Goten around their table, like he didn’t just finish mauling their daughter two days ago. When he had finally gotten ahold of himself—largely due to his father’s then stern command and heavy hand—their marble floor was splashed with blood and Pan had a deep gash on the side of her neck. Worse was that she, for the first time in a long while, was on the verge of tears, and he was the one responsible.
Even worse than her tears were that past the fear, she still had that look in her eyes—the stubborn, goading one that said, ‘Is that the best you can do?’—and Trunks couldn’t.
He severely underestimated the effects of having a secondary gender. Rather than the sacred honor his father made it out to be, Trunks now thought it to be more of a ticking hazard, ready to detonate at the slightest provocation. (And his father, who he had hoped would have provided insight on how to resolve the issue, pretty much just told him that he needed to understand Pan’s instincts as well as his own, and that he alone could fix it. Which was what bought him, shame and all, to the Son household.)
But now that he was here, sitting restlessly next to his exuberant best friend, he came to the conclusion that maybe the problem was just him. Maybe he just needed to discipline his alpha with training or something.
Maybe he could just forgo this uncomfortable conversation altogether.
He pushed back his chair and stood to his feet, causing Goten to stop mid-sentence.
“Listen, Goten, let’s catch up later. I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to take care of.”
“Oh…really? Alright.” Then, after giving Trunks a once-over, he said, “You know, you don’t look too good. You okay?”
“’Course I’m fine. Never been better.”
Offering a tight smile, Trunks was more than ready to hightail it out of there when he scented freshly plucked wheat and her, and he paused. No—he didn’t stop; the alpha inside of him rose to attention, sought her out. Like a magnet, his gaze gravitated towards the foot of the staircase leading to the next floor, where she stood, hands on her hips, eyes glinting.
“Leaving so soon, Trunks?”
Wearing a red, off-the-shoulder frilly blouse, tight, lightly ripped, denim jeans, and a silky black collar, Pan dressed as if she were about to go on a date. But more than her unusually fashionable outfit, what was alarming was how blatantly she exposed the mark Trunks gave her. As if she wanted the world to look at it.
Of course, Goten took note.
“Damn, Pan. I didn’t know you had clothes like that.”
“I didn’t. Bulla gave it to me when we went shopping the other day,” Pan said cheerfully, and Trunks grimaced. “It looks nice, right?”
“Not bad at all. But are you sure you want to go out there like that, with that…bruise on your shoulder?” Realizing that something was amiss, Goten followed up with, “Where’d you even get that from, anyways? Don’t tell me you actually scored for once.”
“Can’t say. But it got you looking, didn’t it? Maybe I’ll actually pick up a date this time around.” As she approached them, Pan asked innocently, like he wasn’t the one who gave her that bite, “What do you think, Trunks? Should I go out like this?”
No, was Trunks’ gut response. Instead, he said carefully, “I’m not sure that your father wouldn’t mind if he saw you. Maybe you should ask him first.”
Not wanting her to one-up him again, Trunks nodded to Goten, then made a beeline for the exit. But by the time he turned the knob to the front door, Pan was right behind him, her pheromones scalding his palate. Immediately, he felt a yearning to reach behind him and—
“On second thought,” Trunks gritted out, restraining himself from turning around, “I’ll just bring my work here. Don’t wait up on me.”
Even though he knew it would raise questions, he didn’t bother take the red jalopy he came there with; he flew towards the northwestern area of Mount Paozu. Unsurprisingly, Pan trailed behind him.
When he felt it was a safe distance away, he touched down to the grass, found a sizable rock to sit on, and waited for her to do the same. All pretenses were dropped when it was just the two of them and nothing but nature.
“So. You’ve got my attention, just like you wanted.” Trunks jerked his chin to the gash on her shoulder. “Why don’t we start with that. What exactly are you trying to pull?”
“It’s just like I said,” Pan said, and there was the scowl he was used to. “I’m going to find a date, and I’m going to use this to help me. Simple as that.”
“That’s not what I’m asking—”
“If you can sleep around with your secretary,” Pan interrupted snippily, crossing her arms, “then there’s no reason why I can’t do the same.”
There was so much to unpack with that statement that Trunks almost didn’t know where to start. Then it occurred to him: she really didn’t want a date, and she didn’t want to expose the mark he gave her, either. She just wanted to get back at him because she thought he slept around. But why? Even if he had, that wasn’t any of her business. She had barely been an alpha for a decade; he had settled into his identity for at least a decade. Was her instincts so strong to conquer a fellow Saiyan she would resort to this?
Still, all of the irritation he held onto just sapped out of him, leaving him exhausted. What was even the point of this whole argument?
“Pan-chan,” Trunks started slowly, “I think you’re misunderstanding something. I’m not sleeping with anyone right now, and definitely not my secretary. Disregarding how wrong it is to do so, I’m just not interested in her. The reason why you smell her on me is because we work in the same office. Her desk is perpendicular to mine, and my office stays closed unless an issue occurs.”
Now, Pan’s face had a tinge of embarrassment and as much guilt as he felt earlier in the day.
“…Oh.”
“And even if I were,” Trunks continued, “I don’t think that warrants the way you’ve been treating me. I’ll apologize up front and say that I didn’t mean to attack you, but I think we both know you know what you’ve been doing. So, let me ask: have I done something to offend you?”
“Not really.”
“Do you hate me? Is it because we’re both alphas?”
As he waited patiently for an answer from Pan, her lip began to tremble and her eyes began to shift.
“I-I don’t hate you. And I don’t mind that you’re an alpha.”
“Then what is it? Tell me what I can do to get along better with you.”
For a while, she deliberated, her fingers twiddling, her pheromones oscillating.
“…Promise me.” She nervously fidgeted, but then regained herself and came to a decision. Her gaze snapped back towards him, determination hardening her expression.
“Promise me you won’t sleep with anyone or get married until I do. If you do that, I promise I’ll be nicer to you.”
And like that, the last puzzle piece fell in place. All of this, just because of that.
Judging by her wavering pheromones, Trunks had a feeling she had no idea what she was really asking for—what she really wanted from him all this time. He should have figured, though, when she always crowded his space, sniffing near his scent glands. She always hated when he came in from work, always checked several times to see if his scent changed. Always got irritated when it didn’t.
Trunks couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. Pan turned as red as a beet, flustered.
“W-what’s so funny?!”
“No, it’s nothing,” he chortled, wiping stray tears from his eyes. “So, you don’t want me to date or get married before you. Sure. I’m not interested in anyone right now anyways. Is there anything else you want?”
“You’re mocking me.”
“I’m not, really.” Smiling softly, Trunks reached over and tousled Pan’s hair, made it enough of a fluffy mess for her to swat at him like an irritated cat. But when his touch slowed, caressing the crown of her head all the way down to one rosy cheek, she leaned into it, half-lidded eyes growing unfocused and sweet. It was cute, Trunks thought, then mirthlessly snorted when he realized that in the end, Pan would likely get exactly what she wanted.
He could bend about that, but he needed to set some guidelines.
“Like I said, I don’t mind waiting for you,” Trunks said, “but only if you respect my boundaries. What you did back then was very dangerous; do you understand? If things had been different, we might not be having this conversation.”
“But I don’t like when you smell like someone else,” Pan replied petulantly. “I don’t regret a thing. If it means you’ll smell less like her, I’ll do it as many times as it takes.”
Knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere at this rate, Trunks conceded some more.
“Let’s do it this way.”
He yanked his collar to the side and offered his neck; the same place he had bitten her.
“You can mark me here. Bite it, scratch it, whatever you want. My father told me that friction on this area temporarily increases resistance to other pheromones, allowing the alpha’s natural scent to emit strongly for a while. If you’re thorough, your scent might even linger here,” he added, knowing that would reel her in.
And as he anticipated, she was all too eager to agree. Despite her best attempt to appear reluctant, she practically hopped over to where he was and sat on her knees in the dirt, excitement sweetening her scent.
Her hands rested on his thighs, then on his chest as she leaned over him. Trunks could feel his instincts creep up, warring between the urge to rip Pan’s throat apart and pull her close enough to choke the life out of her…
But then she defied his expectations; she peppered his neck with kisses, from his clavicle to his trapezius and back again, and sealed her mark with one long, bold, slobbery lick. It was full of all the emotions left unsaid, all the thoughts she couldn’t make sense of, and Trunks felt his ears burn. Too audacious, too daring, too risqué, Pan was.
The fact that Trunks didn’t particularly mind that about her probably said a lot. Either way, now that they were more or less on the same page, they would figure out where they stood in due time—both as alphas and as family.
…Well, if he survived Gohan’s anger first.
Because Gohan, who was standing there not even twenty feet away, watching his teenage daughter hang all over his father’s friend’s older son, was looking pretty peeved at the moment.