Trunks woke the next morning to find an arm tossed across his chest. A petite, warm body was plastered to his back. "What the—" he started, having to momentarily regain his surroundings. He turned over and looked Pan in the face. The sudden movement has jostled her awake enough to make her open her eyes halfway and smile at him.
"Morning," she said, closing her eyes again.
"What do you think you're doing?" Trunks asked in a reprimanding tone.
"Besides invading your precious personal space, Mr. President? Drawing the warmth away from your body into mine." With that, she filled the space between them and snuggled into his chest like a kitten. A sex kitten…with man-destroying claws. He sighed a very annoyed sigh and looked at her in further irritation. She was ruining his plan to keep his nose to the grindstone and not think about her. Of course, being the traitor that it was, his body disagreed, in a way that he considered painfully embarrassing. "Sorry," she mumbled into his chest. "I wasn't trying to try anything." Of course not. That's just what women do…make motions that are innocent but feel otherwise to less civilized members of the situation.
"I'm just gonna get up and let you be cold now," he said, rolling out of her reach (unwillingly in his body's opinion). He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting it warm up. He brushed his teeth in the meantime, before sliding in under the stream of hot water. He sighed, supporting his body with his hands against the wall as the hot water fell down on his head. Pan slipped in behind him, silently, lathering up a washcloth with soap, gently washing his back, starting at the top and working her way down.
"You have zero personal boundaries," he said, water dripping from his lips as he spoke.
"Depends on the person," she answered, running the washcloth down his thigh. No woman had taken time to wash him in the shower in a long time; then again, if he was in the shower with a woman, neither of them was really in the business of getting clean. "I can't say I have ever washed a man." She ran the cloth over the back of his knees, and he felt weak under her touch. "Turn around."
"No!" he argued.
"Really? Are you, playboy extraordinaire, going to be shy and prudish in the shower with a woman, who, by the way, has already seen you naked?" Of course, his ego was already busted.
"Maybe I'm playing hard to get," he responded, trying not to sound too sullen.
"That not a game that men play, sweetheart. Especially when they are sexually attracted to the woman pursuing them." The water rolled down his back like a waterfall; his deteriorated body was still fit by the standards of humans, but he wasn't filled out and was far from healthy. "Turn for me."
He turned around, moving out a bit from the wall so that water would roll down his back to relax him a bit. Pan took in his appearance; his hips were slimmer, his abs were less defined due to decreased muscle mass, and his face was thinner. But that didn't affect his ability to be aroused, obviously.
He was shocked to find her on her knees in the shower, but he hadn't remembered hearing her stand after washing his legs. "You are a very cruel woman," was all that he said. Pan gave a half smile and kissed his hipbone, like it was just as fragile as she perceived his body to be at this point.
"Cruel in the fact that I made you turn around or cruel in the fact that I'm not going to pleasure you in the shower?"
"Both," he answered. She stood and washed him head-to-toe, avoiding his nether regions just to show an act of kindness.
"I won't be a tease to you when you're having a corporate meltdown," she said.
"Please?" he asked, hating himself for sounding so damn pathetic. Her gaze narrowed, as if she was debating something important in her head. She didn't want to wind him up when he was sick, and, in all honesty, she wanted to take him to bed but it seemed unsportsmanlike at this time. But he sounded so damn…weak. She ran the washcloth up the inside of his thigh, taking her time washing his delicate parts, getting a few deep groans from him. And she took the shower head down to rinse his whole body off.
He picked up the washcloth from the soap holder and lathered it up. "Oh you don't have to…"
"I would like to return the favor," he interrupted. She shrugged and let him wash her body, which was beyond very nice. He seemed to linger on her tattoo a moment before moving on.
"When did you get that?" he asked, not looking up at her, focusing on washing her flat stomach. She was quiet a moment, trying to remember exactly how long ago it was.
"I think it must have been a couple of years now," she said.
"I'd never noticed it, that's why I ask."
"I guess my training clothes cover it up. You can see it when I have a swimming suit on…but you have never taken off time to hang out at the pool." She was right, but he didn't say anything. At the current, he was wondering exactly how many men had seen her tattoo. The thought was unsettling to him. Part of him wanted to hunt them all down and blind them for it. Unnaturally violent, but how he felt nonetheless.
He kissed her hip, like she had kissed his. The water had washed away the soap, and she turned the tap off before he could get himself into trouble.
The rest of the day, she spent trying to feed him enough to give him strength, while he went from eating to sleeping in cycles. Hopefully soon he would start looking more like himself.
He still rejected her help from time-to-time, like he was fighting the truth that he needed someone to help him out. But he took her help, if only because he was afraid that she would go fetch his father, which would probably result in bad memories being made.
She slept beside him again that night, and he held her close, her body fitting the contours of his body like a custom-made glove. Perfect. She was going to be the death of him. She was caring for him and he let her. He wanted her in his bed, and there she was. If he was inside her in his bed, then his night would be ideal. If that was the case for every night from then on, it would be perfect. He took a sigh, thankful for what he had and apprehensive of the future.
She left his apartment the next day, leaving him in the care of Gin, who assured her that Trunks would be well-fed, if anything. So she went on home and thought about him continually, wishing that her body was next to his. He was beautiful in the shower, and the color was coming back to his face, the gaunt look decreasing. But he still wasn't back to full Trunks status.
She was ready for him to be back to himself so she could pursue him…she knew he would have her now but that was only because he was rundown and needing a woman by his side. She could have been anyone and he would have wanted her. He was attracted to her physically; that fact was undeniable. But she was also just another woman, just like he was just another man. Or so she kept telling herself. She cared about his well-being, as his friend. She also wanted to have him in her bed, clinging to her body, trying not to lose complete control as he fucked her repeatedly. But he didn't want her now. They had slept together, and he didn't call. She was just another one of Trunks Briefs's conquests.
The thought of him made her long for male company, which she had been without for weeks. Maybe she should spend an hour or two in the gravity room to work off some steam.
Of course, two hours in the gravity room didn't do anything for her in terms of not wanting to find a bedfellow. She decided she would hit the bar tonight and find some attractive man to take home.
Trunks looked at himself in the full-length mirror in his closet. He looked like total shit. He was gross looking…he was disgusting to himself. Always being one for appearances, he was unbelievably disappointing. He wondered how disgusted Pan had been. As soon as he thought of her, he scolded himself for thinking about her, the one who would break him, had broken him. He wondered what she was doing, and thought about going over to her apartment to visit, perhaps watch a movie. But he wasn't sure if she had something else to do. He called her but she didn't answer the phone. He wondered if she was asleep; it was getting on toward 10 o'clock. Maybe he snored and kept her awake. Or she was tired of dealing with him for awhile.
In all reality, Pan was drinking a martini at some high-end bar and club uptown. Dressed in a short black dress, she was chatting up a man she recognized from the news. Someone from city council or something. He had mentioned his job but she wasn't really paying attention. She was thinking about Trunks and felt a pang for leaving him alone all day. She would go over there in the morning to check on him. Meanwhile, she was going to go back to the councilman's pad for a glass of some fancy vintage chardonnay.
He was lousy in the sack and was a general waste of her time. He was bad at everything and thought that he was really good at everything. On top of that, she was thinking about how much better Trunks would be in bed. She had never heard any of his harem complain about him. If she had been conscious last time around, she would have been able to draw better comparisons. She left the councilman's place at one a.m., glad that he had fallen asleep so quickly. Ridiculous.
She went home and showered for almost an hour, feeling particularly dirty after dealing with the pathetic excuse for a one-night stand. Kami, it lasted a couple of hours, and that included a whole bottle of vintage chard.
She went and laid down in her bed, finding it hard to fall asleep. She wasn't going to go lay in bed with Trunks after sleeping with a man, though. It wasn't that she hadn't shared two beds in one night (though that was rare). It was that he would smell him on her. It was throwing it in his face. No, she would go over sometime tomorrow.
She heard the knock on the door when she was at that point when she was drifting between sleep and consciousness. Her eyes popped open, startled, before she got up and pulled on her robe to answer the door. Trunks. He was standing there in her doorway.
"I can't sleep without you. And I am tired." He was in a pair of sweats and an ancient, holey Capsule T-shirt. How the richest man in the world had a worn out shirt was a mystery to her.
"You don't want to sleep with me," she said, looking down at her feet. Ah, the feeling of shame…a feeling that she was not necessarily accustomed to. "You don't actually want me, either."
"Because you went out to find a man tonight? Based on the fact that you're here at 2:30, it must have been pretty lousy." His tone was a little clipped.
"It always is. It's just varying shades of bad," she answered. "I'm sorry." The words seemed inadequate to her, but she didn't have to apologize for anything. She wasn't acting any differently. She wasn't with Trunks. She wasn't his girlfriend. And the one time they had had sex, she couldn't even remember past foreplay. Sure, he was having a hard time in his life, but the proximity she had spent with him the past two days was stifling. It was like looking at a present that is just out of your reach.
"Don't apologize. I'm not angry. I can't change you, and you can't change me. Let's go to bed. And no funny stuff." He led the way to her bedroom, surveying the tangled mess of sheets and pillows tossed off the bed. He straightened it all out quickly and pulled off his shirt and pants, sliding under the sheets in his boxers. Pan pulled off her robe and lay down beside him.
"Do I smell?" she asked after a few minutes.
"I'm not my father. No, you don't smell like anything but some kind fruity body wash and your shampoo."
"Oh." He pulled her close to him, holding her tight.
"You know how I told you the longest without sex was four days?"
"Yeah."
"I've tried your three weeks this past month. It's not worth the pain. I don't blame you for going to find someone tonight." His pity and attempt to understand made it worse. It's wasn't that she was interested in trying to find a worthwhile partner to force into a submissive position for the evening, but that she just wanted Trunks. She wanted to go out with him, to kid around with him, to spar with him, to watch movies and sleep in and all the things that people do in sappy romantic comedies. She thought maybe tonight someone would fill at least a fraction of the void in her heart, but no one was going to be a satisfactory replacement for her crumbling friend. So she didn't respond to his statement but snuggled back into him, feeling undeserving.