#my beautiful rounded triangular baby

[electricsandwiches]

Tri? No, no. Cri.

[softshuji]

"Sweetheart, can you come here a second?" Hanma's voice beckons you from the bathroom where you stand on your toes to lean over the mirror, your sleeping gown tumbling from one shoulder and your skin prickling with the cold draught that slips through the open window.

You round the corner and find him fiddling in the mirror with the pinstripe tie, jacket discarded on the armrest of the sofa, dress shoes turned over on the carpet by the door.

'Yeah?' you say, one hand suspended in your hair where you're trying to set a roller behind your headband. And failing.

'You busy with something?'

'No, just sorting my hair. Why? You need something?'

'gimme a hand with this?' and he flips the tie up away from the collar of his open dress shirt, where the wider end lands on his shoulder.

You raise an eyebrow even as you pin the roller and walk over, acquiescing still. 'I swear you know how to tie a tie, don't you?'

He scoffs, a faint pfft sound with a hand on his chest in mock indignation, before grinning at you through the mirror. 'What do you take me for? Of course I do.' And then, after a pause. 'I like when you do it though.'

You roll your eyes, albeit playfully, hoisting your slipping gown back over the spaghetti strap of your top as you make to stand in front of him, your back to the mirror and entirely dwarfed by the size of him against your chest.

'I swear you just want an excuse for me touch you', you say, both hands now coming up to adjust the long and short side of the tie, a faint click of your tongue he knows you don't mean. And that you know you don't mean either.

'There a problem with that?' and you avoid the glint in his eye that spells mischief, doubled by how his now free hands come to rest languidly against your hips, rocking them back and forth against his, a slight sway to silent music in your otherwise messy living room. A glance at the clock tells you it's early still, and the sun hasn't quite climbed over the horizon, leaving a shell pink swathe of colour just beyond your curtains.

'Didn't say that did I, baby?' you say, knuckles brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you cross the triangular side over the other. A loop twice around and you bite your lip in concentration.

He likes how you look when you're pretending not to notice, when you're deep in thought. It's a pride he talks about often, a love that hurts and swells and aches, drains and fills him all at once, the kind he could drown in if he sated himself long enough. He can see the top of your head, the roundness of its curvature and the shine of your glossy hair - a light that moves every time you turn your head and his chest aches with a tenderness that's bone deep.

You're beautiful, even more so now, when you're not thinking about it , when you're not particularly trying, and even when you are, he thinks there mightn't be enough words for him to do it justice. He's never been one for fancy declarations after all.

You pat his chest when you finish, look up at him with moisturizer on your cheeks that hasn't quite absorbed yet. 'All done,' you say. 'You big baby, I can't believe you called me here to do your tie.'

And he smiles in that way that has a flutter beating in your stomach, the warm syrupy smile that's wide and big and beautiful. 'It wasn't just for that.' and he leans down, two hands still on your hips to ghost his lips against yours, hot breath tinged with a faint menthol and mint before he brushes them, ever so so tentatively, gently, and presses himself to you.

You soften, and then pull back immediately, a frown lining your brows. 'Come on,' you say. 'You can't seriously be wanting some right now?'

And he pauses, the smile bleeding into a look of abject concern, a flash of worry in his chest. 'What? Why not?'

'I look horrendous.'

He pauses, hands stilling from where they've gripped your hips. 'Huh? What do you mean?'

'I do.' and you say it with earnestness, a genuineness that aches, like you believe it. 'My hair isn't cooperating and I don't look well so you can't seriously be attracted to this.' and you gesture down at the entirety of yourself, the spaghetti strap cami exposed by your sleeping gown with the belt undone, rollers sliding out of your hair, and a toothpaste stain down your chest he wants to put his mouth on.

'I don't see why not pretty girl. I think you look sexy.' and as if to enunciate his point, he grinds his hips further against yours, hands slipping under your sleeping gown to find the hem of your shorts.

'You absolutely do not, and if you do, you're a sick freak.'

And he laughs, so spontaneously, bright and warm and inundated with a flicker of sleep. 'Then I'm a sick freak huh? Since I think you're sexy all the time.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' he says, breathless now against your neck, hiking your thigh around his waist before he backs you against the sofa. 'So pretty, nothing you say can tell me otherwise. So you'd better stop arguing with me.'

Your back hits the soft down of the sofa and your sleeping gown falls entirely off your left shoulder. 'Or what?'

He glances at his watch just as he moves to undo his belt with the other hand. 'Or you'll be punished and I've got time to teach you a lesson Sweetheart.'

And he leans down just as the sun climbs finally over the slat in the curtains, a shell pink splashing over the wall, and the two of you together.

Reblogs appreciated

[slowishgreen]

today I had giant dreams

so first I remember biking, it was like a dream I had before, in the same road, but I was wearing these fabulous boots

after that I was travelling with a group, and maybe it was part of the previous dream, so yeah, I was travelling and carrying a bag full of yarn.

Then we were all at school, and we spent some time there, but it was soon time to leave. I had gathered my many bags and realized that one of my travel companies had just gone and left all his things, so I tried to carry them, put some pen in my pockets, but I had no idea how to organize his things so I just got them and took them to him. So he got his things and we went to the train station.

At the station there was this information table, and on top of it a "machine" with a note that said it would identify demons in each travelling groups. It looked like a creepy, distorted mask. I was so afraid and didn't want to mess with it, but one of the guys in my group paid the fee and put his fingers on the masks eyes, and it showed that that guy I helped earlier was the demon. So I told them to run to the train that was about to close his doors, and we all run, but when the doors closed I found out that only the demon guy had boarded with me, and I remember being scared but nothing else.

Theeen I was in another country. For me it was Korea, but it looked nothing like that. I was at a busy street, and I entered in some stores. They had such weird lightning, and it was weirder because in the back of the store there were these nail techs working, but that was the darkest part of the place, and I kept wondering how were they working in such darkness.

I left the store and went down a street, to the suburbs, and they looked like brazilian streets now. Then I crossed the street and entered a hotel.

Now I was like, a preteen I think. I was at this very expensive hotel, that had a pool on the top of it, with my mom (my real one), my dad and my grandma (not real ones). My parents were actors, and my grandma was a producer I think, and she wanted me to go work with them, and I wanted to, so we all went to prepare to go.

So I put on these clothes that in shape were not really innapropriate, but in fabric and color was a bit, idk. I wore this a line black dress, it looked like neoprene, and leather scrunchy boots with knee socks, and latex triangular earrings. So this woman, maybe she worked for my family, i'm not sure, she entered my bedroom and told me to change because my clothes were too innapropriate. So I put on these earrings that were like tiny puppets (they had hats!) and she made me wear these shiny sandals (that i'd never ever wear irl). I got very upset with her.

So I went upstairs first with my mom, and there was a party going on round the pool. The people there freaked me out, because they were wearing these very realistic fish masks. My mom had met a friend, so she allowed me to go downstairs. As I was descending I met a lady, who was with a kid and a baby. And then the baby slid from her arms and went down the stairs, like a feather. He didn't get hurt or anything, but his mom couldn't run after him, because of the kid, so I went. The baby ended up at the big dining room, so I caught him and gave him back to his mom. Then I sat at this big table and had a very merry dinner with the other people there.

Then my parents arrived and called me to go. But then this other woman that worked at the hotel called me, because the mail had arrived. Somehow I had ordered new boots like the ones the woman made me take off earlier, and they arrived that fast! So I got them and ran to the car. The car wasn't really a car, it was like a weird metal carriage.

So off we went, but then we heard the news that my father was being searched by the cops, I have no idea why. So one stopped us, but he didn't realize that the searched man was my dad, so we let us go. So because of that we stopped at this beauty store. We searched for dies to paint his hair blonde, and make up.

While my mom kept searching, I left the store and met a girl. She was mute, but I managed to understand that she needed her mom, because her tooth had fallen out. So we went to search, and found her mom at the door of an expensive bar, drinking with her friends. We tried to get her attention, but she kept shooing us, so I started screaming with her, that her daughter needed her, and that she was a horrible mom and many many things. She got very surprised and helped her daughter. Before leaving I gave the girl a card with my number, and motioned to her that we could facetime or text each other.

Then I went back to the store and the dream ended

[fayes-fics]

Moments: Chapters 1-4

Moments Masterpost

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Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, OFC (John Darby) x fem!reader

Summary: Slow-burn fic. Follow on to No Good Advice. Best to read that first, however In case you haven’t/don’t - reader has an arranged marriage to childhood friend John Darby, but has a passionate pre-marital relationship with Benedict Bridgerton which results in the conception of a child on her wedding day. Reader is now married to John Darby and he believes himself the father of the child. This fic is what happens next for all of these characters.

Word count: 4.8k (for these 4 chapters)

Warnings: angst, illness, original character death, pining. Warnings/ratings will go up in future chapters.

Authors Note: this is my first attempt at multi-chapter. Please be kind lol <3 I expect there to be at least another 4 chapters, likely more. Thank you to @makaylan for all of your wonderful advice and beta work on these chapters.

Chapter 1: Moments from a family life

John Darby is many things, but most important to you is that he is a great parent to your son James. He is a companionable husband as well. He is probably your best and certainly oldest friend in the world. There could be worse ways to spend your life. There are moments of contentment that bring you solace, and what more could you reasonably ask for?

---

The thunder wakes you up. You spring out of bed to check on baby James, on instinct, not even noticing John's side of the bed is empty,

You round the corner into the nursery but stop short. In the low candlelight is John, holding little James in his arms, swaying gently and pointing at something out the window. You can hear him talking quietly but not the words he is saying.

You lean against the doorframe, your hand closing over your chest instinctively, watching your two boys. He looks up, sees you and smiles, beckoning you over with a tilt of his head.

“James, look who is here? It's your mummy.”

“How is he?” you whisper as the rain starts beating against the window in earnest.

“He is such a good boy. Arent you James? Yes, you are.” John busses a kiss onto his forehead, and James smiles up at him. 

“I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to see him,” John explains, pulling funny faces that make James smile.

“Does the storm bother him?” you ask, curious; it's the first one you recall since he was born.

“Not at all. I think I woke him, to be honest. He’s such a good boy” John runs his hand affectionately over James' forehead and then kisses it again. “Nothing like me. I was so scared during storms as a baby and a child I used to wail. How about you?”

“Surely you remember?” You reply. He frowns, so you continue. “That time I was at your house aged 5? There was a big thunderstorm? I peed myself and had to borrow a maid's child’s dress just to go home. I was always petrified of storms until I was an adult.”

John barks a quiet laugh in response, “I remember now. You could barely walk in the thing; it drowned you. But it was the closest thing we had to your size.”

You grin at the memory too. So much shared time together. 

“So where on earth does this bravery come from, my beautiful boy?” John asks rhetorically, looking down at James. “Both of your parents were so scared, but look at you, calm as anything.”

Your smile takes on a brittle edge as you hope he doesn’t piece together too many things that don’t quite add up about James.

---

“What's this, papa?” four-year-old James comes wandering up from the side of the country path you are all walking, someplace amid the vast Darby estate on a warm spring afternoon.

He hands John a rusted metal object that is almost triangular.

“Where did you find this, James?” John asks, turning the item over in his hands, brushing off some loose soil.

“Over there by the field”, he points. “I was looking for rocks for my collection,” he adds proudly.

“Well, this is much better than a silly rock,” unseen by his father, James' little face skews into a pout at John’s passing comment. “I do believe this is a very ancient item, my son”, John continues, giving him a proud pat on the shoulder. “I would need to check with a few friends to get more detail, but I think this is an arrowhead from a spear, used hundreds of years ago.”

“Oh really, papa?” James seems awed, squinting in the sun as he looks up at his father.

“The plough must have turned it over with the soil last week,” John says thoughtfully, as much to himself as James, continuing to examine the item.

“Well done, darling,” you praise, kneeling to kiss James on the cheek.

“Can I keep it, mama?” he asks, making hands to take it back from John.

“Let’s see what your father thinks,” you answer democratically, giving John a pointed look; you can tell he wants to take it and show it to his museum friends. But you want James to have it. He did find it, and there's likely not much monetary value, certainly not to a man of the means John has. John catches your eye and sees everything in your expression, his shoulders slumping as he knows he lost the argument before it begins.

“You can, but make sure you take good care of it,” John replies indulgently, ruffling James’ chestnut hair and handing him the arrowhead. “Now, how about a lift home?”

James grins as John picks him up and places him on his shoulders, the three of you making your way back towards your house as the sun starts to bleed into the horizon - John regaling you both with stories of historical battles on the land you now walk. You smile indulgently at your boys, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun on your face.

---

“JAMES DARBY!” you hear the roar before John rounds the corner into the drawing-room from his small office next door. “What is the meaning of this?” he exclaims, holding some official-looking papers aloft, with childlike drawings scribbled over them in pencil.

“I... I drew you some pictures, papa,” James replies timidly, his lip trembling. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you happy, papa; you looked sad,” he says solemnly. “Drawings make me happy,” James adds under his breath which only you can hear as he sits at your feet.

You see all the irritation drain from John’s face as James’ blue eyes well with tears. John closes his eyes in frustration, then opens them and moves a few paces to kneel, embracing and soothing his son.

“James, I know you meant well with this,” he says after a pause, gesturing at the pages in his hand. “But this is important paperwork related to the family business; one day, you will need this paperwork to run this estate as Viscount. If you want to draw, please use the sketchpads we gave you,” he ends with a weary sigh, kissing James on the head affectionately.

“But I ran out, papa,” James answers, hugging him back.

“You used up all the sketchpads already?” John seems incredulous as he stands back up.

“He really loves to draw, dear,” you point out to John. “Also, it's in pencil; I'm sure we can erase it,”  you add to mollify your husband.

“I know that,” he replies, his tone a little short, “I just have absolutely no idea where this incessant urge comes from,” he grumbles before breaking into a bout of coughing.

“Are you alright?” you are concerned; it's the second round of coughing you have heard from him in the last hour.

“I'm fine,” his reply dismissive. “Just a cough; I was in the same office as an old man last week who was coughing; I'm sure it's nothing.” 

“Please see the doctor about it,” you request politely as you watch James go back to playing with his toys, “Your mother has just gotten over a bout of her latest ailments; I don't want her to catch something else. Especially not now the autumnal chill is in the air.”

John glances sideways at you, grudgingly acknowledging what you say is correct but not particularly wanting to heed the advice.

“Speaking of, I’m going to spend the evening at the main house with them. Do you care to join?” he inquires, almost as an afterthought.

“I'm fine here with James,” you answer truthfully. 

He nods and returns to his office. You are content to let them have Darby family time; chances are he and his father will want to talk family business, and his mother will retire early as she usually does. You would be left alone in the drawing-room there; it's much preferable to be so here, where at least you have your books. Besides, you are happiest in your house at the edge of the estate. It seems a little intimidating to think that one day you will have to move up to the grandeur of the big house when John becomes Viscount. You always pictured life in a more modest dwelling, a country house perhaps surrounded by rose bushes and some woods beyond. Not sure where that image comes from, you shake your head and return to your book.

Only a couple of days later, when you find a handkerchief spotted with blood on his desk, do you genuinely start to worry about John’s persistent cough.

Chapter 2: Moments from a tragedy 

They say tragedy comes in threes, and it indeed visits you and your son as such in a very small window of time—one very sad autumn. While the family you married into often seemed plagued with health issues of various kinds, this is still a massive shock.

John’s cough gets progressively worse over the next few weeks, and, once his parents are struck the same way, he is moved up to the big house to be monitored by the trusted Dr Smith. However, despite the doctor's valiant efforts, they all become gravely ill in frighteningly rapid succession. 

James Darby is only four and a half years old when he loses three-quarters of the only family he knows and loves - his grandfather, the viscount, his grandmother, the viscountess and his father, John - all to the dreaded consumption. He is just glad you, his beloved mama, are spared. It also means he becomes Viscount Darby before starting school, even though his father never even got to use the title.

Being a widow at 25 is not something you had ever envisaged; neither is inheriting a country estate and various assets. Well, they are inherited by your son, but for all intents and purposes, they will be your custodial concern for at least the next fourteen years. 

Mostly you grieve for your son - his whole world turned upside down so young. Your personal grief is muted and subdued. The loss of John’s friendship hurts you more than losing him as a life partner or lover. When someone you have known since childhood dies, it always feels like something is missing. 

Your husband John was an only son, and, it turns out, his son is the same. You never managed to conceive another child. 

In truth, you never even conceived one together. The more James grows up, the more that fact is staring you right back in the face. Not that John or anyone else ever suspected. But dear god, you know a Bridgerton if ever you saw one. And James is unmistakably a Bridgerton with his chestnut hair and blue eyes. He barely has any of your physical traits or features, but you don't mind. Somehow it is your greatest comfort to watch a miniature copy of the man you truly love growing up. But also your greatest source of guilt. By rights, neither of you should have any claim over the Darby estate. Yet here is your future secured and no living relatives to challenge it. 

One message of condolence of the many you receive jogs your heart the most. It’s in beautiful handwriting and accompanies an arrangement of all your favourite flowers. I am so sorry for your untimely loss. You are, always were, and always will be in my thoughts. It’s not signed, but it doesn't need to be; you know who it’s from. 

---

“Mama, is papa in heaven?” James asks you over dinner a few weeks after the funeral.

“Yes, darling. Papa, grandma and grandpa are all in heaven. But they still love you very much,” your heart aches as you watch his little mind processing the idea.

“I won't get to see them again, will I?” His voice is quiet, and he looks so sad. You pull him into your lap and drag his plate next to yours so you can eat while cuddling.

“One day, darling, a long way into the future, you will see him again,” you assure, “and he will give you the biggest hug because he misses you every day. Until then, just remember papa loves you very much and is watching down on all the good things you do. And the naughty things, so don't be too naughty,” you whisper and blow a raspberry onto his neck to lift his spirits as much as you can. 

“Stop it,” he giggles, pushing you away and spearing some food onto his fork. 

You smile, content to see his appetite back after a few weeks of barely eating.

“Mama, I don’t think I will go to the same heaven as papa and grandma and grandpa,” he says after a pause to chew and swallow.

“Of course, you will, darling,” you confirm quickly.

“I mean, I don't think I will go to the same bit of heaven,” he says, his mien thoughtful. ”I will be somewhere else, but maybe I can visit them?”

“Whatever do you mean, James?” Sometimes, you forget this child is only four years old with the intriguing and imaginative things he comes up with.

“I don't know; I just don't think they will be there,” he says with a shrug. “You will be, mama, of course. And my sisters. Not my brother, though.”

“What sisters? Brother? James, what are you talking about?” you look at him, utterly bewildered.

“I will have sisters and a brother one day,” he insists, “and some of them will be there in heaven when I arrive.” 

You frown at your child and his unshakable belief in something that makes no sense. It’s not like he even has any cousins he could be mistakenly referring to either. He has been through so much in the last few weeks that you don't want to question or refute his arguments, so you just let the subject drop.

Chapter 3: Moments from a ballroom

After the grief fades over the following months, the overwhelming feeling you are left with is loneliness. It's just you and little James on a vast estate. Yes, there are all the wonderful staff, but no one who is not in your employ to keep you company.

So you decide, not long after James’ fifth birthday, to leave your cottage on the Darby Estate - you still have never moved up to the manor house - and decamp to Darby House in London to partake in the year’s summer social season. Maybe you will see some old friends and their children, be able to catch up and feel the warmth of family and friendship again. 

Rather foolishly, it doesn't occur to you who else you might run into.

---

A few weeks later, you arrive in London after a gruelling six-hour carriage ride with just enough time to bathe, change and head out again to the inaugural event of the season, the Danbury Ball. James fell asleep during the journey, and his nanny happily carried him to bed, where he slept all night soundly. You envy him just a little bit.

You should have arrived the day before, you belatedly realise, noting your exhaustion as you pull on your gloves and appraise your reflection. It will just have to do.

As your carriage pulls up into the melee of others outside Danbury House, you have the sudden urge to run back home. It dawns on you this will be the first event you have attended as a widow. You start to fret about everything - who might you know attending? What do you even call yourself - are you a Dowager Viscountess when you never even got to be Viscountess? 

Your footman swings open the carriage door, and you realise it's too late. Taking a deep breath, you descend and follow the crowd into the main hallway. The scent of flowers, the melodic musical notes, the sight of hundreds of candles - it's all so very grand. 

“Dowager Viscountess Darby!” Lady Danbury exclaims, answering your quandary about your title with the ease of a seasoned hostess. “How delightful to see you back in London after all these years! We were all so aggrieved to hear of your husband's and in-laws' tragic loss last year. Our deepest sympathies.” 

“Thank you, Lady Danbury” genuinely grateful for such a warm welcome. “It's rather unsettling to be back in the hubbub of London, after the peace of the countryside, but seeing you and so many familiar faces is wonderful.”

“Please, enjoy your evening, and don't forget there is plenty of champagne to go around”, she ends with a conspiratorial wink before effortlessly flitting her attention to the following people entering the party.

You slowly circle the room, picking up a proffered glass of champagne. You spend a good hour catching up with faces you have not seen in years. Each, in turn, is friendly and offers sympathies. At some point, the endless merry-go-round of greetings becomes a blur of similar interactions, and you crave something a little different.  

For a change of pace, you drift to the edge of the dancefloor to watch the young ladies at the debutante ball, all aflutter with excitement and hope of a marriage match. You never got to experience the heady excitement of a season as an eligible Miss, having been matched from so young. You don't even remember a time both of your families did not refer to John as your ‘future husband’. It seems a cruel irony that he was your ‘future husband’ for almost four times as many years as your actual husband. While he was not the love of your life, he was a constant, and his presence is something you miss every day. He was, in many respects, your closest and most trusted childhood friend. It was a shame that you never felt the great love for him you believed you should have owed him. The heart can be a fickle beast.

Speaking of the heart, yours was in for a hell of a jolt. Descending a distant staircase, you suddenly see the man who stole yours six years prior and who, in all reality, still holds it and probably always will. Daily you watch the living, breathing extension of that heart grow more and more like the spitting image of his father - the man you now watch. He hasn't seen you yet, and in many ways, you hope he doesn’t. But oh god, does he look breathtaking. Dressed up as he is in black and white for the formal ball. Looking as handsome as ever. You know you are not the only one who has caught sight of him. He has been a bachelor for far too long and is prime prey for the predator mamas of the Ton, which appears to number most if not all of them.

Then it happens. Like all those years ago, the moth to a flame, he somehow inexorably finds you. His eyes land on you, and you feel akin to a butterfly trapped under glass, helpless and pinned to the spot. You watch as an entire catalogue of reactions crosses his face, likely a mirror image of your own. After a few moments of intense eye contact, he leans toward the person standing next to him, a young woman you don't recognise and says something to her. Still, his eyes don't leave yours. You can tell from her appearance that she's not a Bridgerton, and suddenly you get that oily unrestful feeling in your stomach. That can only mean one thing, surely? Has Benedict Bridgerton done the unthinkable and found himself an eligible woman? 

It's ridiculous that your overwhelming emotion is jealousy. You were quite literally married to another man for the last few years. And yet. And yet. That's precisely what it is. Somehow in your mind, Benedict should always always be yours, even if you are not his. A patently absurd notion of ownership. 

Before you can entertain any more ridiculous ideas, you decide it's best not to find out anything else tonight. You are mentally and physically exhausted; seeing him just tipped your scales, and there is no other logical course of action to take.

You turn around and flee, not looking back as you enter your carriage and steal off back to Darby House.

Chapter 4: Moments from a drawing room

Mid-morning the following day, after a restless night of haunted dreams, your butler informs you of a visitor.

“There’s a Mr Bridgerton here to see you, my lady.”

Oh, good grief. You wouldn’t mind the ground swallowing you up right about now, but sadly no such convenient fate awaits you.

“Send him in,” you sigh, smoothing down your dress, knowing you will have to explain what happened last night.

“Lady Darby,” he bows politely, entering the room. He, unfortunately for you, looks stunning in the signature Bridgerton blues today. Your body still reacts as it did years ago, as it did last night. He's so much closer than he was yesterday. Within a few feet, too close. Danger, danger is all your mind is screaming. 

“God's sake Benedict, just call me y/n,” you bemoan, already frustrated with yourself.

He frowns, slightly perplexed by your outburst “y/n” he amends slowly. “I just wanted to check you are well after you left the Danbury Ball in such a hurry last night; we didn't even get the chance to greet each other.”

“I am fine”, you reassure, gesturing for him to sit opposite you, which he does. “I’d forgotten what a whirlwind those events can be. I've been used to the quiet country life for too long, I suppose. I haven't been to London for years, and I just found it all a bit too much after the journey down yesterday.” you shrug, knowing you are babbling nervously.

“Yes, that's understandable. So there was no other reason?” he inquires pointedly.

“No, why would there be?” Your reply is a little sharp as you distractedly play with a loose thread on your dress.

“No reason,” he schools his expression with a bite of his lip and downcast eyes. Oh, the cocky bastard. You definitely won't give him the damn satisfaction of admitting that, yes, seeing him was part of the ‘all a bit too much’ you alluded to. 

“Hubris doesn't suit you, Mr Bridgerton”, you admonish, slightly playful, despite yourself.

He shoots you his signature crooked smile of old, and quite suddenly, all the air has apparently left the room. The warning sign in your mind flashes brighter as your eye contact lingers. Good god, you itch to touch him. 

But there are also so many questions. Who was that woman he was with at the ball? Are they a couple? If so, why is he here with you today, flirting as no time has passed?

The noise of a door opening loudly down the hallway breaks the spell between you.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I just wanted to drop by and check on you briefly, say hello properly after all these years - hello, by the way. I'm on my way to a family lunch; well, actually, I'm already late for it. So I won't bother you any further,” he states, going to stand up again so soon, to your relief and consternation.

You hear a rush of tiny footsteps approaching outside the room and realise there is nothing you can do to stop what is about to happen next.

“Mama, mama, look at what I made!” James comes running into the drawing-room holding aloft a piece of paper, brightly daubed with red, green and blue paint. The paint is still wet and is all over his hands and wrists.

Benedict freezes as James runs by, rooted to the spot. It’s the moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating for more than five years.

James smears paint on his forehead absentmindedly as he pushes a lock of hair away and leans into your knees to show you proudly what he has painted.

“That is a kite, and that is a flower,” he says, getting yet more paint on his fingers as his pointing presses into the paper.

“It’s lovely, darling,” you kiss his cheek indulgently, “but we have company,” attempting to shush his enthusiasm.

James whirls around and looks up at Benedict. Blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Your world shifts. Benedict knows. In an instant. The way any man knows his offspring. The way he looks at you. At his son. At you again. It’s all in slow motion and so fast at the same time.

“This is Mr Bridgerton,” you say to the back of your son's head, your voice unsteady, not wanting to meet Benedict’s gaze again. “Say hello.”

James steps forward and squares his little shoulders.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton. I’m James Darby, and I like to paint.” He smiles winningly and holds out his picture proudly—quite the introduction.

Benedict crouches to his knee, staring at the boy, his face a kaleidoscope of emotions. 

“Hello, James. You can call me Benedict. I also like to paint,” his voice almost cracks on the last word. “That’s a wonderful picture, James,” he adds softly. 

“Are you here to paint as well?” James asks with the uncomplicated logic and curiosity of a child. 

“Your mummy is an old friend of mine, and we were just catching up”, Benedict answers truthfully, looking over James’ shoulder at you, “it appears we have a lot to discuss.” 

You try to ignore his pointed remark.

He focuses back on your son, his son. “But I’d be happy to paint with you any other time, James.” 

Your heart flutters at the thought.

James nods and runs out of the room. “Goodbye, Mr Bridgerton! I'm going to paint some cows!” his carefree voice peals from the hallway.

There is silence as Benedict slowly gets back to his feet. You stand up as well; it seems only fitting for the moment.

“Is he?” his voice seems shell-shocked; it's only just sinking in.

“Yes” is all you can say.

“How long have you known?” he sounds winded.

“I think I've always known”, you respond truthfully.

“The… the wedding day?” he questions.

“Could only be”, your responding shrug.

“Are there others? Does James have siblings?” he clarifies when you frown.

“No. We were never blessed” you hang your head.

“I don't think that's because of any fault on your part”, he responds. “James seems very fine, healthy.” That point had never really occurred to you before. James was indeed an uncomplicated pregnancy, always a healthy child. But then, he was never indeed a Darby.

There is a long silence. 

“Why did you not tell me?” Benedict hisses.

“I… what good would it have done?” you whisper back, distressed.

“I could have… I don't know,” he gestures vaguely.

“Benedict, James had a wonderful childhood until this tragedy. No one had any suspicions. He was loved by a family; he had a life of comfort and safety. He wanted and continues to want for nothing. He is now a Viscount, for god's sake. He has the same rank as your brother Anthony.” 

Your point makes him bristle slightly, which you regret.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he says after a long moment.

“Thank you, it's been an adjustment,” you reply carefully. “James has taken it all in his stride, considering.” 

“Because he has a wonderful mother,” Benedict expresses fiercely.

It makes you look up at his face. Oh god, you ache for him. He is still so so beautiful, just like his son.

“Believe me, more than anything, I want him to know the truth,” you begin, having to look away, “but you know he never can. It would jeopardise everything he has.”

“I know that; I would never want that.” He pauses and closes his eyes for a few moments. “But I would like to get to know him? Spend some time with him? If that's okay?” He hedges, almost nervous.

You exhale a breath you didn't know you had been holding. 

“Nothing would make me happier,” you respond a little jaggedly, a tear forming in your eye.

“I don't want to, but I really must go. I'm now so very late for that family lunch,” he says, pained.

“No, no, of course, please do.” You wipe the corner of your eye subtly as you can. “Thank you for dropping by to check on me. And I'm sorry again about last night. It's been a good few years since I was part of the London scene, and it was all slightly overwhelming.”

“I understand, and please, please pass on my goodbyes to James”, his voice hopeful.

“I will” 

He moves half a step forward as if to embrace you, and you inhale sharply, wanting nothing more. At the last minute, he seems to change his mind and pulls back, giving you a brief, polite bow and turning on his heels.

You collapse onto the fainting couch, just now realising what an apt name that is.

The following day at breakfast, your butler informs you of the delivery of a child-sized easel and paint palette. He hands you the accompanying envelope. Inside, the note in that beautiful, familiar handwriting reads: 

To James, from one artist to another, paint fearlessly, Benedict.

That utterly wonderful, utterly frustrating man.

[superjumpintomyheart]

How about some North California wedding headcanons? I love them sm let’s go lesbians

AWWEE YEAH BABY WE'RE COMPLETING THE LESBIAN WEDDING TRIO!!! (pearlina, agent 24, north california) lets go lesbians!!!

Nori is the one who proposed, she planned a whole date for the two of them and made sure callie got her nails done and just gave her the most magical night ever. She told Callie about how much she loves her and how much they've been through together, then she spoke in octarian, "My sunshine, my golden light, Callie... will you marry me?"

Callie cried a lot because she was so happy, the engagement ring is a beautiful trillion cut diamond that has tiny refractions of rainbow light inside it, on a silver band that has accentuating triangular diamonds on either side of the main setting.

When they actually have the wedding, Callie get's the wedding band and it's a simple silver as well with small pink and white diamonds alternating colors.

Nori's wedding set is non traditional and gorgeous, a marquise cut black diamond sitting on a silver band that kind of twirls out from where the main setting is. The wedding band is silver and adds two round cut, deep magenta diamonds sitting on each side of the black one, creating this sort of angular design.

Marina is Nori's Maid of Honor, and Marie is Callie's ofc ofc

Callie has a lot more social connections than Nori, but they keep their wedding fairly small to just celebrate the love between them without either of them feeling overwhelmed.

NSS members are all invited, some participate in the bridal parties (aka captain 3 in callie's) but most are just there to attend.

Deep cut is there as well! Big man probably helps MC it or is the priest who marries them or something, I think he'd be certified for that

Instead of saying their vows to each other in front of everyone they have a private moment where they share their intimate vows with each other, then during the ceremony they lock those papers inside a box to signify them keeping their promises forever (my cousin did this at his wedding and im stealing the idea bc its precious)

Callie wears a flowy white dress, it's strapless with a sweetheart neckline and the bodice hugs her figure well. The top is jeweled to the nines, various sizes of sparkling crystals decorate her chest and upper body and cover almost the entire bodice. The transition from jeweled top to the skirt of the dress is smooth with the jewels continuing to spread out as they move downward. Then it becomes is a soft and fluffy floor length gown, its lightweight and bouncy just like her.

Nori wears a classic white suit and a floral tie, with jeweled accents that match Callie's dress. They are sprinkled along the shoulders of the jacket, the rim of her sleeve cuffs, and two lapel pins on each side of her collar shine like the diamond in Callie's ring.

The two of them are pristine and sleek together, Nori having gained so much confidence since when she first met Callie all those years ago. The wedding is a dream come true for both of them.

Their honeymoon is definitely on the beach! they rent like a vacation home or something right on the shore so they can just walk right down to the ocean whenever they want. Callie is a beach girl- can't be called California and not be a beach girl, and Nori is too! She just didn't know it until they went.

i got a bit carried away i hope this is alright i know i didn’t write as much for the other ships kshdfdfkjshk 

[lvnatiq]

Random Relationship Headcanons | Felix Escellun x gn!reader

a/n: Hey ! On todays menu I am serving you modern au relationship headcanons. I know for a fact that I can’t write headcanons AT ALL yet here we are, out of spite I will keep trying until I can manage to write good shit. I’m going through a chaotic time in my life so please be patient with me 😭

I’m currently working on tattoo artist! reader x Felix headcanons and college!enemies to lovers one-shot. Knowing that Felix’s fav trope is enemies to lovers, I will post it hopefully before his new chapter drops. I used most of the hcs that were sent to me but if you couldn’t see yours, then it will probably be used on the other works.

No beta we die like men.

warnings: curse words, nsfw under the cut, random sage moments, felix being a ‘the neighborhood’ song basically.

You persuade him to start an Instagram account, and because of his family's popularity, he quickly gains followers. His account is practically empty because he would rather spend his time stalking your account on Instagram. You noticed the emptiness and wanted to take him out and take some photos for his account, which turned out amazingly. He is a little camera shy, so be patient with him.

You like to watch him apply his eyeliner but he finds it so stressing to do under your gaze.  He used to be able to do it easily, but it has now become one of his most difficult tasks. You wanted to ask for his assistance in applying eyeliner to you in the hopes of making it simpler for him; he agreed but quickly regretted it when he realized how near your faces would be. You with your eyes closed, waiting for him to drag the line as he was only thinking about how bad he wanted to kiss you. 

Felix has a Polaroid of you and stella in his wallet I said what I said.

When it comes to himself, he can be a pessimist, but when it comes to you, he is the most loving and positive boyfriend you could ever ask for. You have a dream ? He is ready to help you achieve it. Do you want to change in your life ? Go for it, He’s more excited than you are.

He can be quite insecure at times when it comes to your relationship because he feels like you deserve the world but the world is too big for his tiny hands. Will his cuddles be enough ? God he hopes so.

He almost cried when you told him you loved him for the first time. He's also baffled as to how you might feel the same way about him.

Drunk Felix is really clingy and honest. Whatever he can’t say sober drunk felix can and definitely will.

“May the stars let my death be between your glorious thighs amen-“ “Felix-”

Felix is weird but it add to his charm. It’s not unusual for you to wake up in the middle of the night and find the pillow besides yours empty. In the dead of night, you will find Felix munching on some weird ass food combinations.

He also has a habit of doing things that are extremely adorable without even noticing it. Like walking around the house in his oversized shirts, his hand clutching at the cuffs whilst the other one sheepishly rubs his eye.

“Can I lay on your lap ? I promise I won’t fall asleep. I just need to rest for a little.” His voice is so soft and hushed. “Of course, come here.” He throws himself onto you as he comes hopping on his tip toes.

He falls asleep on his desk too often, so you have to carry him back to his room, where he snuggles against you while you lead him there. Once he's in his room, he insists that you stay with him, so you wait until he falls asleep as you play with his hair, and he wakes up thinking it was all a dream.

I firmly believe that Felix’s love language is acts of service. Like making you coffee and bringing you random snacks as you work or wrapping you up in fluffy blankets whenever he catches you slacking on the couch.

He's been romanticizing anything and everything since he met you. When he sees beautiful flowers, he wants to bring them to you, but he also believes that their beauty stems from the fact that they are alive, so he argues and stresses a lot when deciding what to do in simple situations like these.

His edginess belongs to his impulsiveness and his style only at any other situation he's a complete softboy.

And I'm certain he knows a variety of card tricks. He enjoys showing off, and he enjoys it even more when you become fascinated and beg him to share the trick.

If you're a morning person, you'll probably spend your mornings alone in solitude, finishing work before the day begins, but if you're a night owl, you and Felix will go out for night walks and Felix would go out for night walks, sharing headphones to play some music, enjoy each others presence and develop a habit of watching the sunrise together.

Felix makes you playlists at the most random times and with the most random names. Until one day he sent you a playlist at around 4 a.m called “you”, filled with his favorite music. He usually sees music as a safe space for himself and now that you are his safe place too it’s only appropriate for him to do so. This only further proves how he spends his time thinking about you.

I feel like Felix would have what most would call "attachment issues" but it’s mainly because of his protective tendencies. This is not to say that he’s this "overly jealous toxic" character; rather, he has never had anyone to truly call his own in his entire life so he would do anything to protect it.

Felix is also big on astrology, so if you want the perfect birth chart, he'll give it to you. Also he owns a lovely deck of tarot cards, and if you ask him for a love reading, he can't manage to keep his words and feelings to himself so he modifies your reading according to him and his desires. Let the boy abuse his powers for the sake of love.

His style could be described as dark academia, his wardrobe mainly consists of dark colors, lots and lots of blazers and a lot of oversized shirts. He also loves jewelry so he owns a lot of rings and chains. Just so you know, if you're wearing any of his rings, his heart is doing cartwheels.

Is it obvious that he loves it when you place your hand in his and play with his rings with your fingertips.

Spoil him. Buy him that baby blue hoodie with cat ears.

“Ah, you look adorable.” “Isn’t it a bit too b-big ?” “You could say that. Do you mind ?” “No, I like it that way.” “I would know.” You smirk followed by felix’s gasp. “If you so desperately wanted a cat boy you know you have me right ?” Nudging your shoulder, Sage leapt into the conversation. “What is he talking about ?”  Felix grumbled, only to notice two fuzzy triangular fabrics on top of his head as he brushed his fingertips over it.

He’s obsessed with your hands, kissing your knuckles, drawing circles in your palm. At a certain point it became an involuntary gesture he does it quite often without realizing.

He’s also canonically extremely blushy but he would never admit it. You’re convinced he uses some sort of make up because it is not possible for the pink dusting his cheeks to look this good.

He insists that you’re cold even in the warmest weathers because he wants to see you in his coat.

Sage forces Felix to take his thirst trap Tiktoks.

He really appreciates it when you add to his herbal tea collection without him noticing and he considers it a sign of affection because he takes his tea very seriously.

He loses it when you call him baby he gets flustered and frustrated but it’s all because it rolls off of your tongue so nicely that he can’t get enough of it.

Felix owns a broad collection of scented lip balms some of them are tinted. You didn’t hear this from me.

He never once took anything the Sage says seriously until he saw how well you two got along. He never thought that he would be standing there taking relationship and flirting advice from the frat boy.

Felix is a complete asshole when he wants to. He’s very verbal about it too. Consistent sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. I mean it runs in his blood, look at Escell.

You love it when he suddenly whips out the confident Felix, it’s not a daily occurrence you know.

When Felix is concentrated, he’s lost and there’s almost no way you or anything else can distract him. So it’s time to grab some colorful hair clips and ties to fuck around with his hair.

Felix is not the best at verbally expressing his gratitude towards you. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t there for him at the lowest points of his life where normally he would close himself and bare the weight of his family problems and personal life issues that he can’t seem to get out of. Now he has you, someone who’s willing to listen to him and offer him a warm embrace when he needs the most. 

While you to play games together, when he wins he wears that iconic shit eating grin of his with pride looking at you through the corner of his eye. “Shit, what do you want me to say to that felix ? Perhaps I should call you master now that you won ‘one’ fucking round.” He is praying that the screen light is covering the fact that he is a blushy mess after hearing you say that.

NSFW

I cannot stress this enough but he is extremely vocal in bed. Whining, trying to restrict himself from making too much noise but failing miserably.

Muffled pants, choked sobs and lots of pleasure infused tears.

He loves getting praised during sex but what he loves more is to get praised after it’s all over. Like you telling him how great he was, how well he behaved, how good he made you feel. He experiences sub drops a lot so please assure him that he did well :(

He’s into power-play but not in a submissive or dominant kind of relationship, it’s more of a psychological thing where the fact that he can see how good he makes you feel gives him a rush of confidence and adrenaline.

I believe that this motherfucker is a masochist, pain makes him more excited than getting an update on his favorite author who went on a year long hiatus and that is saying a lot.

Bite him. Scratch him. It is so stimulating for him he can reach his high just from those actions.

Fuck do anything to his ears bite, lick, pull, blow on it. He is extremely sensitive so anything you do will basically drive him out of his mind. It will most definitely lead to him trembling beneath your fingertips.

You must think that you are the only one who is such a tease but you’re wrong. Felix teases you quite often mostly to direct your attention towards him or to keep your attention on him. He’s quite greedy when it comes to you and your hands on his body. Unbuttoning unnecessary amount of buttons on his shirt to show a little skin that he knows you’ll notice. Playing with his necklace placing the chain between his lips dragging it towards the inside of his bottom lip teasing the metallic charm with the tip of his tongue. He definitely ain’t oblivious he knows exactly what he’s doing and he makes sure that you know exactly what he’s doing.

When he’s in the mood he will tug the hem of your top meanwhile his eyes are glued to the floor or graze the temples of his glasses between his lips, his teeth lightly nibbling the pointy edge. He loves to play dumb too. When you question him, he acts like he doesn’t intend anything and that you need to get your head out of the gutter.

At the end of the session Felix looks divine. Drool leaking down from his bottom lip to his jaw line towards his neck, his bangs sticking on his sweat coated forehead, his chest rising up and down quickly. His eyes rolled at the back of his head, his hands still clutching tightly to the sheets. Faint whimpers and deep breaths filling the air.

Leading up to the after care, his shy self returns. He buries his face to your chest hiding his blushy cheeks beneath the palms of his hands.

He likes to experiment a lot and you are his favorite subject.

It shouldn’t be surprising to find random kink definitions or role-play ideas on the search history of your laptop. After all Felix just asked for it to write an email, that’s all there is to it. That’s until you offer to try them out.

He doesn’t act upon his jealousy, what he does instead is that leaving marks on you especially around your neck and your chest where he knows it will show. Don’t cover them up if you don’t wanna deal with him.

“People just don’t appreciate art anymore.” “Felix these are, hickeys.” “Oh so now you are judging my art medium ?” “Since when proving Sage that I got railed by you is a form of art ?”

I didn’t see anyone point this out but whenever he is in the sub space he tends to be more on the bratty side. He starts of shy but his confidence builds up as the tension rises. Meaning that you should be ready to get your patience tested.

When you two are in separate places your suggestive words and tone leads up to phone sex, which Felix secretly fantasized about a lot. What made everything even more dirty was the fact that you didn’t know that he was laying on your bed surrounded by your scent and humping your pillow. Once you come back home you are greeted with a fresh pair of sheets on your bed. Apparently Felix decided to do you a favor and clean your room as well as the the whole house. He’s crossing fingers that you don’t notice because he knows that he’ll never hear the end of it.

Felix knows a lot about sex but his knowledge is based upon fiction rather than experience. So, naturally, he is more interested about learning specifically how your body responds to certain actions, what you enjoy and what you’re interested in so teach him. He’s a good student and oh well he’s a quick learner.

Pull his hair pull his hair put his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair.

When he settles between your legs as he ties his hair, he places the hairband between his lips and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. It’s his definition of torture.

Even though he doesn’t give off that vibe, he is very freaky if you would’ve known what his AO3 tags consisted of you would agree.

Tag list is open

[snusbandxknifewife]

Sticky ficky 9

~~~~

That’s right hoes, I’m back and bringing you more sticky ficky content. I really set this chapter up expecting to introduce work on a string but it didn’t happen I PROMISE I SET IT UP FOR NEXT CHAPTER THO

~~~~~~

Silence greeted Jude as she stepped, shaking and weak, out of the shower. She could still see bits and pieces of her dream in her mind’s eye, could still feel the sharpness of Cardan’s nails digging into her neck and smell Balekin’s rotting flesh.

She tried to take deep breaths, to swallow around the painful lump in her throat, but she couldn’t find the strength to.

Just as she was about to start hyperventilating again, she heard a knock at the door. It started soft, just three delicate raps. But when nobody answered, the knocking became louder.

Funny, Vivienne and Oak should still be home. Why weren’t they opening the door?

Jude kept her plush blue towel wrapped tightly around her and walked through the apartment, her wet feet threatening to slip on the linoleum floors.

“Fucking calm down, I’m here,” she griped as the person on the other side continued to beat at the door. Still, nothing couldn’t prepared her for what she saw on the other side.

There, out in the hallway, was Heather.

She opened the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “Vivienne isn’t here.”

Heather brightened upon seeing her, only dulling slightly at the mention of her ex before smiling once more and pushing into the apartment.

“I’m not here for Vivi,” she stated. “I’m here for you.”

Jude, who couldn’t stop the puzzlement from showing on her face, merely watched as Heather continued through the apartment she’d once shared. She was carrying a long sleeve of fabric, longer even than her leg, tucked up under her arm.

Heather stopped in front of Jude’s door and motioned for her to enter. Jude raised a brow in response.

“Get dressed,” she ordered. “We’re going out.”

She said it with enough confidence that Jude didn’t even question it. She moved robotically, going to her room and dressing in comfortable leggings and an old concert hoodie. As she laced up her boots, she studied her sister’s ex lover.

“Why are you here?” Jude finally asked.

“I told you, I’m here for you,” she answered, then her face faltered a bit. “I need someone to talk to about,” she sighed, “everything. It’s messing with my head and I can’t figure it all out”

Reasonable enough, Faerie can unhinge even the most sane of people.

Jude, dressed and ready, nodded for Heather to lead the way. It didn’t even occur to her as she walked out the door that it was the first time in weeks she’d left her self-determined prison. After the dream, she was tired, too bone tired to think about her own sorrow.

She was tired enough to try something new.

Neither woman spoke as they hopped on the bus. Being late morning, most people in the city were already at work. It was just them and the bus driver, sitting in a comfortable silence that was broken only by the humming of passing cars.

As they got off the bus and the smell of salt hit Jude, she finally asked what they were doing.

“I always used to go kite flying when I needed to think,” Heather explained. “ I’d go with my dad when I was younger and Vivi when we were together. It helped me talk things out.”

Jude blinked against the sunlight, her body still used to the Faerie timeline.

“I can’t exactly talk this out with dear old dad,” she reasoned. Jude snorted.

It was the first sound that resembled a laugh she’d made in weeks.

When she was a little girl and her parents still lived, they always used to go to the beach during the summer. She can remember days spent building castles out of sand and doing cartwheels down the coastline, searching the water with her twin for any sign of mermaids.

The mermaids she’d imagined were far sweeter than the ones who really lived.

“C’mon, kick your shoes off!”

So Jude did. She tucked her socks into her boots and tied the laces so she could hang them round her shoulders while they walked. Together, Jude and Heather stepped off the boardwalk and into the sand, the warmth of the sun-baked earth seeping into the bottoms of their feet.

They walked in silence and Jude thanked whatever gods existed for the fact that the surf was calm that day. They could barely hear the ocean and hardly anyone was in the water.

“Here looks like a good spot,” Heather decided aloud, dropping her shoes and the sleeve she carried.

“What’s that?”

“My dual-line,” she answered, pulling fabric and strings and handles and sticks out of the sleeve. “I figured I’d bring the easy one, in case you wanted to try.”

“I’ve never seen a kite that looked like that,” Jude observed the mess of black and purple and green nylon as Heather began to unravel the strings from around the handle.

Heather grinned at her, laying out some forty feet of line. “It was handmade by a guy down in Georgia. My dad bought it from the artist. It was my first stunt kite, I never liked mono-lines.”

Jude watched quietly as the other girl set up the vaguely triangular kite, testing the tension on the carbon fiber rods that held the fabric open before using a lark’s head knot to tie either of the handle’s strings to separate sides of the kite.

“Watch this,” Heather grinned, setting the kite down so it was being pushed back by the wind.

So Jude crosses her arms and watched Heather walk her way back to the handles, keeping the kite’s lines taught so it didn’t go over into the sand. Then, when she’d gotten the handles firmly grasped, she took a step back.

And the kite launched into the sky.

For all the beauty Jude had witnessed in Faerie, nothing was quite like this. It flew, nothing like a bird and everything like a leaf gliding through the wind. Though the colors were glaringly unnatural, it still gave off a calming sense of beauty.

Jude had become so used to the terrifying version of pretty that she’d forgotten what mundane beauty could look like. She’d forgotten how much she’d loved it.

Heather whooped as she caught the wind, pulling the line in her right hand towards her so the kite did a spin in the air and laughing at how it oversteered. They squinted together, watching the kite fall and then rise as it lost and caught gusts of air.

Jude smiled. It was small, and it was gone quickly, but she’d smiled all the same.

“Would you like to try?” Heather asked and she nodded, letting her friend hand her the handles and then stand behind her to help her get the hang of things.

“If you want it to turn left, pull the left handle towards you. For right, pull the right. Don’t move the handles side to side. Lift them up for the kite to go higher and pull them down for it to go lower,” she explained, laughing loudly as Jude promptly did exactly the wrong thing and sent the kite smashing into the ground.

“Oh shit—“

“Don’t worry!” Heather exclaimed, running over to the downed kite. “They’re tough!”

She picked up the kite and set the tip back towards the sky, holding it aloft and telling Jude to step back. When she did, Heather launched the kite once more.

What must’ve been an hour passed as she taught Jude the ins and outs of stunt flying. She got talking about her foils and her quad-lines and how her mother knew how to spin a mono-line and keep it in the air. She told Jude stories of competitions she’d watched and festivals she’d been to. She even mentioned how she’d started a kite flying club in her highschool.

“It’s just something about the way the wind whispers through the trees on a good day,” she grinned. “Sets my soul at ease. Nothing quite clears the mind like a kite in the sky.”

“We don’t have kites in Faerie,” Jude whispered, almost reverent in her tone. “I suppose it loses its appeal when so many people can fly themselves.”

She passed the handles back to Heather, who began doing tricks like a seasoned professional.

“Faerie loses its appeal when the people have no appreciation for simple things,” Heather whispered back, sounding perturbed. “Like trust, for that matter.”

Jude snorted as Heather made the kite fly in a square. “Trust? In Faerieland? Vivi didn’t prepare you at all.”

Heather shot her a look and the two stared at each other for a long time until the kite crashed down again.

She walked to grab the kite and launch it for Heather.

“How’d you survive? Back when you were a child, I mean.”

Jude crosses her arms, moving back to her previous spot, keeping her eyes on the kite the whole time.

“Madoc viewed us as his responsibility after he killed Mom and Dad,” she shrugged. “And we were children. The fae are usually very careful with children, even human ones. Babies are so unbelievably rare that to harm a child would be unthinkable for most.”

She allowed herself to look back over and catch Heather watching her.

“I suppose we just got lucky that we had enough time to learn the ways of Elfhame.”

Heather turned back to the kite.

“And we used a lot of Rowan berries and salt.”

The other girl pursed her lips and sent the kite careening towards the sand, saving it at the last possible moment. “I just don’t understand how an entire people can be so unbearably cruel. So evil and manipulative, especially when they can’t lie.”

“They’re self-satisfying,” she offered like it wasn’t a bad thing. “A way of life that you either get used to or get crushed by.”

“Don’t they ever get tired of being selfish?”

“Why would they?” Jude half laughed. “It gets them what they want.”

She let the kite fall and neither woman went to retrieve it.

“Do you ever get tired of playing their game?” Heather asked.

Jude blinked, her fingers tapping a soundless rhythm on the elbow of her crossed arm as she stared out into the calm, glassy sea.

“I get tired of losing it,” she finally answered. “And I tire of the fact that I only lose when my selfishness isn’t driven by destruction.”

Together they sat down and Heather, sensing Jude wasn’t done, waited for the younger woman to continue.

“I’ve killed more people than I care to count, bathed in blood and dug secret graves in the dead of night. I’ve engineered the fall of the eldest Greenbriar child and, unknowingly, helped set the stage for the fall of the others.”

“I’ve dominated meetings and outsmarted countless people I shouldn’t have been able to outsmart.” She finally turned to look at Heather. “I’ve done all this and more. So why is it that it only works when I’m hurting someone? Why is it that, on the briefest occasion I do something out of love—be it crowning Cardan to protect my brother or taking a lover for myself for once or giving myself to a man in marriage because I genuinely thought he cared—why is it that love breeds failure for me?”

Heather blinked calmly, weighing the question in her mind, rolling her thoughts around on her tongue and playing with the handles of her kite as it fluttered oh-so-slightly on the sand.

“I don’t think love breeds failure for you,” she finally started, “merely success that you aren’t comfortable with.”

Jude raised a brow at her before leaning back in the sand, throwing her arms across her face to block her eyes from the sun.

“Jude, I’m serious!” Heather insisted. “I get that ruling through Cardan didn’t go as smoothly as you liked, but Oak got to be safe here. He gets to be a normal kid for awhile, learn some basic kindness.”

She went to respond, but Heather cut her off.

“And yeah that Locke guy was a complete and total tool, but plenty of men are. It wasn’t your insistence on loving him that made him a two-timing whore and your sister a back-stabbing bitch.”

Jude couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“And, while I’ll admit I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Cardan right now, the fact remains that you’re still married. He could’ve tried to divorce you instead of sending you away. That has to count for something, right?”

“He banished me for murdering his brother,” she felt her face sour at the very idea of Balekin. “Never mind that he challenged me to a duel and, per the rules of courtesy and the fae’s slavish insistence on obeying it, I couldn’t turn him down.”

Heather opened her mouth.

“And never mind that he forced me to kiss him in the Undersea—“

“WOAH!” Heather exclaimed and Jude went quiet. “He did what?”

She uncovered her face and opened an eye, squinting up at her friend and raising her brows at the shocked expression that she wore.

“When I was trapped in the Undersea he made me come to him,” she explained, covering her face once more. “I guess he had an idea that I might feel something for his brother so he forced me to kiss him the same way I’d kiss Cardan. He thought me glamoured, I had no choice.”

“Jude that’s assault.”

“Add it to the thousand other things that’ve been done to me. You get used to it after awhile.”

She felt Heather’s hand on her shoulder and started, uncovering her face in shock and finding the older girl staring at her in horror.

“Jude that’s not right. Just because it happens a lot doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

She chewed the inside of her lip as Heather’s face scrunched up in determination. “You should use some of your murdery badassery next time someone tries that shit on you. I’ll help, I’ve got a taser that looks like lipstick.”

Jude wanted to laugh, but the completely serious look that Heather wore stopped her.

How long it had been since someone was willing to go to war for her and her alone. Well, if you ignore what Cardan did to get her freed from the Undersea. But was that really the same? He’d not lifted a finger, and he’d had the power of half an army and magic that could boil the sea.

Heather has nothing, likely not even basic fight training, and she was still ready to back Jude up.

“How are you handling things since,” Jude changed the subject, “y’know, with Vivi?”

Heather’s face soured and she huffed, staring out at the sea.

“I’m so angry,” she admitted. “I could get over her not preparing me, I could get over the whole cat thing. But taking my memories? Deciding that I’m not adult enough or strong enough to remember what’s been done to me? I don’t know if that’s forgivable.”

The way her voice broke at the end told Jude everything she needed to know and she wrapped her arm around Heather.

“But you want to forgive her.”

“You know I do,” she sounded so forlorn. “I love her so much Jude, but I don’t know how we cone back from something this devastating.”

“If you figure it out, I wanna be the first to know,” Jude snorted and Heather cracked a smile once again. “What a pair we make.”

“I’ve never been friends with a murderer before. Or a queen, for that matter,” Heather observed. “Do you get used to it?”

“The murder part? Absolutely.”

Heather shot her a rueful grin. “I have much less of a problem with you getting used to that then the assault thing.”

“What a coincidence,” Jude laughed. “Me too.”

~~~~

The Jude and Heather friendship I always needed in my life. Next chapter will be Jude and Heather go to/have gone to a kite shop and seen the worms on a string. Some WILL be purchased I promise.

I know it’s no Cardan and no sticky hands but I needed some Jude healing. I think we can all agree she needed to talk through her feelings with someone who was close enough to care but far enough away to point out when she wasn’t being treated right.

~~~

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @sweetlyvillainous @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231

[animatewarriorcats]

Do you have any tips for making animation-friendly designs? My designs are intentionally accurate to real-life cats, and I love them, but I know they would be super tedious to animate, or even use in a comic! How do you make such simple designs that are still so amazing and beautiful?

Well, it just takes practice and iterations I think! Mostly. But I have a few tips that I fall back on frequently I could share so Here’s my quick hot take on making animation designs:

Simplicity is your friend. I had a professor that used a term “simplexity” to describe the balance needed in order to make a character unique and easily recognizable, but also not hell to render out in a full animation. This is going to mean different things for different productions, for example something on the scale of Disney can have a character like John silver with a multi faceted robot arm whereas if we’re trying to do something low budget (*COUGHforfreeCOUGH*) you’re going to want to minimize the headache people have when drawing your character by leaning into the simple side of this term, so that they don’t want to murder you and will still be your friend after the project is over. (more under the cut!)

So what does this mean exactly? You’ll want to keep the line mileage to a minimum. For cats, this means limit the amount of detail and rendering you give the fur in your linework. I’ve seen Artists who break this rule magnificiently (like Raevi goddaMN GIRL) but for a design it is much easier on artists to streamline down to core body shapes and key character Accents in the fur (like tail shapes, cheek floofs ect). This can be pretty diverse, but I’d minimize it as much as possible (if possible down to three accents, more on this later).

For examples, On lionblazes design (line art only at this point) his Character traits are his tail shape, Mane, and Scribbly eyebrows, all aspects that mean more strokes are being taken and work done, but that are easily recognizable between frames, and artists. I also have brought up Dovewing’s design because it’s more complex in it’s line art, but I could simplify it down even more to just her butt shoulder and ear floofs and still recognize her character silhouette. In fact, paring it down even further would strengthen her recognizability.

The amount of strokes you have people draw in cleanup will drastically change the amount of time it takes to render a character. Between Firestar and Bramblepaw in this shot Bramble easily took twice as long to line (or more!) thanks to his beautiful luscious curls.

Next! Principle I use in simplexity is the rule of three. For whatever reason, the number three is your best friend.  It’s not as weirdly symmetrical as two or four, and maintains a unique organic-ness to it without getting carried away by five or seven. Now what am I even talking about? Pretty much everything. This is the secret of markings. This is the secret of character accents. This is the secret of color picking. The Rule of three is your best friend.  

Take Brambleclaw for example.  I gave him three stripes/markings on his face, and three on his side. It feels nice and natural and organic, without being overwhelming. I also gave him three specific fur accents in his line art, his ear tips/eyebrows, Belly floof, and shoulder puff. I used the rule of three in picking his colors, three main pelt colors, and three accent colors (eyes are always gonna be more complex if desired, people love rendering the shit out of eyes) and even so, three colors for the eyes. I used his lightest pelt color in only three places, and his Pink color in only three places, and his darkest color in only three places (eyebrows, Tail tip, and if I had thought to write it down, his paw pads). Even his forehead marking has three parts to it. You do it enough and it becomes really natural and subconscious. Of course, like all rules, you can still break it if you need to, but It has been one of my best friends.

Alright last thing to think about for now, (see what I did there? There are more things, but it helps people remember better to learn Three at a Time), are Shapes. Specifically using Simple identifiable shapes when constructing the body or face of your character. This is going to sound similar to the line mileage point, because they are related, but they are different. This is focusing on the macro details of a silhouette whereas Accents are about Micro details. This point also has the added benefit of helping characters look and feel related to each other if you use it potently!

Let’s take Hawkfrost and Mothwing for example. Specifically their faces. Hawk I designed first, and I wanted him to feel dangerous, and maybe a little twisted. So I decided to integrate a lot of triangles into his design because, a triangle’s shape language reads as dangerous. They’re pointy, and sharp, like teeth claws, and knives. We can’t in good conscious put an especially triangular object next to a baby because it inherently feels dangerous. They’ll poke their eye out with that tall prism. Other shapes have their meanings as well, Rectangles (cubes) are sturdy, and circular objects are the opposite of triangles, they’re the shape of eggs, fluffy pillowy things, and babies. They’re inherently safe, and soft.

Pull back from digression. Look at hawkfrost and his triangles. They have sharp claw like tips, which are emphasized even with a noticeable downward curving to their points. This motif is repeated multiple times, in his cheeks, his ears, his eyes, his chin, his nose. This becomes unifying, and inherently feels dangerous and curved, or twisted.

Now look at moth. She has triangles too, but I deliberately went through the effort to make them rounder, softer, inverting the angles of her eyes to feel sad and not cruel. Yet she remains similar in enough ways that she feels related. Her nose curves in a similar downward manner, her ears retain the out down curve without the dangerous point to them. The fur accents of her cheeks add to the roundness, making her feel softer while sharing hawks cheekwings.

Let’s take another example, Bluestar and Snowfur.  They are proof that similarities do not have to be reserved to face shapes alone to give that strong feeling of relatedness. In some ways I think theirs is the strongest sibling bond I’ve read in the books, and that obviously translated to how I designed them haha! The idea behind their design was ‘curvy sturdy’ which is reflected in their circular based hourglass figures emphasizing Bluestar’s ‘broad shoulders’. I tried to make their heads more of a squashed circular shape, to give it more sturdy strength while feeling soft and maternal. Her ears are very rounded at the tips, and the particular downward turn is easy to identify and reflect in both cats. Lastly, their square “pants” because let’s be honest, both these she cats wore the pants in their families. There are also enough differences that in pure silhouette you would still be able to tell Snowfurs bushy tail apart from Bluestar’s thinning fur, and snows’ cheekfluffs from blues wide round jaws.

Of course I am not perfect at all of these elements, and there are even more things I could say that make designs unique and easily animatable while also identifiable.  If you are looking for more or different suggestions, I liked Tenielle Flowers’ Video she released on the subject: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lO-kNlyHn8A .

And good luck!

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 11: Ouroboros

The door vanished. The cavern returned to darkness, the only glow coming from the egg that contained the thrashing dragon. My fate was sealed. Hanging my head, I burst into tears. All the emotion I'd held back since I left Cassell came pouring out of me. “I don’t want to die…” I wailed.

The dragon egg splintered with a loud pop. The dragon had kicked its hindlegs and was forcing its way out, fluid pouring out from the cracks. It was staring at me through the translucent shell. It was brilliant blue, about the size of a horse with bright yellow eyes and wings for arms. Those powerful legs were driving its escape from the egg to be born. It was beautiful.

I had wanted to actually see a dragon, never thinking it would be the last thing I would ever see. The egg tipped over and shattered. The creature fell to its back, kicking helplessly. Its wings were pinned underneath its body and it couldn’t roll over. It let out a loud distressed screech. 

I looked at my twisted blackened hands. My pain had stopped. It seemed that closing the door had halted the progression of my illness. I looked back towards where it had been but there were no singing statues and no images. There didn’t seem to be any way to get out of this place.

And then there was the bomb.  I didn’t know how much time I had, but it couldn’t be much. The intention was to kill this dragon egg. I watched the hatchling squirming as it hissed and kicked, still wet with fluid and now dirty with gravel and dust.

I didn’t know any dragon language other than what I’d just learned. So that was what I decided to use, repeating just those three words. The Eternal Cycle, the Unity of all Things, and Self-Sufficiency. The creature's rapid breathing slowed. It's nostrils took in my scent.

The room suddenly brightened.

I looked up at a new door, one much larger than the one I’d passed through to get here. It towered like a monolith in the space, so blinding I had to shield my eyes. My heartbeat quickened. I laughed. I’d found a way out.

 Heedless of the danger, I staggered up to the baby dragon and shoved it as hard as I could. The momentum helped it roll over and it stumbled upright, flailing its wings to clumsily lurch forward. I knew what I’d been told: That dragons were dangerous. They had to be stopped. They had to be killed. I’d also just been told the same thing about me. If I didn’t believe that about myself, then I couldn’t believe that about the dragon hatchling either.

The explosive device began to make a loud uninterrupted beep.

I coaxed the dragon hatchling to follow me and it did, staggering on the natural bends in its wings, using them as hands. 

Progress was agonizingly slow, but when I reached the door, I stopped. Standing on the other side was my ethereal twin. She held out her hand to me. When I reached through to her, for the first time, I felt the pressure and the warmth of her fingers as they curled around and grasped my wrist.  She pulled me across the threshold, into the light.

In an instant, I saw a grey, misty landscape around me. The ground was hard like concrete and frozen. I wrapped my arms about myself, shivering. I was surrounded by an ancient city with buildings as large as mountains and crumbling towers with tops that disappeared into the thick clouds.

Behind me, the dragon hatchling stumbled through. The door vanished.

I watched my friend stand next to the young dragon, one hand resting on its neck. She was dressed in a simple linen gown and leather sandals. For a moment we stared at each other, unsure of what to do or say.

I stepped forward.  She walked over to embrace me. Looking into her eyes was like looking into a mirror. We pressed our hands together, comparing the length of our fingers. Besides Robbie and Mom, this person, this ghostly image had always been my companion and, finally, I could feel her. She was real and no longer a shadow.

She looked at me, sympathy in her eyes. “Come this way. I’ll take you to someone who can help you.”

“How come… how come I can see you in all colors and… how come… I can hear you? And I… I can touch you?” My voice is shaking with emotion.

“Because of where we are. This is the only place we can meet like this.” Her voice -- she even sounded like me, but her speech had a heavy accent I couldn’t place. She didn’t enunciate her consonants. ‘Because’ sounded like ‘ecause. ‘Place’ sounded more like ‘lace. ‘Meet’ like ‘eet.

"What is this place? Who are you?” 

I follow her gaze to the distant jagged peaks and, peering from the ruined towers, glowing eyes open and massive hulks lift up triangular heads, their wings spreading.

“This is the Nibelungen, the parallel space created by dragons. In your world, they call it the Death Realm. In my world, it’s called the Field of Gods.”

Around us, the eyes in the distance followed, watching me pass through the tilted buildings over cracked and crumbling stone roads. They fluttered from hill to hill, jostling for position, like birds on a wire. And like birds on a wire, there seemed to be no end to them.

“Don’t be afraid.” She squeezed my arm. “It’s okay so long as I am with you.”

I asked again. “Who are you?”

“I am you.” She took my hand in hers. “Only, I was born in another time and place.”

I followed her and the baby dragon followed us, letting out little honks, rapidly becoming adept at using the knobby claws on its wing knuckles as feet. 

“What’s your name?” I asked. “What’s my name?”

“I don’t know your name.” She said. “My mother gave me a name. Ielia. But your name may have been different.”

“Oh… Ielia… can I have that name?” 

She stopped and looked at me. “You could take my name. But I’m taking you to see your father. Your real father. And he can name you. I think that could be better.”

“My father?” I covered my mouth with my hands. My head is ringing with emotion. “He’s here?”

“Yes. But first there’s something you need to know.”

Ielia points to the pendant on my necklace. “That is a dragon’s scale that belongs to our father. If we return it to him, he might heal you, so you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster.” 

I touched my hand to my chest where my pendant still rested, “I’ve been carrying a dragon’s scale around this whole time?”

Ielia slowly explained to me. “Yes. It’s how we met. Dragon’s scales have great power. And this scale is like a window to another time and another place. It’s how I’m able to see you and you’re able to see me even though we are separated by thousands of years and thousands of miles. I first met you, when you received it.”

I sighed in amazement. “Thousands of years?” 

In the distance, a dragon roared. It was like a cross between a trumpeting of an elephant and the roar of a jet engine. I flinched. The young dragon screeched in return.

“They won’t hurt us for now. But we don’t want to stay here.” She said. She turned to the young dragon hatchling and spoke to it gently in that language I now knew to be draconic. She looked at me and smiled. “Did you understand what I said?”

“You… you told it to stay.”

She nodded. “That’s right. You naturally understand this language even though you cannot speak it well.”

Gradually, we began to descend into a valley where a human sized village spread out on the shore of a river bed. 

“There was a word I spoke when I… attacked Isaac and his men. I thought that was my name. But Johann said it wasn’t. He said it was the name of my dragon gift.”

“That’s correct. The linguistic ability of dragons is called Speaking Spirit. By using certain words, spoken a certain way, they impose a law of nature on the land. It could be calling a wind, or controlling the earth, or making plants grow. It’s a way to impose their will on a space.”

“My Speaking Spirit… controls the weapon?”

She turned to me. “Far more than that. Your Speaking spirit imposes your law on light.”

We entered the desolate and empty streets of the abandoned village. The buildings were made of rough hewn stone and mud. The streets were bare dirt.

She led me to a house and opened the wooden door to a dusty kitchen with wooden tables, knocked over chairs, and a harp-like instrument in the corner.  

She then took me to an inner room. 

“This is … was your family house.” She let go of my hand, taking a step back.

“I lived… they lived here?” I looked around. Everything about it from the crocheted quilts to the bare utilitarian furniture was simple and handmade. But it looked like no one had lived here in years. “Where is everyone? Are they… are they all dead?”

“This village was not always here in Nibelungen.” She frowned, her brow knitting. “... it was dragged into Nibelungen.”

She clasped her hands together, struggling for a way to explain. “It might be better to show you.”

Books were open and piled on a large table. On the cover of one was the circle with the sun and moon on either side and the image of a serpent curved round, biting its tail, just like I’d seen in the ruins under the ocean off the Japanese shore.

She opened this book but the script was in a different language and I couldn’t read it. Drawing her finger down one page, she appeared to understand it.

She knew her name, her parents, her past. If anyone was the shadow, it was me.

She turned to a particular page. There was an image painted in natural inks. A white dragon’s head, peering down from the clouds upon a group of people. Its body stretched into the sky, into the sun. Before it stood a group of women with crowns on their heads.

She pointed to the group and looked at me, “Your mother was one of these women.”

Then she pointed to the dragon. “This is our father.” She stared at me, and I waited for more explanation.

“So… the story is real that… a long time ago people made themselves hybrids.”

She shifted on her feet. She spoke slowly, emphatically. “Yes. A long time ago, your mother was one of those people.” She pointed to the dragon and then pointed to the picture of the women and then pointed to me.

“How?” I asked. “If this was that long ago, why am I living now? How did I get here?”

Her eyes fall to my pendant. She pointed to it. “That was stolen. You see. Back then, people and dragons worked together, but, in your world, people turned on the dragons. The village was thrown into Nibelungen as punishment.”

“So everyone’s dead?” I said.

She nodded, chewing her lip.

“Why didn’t he kill me?”

“He couldn’t find you.” Her brown eyes stared into mine. “It’s hard to explain, but when someone goes forward in time, they disappear until they arrive at their destination. Your mother hid you for thousands of years. But you’re not hidden any more. If you return the scale, I can plead for you. Because in my world, we did not betray him.” 

I grabbed the book and I flipped through the pages looking for pictures. There was no sign of any conflict. The drawings only showed the dragon in radiant light. One depicted the dragon hovering over someone writing on parchments. One illustration showed a woman presenting a small gift in a jar followed by four pages of nothing but text before she appeared again with a child on her lap, the dragon hovering over it. 

I flipped to the back of the book. A full page panorama drawing showed rolling hills dotted with sheep, the valley and the town and the river. And in the center of it all, a large copper column with the dragon twisted into a figure eight around it, biting its tail.

“Do you think he’ll have mercy?”

She nodded. “Our father is not harsh like some other dragons. In fact, he….”

We were interrupted by an earth shaking roar. Ielia clung to me and pulled me down to the floor. What meager light that came through the window of this room suddenly went completely dark.

She pressed her finger to her lips. “Get under the bed.” She whispered.

No sooner had we taken shelter, a tremendous wind buffeted the village. The window shutters flapped and banged. The house creaked and groaned. But then the light returned and the wind died down.

She crawled out from under the bed and pulled me up. “Go! We need to get you to our father and fast!”

We ran through the empty village heading for the river. All the dragons we saw sitting on the peaks had taken flight. Like a flock of massive starlings they covered the entire sky in a breathtaking display. Their constant roar sounded more like the crashing thunder of a waterfall.

We reached a river bed that was filled with a layer of mist. Under the mist, ice was congealed at the surface while black water flowed beneath. 

“Jump in! You will sink like a stone. At the bottom is where our father lives.” 

The dragons in the sky suddenly parted to make way for something in the distance. It was coming fast, dark wings stretching from horizon to horizon, like a great thunderstorm. Ielia pushed me into the river.

A strong current dragged me under. The world went dark. I sank head first into the black. My chest ached and I began to convulse. Before I could suck in water, momentum shot me through the surface to land on a rocky floor.

Moaning and stinging from the rough fall, I turned to look about. I was right-side up in a cave. I slowed my breathing, shivering hard enough for water to fly from my hair. 

My twin leaped out of the water next, also gasping, but on her feet. She ran over to help me up. 

The wall in front of us split in two like the opening of giant shutters. A golden reptilian eye bigger than a house curved up over our heads. The body stretched farther than I could see. The scales reflected the light like mirrors, sparkled like diamonds, and projected rainbows in the air. In each scale, I saw a different version of my face at different times of my life. 

Awestruck, my companion fell to her knees. I followed suit, unsure of what to do. Its mouth had seized onto its own body. It’s throat rippled every time it swallowed.

My twin spoke a single word. “Father.”

Frozen, I could only stare, my eyes wide, breathing hard.

It exhaled, hissing through its nostrils, its breath lifting my hair.

I slowly took my pendant off from around my neck and placed it in front of the eye. It blinked, briefly plunging us into darkness.  Its growl rumbled through the ground, rattling the gravel. 

The dragon didn’t say anything to me. The scale levitated. My twin stood up. “Ouroboros, your scale has returned to you. I have returned to you. Please, have mercy on my friend. She was a baby when it was stolen. She needs your help.” She reached down and held up my twisted hand for him to see. 

“In her world, our language is dead, you have no influence. You are content and self-sufficient, yes. But would not this be a loss for you? The thought of my reality being the only one where humans sing the songs of Ouroboros. The only one where a child of Ouroboros survives… it's sad! Please… help her.”

I look at the gigantic eye, so cold and pitiless. 

In my mind, I heard a voice, deep and resonant. The dragon addressed me.

“In all of Infinite Reality, only one remains loyal to me. This Loyal One pleads for you. She asks that I do not erase you the same way as I erased the others from Infinite Reality.”

I started to shake. Erased? That empty village. The people who lived there were erased. The word in Draconic gave me the idea of something being wiped out, the same way one would wipe a stain off the countertop. Vanished.

He continued. “You were born from and for a depraved lust for power. How can you be called my child?”

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry about what happened. I just found out about this. All I want is to be able to enjoy my life. I just want to have friends and dance. I want to help people and make them happy.” The words tumbled out. “Please. I just want to live.”

”I didn’t ask to be born like this. I don’t want to be a monster. I just wanted to dance and make people happy. That’s all I want to do. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

I covered my face with my blackened hands, crying. When I looked up again, the dragon was still looking at me, but I sensed a change. He was listening.

He spoke again. “The Humans of Your Reality sought to share my power with others to use it in a war against my kind and against me. They used the power I’d granted them to turn back against me and strike me! That was their happiness! They will not take kindly to your soft heart and will do everything in their power to turn you against me the same way they turned your family against me.”

It snorted, a strong putrid wind drifting from its sighs. When it spoke again, there was a conspiratorial note to its voice.

“However, I will be patient of my own will. My own kind will object. They too wish to benefit from my power. Even now they circle, wanting to hear a prophecy that will hand them victory over the humans and their Abominations.”

“But the rise and fall of civilizations are as certain as the rise and fall of the sun. Theirs are not exempt.”

The scale floated back to me and the chain settled around my neck. 

“I will accept you as my daughter. I will grant your wishes and give you my words to heal yourself and those like you. You have my permission to pass through the Gates of Nibelungen. Close your eyes, see where you want to go, and you will go there. Escape those who will pursue you. And pursue you they will! For I have seen the vision. You are standing on the Threshold of the Door between the world of humans and the world of dragons!”

“Only be mindful that I am watching you in all realities. I will see how true your words are. Do not betray me.”

“Now, listen to this Word.” The dragon spoke again and this time, my body ached as if I had a strong fever. I doubled over, my muscles pulling at my bones, my insides hot like a furnace. When the pain subsided, the scales on my hands were gone, my fingers were back to normal. 

"This word will reverse the spread of your corruption and corruption of others. You have my blessing. You will not die."

I stared in wonder at my hands. I was healed. I was okay.

His voice grew quieter. “Listen, my enemy comes. Quickly, take shelter under my jaw.”

Ielia took my hand and led me beneath the massive beast’s chin before another voice, loud like a horn, blasted into our ears.

“Where is the abomination? Bring it out. I will kill it!” The earth shook from a great collision. It must have been another dragon, even if I couldn’t see it. It spoke like a dragon and its shrieking was constant.

Ouroboros remained silent.

“You defy your King?!”

“Brother. How long it has been since we have spoken…”

The other dragon’s voice is high pitched with desperation. “I smell its disgusting scent. I feel its disgusting thought! Why do you hide it! This… abomination! It is the one to destroy me?”

“I have uttered no such prophecy…” was my father’s calm reply.

“Then I will destroy it?!” It demanded.

My father lapsed into a silence. Then he answered, a subtle hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “I have uttered no such prophecy.”

The response to his mocking answer was an enraged shrieking. The earth was shaking. “Tell me! Tell me the vision! Is there a future where I am king! How! How do I defeat the abominations!”

My kindred spirit holds my hand and pointed. A door had appeared under the shadow of his head. “Go.” She said.

“Will I ever see you again?” I asked.

She nodded and pointed to the necklace. “I will always be here to guide you. And I am guiding you now. Go!”

I took a deep breath and stepped into the door of light. Too late I realized that I hadn’t asked my father my name.

When the world returned, I was stunned to be in costume, on stage the night of my performance after the Dance of the Triumphant Dark King. The crowd was gasping in wonder. I looked to my right and saw myself! The person I was on that night did not notice me. That night I happily left the stage thinking I had wowed the crowd with my dancing. 

Shocked and confused, I bowed and left the stage as my current self, walking quickly out the opposite way, out the exit, kicking off my toe shoes and running into the frigid winter night.

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[ladyramora]

MerRam Part one: Netters

(in this world, Ramora and the other warriors of Light are Merpeople, everyone else is the same as they usually are)

Ramora sighed in boredom at their meal at the Undersea Inn, she already missed the lovely meals that those sweet turtle people had made for her and her friend back when they were exploring Eastern waters.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that.” Her friend sighed as she pushed her plate away, “After eating surface food for that long, raw fish and seaweed just seems so bland.” Her long pink eel tail coiling around her as she pouted as her matching pink hair floated around her head, making her look like an anemone.

Ramora simply nodded with a flick of her own, dark powerful shark tail and threaded her fingers through her dark hair. Memories of swimming through merky waters as a young mer flooding through her mind, hunting for anything she could get her hands on to eat spun through her mind as she picked at the meal.

She had never bothered to be picky before, it was strange to find herself being so now.

She didn’t really know much about her blood line, except that she had shark blood in her and had learned at a young age how to use the strength and speed her tail allowed her to her advantage, making her a powerful threat even unarmed. But she learned as much magic and fighting styles as possible to keep herself as well covered in the safety and fed departments. Her ears were different compared to other mers, pointed, not webbed or round like the others. Her eyes were too, one was red and the other green. These alone made her childhood all the more difficult.

Lolz came from a tribe of mers that lived in a cave filled with colorful crystals that had an opening to the surface where more crystals could be found, so her people had long since evolved to have tails in bright or pastel colors depending on what part of the cave they lived in. 

Surface dwellers would give various offerings in exchange for broken crystals, which were filled with magic, so her friend was well versed in many kinds and was able to turn Ramora’s loose teeth and some small crystals and surface trinkets she brought with her into accessories that gave them boosts in power, speed and mana. They also allowed them to swim in any waters, no matter the temperature, or the saltiness or all the other things her friend had rattled off as Ramora happily tried them on and admired the ‘clothing’ Lolzy had gotten from the surface.

Armed with their knowledge and skills they had happily explored the world together, but had gotten a message via a link pearl about a family member of Lolz’s being with child and urged them back to greet the little one into the world.

The two had been traveling for days now and only when they reached this reef had they realized how few mers were out and about as they got closer to their destination.

The waitress swam by and stopped when she saw they hadn’t touched their meals. Ramora and Lolz quickly snapped out of their thoughts and apologized before the waitress waved them off.

“It’s fine, everyone around here is uneasy, I can understand why you’re not eating…” She said.

“Yes, why is that?” Ramora asked, indicating the mostly empty inn, “This whole place feels like an abandoned reef.”

“Well, if those netters keep it up, it probably will be soon enough.” She sighed.

Ramora’s blood went to ice. 

Netters were surface dwellers that hunted mers for one reason or another. She and Lolzy had been caught in one before and it was terrifying. If they hadn’t used magic to destroy the boat themselves…

She shivered at the horrible stories she used to hear about what happened to those who were taken by netters…

“Netters?” Lolz blurted, horrified as she hugged the tip of her tail, “Out here? I thought they stuck to waters closer to shore!”

“These ones don’t.” The waitress assured them, “But they come from black boats that spawn from one that’s bigger than this entire reef.”

Both of their jaws dropped in shock, but Ramora recovered quickly, “How many have they gotten?”

“About ten adults so far, a few teens, two elderly mers. And they nearly got a school of young children that were playing in open waters last week.” She reported, “Old Mr. Nettle used a powerful earth spell to flip the boat and they had to let the net go. A few sharks were happy to help keep them distracted while we gathered the children and brought them somewhere safe, but still…”

The two bristled in rage. Furious at the idea of some bastard netters trying to steal children who simply were doing what all children did; playing.

“Where are you two headed?” the waitress asked.

“South.” Lolz replied, paling, “My… my cousin is going to have a baby soon…” She looked at the mer before her, “They-they aren’t going south, are they?”

“We have no idea, the first scouting party was netted so we can’t get too close to find out where they are headed.” she explained. Lolzy sunk further into her tail until only her eyes and hair were outside of it, now truly looking like an anemone.

“I-I’m sure they’re not headed south!” She tried to assure her, “You look like an eel, and i know eels mostly stay in caves, so it’d be hard for them to net all of you if you all stay inside!”

After seeing how her words did little to comfort, she quickly excused herself and fled.

“Lolzy.” Ramora called.

“Surface Dwellers come to the opening to our cave all the time, Rammy.” She murmured, “I… I don’t think it’s that much of a secret up there that we’re there… Wh-what if this netter goes there next?”

“We aren’t going to let that happen, Lolzy.” Ramora promised as she pulled a vial from her bag, “I think it’s about time we give this thing a try.”

Lolz popped her head from her tail and her eyes widened. She pulled herself out of her tail and slammed her hands onto the table top, “Have you lost your mind?!”

“Perhaps.” Ramora purred, “But in this situation, I think being as crazed as the netters will do us some good.”

“How will us being able to…” she paused as she struggled to find the correct word for a moment before she finally said, “walk among the surface dwellers help us? The witch said it only lasts from one dawn to another. That means we only have a small window of time to even use it, let alone learn how they use their legs…”

“We’ll just use the crabs and shrimp as examples and go from there.” Ramora said simply.

“Yes, because that’s not strange at all.” She huffed.

“Surely you’ve seen how humans move and behave?” Ramora asked.

“Well, yes, but only a little…” Lolz admitted bitterly, as if she was able to see into the future and witness her following along with this dangerous plan before letting out a sigh of defeat. “Fine… What’s the plan?”

Ramora smiled widely, her eyes twinkling with dark pleasure as she threaded her fingers together in a triangular shape, “We’re going to play the damsels in distress.”

(Lolz’s Notes:

I decided that Ramora would be a shark because they are amazing and powerful and beautiful and fucking terrifying, and let’s face it, that’s Ramora. I was thinking she’d be a short fin Mako shark with darker skin. Makos are the fastest sharks in the world and love jumping out of the water (I think in Ram’s case though, it’d be more to show off than to hunt) and resemble smaller great white sharks.

But seriously, y'all have no idea how long it took me to pick a shark for Ramora. Like, I was wondering if I should pick a smaller species of shark, or one that lives in deeper waters. Finally I decided that it was between a mako or a dusky shark, whose diet would more line up with the one I had in this story along with many others, but they’re SOOOO slow. Slow swimmers and slow growers. They take twenty years to mature into adults and because of that and lots of humans hunting them for their fins, meat, skin and liver oil, they are having a bit of a population problem…Anyways, Ramora, let me know if you’d rather she’d be a dusky shark instead. I can write her either way.

Lolz is an eel because most eels I see live in tunnels or small caves and I kinda headcanon Lolz is from an island with a mystical cave filled with powerful crystals blessed by the Goddess of Light, so she heard her and saw things a lot more often because of her Echo soaking in more Goddess blessings and she got picked on for being 'weird’ and hearing and seeing things others couldn’t. Also I thought it’d be funny for that to be the reason she has pink hair, her species evolved to blend in with the crystals.)

[writingsofmyimagination]

King and Queen |2|

Summary:  Jungkook becomes very needy before he goes on tour and becomes even more desperate when he gets back (Part 2 of a 2 Shot)

Jungkook x Reader

Words:2841

Warnings:Smut, Sub/Jungkook, Dom Reader, Switch!Jungkook, Light bondage, Swearing, Copious amounts of teasing.

Happy Reading :) Comment, Reblog :)

For the first time i’m actually  happy with my writing, love this one!

-Did you get my present?– 17:49

 -Yes, are we going to use it later? ;) – 17:51

 -No bunny, you’re going to use it now and wear it at the party for me – 17:53

 -What? Are you serious? That’ll be torture! – 17:57

 -That’s kind of the point, I want you desperate – 18:00

You smirk was nothing but wicked putting the remote control into your bag.

       -Are you really going to be that much of a tease after a whole month apart? – 18:04

       - Yes, now do as you’re told and I’ll see you in a bit baby, I’m leaving now – 18:06

You could feel the hum of the bass as you approached the boy’s dorm. The apartment was crowded and the loud music which thumped in your chest was marginally drowned out by the indistinct chatter of the guests. Jin was at the breakfast bar announcing loudly what he was putting in a lethal sounding cocktail; deciding that was a good starting point you made your way over to get a drink. You smiled and waved at some of the familiar staff that greeted you back with warm smiles.

“Hey Y/N good to see you! Here have a Jin special” he passed you a plastic cup of a bluey purple liquid.

“Thanks, good to see you back, where’s Kook?” You took a hesitant sniff of the drink attempting to assess its potency.

“I think he’s playing Mario Kart with Jimin” You raised the cup and took a mouthful, you tilted your head and nodded minimally to yourself; after the burn of the vodka the Chambord and Blue Curacao taste wasn’t so bad. Heading past dashes of groups,

“Wah!” the unmistakeable wail of J-Hope dragged your attention to the centre of the room, a huddle of people surrounding a twister mat. From the looks of the small bundle on the floor V had just collapsed on J-Hope causing a burst of laughter. You contracted the infectious laughter and chuckled, still slowly slipping your way through your drink. Yoongi was observing the chaos seated on the sofa, his left leg tucked under himself while sipping wine. Obviously.

You continued breaking through flurries of people until you heard the high adorable laugh of Jimin to you left, you followed it to the TV area. The two youngest were as Jin said. They were sat shoulder to shoulder nudging each other eyes frozen in front of them, Namjoon was sat on the floor cross legged leaning up against the sofa arm with equal amount of concentration. The boys were too engrossed on their last lap to notice your presence. They looked so relaxed, a surge of warmth and comfort hit your insides at the sight. You made your way behind the sofa and launched your arms over Jungkook’s chest and squeezed, kissing the side of his face with sweetness. He carried on staring at the screen for a few seconds until he finished in 1st.

“Yes!” a triumphant expression smacked on his face as he jumped up clapped and then yanked you into a desperate embrace. You struggled to keep your drink upright as you nuzzled as tightly into his neck as you possible could; drowning yourself in his intoxicating scent.

“I missed you so much” squeezing you even tighter.

“I missed you too Kook, can we go on the balcony? I’ve missed the view” asking cutely as if butter wouldn’t melt.

“Of course baby” he kissed you, but the kiss was laced with that familiar sense of urgency despite his cool appearance; it seeped through his iris’s flooding his eyes. You gripped his hand and followed him onto the balcony. You walked to the further right point of the balcony where the window section was now wall giving you privacy. Placing your bag down onto the glass table as you passed it. You turned and lent against the metal barrier and smirked. You watched with amusement as his expression evolved now he was alone, it transitioned from happy and relaxed to pained and frustrated.

“You look so beautiful when your frustrated Kookie”

“Can I please take it out now I’ve been good for you” his eye grew doe-eyed, the bambi look you called it; there was a pleasant tug between your legs. His arms draped around your shoulders, hands tracing over your neck. His touch sparking heat where his fingers met your skin.

“Not until I say so, and I want you to touch yourself first” He pulled back looking into your eyes flashing wickedly at him.

“What?”

“You heard me bunny, don’t pretend like you haven’t wanted to since putting that in” you grabbed his behind pulling him back into you the throaty groan that escaped from him told you were right.

“But out here?” his eyes flitted around before landing back on you grinning teasing your bottom lip.

“Out here, just for me” you reiterated. The sheepish expression failed to leave his face, you stroked your finger under his chin and leaned within kissing distance

“Don’t worry about anyone else, I’ll use the safe word if someone comes out. You folded your arms, your left pinky finger replaced your lower lip teasing it with your teeth and waited for Jungkook to start. His hand hesitated but eventually slipped beneath the thick waistband of his knee length Puma shorts.

Within moments his eyes closed, his head tilted back with his jaw open slightly. The exhaled breaths perfumed with long relief. You thighs pressed together, your arousal transferring to your lacy underwear.

“Such a good boy, look at you touching yourself on the balcony. So filthy” his hands moved faster, Jungkook never noticed you take the small remote from your bag which was no cocooned in your palm pressed to your waist. You clicked it.

“Ah fuck” he cried as the vibration against his prostate snapped his eyes to you. You held up the remote your lips twisted up.

“Don’t stop bunny.” His hands vigorously continued pumping himself. “God you look so good, I’d even let you fuck me into the mattress with my hands behind my back, but you won’t will you because you’re too much of a slut for me aren’t you”

“My queen, I’m not going to last much longer, I need to cum” he panted out.

“Well I can’t have you cumming yet. Stop!” You clicked the off button. He obeyed instantly his mouth still agape.

“So quick to listen bunny I’m impressed” your hand swept some of his hair free from his moist forehead and planted a delicate kiss. Your hands travelled up your thigh catching his gaze, your fingers laced with your arousal

“You can have a taste, you’ve been a good boy” He greedily sucked at your fingers, his eyes holding yours with a seductive magnetism.

“How about we go inside now I’ve had plenty of the view” You walked past reclaimed your drink and bag and headed inside, leaving him to try and hide his problem. You went to the bathroom unbuckled the thin red belt round your waist, unzipped your navy knee length skirt, pulled off your white and navy stripped shirt. The mirror reflected back what was left, a red corset style lingerie set, sheer floral lace that flatters your bare skin, a triangular bust with a low rise open mesh back. The thong to match was low slung and left my hips exposed. The suspenders were clipped onto black stockings. After a few attempts you got the angle you were happy with and sent it.

-Photo.jpg – 19:37

 -You are going to be the death of me – 19:38.

You redressed quickly after taking of the thong and went back to the main room. You wanted to see his face, you knew you were being probably a bit too much of a tease but you wanted to see if you could tease him to switch.

All the boys had come together and were sat across two sofas facing each other. J-Hope was stood up with a large whiteboard attempting to draw a picture for the others to guess, his cheeks were flushed red with intoxication. You scooted past Yoongi and Namjoon and took a seat on Jungkooks lap. You had to snatch up the pillow he’d placed there first. He shuffled uncomfortably but smiled at you that bunny smile regardless. His arm snaked round your waist, his fingertips more firmly planted as an outlet for his frustration.

“Hey Jungkook why you so quiet, do you not want to win anymore?” J-Hope said standing proud of his artwork as the others were frantically guessing around us.

“Yeah, c’mon Kook we’re ahead!” Yoongi scolded. You took a swig of your drink hiding the smirk that was growing upwards.

“Sorry, uh,…”

“Jurassic Park?” you cut in saving him from tumbling over his words.

“Woah! Yes good job!” J Hope said looking astounded. The others huffed and J-Hope sat back down.

“Yoongi you go draw for us this time” you suggested. When he left you didn’t take his seat and remained on Jungkook’s lap. You slid your underwear into his left hand. He shuffled again, he must be getting very uncomfortable now with his erection tucked and compressed away. He whined almost inaudibly.

“No whining, don’t make me use the remote” Anguish blanketed his face, your ground your ass into his tensed thigh

“You have no idea how wet you’ve made me bunny. You’re so good for me” your tone a whisper in his ear.

“Please stop teasing noona, It’s too much” he responded equally as quiet. You had one more idea and if he still didn’t cave you’b be sure to make him suffer until tears streamed from him eyes and he could hardly beg from pure exhaustion. Without saying a word you left and went to Jungkook’s room knowing he wouldn’t follow because that would be too obvious.

Licking your lips you went straight to his bed and made yourself comfortable turning lamps on making the room glow with ambience and once again stripping down to just your lingerie. You ghosted your hand down your body, over the swell of your breast, passed your navel in a delicate motion down to your throbbing bud.

“Aah” You exhaled, rolled your head back into the sheets, shocked at how wet you’d managed to tease yourself to. Every inch of your skin yearned for Jungkook’s attention and touch. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long as you clicked send on the video. You wasn’t going to wait for him either your body ached too much, impatient you got up and went to the chest of draws on your side of the bed near the door and slid open the third draw. Your eyes flurried, scanning over all the toys in front of you, picturing how each of them will make you feel sent your mind into overdrive.

The door clicked open, Jungkook’s face was flushed, and it swirled into a chimera of determination and wildness as his eyes followed to the contents of the draw. You halted all movement, looking up through innocent flutters of your eyelashes, mouth slightly agape; tongue guilty poking out from the corner of your lips.

“You’re not going to want any of that when I’ve fucked you” his words were rushed through a heavy breath, which you caught the end of as his lips met with yours with unbridled starvation. One of his hands pressed gently at your throat, his hips knocking into you forcing you back closing the draw of goodies.

“You’ve pushed me today sweetheart” his other hand aggressive with its grip round my wrist. He manipulated me around, my mid-section pressed roughly against the draw. A hand pulled my ass away from the draw, his foot kicked at my ankle spreading my legs. His shirt was on the ground within seconds, his fist tangled and pulling at hair within a couple more. His free hand travelled down your side, nails nipping into your skin the whole way. His palm followed he curve of your back and over your behind squeezing firm. You rewarded him a moan, your open mouth quickly took the shape of victory. His hand drifted down and felt you from behind.

“You’ve missed me as much as I have you haven’t you?” there was no trace of the sweet Jungkook with that voice and boy did it feed your arousal not to mention your ego. The fact you could rile him up enough to dominate was a challenge you gladly liked to accept sometimes when you needed it. He yanked at your hair again when you didn’t respond.

“Aah fuck, yes!” You curled your fingers atop the drawers where they were keeping you balanced. Your head dropped feeling his tip gliding through your folds before he stopped, hesitating. He leaned and reached for a draw to his right and fumbled with one hand and grabbed a pair of fur-lined leather cuffs. If your body was built of ice it would melt rapidly with the heat rising in your stomach, smiling to yourself like a sly fox as he captured your wrists behind your back. Pulling at the cuffs he more or less launched you onto the bed, you landed on your side with a shallow bounce.

“Ass up kitten, where’s the remote?  I don’t want you having that now” you took a breath and realised he was still obeying you and hadn’t taken it out.

“On the side” you mumbled shifting yourself into position, your face half buried into the mattress. His shoulders dropped, happy with your response apparently. He dropped his clothes in such a rush you thought he’d fall. Climbing up behind you, your anticipation at boiling point.

Nothing.

You shuffled trying feebly to ascertain what the fuck he was playing it.

Pulsing vibrations diffused from your core, the power of your vibrating wand undeniable. You turned your head fully into the sheets camouflaging your cry as he alternated the power from off to on continuously.

“Is this what you wanted princess? Or do you want something else?” he already knew the answer.

“I… want you” you panted.

“Oh come on Y/N, that beg would not be good enough you, I’m sure as hell not going to let it be” he was right; and you’d underestimated how much you needed him and you was more than happy in your current state to beg for it.

“Kook… your queen needs your cock… so bad…I need you fucking me so hard…into this mattress… until I’m cumming so hard around your cock…please” your plea couldn’t sound anymore desperate if you tried. He turned off the wand for the final time and launched it on the floor.

“Fucking hell babe, I had no idea you could beg like that” not being able to restrain himself any longer after hearing you beg for him like that he slammed himself into you. The room was filled with both your cries of relief fully culminated. You loved when he came home from tour, the passion, the lust and the rush to just fuck each other. It’s like you both needed it before any of your normal relationship with each other could continue. Both being so needy it never lasted long but in the heat of it, it felt like hours. You were both breathing hot and heavy, you felt the moisture creep in a forming a layer where his hands clenched around your hips. Your shoulders felt the bleeding of ache seep in. Your muscles deep in your abdomen tightened, you were conscious of your cries becoming louder and buried your face again. Jungkook moans, almost rhythmic were slowly becoming deeper and sounded more like grunts. You almost wailed when Jungkook hand grabbed your hair again and pulled your face free from the sheets.

“I want to hear you when you cum” He didn’t have to wait long, your body refused to hold on to the tension anymore.

“Fuck…Jungk…” your body washed over with bliss, he carried on thrusting into you, unrelenting. Overwhelming your core with oversensitivity until his hips jerked into your behind, your walls clenching around him dragging every bit of cum from him. His grunt was so guttural and deep. Your breath had just about steadied when he rolled beside you un-clipping the metal links of the cuffs. You slumped your bottom half down before stretching some life back into your muscles. A weary satisfied smirk rested on your face.

“You cum so hard when you have something up your ass” he responded with an agreeing smile. “You did good bunny better than I ever expected” you rolled onto your front and rested your head on your hands.

“I did good?” he paused “You wound me up on purpose didn’t you? I was never really in control was I”

Your grin gave away everything. His head shook amused with half-hearted betrayal.

“But it was cute that you thought you were” you chuckled in a light breath. You patted his chest sarcastically and stretched and gave him a delicate, love filled kiss on his forehead.

[ask-hogwarts-heroes]

Ochako Uraraka//Acceptance Letters

She was extremely confused the first time she floated a few rubber bands just by looking at them. The rubber bands had floated upwards until they touched the ceiling- and when they did, they went tumbling back towards the ground. Screaming, she had run to her parents who were just as confused.

When she went to school the next day, when she tried to explain it to her friends and schoolmates, they all didn't believe her. Although one friend in particular took it differently.

Instead, she took her aside and explained to the confused Ochako that she, was possibly a witch. She found it hard to believe at first, but when more weird "magical" things started to happen around her, it was highly possible that it was true. Seeing as there was no other explanation, she decided to believe it.

This morning, she had accidentally bent a fork completely backward until it's two ends touched one another- just by looking at it. At this point, her parents had just accepted the weird things, since there wasn't really anything they could do about it.

Realizing that she could no longer eat her breakfast, she frowned. "Sorry,"

Her mother gave her a knew fork and handed the other to her father, who tried to bend it back into it's normal state. When he failed, he free-threw the piece of metal into the trash can across the kitchen.

"Sometimes, I wish I was normal..." Ochako mumbled to herself, not intending for her parents to hear. 

"Come on, just because you can do things that aren't necessarily... normal, doesn't mean that you're a bad person," her father answered, ruffling her hair. "Besides, it was that girl in your class that explained everything, right? So, she must be the same."

"Yeah, except I can't talk to all of my other friends about it... They thought I was crazy enough just talking about the rubber bands." She frowned, pushing the plate of food in front of her away. 

"Then why don't you-" her mother had started saying something when a loud "thump" noise was heard. Stopping mid-sentence, she turned to look at her daughter and husband. "What was that?"

The sound of... Pecking? Was it pecking? Ochako couldn't really tell, but regardless, the noise of whatever had filled the kitchen. She looked around before noticing her father, who had his jaw to the floor.

"Is that...? Is that an owl?" her father asked, his mouth still open.

Immediately, he got up and rushed to the window. As he opened it, in flew a white owl with golden-like spots all over it. That wasn't the surprising part, though, because this owl had a letter in his beak.

Her mother panicked and demanded that no such animal should be in the kitchen, but Ochako had managed to calm her mother down enough that she wouldn't burst into tears and continue yelling. All looking over to the owl, who had just dropped the letter in its beak on the counter, it flew off, leaving the family extremely confused.

"What was that?" her mother half-screeched, straightening her posture in the process. 

Running his hands through his hair, her father shook his head, "I honestly don't even know what happened, or how to explain it."

Whilst the two parents were discussing, Ochako had grabbed the letter off the counter and was reading it's front.

Ms. Ochako Uraraka

Third Room to The Left, First Floor

714 Reiner Avenue

Bradford

"It's addressed to... Me?" Staring at the wax seal, she looked to both of her parents, who were still conversing over the owl. She debated whether or not to open it, but her curiosity got the best of her, and she ripped it open.

Quickly unfolding the letter, she read over it to herself, her eyes widening ever so slowly in the process. When she finished, both of her arms fell to her sides, as she slowly began to comprehend all that was said to her.

"Mommy! Daddy! I'm a witch!" Both of her parents paused the their conversation, their heads moving in her direction. 

"A what...?"

"A witch!" Ochako exclaimed again, this time jumping up and down.

Finally, it all made sense to her. The floating rubber bands, the spoon bending- it was all due to magical powers that she was highly skeptical about. And now, she'd just been accepted into one of the most prestigious schools! As excitement boiled inside her, it suddenly became obvious to her that she had no idea if she could even attend, or where to get any of the supplies listed.

Looking to her parents, Ochako handed them the letter, seeing as they should probably read it for themselves. When they both finished, they looked at eachother before to their daughter.

"As much as we want you to attend," her mother started. 

"We don't know any of this stuff, and it seems complicated." her father finished, setting the letter down.

The small sparkle in her eyes faded, as reality had dawned upon her. "Oh. Okay..."

Seeing how their daughter was so upset about it, they thought that maybe this was good for her. Get her to experience what they didn't... What it's like to be a witch, or whatever it was.

"Remember that friend of yours...? Maybe she can help us out, though," her mother added, making Ochako smile widely.

"Really?" She asked, wanting to make sure that she wasn't just hearing things. 

"Really."

Ochako dashed around Diagon Alley, after quickly thanking her friend on how to get there, and all of the information she needed for attending Hogwarts. Her father, who was slightly slower, found it hard to keep up with his energetic daughter.

They'd first decided to buy her robes, and went to one of the shops showing them in the windows. It had taken awhile to find one that was her size, but when she did- it was practically love at first sight. The cotton it was made of was possibly the softest thing she'd probably ever touched.

Her father smiled at her reactions and went to the counter, his daughter following behind. "That'll be four gold galleons," the cashier stated, waiting for the coins to be handed to him.

Instead, her father paused, an eyebrow raising, "Gold galleons?" The cashier rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Yeah, gold galleons. What are you? A muggle-born? A normal muggle?" The cashier laughed, shoving him aside slightly. "Look, if you're that clueless, go to Gringotts Bank. They'll get you some currency."

"Thank you!" her father yelled, taking Ochako's hand and guiding her out of the line. He took the uniforms out of her small hands and set them on the nearby shelf. "Follow me."

She nodded and followed her father out of the store and round-about Diagon Alley. When he stopped, she tilted her head upwards, trying to read the Sign dangling above her head. 'Gringotts Bank'

As she followed her father inside, she couldn't help but stare at all of the goblins so focused on their work. Her father stopped in front of one and asked for a money exchange.

"I'm guess you're a muggle then?" the goblin said, his voice raspy and hoarse.

Her father nodded, shyly scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah..."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Hand over the money!" screeched the goblin in front of them.

Anxiously, he pulled out his wallet and set a few hundred pounds on the marble desk, before the goblin took it. He went around the back with the small stack of pounds, before returning with a medium sized sack of gold galleons and a few leftover sickles.

"Thank you," her father said, taking the bag. He looked around for Ochako, before finding her near the door, holding it open for everyone who was entering or exiting.

Although she was normally rather patient, Ochako was starting to get agitated that whatever wand Olivander handed to her to try, it wouldn't do what she wanted it to do. It was safe to say that she'd gone through over fifteen wands, each rejecting her in a different way. First, the spell backfired on her, but the next thing she new, the wand wouldn't even do anything for her.

Handed another wand, Ochako took a deep breath, reminding herself that she would eventually find one. To her dismay, this one was not hers either. With a sigh, Olivander gave her a significantly shorter wand, compared to the ones she'd preciously been given.

"Wingardium Leviosa." She closed her eyes, ready to hear an explosion-like sound and to open her eyes to something broken.

However, this time silence was the only thing ringing through her ears. Opening her eyes, Ochako saw the small object floating in front of her wide eyes. "It worked!"

She squealed and jumped around the room, a huge smile on her face. Staring at her wand, it was 9 1/2 inches long, with a triangular cut Tanzanite jewel attached to the button of its hilt. Similarly to a sword, her wand possessed a rain guard- which stuck out to around a centimeter on both sides and curled slightly downwards into a small spiral.

The wand itself was extremely flexible, and could be bent so far back that the two ends could practically touch each other. It was made with Pear Wood with Unicorn Hair core, with spiral like designs carved lightly into its wood.

"Finally found the one," Olivander let out a breath, a subtle smile on his face. "That'll be six gold galleons, please."

Her father paid the amount requested, before walking out of the store, and Diagon Alley, with his daughter. As they walked home, he couldn't help but smile whenever he looked down at his beautiful baby girl.

[thepaperpanda]

THE LAST DANCE – SEBASTIAN STAN X READER SMUT ONE SHOT

Summary: Sebastian Stan takes dance lessons. He wants to impress his beloved woman (reader). One day he comes back home really late. His girlfriend awaits, really angry that he's late again. She asks him to show her what he had taught at lessons, so he agrees. It ends in obvious way...

Word Count: 1999

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex

Author: Beast

You were mad.

You were full of anger.

It wasn't first time when he was late.

You looked at the clock. Half past ten p.m.

“Dammit, Sebastian” you sighed under your breath.

 Dressed in a well-fitted cobalt dress reaching to your knees and dark high heels you took a seat on the leather couch, crossing your legs nicely. You checked your phone, but there was nothing. No messages, no calls.

 You rolled your eyes and got up. You decided to walk out at the balcony with a spectacular view at the suburbs. You put hands on the balustrade and took a deep breath with a fresh, cold air.

The building was located on a hill.

From the outside this house looked intimate and cozy. It has been built with spruce wood and had red pine wooden decorations. Small, rounded windows let in plenty of light and have been added to the house in a fairly asymmetrical pattern.

The house was equipped with a large kitchen and two bathrooms, it also had a spacious living room, four bedrooms, a small dining room and a large garage.

The building was fairly rounded in shape. The house was half surrounded by stylish gardens.

The second floor was bigger than the first, which created a stylish overhang around half the house.

The roof was low, triangular, but one side was longer than the other and was covered with red roof tiles. Two large chimneys sat at either side of the house. Several small windows let in just enough light to the rooms below the roof.

The house itself was surrounded by a gorgeous garden, including various trees, bushes, flowers and a large pond.

 Finally, at 11 p.m., you've heard a keys in a lock.

You improved your dress and went to the living room, where you decided to wait at him.

 Sebastian walked in, with a smile, panting. He was holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“I'm terribly sorry, Y/N, I know, I know, I'm late again..” he said and gave you his best smile. “This is for you” brunette handled the bouquet to you.

 You took it into your hands, but you shook your head slightly.

“Sebastian... You always say the same. That this is the last time..” you sighed sadly. “I was waiting with a dinner.”

You looked down at the roses. “Thank you, they are beautiful. You know what I like, but it doesn't change a fact I'm disappointed once again.”

 He nodded and walked after you to the kitchen, where you put flowers to a vase.

He slowly wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“You know that I am really sorry, Y/N” he whispered into your ear before he kissed your nape.

“Yes” you reached your free hand back and stroked over his unshaven cheek. “But you need to understand, that I'm missing you everytime we're apart.”

 Sebastian sighed deeply again and forced you to turn back to face him.

“Y/N, please, darling...” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips, but you gently pushed him away.

“No, Seb. No..” with agile movement you slipped out of his arms and walked back to the living room. “Tell me.. Where have you been? What has stopped you for so long, huh?” you crossed your hands over your chest, standing with your back to him.

 You heard he also entered the room.

“I was at the dance lesson, I've been telling you about it” his voice was strong, but calm at the same moment.

You snorted.

“Ha! I bet you were trained by some... saxy, young instructor!” you shook your head slightly.

 Suddenly, you heard his laughter.

“What's so funny, Seb?!” you immediately turned around to him.

“You're nothing but jealous” Sebastian was leaning his back against the door frame casually, his hands were crossed over his chest. “I knew it! Gotcha, Y/N.”

 You felt like redness approached your cheeks.

“I... No! It's not that, Seb!” you turned around and left the room, taking a direction to the balcony. He followed you.

 You took a deep breath as you walked at the fresh air, trying to relax.

You felt his strong rough hands on your bare shoulders.

“You know that there's no one else in my life but you” he whispered into your ear.

You shivered at the timbre of his voice.

“Yea...” you muttered quietly, feeling his hand moved up to your left cheek.

He forced you to turn your head to him.

“I love you, Y/N” he said firmly, then he kissed your lips.

 You almost melted into the kiss, but you put hands at his chest and gently pushed back.

“Stop it for now. Okay. Show me what did you learn then” you asked, rising your eyebrow up.

He blinked.

“What..?” Sebastian asked with a hesitation.

“You heard what I said” you smired rudely. “C'mon, Seb.”

 He was hesitating for a moment. But he gave a slight nod and grabbed your hand. He pulled you back to the living room.

“Like you wish, honey” he smiled.

 Sebastian turned on the radio.

He had a good luck, on the radio there was a song called Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen.

You couldn't help but giggle a bit.

 Sebastian approached you and he put his hands on your waist.

“Put your hands on my shoulders” he advised.

You did as he was asking for.

He made the distinctive hip movement.

“It's called Cuban Motion.. Or something like that” he laughed shortly so did you. “Try to do it.”

 You tried your best to repeat his movements.

“Yes, that's it, Y/N!” Sebastian smirked proudly.

 After few minutes, you both were dancing, embracing each other tightly, with a swing in your hips.

“It's called the dance of love” he murmured against your lips while his hands were moved slowly at your butt.

“SEB!” you whimpered quietly, but you didn't protest any further.

 He leaned down to you and kissed you as passionately as he could.

When he stopped, you looked into his eyes to see a little sparkles of lust in them.

“I missed you..” you whispered.

“Me too, babe..” he said, panting a bit.

Without any more words, he took you into his arms and picked you up.

You whimpered but let him to do it. You wrapped legs around his hips to support yourself from falling.

 He laid you on the couch, pinning you down.

You felt a few kisses peck at your shoulders, moving up to your neck. You moaned softly and turned your head to the other side giving Sebastian more access. He sucked a hickey on the base of your neck and gently caressed it with his tongue. You felt his hand grip the material of your dress and pull it past your stomach, before running his hands over the exposed skin. Your abdomen contracts at his touch making you gasp as he continues to abuse your neck.

He asked you to lean up a bit, so he unzipped your dress and helped you to pull it over your head and tossing it aside.  

He brought his lips to yours and kissed you passionately while bringing his hands up to massage your bare chest. He coaxed your mouth open by licking your bottom lip and slid in his tongue with ease. Your hand cupped his face and the other entangled into his hair as the kiss became more heated.

Sebastian broke away and you gasped for air. His tongue trailed down to your jaw and neck before stopping at your taut nipple. He pressed down and sucked while his hand continued to knead your other mound. Your chest lifted from the bed as your breathing deepened at the pleasure he was giving you. He released your breast from his lips and latched onto the other and continued his actions.

When he was satisfied with the pink marks on your chest he then dragged his tongue down to your stomach, leaving a wet trail on your torso. Sebastian’s hands pulled down your panties in one swift movement and you were left naked and breathless under him. Your thighs instinctively spread and he rested comfortably between them and began kissing your stomach and rubbing circles on your waist with his thumb.

Sebastian moved down to face your now dripping core. He smirked and looked up at you before saying “So wet already baby?” You bit your lip in slight embarrassment and shifted your eyes away from his gaze. He chuckled quietly and placed his warm hands on your thighs, running them up and down. You whimpered as you felt his tongue push against your clit and flick it across your bud. Your hand moved down your body to grip his soft locks as he slowly swirled his tongue around and lightly sucked on the sensitive area.

“Seb... Yes...” you moaned into the air. He continued to alternate between long, tender licks and sharp flicking movements which brought you closer to the edge. He moved his tongue to your dripping entrance and he pushed it inside, flicking it against your soft core. You were moaning louder and louder, his name mixed in with your pleas to continue his actions. He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he continued to move his tongue in and out of you. “I need ya..” you moaned quietly, tugging on his hair gently. Sebastian lifted, kissing his way up your body. Your impatient hands undone his belt and he helped you to unzipped his fly. Brunette quickly took off his pants and shirt. He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the tip of his dick inside you gently, the whimper you let out made his arms quiver at either side of your head, and you held onto the side of his face so you could kiss him even deeper, while he filled you further and further. “That's sooo good” you moaned, parting your lips and closing your eyes. He started off slower than usual, moaning low, and drawing equally as blissful sounds from you as you closed your eyes, and he watched your lips fall open and your chest rise as you arched back. “So beautiful” he got out, attaching his mouth to your exposed neck and tending to the flesh yours, making you rise your hips up to meet his steady thrust, and causing him to grunt out a curse. You picked up the pace, bodies moving together, gripping each other hard and in no rush for it to end. But you felt that knot start in your stomach, and your lower half began to tense, your nails in his forearm told him you were close and he was glad. Sebastian started thrusting with more vigorously, pushing one of her knees down flush to the couch so he could hit the deepest angle. “Oh, Seb!” you moaned, tossing your head back. Your cries of heightened pleasure filled the room and the sounds made him hot with satisfaction. Close himself, he let out a loud groan of pleasure when you tensed, then began to spasm around him, legs shaking, back arching. “I love you, I love you” you repeated, breathlessly, holding onto his face while he pushed on to his own release, so you could watch when he spilled into you. “FUCK” Sebastian swore when he came, brow furrowing, mouth falling open as he filled you up, making you whimper with approval. “Jesus” his arms gave up, and he fell onto you resting his head on your chest while you both breathlessly tried to come to your senses. You stroked his back dazedly, feeling him still inside you until he was ready to pull out and collapse onto his back beside you. Exhausted, he pulled you over for a long kiss, holding on to the side of your face and stroking his thumb over your cheekbone. “I love you..” you whispered nuzzling to his chest. “I love you too, Y/N” Sebastian smiled, looking deeply into your eyes.

Gif: X

[emmakillianfan]

Music of the Heart Chapter 54 of ?

Previous Chapters: FF.net and AO3

Henry’s fever was at its highest on Monday after their trip to New York and his own camping trip in an unheated cabin with his father. While it was on the tip of her tongue to chastise Neal for not making him wear a hat or gloves in their little adventure, she simply informed him that Henry was not available for that last minute suit fitting that Tamara was insisting on for him. There was no further question about it as she checked on her on an hour or so later and found him sleeping with a rattle of congestion when he breathed and his face flushed from the fever.

If anything good happened from the virus he had caught, it was that Elsa and Liam elected to go stay at Anna and Kristoff’s for the duration. They had beat a hasty retreat upon finding out from Emma just as everyone was headed to bed that Henry was indeed sick. Liam had a performance after Thanksgiving that couldn’t be missed and Elsa feared for her own singing voice. So rather than quarantine themselves with hand sanitizer and masks, they slept on matching couches at her sister’s.

Killian did not seem all that upset at the development, cooking breakfast that morning sans shirt and humming along with the radio without fear of being watched. That was except for Emma who was parked on the couch with a blanket thrown over her and Mary Margaret’s organized trove of wedding suggestions in her lap. Occasionally she would throw an idea out to Killian, who mustered some enthusiasm over flowers and trinkets.

Delivering a freshly brewed cup of coffee to her, he held it aloft until she raised her head and accepted his kiss as payment for the caffeine. He pulled away after the first kiss, licked his tongue over his bottom lip, and then dove in for a second kiss before placing the steaming mug within reach.

“You do know I don’t care about any of this stuff,” she said, blowing into the too hot to drink mug. “We could just go to city hall.”

“I would go anywhere with you, love, but I don’t think we’d survive the wrath of Mary Margaret or Ruby. Mary Margaret has become the pseudo mother of the bride and Ruby’s apparently designing you quite the frock. I dare say both would be disappointed beyond reason if we were to elope.”

She flipped a page in the notebook that was innocently titled bouquets and boutonnieres, barely glancing at the rose and tulip heavy cascade of flowers. “How do you know what kind of dress Ruby’s designing for me? She’s barely shown me other than to make sure her measurements are right. She may be a hot mess, but she’s very superstitious and wouldn’t want you to see it before it’s time.”

He grinned as he returned from the kitchen with his own mug, settling in next to her and resting his left arm on the back of the sofa. The breakfast frittata he was making was in the oven and already filled the air with so many flavorful scents. “She’s had some questions about my abilities.” Her raised eyebrow made him chuckle. “Nothing too offensive, mind you. She simply asked about my hand and if a zipper was preferable to buttons.”

“And your answer?”

“That it was your dress and your comfort and desire should come before my preferences.” He grimaced at the heat of the coffee as it hit his tongue. “Though I should have told her that my thoughts on the subject included you, a strip tease, and a quite enjoyable evening to start our lives out was husband and wife.”

“She would be the only one of our friends to appreciate that.” Emma tried to sound annoyed as she blew one last stream of air at the coffee. “But just so you know, she’s not designing what I wear under my wedding dress. That will be for your eyes only. Well, your eyes and I guess the cashier who sells them to me.”

The kitchen timer and a sharp knock at the front door interrupted any further discussion of what to wear or not wear for their still nebulous wedding plans. Killian darted to the kitchen, snagging a sweater from the laundry while Emma peered out the window to see who was stopping in so early. “Speak of the devil,” she announced when the whirlwind that was Ruby draped her arms around Emma to hug her. Keeping one hand holding a large paper sack, she waved it toward Killian.

“Granny heard that Henry was sick. She sent her miracle soup to help.” The dark haired beauty laughed as Killian peeked in the bag he sat next to the fresh from the oven breakfast. “You don’t want to know what’s in it. I don’t even know. I just know there is a lot of hot sauce because she thinks it makes you sweat out a cold or something.”

“That’s very kind of you and Granny,” Killian said, “But perhaps it would be better for lunch than breakfast?”

Ruby ignored the question, shimmying out of her slim cut coat and collapsing dramatically onto the couch just next to where Emma had been huddled. She lifted one of the photos of wedding flowers and promptly ripped it. “If you go with something like that, you might as well have carnations and baby’s breath. Seriously, Emma, if you insist on leaving me alone in the spinsterhood, you can at least show some fashion sense and class at your wedding.”

Emma let out an amused sigh as she squeezed Killian’s shoulder on her way back to the couch. He’d already plated up some breakfast for Henry, adding a slice of toast and brimming glass of orange juice that he placed on a tray. He made a show of balancing it perfectly and was delivering it when Ruby made a face at another photo.

“Don’t,” Emma warned. “They aren’t even mine. This is Mary Margaret’s doing.”

“I should have known. She’s called you forward to the pastel side. Shoes ready to dye? Am I right?”

“Even Mary Margaret has better taste than that,” Emma protested, hoping that the advertisements for such things were well tucked away. “I thought you promised to be supportive. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

While nobody had mentioned Ruby staying for breakfast, she made no protests when Killian returned with a plate for her and a report that Henry woke up long enough to take a bite or two along with another round of medicine. “Try the soup later. It’s bound to work.” Her lips curled around the fork and she moaned loudly in appreciation.

Killian blushed slightly over Ruby’s reaction, but Emma was more amused. “That sounded indecent. Seriously, Ruby, it is just eggs, cheese…” She turned to Killian for help.

“Zucchini, a bit of spinach, a dash of cream, and some honey cured ham.” The fork he was holding sliced though his triangular piece and dropped a modest amount into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed, something Emma found endearing. He was the same way in so many things he was passionate about, including kissing and touching her. It was as though he wanted to savor each and every moment. The blue of his eyes popped against his dark lashes as his eyes opened suddenly. “It is quite good.”

It was Ruby’s turn to be amused, wagging her fork at him. “You two need to spice things up around here. You’re turning everyone orgasmic over breakfast.” Her ability to eat bellied the thin frame that was covered in a red and black outfit that hugged each curve with definition. Her long legs disappeared under a short black skirt that was buttery soft. A zig zag of red leather crossed in both front and back.

“We have plenty of drama, Ruby,” Emma said warningly, winking at Killian as she adjusted the blanket over her lap and enjoyed her own plate. “What are you doing up anyway? I thought that you were spending the weekend with Graham? Shouldn’t you be… recovering from doing things that I don’t want to know about and you’ll end up telling me anyway?” Emma knew her friend well, having spent more than a few nights listening to rants about failed one night stands or the time when Ruby forgot the name of a date and had Emma scouring the internet to find his identity while she hid in the restroom.

Throwing her head back dramatically, Ruby threw her legs up on the solid coffee table. “Okay so I am not just here to deliver soup and mooch breakfast. I need advice.” She lifted a single eye to open and spied Emma pleadingly. “You know I don’t do this. Not really.”

“What don’t you do exactly?” Emma asked warily after she gave Killian a silent look that said it was okay for him to stay. “Or should I ask what did you do?”

“Saturday night,” she said cryptically with an arm thrown over her eyes. “I went to the Rabbit Hole.” Emma wondered how her friend was able to sigh properly with the tight outfit. On someone else it would look like they were trying too hard, but Ruby was a beautiful sight in the leather and bold colors.

Swallowing, Emma drew in a breath and waited for the worst. “Without Graham?”

“He was working.” Ruby threw herself back to sitting on the edge of the couch, her back ramrod straight. “Okay so this whole monogamy thing. It’s got rules, right? You can’t just go around sleeping with guys you don’t know if you’re in a monogamous relationship.”

When Emma didn’t answer, her mouth full of the egg dish, Killian gave each woman an amused smile. “It’s generally frowned upon, as is sleeping with men you do know.” His smirk wasn’t returned by either, forcing him to turn the laugh that was bubbling up into a cough.

“Who exactly are we talking about?” Emma asked, prodding her friend gently. She’d been through and subject to many of Ruby’s freak outs. This one seemed no different except for Ruby’s reluctance to divulge.

“Me!”

Emma reached a hand out and gently stroked through her friend’s now tousled and tangled mane of hair. “I meant the guy. Who was the guy? What happened?” She waited while Ruby’s breath returned to normal, Emma took another bite of her breakfast and chewed thoughtfully.

“He was just a guy,” Ruby said through a dry sob where no tears fell. “I don’t even know his name.”

“And you slept with him?” Emma asked, cringing at the drama this was going to cause. Confessions, tearful questions, regrets, decisions to move on, and the list would go on and on. There would be awkward moments in the future when Graham and Ruby were in the same room.

“No,” Ruby nearly wailed. “I didn’t. He said hello. I said hello and then…”

Killian and Emma both waited for Ruby to continue, but she didn’t notice them staring expectantly. She flung herself backwards again, her ankle boots clattering against the aged wood table. Hugging a throw pillow to her tight red sweater, she moaned in a painful huff.

“Ruby, whatever you did, I’m sure that Graham can forgive you. I mean this is still very new for you. If you’re honest with him, I’m sure…” She glanced at Killian with a hopeful eyebrow raised that he might have the right words now. While she wanted to be supportive of her friend, she couldn’t imagine facing such a thing herself. She would never consider cheating on Killian and had no indication he would ever cheat on her. “I’m sure it was just sex. I mean no emotions, right?”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Ruby said, lolling her head to the right and looking pointedly toward the blonde. “I wanted to. God, did I want to sleep with him. He was hot. And from the looks of his outfit, which wasn’t bought here in Storybrooke, he was rich. And when he talked to me, he was funny, smart, and everything else you could want in a guy.”

Confused, Killian placed his mug back down and then removed the plate from his knee as if the shock of this conversation might unbalance it. “Wait? You didn’t sleep with this guy?”

“No,” she wailed, still beseechingly focused on Emma. “I freaking wanted to and was going to. You know that area in the restroom where…”

“Details aren’t necessary,” Emma interrupted, not wanting to think about the nights (yes, more than one) when she and Mary Margaret had seen her disappear into that restroom and come out some time later disheveled and sated. “So you had a plan and he wasn’t interested.”

Ruby’s chin dropped and her eyebrows raised in challenge. “When have you known a guy not to be interested in sex?”

That question made Killian laugh and Emma conceded that her friend had a point. Men were never lacking with Ruby, though their quality and worth was lacking. “Point taken. So I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong here. You said you didn’t sleep with this guy. Does he even have a name because guy is a bit generic?”

“Yeah so I don’t know,” Ruby complained, rubbing one ankle on the other. “It’s freaking insane. I talked to him. I flirted. I mean not overly so. I don’t ever do that. And he’s all ready to give me his number and suggesting some not so proper things. And do you know what happened?”

Emma said nothing, knowing exactly where this was going. It was Killian who seemed the more enthralled with Ruby’s story and her rhetorical question. “Do tell, Ruby.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I couldn’t do it. I felt sick to my stomach. I saw Graham’s face in my head and knew that I couldn’t face him if I did this.” Her hands lifted to her face where she covered her features with her palms. “I never turn down a guy I’m interested in. Never. What is wrong with me?”

Emma shared a look with Killian, scooting closer to her friend on the sofa. “You realize that you’re not a bad person for this, right? I’m proud of you, Ruby.”

She lowered her hands and stared incredulously at her friend. “Seriously? I tell you I practically cheated and you’re proud of me?” She blinked a few times. “Why?”

“Ruby, it’s okay to love him. It’s okay to be vulnerable and a little scared. The reward is worth it. I promise.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ruby said harshly. “Nobody is talking about love here. And I do vulnerable. What do you think I am when I wear my stilettos out on a rainy night? That’s vulnerable. Anything could get me? A serial killer, a mugger, a pot hole. I know vulnerable.”

“You know what I mean,” Emma responded. “I’m just saying that there is nothing wrong with wanting it to work out with Graham.”

Emitting the large sigh of resignation, Ruby grabbed for one of the files of wedding ideas. “So Granny wants to know if you want to go with just chicken as the main dish or something else and give people a choice. I was thinking seafood, but that doesn’t have to work if you don’t want it.”

Killian shook his head as if the change in topic had given him whiplash. “I like seafood,” he said almost meekly before repeating it a bit stronger. “That sounds lovely.”

***AAA***

Elsa folded the blankets and placed them at the table at the foot of the stairs. She knew her sister was planning for them to stay another night, but Elsa dreaded the idea. The townhome was spacious and comfortable, but it was no longer home. She missed her own condo too much, the sight of Liam’s shoes sticking out from under the bed, her cereal and his both in the pantry.

He came down those stairs a few minutes later with his hair even curlier in the dampness from his shower. “Your sister scares me, darling,” he said, swooping in to kiss her with his minty fresh mouth. “I made the dreadful mistake of asking after a bar of soap for my shower. She proceeded to begin naming every bath oil and wash that she has in her possession. I swear to you, darling, I could hear her voice through the door.”

Reaching out to smooth some of his damp hair, she smiled uneasily. “She didn’t walk in on you, did she? I know she wouldn’t mean to, but with Anna…She thinks before she acts.”

“Thank God for locks. No, she was waxing nostalgic over something called lavender meets juniper breeze in the hallway. I now know what not to buy her for Christmas.”

“You don’t have to buy my sister anything,” Elsa teased. Or maybe it wasn’t much of a jest because that would mean she had to buy something for Killian. And the whole thing could just snowball.

“We’ll worry with that later. So…” He darted his eyes about the living room and back toward the stairs. “Your sister is wanting to make us breakfast. But I was thinking…”

“Granny’s?” She knew he was not in the mood for his sister’s steam of consciousness. To be honest she wasn’t either. The two sisters were already scheduled to do a little cooking experimentation in anticipation of Thursday and some baby furniture shopping over the next few days. Plus they were meeting with the web team at the label about some promotion for their site.

“Sounds like a brilliant plan. I’ll grab our coats and you tell that guard of yours that we are venturing out.” He half turned to leave toward the closet when he spun back and kissed her even more solidly than before. “Sorry about that. I just needed a little motivation this morning.”

“Liam!” Anna called from upstairs. “Next time you shower you totally need to try this new all natural loofa sponge that I got. It makes your skin glow. Well not like in the dark or anything, but it makes you look good. I think it would be good for you. Not that I…”

Elsa hid her face against Liam’s broad shoulder and soft sweater. “Tell her to stop,” she said in the muffled tone against him.

“Thanks, Anna,” he called out. “Perhaps another time.” His voice was strained with hidden laughter.

“Go,” Elsa told him. “I’ll distract her and get your coat. You tell Frank or Ollie or whoever the guard is right now. Don’t look back. She can totally sense hesitation. She’ll pounce.”

***AAA***

Fresh out of the shower, Killian stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were still a bit red from lack of sleep and his skin a more pallid shade than normal. While Emma had been comforting and even distracting, his father’s words played on loop in his head. Even the purplish bruise from the nurse’s needle seemed to be reminding him of the weekend.

With his phone eerily silent on the counter, Killian concentrated on his reflection again and whether or not he should shave. Deciding that he should, he was part way done artfully trimming his stubble when the phone bleated a generic ringtone that he feared was the news from the doctor in New York. No news meant that he did not have to make any decisions, something he didn’t mind postponing for as long as possible. His brother may have placed the truth out there for him to see, but it didn’t make the idea of refusing someone a lifesaving operation any easier to face.

The phone number on the screen was not a New York area code though, but Killian answered it with a measured trepidation. The conversation was rather short and he wasn’t sure that the woman on the other end fully appreciated what he had to say. However, it needed to be said. He wasn’t interested in recording let alone traveling about on tour. His brother might dream of such things, but he did not.

Killian came back into the kitchen from their shared bedroom, pushing his phone into his pocket. “Sorry about that, love.” Emma had knocked and looked at him questioningly while he was on the phone. In his haste to finish the call, he had waved her off.

“Was it the doctor?” Emma had tied her hair up in a messy knot atop her head, her emerald green sweater and faded dark jeans covered with an apron that she usually teased Killian for owning. Two bowls were in front of her with flour and other ingredients mostly in the bowls. Directly in front of her was the stained recipe for a chocolate lava cake.

“No, it was Regina’s assistant asking for me to attend a meeting with your boss.” He eyed the mess carefully as he rounded the peninsula and smiled. “I told her I wasn’t available for it. What on earth is all this, love? Are you attempting to bake?”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek, furiously wiping off some of the flour that she transferred to him. “Don’t laugh, but I wanted to give this a shot. See I always just buy the stuff Henry has to take to school for bake sales and stuff. I never really have time to bake. I can cook. I can make anything that includes meat and vegetables and is prepared on a stove. But baking…”

Ignoring the flour that clung to her, he slid in behind her, his hand skimming down her torso and coming to rest on her hip. “I’ve been known to bake a few things. Perhaps I could be of some assistance.”

Her back was nestled against his chest and his breathing seemed to coincide with hers. “Of course you know how,” she muttered, reaching for the recipe. “I feel a little bit like a bum. Isn’t this something moms should know how to do?”

“Perhaps moms in 1950s sitcoms, love, but not actual mothers. At least not any that I know.” Peeking over her shoulder, he kissed a spot just below her ear and then again at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “You have many other fine skills and qualities.”

She grimaced, flushing possibly from his compliment but also frustration. “So…no word from your dad’s doctor?”

“No news is good news, but I don’t know what good news would be at this point. I thought we decided not to make any decisions until we know there is a decision to make.”

“Sorry. I’m just worried about you. Not even mentioning the emotional impact this is clearly going to have on you, your relationship with your father, and your relationship with your brother, there’s the physical thing. Surgery like that isn’t a joke. What if…”

“I promise, love, if the doctor’s office calls and says I am a match, you and I will make a decision together. I won’t be doing anything rash or headstrong.” His fingers dug into the flesh near her hip. “Now do we want to do this together or shall I heat up some of that soup for the lad? I’m rather anxious to see if Granny’s claims of healing properties can be trusted.”

She laughed tightly, turning her head toward him. “I checked on him earlier. He’s sound asleep again thankfully. Seems he had another of the nightmares about me drowning.” She frowned. “I thought we were past those.”

“Aye, I did too. Do you suppose our being away this weekend caused any anxiety? He seems to have them when separated from you.” The dreams had not completely stopped, but Emma knew they had lessened. Either that or he was not telling her of them as frequently. She’d hoped that he would move past them as he realized that she was not planning anything so dangerous to take her away permanently. “I would guess the fever he has doesn’t help.”

She closed her green eyes, breathing in slowly. “I didn’t ask Neal if…”

“It’s alright, love. Go look in on the lad. I’ll tidy up a bit and we’ll try again on your sponge.”

She wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar use of a familiar word. “Oh you mean cake.” She grinned a little. “I watch those British baking shows sometimes.”

“You have quite a few eclectic little habits like that,” he teased, his voice deep and breath warm on her ear. “I’ve caught you watching a few of those cop shows as well.”

“Believe it or not, I considered that line of work in a previous life, Killian.” She lifted her spatula like a gun. “I am good at finding people. I thought I might make a career of it.”

“You are good at finding talent. Brilliant in fact. So any more thoughts about this whole idea of producing?” He was talking and asking about something serious, but yet his tone was light and playful. His hand skimmed along her hip and up then down her torso again.

She dropped the spatula and stepped out of his embrace to busy herself in another area of the kitchen. “I thought we were going to concentrate on your father, the wedding, and making sure your younger brother stays put. Not to mention there’s Henry’s grades, Neal’s wedding, two friends having babies, and whatever drama Ruby brings in next.” Rolling her shoulders back, she kept facing forward as she searched in the cabinet for some unseen item. “What about you? Any more thought on the school thing with Mary Margaret?”

His eyes narrowed at her obvious escape and avoidance. “I planned to talk to her at this party thing Thursday. She’s taken the lead on it.” Though she wasn’t looking at him, he frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she answered, turning 90 degrees and walking over to the refrigerator where she pulled out the soup from Granny. “I just thought we were going to hold off on my career decisions until things were more stable. But it’s not a big deal.”

He watched her for a moment and then joined her next to the stove. “I told you that we could make this work if you…I only mean that we can go at whatever speed you like.”

“Let’s get this done for Henry, okay? We’ll talk about life altering decisions later. You decipher that recipe over there and I’ll heat this up. That’s about my speed right now.”

***AAA***

“So I was thinking that it might be a little crowded at that loft,” Granny told Elsa as Liam tried to pick something new and different from the menu. There was nothing new on it and very little that could be called exciting. Yet he still tried and usually settled for waffles. “What if we took the burden off the poor girl and hosted it here.”

“Here?” Elsa considered thoughtfully as she dragged her straw through the ice water. “I’m not sure that the diner is the family feel Mary Margaret was really reaching for on this.”

The older woman huffed at being shot down, yanking the menu out of Liam’s hands. “You do realize that we are planning to fit me, Marco, August and his date, Ruby, Graham, You and Liam, Emma, Killian, Henry, Anna and her husband, David, Mary Margaret, Ashley, Sean, and whichever other strays end up at this thing, all around a table with four chairs. I’m just saying there has to be a better place.”

Liam, who had said nothing, reached out to retrieve the menu only to have her hold it out of reach. “I wasn’t done with that, Granny.” He chuckled playfully and reached again. She slapped his hand with the laminated menu.

“You’re just going to order the waffles,” she sniffed. “Just think about what I said, Elsa. Nothing is worse than eating turkey in shifts because there is no room.”

Elsa dropped her head to her hand and rubbed at her temple. “She has a point.”

“Aye, but she’s also a tad violent with that menu. And I wasn’t planning on getting waffles. I was considering that wester omelet thing until she snatched it away from me.” He rubbed at his hand as though he still felt the sting. Elsa looked at him incredulously. “Very well. I was planning to get the waffle, but she didn’t know that for sure.”

“Mary Margaret really wants to host this party for Thanksgiving. It would break her heart if we have it at the diner instead.”

“Perhaps we should cut the guest list? Henry’s feeling poorly so he may be out, which would mean Emma and even Killian…”

“You can’t go around disinviting people. Besides, it’s Monday. Henry will be fine by Thursday. What if we had it at the condo? We have that giant great room area, open concept and all that.”

Liam swallowed the coffee in front of him and grimaced. “We don’t even have a dining table. Plus the place has been shut up since this whole thing with my brother. Anna’s?”

“My sister is a hormonal mess right now. She was following me around this morning with a vacuum. Her hosting Thanksgiving would probably send her over the edge. Plus there is no parking there.” She pursed her lips and stared off toward the menu. “What about Emma and Killian’s? They’ve got a larger table and we could do something outside with heaters and stuff. It would work, wouldn’t it?”

“We do always seem to congregate there. I don’t see a problem.” He reached for the raw sugar packet, shaking it for good measure. “But if you suggest I ask my brother, you’re likely to be disappointed. I think we’ve both run out of favors owed in that case.”

Remaining thoughtful, Elsa again stirred through the water. “No, you’re right there. Besides we need to make it seem like it’s Mary Margaret’s idea. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” There wasn’t much of an explanation needed, as the woman who was normally even keeled and protective was overboard with every emotion.

“Good idea, I suppose,” Liam lamented as his waffle, sans whipped cream, was dropped off in front of him and Elsa’s healthier dish in front of her. “We are quite different, you and I?”

Spearing a piece of melon with her fork, she hummed her response wondering what he was getting at. “That’s a bad thing?”

“No, I only meant that sometimes it seems strange that the lovely proprietress here would see us as such a good match. I am not complaining, as I’m more than grateful. I just wonder what it is she saw.”

Elsa chewed slowly, giving herself time to digest the words and consider her own. Finally, she took a sip of her water and swallowed that too. “Well, we are both the oldest children in our families. We both have a love of music and writing. Both of us are stubborn and loyal. We can both be fiercely determined and not all that easy to please.”

“I feel that way too,” he said softly, looking toward the counter where it was business as usual in the diner. As it was Monday most people were at work, but there were a few extras given the holiday. The usual décor of forest wall paper and red vinyl with formica was enhanced with autumn leaves and honeycombed turkey decorations. Liam had made fun of the ornamentation when they first arrived, but he was beginning to like its simplicity. “What brought this on, darling? Are you creating some pro con list that I am unaware of right now?”

“No, it’s more about just considering what I’m thankful for this year. I suppose it’s the idea of Thanksgiving, but I’m trying to not be so focused on the negative. My career’s going quite well. My sister is happy and in love. I’m about to be an aunt. I’ve got friends who support and love me. And I have a loving and wonderful boyfriend.” She smiled, spearing another piece of fruit. “If I just focus on those things, I have to admit I’m happy.”

“I like the sound of that. You being happy.” He reached across the table to clasp her left hand. “And one of these days we’ll be back at our lovely condo and things will be back to normal.”

Her icy eyes watched their entwined fingers for a moment. “So what if we move back now? Your brother is still out there, but if we’re careful…”

“Elsa, he tried to run you off the road. He may have broken into Killian’s garage. It’s just not safe…”

“Those things happened since we left. I’m tired of living our lives based on where he’s going to strike next. I want to go home, Liam. I want to have a home again and not be a burden or a guest. I want spend rainy or snowy days with you on the couch, curled up in pajamas while I read a book and you strum your guitar looking for just the right way to express yourself. I want to raid the refrigerator at 2 a.m. and only worry that you’re going to catch me. Only it won’t be you catching me because you’ll join me and we’ll snack on good things until we fall asleep without even bothering to clean the kitchen. I want us to make love in our bed and not have to worry about your brother or my sister hearing. We have a guard. Robin’s already made some improvements. We’ll be careful and vigilant. Let’s go home.”

***AAA***

To Elsa’s relief Mary Margaret was not at all upset in the change in plans. She even volunteered to call Emma herself, saying she didn’t want to impose on her without knowing for sure with her own ears.

“Are you sure?” Emma asked Mary Margaret with the phone tucked against her ear. “I feel horrible that he might have passed his germs on to you.”

“I teach for a living. Past the first year I built up an immunity that you wouldn’t believe. Trust me. You could drop me in a room with patients of a bubonic plague and I’d be healthy. It’s not a big deal.”

“But David isn’t immune and you’re pregnant. I feel awful.” Henry was on the mend and even his pediatrician’s office had seemed rather blasé about the whole thing earlier.

“Trust me, it’s fine. Now tell me what’s going on. You sounded stressed when I called earlier.” Leave it to Mary Margaret to already be concerned about someone other than herself. Her voice lost that harsh teacher edge in these moments and became what Emma had always imagined her own mother would sound like.

“Just trying to take care of Henry, deal with this whole thing with Killian’s father, learn to bake, and somehow convince my boss that my fiancé is not interested in becoming the next big thing in music. By the way that is in random order. Plus someone keeps dropping off wedding planning stuff over here. Do I really have to pick what kind of runner I want to walk down the aisle on? How is that even a choice?”

If Mary Margaret was offended at her friend’s overwhelmed rant, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, you’re a little busy. So I guess it won’t help if I say I have one more thing to ask you to do.”

Emma flopped back on the bed, as she had closed herself off in hers and Killian’s bedroom to have the conversation. She had seen the look in his eyes that said he was concerned about her and heard his voice sounding worried he had done something wrong. While he hadn’t, she was teetering on the edge of a meltdown at that moment. It felt selfish to her to think of him waiting on life or death news about his father and she was the one breaking down. “If you want me to kill someone, I’ll try to work it into my schedule. If you want me to consider another wedding plan you saw online and just have to see in person, count me out.”

“You can’t see me right now, but I have my fingers in the Girl Scout salute. Seriously, I won’t even mention the wedding if that takes something off your shoulders. Actually it’s about Thanksgiving.”

“Oh right,” Emma said, staring at the ceiling above. She knew her friend was going for that traditional New England holiday feel. Next year their meal might include a few others, including the new babies who would be there by then. “How set were you on having lava cake? Because I was thinking that your pumpkin pie is dessert enough. Plus you know Granny will bring that stuff she makes. And since you invited Regina, Robin, and Roland you’re bound to get apple tarts from Regina.”

Mary Margaret’s laugh sounded relaxed and easy. “No big deal, Emma. I am sure whatever you want to make will be fine. See. I am not the control freak everyone assumes I am.” She paused when Emma didn’t confirm her assessment. “No, really. I’m not. But we do have a location issue. Granny and Elsa called. Our guest list is kind of getting out of hand.”

“So you want me to disinvite people,” Emma said knowingly. “I get it. Okay there are a few easy cuts.”

“No, I’m not asking that. See, Elsa and Granny were thinking the loft might be too small for everyone to be comfortable. And except for the diner, you’re the one with the biggest place. We could even get some of those heater things and place them around. What do you think?”

Within 20 minutes they had a plan that she promised to run by Killian. Then they could go about notifying everyone of the venue change. Emma was already feeling relieved that Mary Margaret’s favor seemed to be manageable.

“So you’re sure you’re okay with everything?” the brunette asked again. “Because if you need to talk…”

“I’m fine,” Emma assured her. “I’m just feeling a lot of things at the moment. I thought I was okay with everything earlier but now…”

“You’re worried about Killian, aren’t you? I would be too if it was David. That’s kind of a jerk move to abandon your son and then show up years later wanting a liver.” Mary Margaret clicked her tongue on the top of her mouth. “You do realize that most people would have told him to go to hell.”

“Yeah, most people,” Emma said ruefully. She rolled to her right and came face to face with a photo of her and Killian from their summer vacation. Henry had taken it, the sun shimmering her in blonde hair perfectly and pinkness of her skin and Killian’s well on display. The ginger coloring of Killian’s stubble was on full display with the brightness of the light. “I’m worried about him, Mary Margaret. What if…”

“Emma, it’s okay to worry. But maybe if you talked to him about this. It is him we’re talking about.”

She closed her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I don’t want him to know how worried I am. It’s his decision not mine and I don’t want him to think I’m interfering.” She left out the guilt that she was feeling over his reluctant acceptance of things in her career just because he had wanted her to be happy. And the fact that Regina was apparently trying to reach him did not help.

“It’s not good to let things boil inside you. Just talk to him, Emma. You’ll feel better.”

So that is what she meant to do. She pulled herself up off the bed after disconnecting the call and ran her hand through her hair that now was falling out of the knot atop her head. She walked slowly into the great room, waiting to see if he would notice her. He did. But it was not as she had pictured the moment just seconds before. He was on the phone too, the three lines between his eyebrows bunching together dramatically. When he disconnected, he shrugged at her hopelessly.

“I’m a match.”

[chickpow]

Caught in the Act

Chickpow here: I found an old disc/floppy disc in my attic containing a lot of very old fanfiction from authors and websites that are either gone or taken down. I am not the author but I would like to share what I’ve found. if you find the author please let me know so I can credit them properly. Thank you and enjoy

2nd note from Chickpow: This is the one story where I really wish there was a sequal, if anyone wants to try it, let me know. I also wish there was more stories about this pairing.

Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Act One: The Cast

  scene i

Goten was silently grateful for the navy blue blazer that shielded his broad frame against the early Autumn wind. His foot kicked idly at the brilliant crimson and gold product of the season, never breaking his stride, and sent the leaves scattering in several different directions, only to be caught and tossed by the very breeze he walked against. Hitching the padded strap of his book bag further up one shoulder, the young demi-Saiyan strode purposefully down the shaded asphalt lane, broken with diluted rays of afternoon sunlight that sliced through the patchwork frame of trees above him, casting soft grey shadows on the edges of his vision. Sure, he could have flown, but the day was too beautiful to take for granted, and so the youngest Son found himself virtually skipping down the road to Capsule Corporation.

It felt like absolute ages since he'd seen Trunks, and the prospect of meeting with the older boy had his stomach in an intricate knot work of uneasiness. They still spoke occasionally over the phone, though those precious moments had dwindled down to almost nothing since both had started school about two weeks ago. A scowl graced his youthful features as the thought flit across his wandering mind. Ever since his mother had placed him unwillingly into a private school.

Following the nature curve of the road, Goten disregarded the dark thought and found himself smiling widely as the first glint of sunlit white shone off the domed roof of his destination. Absently jerking the bag more firmly onto his shoulder, Goten quickened his step, relishing the comfortable sound of crunching leaves beneath his feet and the gentle wind in his ebony hair.

scene ii

"Damn piece of shit..." Vegeta swore quietly, leaning farther over the mechanical contraption and putting forth a valiant effort to fit the tiny silver screw into the even smaller hole that was designed to hold it. For the thousandth time since he had sat down in his task, he cursed the absent mother of his children. Holding his lower lip tightly beneath his teeth, the Saiyan prince ceased all breathing and movement, focusing intently on the matter at hand. The driver in his hand turned obediently with the careful flicks of his wrist, fastening the plastic cover back into place. With a satisfied smirk, the man straightened his posture, the hands still curled around the various tools of his labour moving to rest on his hips. Nodding once, he bent again to examine the row of grey buttons that compiled the top of the machine. Furrowing his brow in concentration, one finger lifted to jab at the largest triangular shaped object containing the depressed indent of a small square.

Immediately his ears where assaulted with the loud, booming bass of one of his daughter's wretched CDs, still lodged within the closed compartment. Baring his teeth, the prince moved to turn down the volume, though only succeeded in worsening his predicament as a woman's husky voice broke through the pulsating beat-

Oh baby, baby...how was I supposed to know that something wasn't right...

Pausing above the button he knew would silence the debilitating noise, Vegeta stole a glance around the deserted kitchen. The woman was out, his son and daughter still at school...Unconsciously, his left foot began to tap in time to the horrendous beat.

Show me how you want it to be. Tell me, baby, cause I need to know now! Because, my loneliness, is killing me. And I must confess I still believe (Still believe!) When I'm not with you I lose my mind- Give me a sign! Hit me baby, one more time!

scene iii

The youngest Son bit the inside of his lip, brow drawn in a moment of indecision. He'd pressed the little round circle twice already, listening intently for any response to the resounding ding of the doorbell. Music beating a soft cadence from within was the only indication that someone was at home. Moving closer to the wooden frame, he could almost make out the words of the song. Must be Bra, he mused, picking out the heavy tempo and chipmunk voice of the pop star the little girl loved so much. Shaking his head, Goten reached for the handle-no one would mind if he simply walked through the door. He'd had an open invitation to do so from the moment he and Trunks had been brought home from Kindergarten, scuffed and bloody after unsuccessfully trying to spar on the playground. Both families had realized the ultimate futility of attempting to keep the demi-Saiyans apart. Even Vegeta had overcome his irritation enough to allow his son to interact with "Kakarott's brat".

Stepping over the threshold, Goten was at once awash with the scent he had unconsciously been yearning for. This is home, he thought, rotating slightly to shut the door behind him, kicking out the mischievous leaves that danced inside, coaxed by the light rush of air his entrance created. This was were he had spent countless hours-hours that had bled into years of his youth. Here was a home that had a mother that didn't yell or constantly complain, and a father...

Inhaling deeply the interwoven aroma of Bulma's perfume and the ammonia based cleaner her robots used when picking up the house, Goten faintly recognized the undertone of something muskier that he had instinctually craved...Ever since Gohan finally told mom to go to hell and walked out the door...

The scent of another Saiyan. Three to be exact, one of which he was currently sensing from the direction of the kitchen.

Hiking the bag higher on his shoulder, Goten moved from the doorway and toward the source of both the sound and the smell that played a game of remembrance with his senses.

...There's nothing that I wouldn't do...

"Oh, Dende-sama..." his whisper was more of an enraptured exhale of shock. The concept of time was an alien thought in the boy's muddled mind as he watched the man he could almost call father dance to his daughter's favourite song.

Show me how you want it to be. Tell me baby, cause I need to know now!

Vegeta's slender hips had captured the rhythm perfectly, the tail that had grown back over a decade ago complimenting the erotic movement with long, sensuous sweeps of the air behind him. Those sculpted arms were pulled tightly to his body, and his hands...Goten finally found the muscle strength to swallow, saliva wetting a path down an uncomfortably dry mouth. The Saiyan prince was running his hands over his own figure in the most sexual fashion the demi-Saiyan had ever witnessed. Even when he and Trunks had managed to wire up the Spice channel in the Cable to his room upstairs, the young man had never seen such an arousing sight. No woman he had ever laid eyes upon had ever danced like this...It was like the prince was worshipping his body with his own hands, caressing the smooth, flawless skin in fluid motions of pure, animal grace.

...When I'm not with you I lose my mind-Give me a sign! Hit me, baby, one more time!

Goten's first sensation, when his brain finally began to respond to his silent, insistent screams of embarrassment, was of heat. The foreign fire that sparked in his loins, that, until this moment, had been reserved for the son of the man he now found himself unable to stop drooling over, and the rush of blood that surged to his face left him light-headed and breathless. With a violent shake of his head, the boy forced his gawking mouth to close. Dende, this man was like a father to him! Although...bless their Saiyan heritage; Vegeta looked barely half his fifty years.

Oh baby, baby...I shouldn't have let you go...

The music suddenly slowed considerably, dropping in volume. The revolution of the Saiyan's hips matched the pace, his incredibly built arms sliding up his body...

I must confess-my loneliness, is killing me now!

Entwining above his head to lock seductively behind his neck...

Don't you know I still believe!

Only to slide down his chest, over his denim-clad thighs...

That you will be here and give me a sign...

Continuing downward, his nimble body bending in half, giving the Son an excellent view of his rear...

That's it, Vegeta, Goten found himself thinking as his dark head bent with the beautiful figure before him, famished eyes devouring every single movement. Just a little further...

scene iv

Although Vegeta had admittedly loosened up over his years of living on the miserable little planet he reluctantly dubbed home, he had never allowed himself to become so utterly relaxed. The thick, upbeat vibration that flowed from the little black box on the table surrounded his form, enticing his hips to move, his hands to follow, until all that remained still and unmoving were his feet on the floor. Even his tail was caressed by the infectious notes, snapping and waving in time to the cadence. He lost himself in the melody, dark eyes closing, the hard lines fading from his severe features as his body responded to the music.

scene v

Hit me baby, one more time!

The song was winding down, the pulsating tempo receding to a dull thumping rhythm. Goten has ceased all coherent thought, his adolescent hormones ravaging his poor mind until all he acknowledged was the sight of the man before him, though part of him absently wondered what Vegeta would do if he took the song's advice and slapped him on the ass... The fingers gripping his canvas bag grew slack; it slid, forgotten, off his shoulder and landed on the hard wood floor with an audible thud.

Instantly, Vegeta's body snapped into an upright position, brown tail coiling around his waist, deadly black eyes seeking the origin of the sound and the person that dared to interrupt him.

Goten froze, a rabbit pinned beneath the iron gaze of the wolf. He had no breath to draw, no heart to beat, as though remaining impeccably motionless could somehow throw the other man off his trail. With a final series of notes, the song ended, the player leaving them in deathly silence. Before another could begin, the prince reached over with a measure of practiced control and pressed the stop button, the CD winding down with a flurry of soft sound.

Shifting his feet uncertainly, the boy cast his wide eyes swiftly down, immediately discarding his irrational desire in favour of stark embarrassment.

scene vi

Damn the boy's weak ki! Vegeta mentally swore, berating himself for letting his guard down completely enough for the demi-Saiyan to walk in entirely undetected. If Goten had been his father, this never would have happened. I could feel Kakarott from a mile away...But the boy wasn't his nemesis, and Vegeta had gotten used to his presence over the years-the quiet, willing figure that had tagged along in the shadow of his own son. He had the most insane urge to throw the offending machine against the far wall. Sighing, he released the young man's gaze. Then he'd have to fix the damn thing again. It wasn't worth it...

scene vii

"What do you want?" Goten's eyes focused trailed up hesitantly from their blank stare on the floor. Bringing them to rest on those of the Saiyan prince, the young Son noticed exactly how difficult this was for the other man as well. He silently admired that Vegeta had the voice to speak after being caught in such a...compromising and uncharacteristic act. Black orbs widened ever so slightly as a fiery scarlet splashed the prince's well-defined cheekbones. Goten had never seen the man blush before. It was...awkward. Swallowing thickly, he fleetingly remembered the time he and an eight-year-old Trunks had accidentally walked in on the conception of his best friend's sister. Vegeta hadn't even bothered to pause in the act, let alone blushed, only thrown a pillow at the two slack-jawed boys and growled something unintelligible that one didn't have to be a genius to understand.

The beginnings of a smile dashed across his handsome Son features as the crimson stain intensified in the heavy silence, washing over his face and creeping down the prince's elegant throat. He couldn't help but think the man was kind of cute when he blushed...

scene viii

Crossing his arms, Vegeta eyed the boy he had raised along side his own son, heartily attempting to quench the fire in his face. His natural scowl deepened as the boy regarded him with a look that the prince was hard pressed to identify. Before he could ponder it, the glance was gone, replaced by that infuriating Son smile that had become the bane of his royal existence.

"Well?" He snapped, irritated and at the end of his insufferably short rope. He was finished with feeling like he was on display for the boy's amusement.

scene ix

"I-I..."

The front door slammed, jarring the uncomfortable silence and causing tense muscles to jerk, his thumping heart to skip an unneeded beat. It was rapidly followed by an enthusiastic, girlish cry.

"Papa!" Vegeta's dark fathomless eyes blessedly left his own, sliding down to the little blue-haired streak that ran past him. With more speed than his eyes could follow, Bra was in her father's powerful arms, small white stockinged legs wrapped around his waist.

"Did you fix it?" Her feminine voice was pitched higher than he remembered. The little girl that had once been nothing more than a bundle in those thick arms was still small, but growing like a weed. No, make that a flower. She had inherited her mother's delicate frame, but artistically granted her father's devilish eyes. Both children had been graced with the blood chilling Saiyan glare.

Nodding, the prince hefted his daughter as if she were weightless, resting her against his hip and turning her toward the table. Greedy hands reached out to collect the cherished CD player, cradling the large object against her chest. With a genuine smile of affection, the girl planted a sloppy kiss on her father's cheek before squirming out of his arms and running to the door, burden held awkwardly in her small arms.

Skidding to a halt, Bra regarded the other demi-Saiyan with narrow, searching eyes. Goten couldn't help but notice the resemblance she held toward the elder Saiyan in the room and released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as she broke into a broad grin.

"Goten-kun!" One arm was automatically thrown haphazardly around his waist, the machine balanced precariously between their bodies. With a laugh, Goten embraced the younger demi-Saiyan, squeezing her back with as much force as she had mustered in her tiny little frame. Struggling with the breath that was knocked carelessly from his body, the boy reflected that she even if she looked deceptively like her mother, Bra was definitely just like her father.

And then she was gone as fast as she had arrived, black shoes clacking in a patter of running steps all the way up the stairs to her room and mingling with the echo that lingered after her energy-filled form had disappeared. "Arigato, Papa!"

Silence descended like a black velvet curtain between the two men.

Clearing his dry throat, Goten gathered his courage and opened his mouth to speak.

"You fixed that? I thought Bulma did that kind of thing..." Vegeta seemed to physically relax as the boy spoke. Well, as relaxed as one could appear with an arms crossed stance and stern, piercing glare. He's probably just glad I didn't bring it up...though I'd love to compliment him on it. Nah. He'd probably beat me into the ground. Giving the young Son his back, the prince turned his attention to the kitchen table, occupying himself with cleaning the resulting mess of his labour.

"Woman's not here." Reaching down with one hand to grasp at the strap of his book bag, Goten let it dangle at his side as he made his way into the room.

"Did she have to work late again?" Vegeta's obvious snort of amusement snagged the wandering strand of his attention and he settled his black eyes on the smirking face of his best friend's father. A smile quirked at the edges of his lips as he set down his bag beside the leg of the table, pulling out a chair and seating himself comfortably within it's metal frame.

"What?" The prince's only response to his inquiry was to chuckle harder, hands skillfully collecting the small screwdrivers needed to repair such an intricately made piece of equipment. With a long, sweeping gesture, Vegeta scooped the half dozen meandering screws into his opposite hand. Glancing up at him over the raven ridge of his brow, the man gave him a conspiratorial grin.

"Yeah, working. I guess fucking your customers is like work, ne, boy?" Goten's jaw dropped, his mouth fumbling with nonexistent words. Leaning forward on his elbows, the Son couldn't help but whisper, as though seeking to hide the information from...who? Her husband apparently already knew her whereabouts.

"You're kidding! Bulma-san's having an affair?" The man nodded his affirmation, dumping his handful of small grey objects into the trash, a tiny shower of glittering silver. Goten really had been gone too long..."Well--well how do you know?"

Vegeta grinned ferally, hands braced against the slick surface of the table; the prince leaned forward until he was no more than a foot away from the demi-Saiyan's wide obsidian eyes.

"I can smell it on her."

Swallowing sharply, Goten sat back abruptly, hitting the chair with enough force to leave vertical, bar-shaped indents in the soft flesh of his back. Those eyes...it was all too easy to get lost in their inky depths. And that savage glint that lit the darkness within them was disturbing. Maybe because of its animal nature, though the boy knew subconsciously that it was because of the pure Saiyan quality that it held. A Saiyan virtue whose absence had been tearing at the filmy walls of his suffering humanity.

With another grunt and a lingering glance, the prince stood, dusting his hands off on the faded denim of his blue jeans. "Why are you here?"

scene x

Hn. Stupid Kakarott. If he had been around more and trained him properly, the damn kid wouldn't be so jumpy. Vegeta watched the friend of his eldest offspring with an interested air. He'd gotten a certain amount of satisfaction in shocking the boy-though that was one of his most coveted past times. It kept people on their toes and gave the prince a tactical advantage.

"I came by to see Trunks." The demi-Saiyan bent to retrieve something from the blue bag at his feet, ripping open the zipper. His dark head bobbed along the edge of the table as his hands sorted through the mess of his schoolwork. The rustle of papers and the sharp smack of books hitting the floor greeting the ears of the Saiyan prince. "I know it's in here somewhere..."

"He's not here." The boy's head rose slowly over the horizon of the table's edge, dark eyes filled with intense disappointment.

"Oh..." Long fingers gripped thoughtlessly at a paperback book in his hands, nervously flicking the tattered corners. "But he said..."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed. If his boy had broken another commitment, he was going to be pissed.

"What?"

scene xi

Goten forced the lump in his throat to dissolve enough to allow him speech, mistaking the warning tone in the prince's voice to be directed at himself.

"It's no big deal. He just said that he'd meet me after school today, to help me on a project..." The Son forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. "S'ok. He must have gotten the days confused, is all."

Vegeta's annoyed growl caused him to drop the book he was holding; it lay on the surface between them, the only thing besides the table itself that separated them. Goten may have grown up around the unpredictable Saiyan prince, but he had had his moments of abject terror in his youth when it came to the other man's actions. His mind engaged in a swift rundown of all the ways he could escape the building, should it come between fight or flight.

xii

The prince swore fluently, fists curling in agitation. When would the boy start acting like the prince he was? It was dishonourable for royalty to break their word unless survival was at stake. And looking at the boy across from him, the man knew that he was no match for his heir. No, Trunks had not forgotten his meeting with Goten. He had simply chosen not to mind it.

Vowing to have a...talk with his son when he came home, the Saiyan prince carefully regarded the boy in front of him. He was trying so hard to hold the pretense of indifference. With a father like his, one could hardly blame him. Vegeta was sure that Goten had been given plenty of practice when it came to shouldering his disappointment.

"What do you need him for?" Shimmering ebony eyes blinked back an unwanted watery intrusion. Silently commending his effort to be strong in the face of obvious disenchantment, the prince awaited his response with something akin to paternal concern.

scene xiii

Goten wiped the back of his sleeve across the burning redness of his eyes. He wasn't about to break down in front of the man he admired most in the world and cry like a baby. Stifling a sniff, the young Son slowly pushed out of his chair. There was no reason to stay now...his stomach ignited in a panicking blaze of nervous agony. He really didn't want to go home. It was so...dark, and lonely, a complete and utter contrast to the brightly lit room he stood in. Hell, even if Vegeta and Bulma weren't on the best of terms, at least Trunks' father hadn't taken the ready excuse and left...

The Saiyan's question finally processed in his brain, and Goten turned in the course of stuffing his bag. Reaching for the book that lay discarded on the table, the demi-Saiyan replied, "I have to memorize part of a play for my acting class. He was going to help me with it."

"Hn." Sighing heavily, the demi-Saiyan fingered the little red paperback, hoisting his bag back over one shoulder. Funny, it felt even heavier now...

"What play?"

"Huh?" Goten looked up in confusion. Vegeta really wasn't acting himself today-dancing, repairing, and now asking the boy personal questions that didn't concern his father...He fleetingly wondered what kind of pills the man had been taking...

"Here." The prince eyed the offered copy as though somewhat wary of his intent before accepting it. "You can...read, can't you, Vegeta-san?" Black eyes snapped up at the comment and Goten was quick to put his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I only meant-I know this isn't your native language. Vegeta-sama."

scene xiv

The boy's good, the prince thought, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from allowing the smile to spread beyond a smirk. Looking down at the battered copy in his hands that bore the library code for the private school on the binding, Vegeta answered idly, flipping through the pages of a play by someone called Shakespeare.

"Of course I can read, boy. I make it a point to know the language of the culture I'm about to destroy. I need to know when I'm being insulted." He knew the boy was trying to hide his grin-after all, he was part human. He probably thought it morally wrong to find humor in his words.

The dank, musty smell of the old book was remarkably pleasant to his senses as he opened the cover. The first page bore the title in a cheap imitation of quality calligraphy:

Twelfth Night: A play in five acts by William Shakespeare.

scene xv

Occupied with the ever-present dread of going home, Goten tried his damndest not to allow the ball of lead in his stomach to weigh him down. There was no use in regret-the way he and Trunks were steadily growing apart, he doubted if, a year hence, he'd be able to think of Capsule Corp. as home.

"I'll do it." The boy's gaze locked onto the obsidian eyes that stared at him from across the kitchen. His brow knit in immediate confusion. Wha...?

"What?" Vegeta leaned forward, dropping the book back down onto the table before resting against the counter, arms folding easily over his muscled chest.

"I said I'll do it. I'll read with you." Was this heaven or hell? Goten's raven eyes widened, brow drawn high in astonishment. But there was no mocking in Vegeta's somber eyes. He was really being serious...

"What? Why?"

The natural scowl that adorned his face deepened as he snarled, "Dammit, boy, do you want my help or not? I do have better things to do with my time then waste them on you."

Shaking his head furiously, Goten promptly decided that looking a gift prince in the mouth was not the most brilliant thing he'd ever done. "No, Vegeta-san! I'd love it if you'd help me...you just...surprised me is all."

"You have another one of those?" The prince indicated the book on the table with a sharp movement of his head.

"H-hai!" Grabbing a pen from the small compartment of his bag, Goten snatched the book off the table, flipping through the pages until he came upon the scene he was searching for. "Here," he drew a fine line under the words Scene IV. "This is the scene I need memorized. I have to be Viola, which means-"

"Isn't that a girl's name?" Goten paused in his task, dark eyes raising hesitantly to peer through thick lashes.

"Hai...but she's pretending to be a boy. Cesario..." He shrugged; he'd thought it stupid when it had been assigned to him too. "And it's an all boy's school anyway..."As if that explained it all. The demi-Saiyan glared down at the insignia on his jacket with bitter disgust. Damn his mother...

A moment of awkward silence ensued before Goten was able to regain the strain of his previous thought.

scene xvi

"Anyway, that makes you the Duke." The prince gave a satisfied nod. At least the title was royalty, even if it wasn't the one he was used to. "We still need one more person..."

"The girl will do it." The Son boy glanced over in surprise.

"You mean Bra?" Vegeta gave a curt nod, dismissing all contrary opposition with a well-directed glower. Of course his daughter would do it. She wasn't nearly as irritating as his insolent son.

scene xvii

Goten had the strangest feeling that if he were to look behind him, there would be white, feathery wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. He was soaring high and unfettered on cloud nine-he had no conceivable idea as to why Vegeta was offering to aid him, but if it meant spending more time with him, then who was he to find fault with it? Outlining the remaining scene, the young man capped his pen and closed the paperback.

"That should do it..." He wanted to hug the stoic man before him, though two things kept him from making a fool of himself and doing so: the simple fact that it was Vegeta, the prince of all Saiyans, including himself...and the mental image of his earlier dancing that randomly rose within the span of their dialogue to plague his thoughts. Even now the heat in his face threatened to reveal the subject of his musings. Swallowing and standing quickly, Goten shuffled his feet, distributing the weight of his pack to rest more easily on his shoulders.

The prince had not chosen to respond to his last comment, and Goten was in agony on how to end the conversation. He'd never really been around the man alone-Trunks had always been with him in the past, a living shield that separated him just enough to feel safe.

While his shoes were infinitely interesting, he wished he'd had the gumption to meet the other's intense stare. It was unnerving how long the man could go without speaking...

"Same time tomorrow?" He finally managed to mumble, having lost his steam in the horrid prospect of having to return home.

"Whatever." The prince shrugged, having apparently lost interest in their interaction. Goten took that motion as a dismissal, and gratefully fled the room as casually as he could.

scene xviii

Head cocked to one side, Vegeta watched the boy leave. He was a strange one, that was for damn sure. Kakarott's youngest seemed to both fear him, and yet appeared somewhat infatuated with the prince. The Saiyan had noticed all the times the demi-Saiyan had fixed his stare upon him and he had yet to determine if that was a compliment, or a sign of an impending problem. Vegeta snorted, pulling out the metal chair with a twisted flick of his foot. It more than likely had to do with the boy's immature father. Kakarott was not exactly what one would call the ideal parent.

Huh, neither am I, but at least my brats know what to call me. He could still picture the stark panic on Goten's face the first time he had met his father-when he had come running to the prince in dire need of a very simple answer-"What do I call him, Vegeta-san? Father? Papa? Goku? Kakarott? How can one person have so many names?"

Easing gracefully into the chair, the Saiyan prince crossed his legs beneath him and retrieved the fallen book. It wasn't his problem to sort through the Son's dirty laundry. Vegeta hadn't helped the young Son for any other reason than this--Saiyans needed to stick together.

Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Act Two: The Setting

  scene i

The September sun had set behind the thick leafy backdrop of the forest near his home when Goten finally arrived. Damn days are getting shorter, he swore, stuffing his hands into his pockets and landing with a soft click on the doorstep. He could only imagine what his mother would have to say in regards to him being late. That damn woman just couldn't leave the boy alone. You think she would have learned after Gohan left, Goten thought wistfully, gently turning the handle of the door in a half-hearted wish that maybe he would go undiscovered.

Alas, poor Goten, such was not to be.

"Goten, is that you?" As though it would be anyone else. He vainly regretted not having the childhood of his older sibling-his mother may have been hard on his brother, but she was always easier to manage when Goku was around. The demi-Saiyan refused to call him father. Fathers helped to raise their children. They didn't pass up a wish to live in favour of the afterlife.

Bracing himself against the wall, the young man clumsily succeeded in removing his shoes before the woman walking in from the kitchen could complain about it. Again.

"Yeah, mom. Sorry I'm late..." The glare he received from behind the stray tendrils of black hair that defied the severe confinement of her bun was enough to swallow any other words he may have thought to say.

"Son Goten," Oh, shit, here it comes... "Where have you been?"

The demi-Saiyan swallowed hard; choosing excuses for his mother was a matter to be dealt with by a professional jeweler. Only someone skilled in such an intricate art could possibly maneuver around her venomous viper's tongue.

"I told you, mom," he sighed, depositing his blue canvas bag on the chair by the door. "I was going to go to see Trunks after school today-"

"Young man, that is not where that goes," the woman snapped, snatching up the offending bag and shoving it into his chest. He caught it with a painful huff, the air fleeing his lungs in sadistic glee. Everyone else seemed to tragically forget that his mother was probably the strongest woman in the world while he was reminded on a daily basis. Biting back the instinctual growl that rose unbidden to his lips, the demi-Saiyan gripped the top of the bag in one hand and turned to walk down the hall to his room.

"And don't you give that look, Goten! You know better." The boy rolled his onyx eyes heavenward as he kicked open his bedroom door, tossing the article into the void of shadowy darkness and hearing his mattress creak as it landed.

"Yes, mother," he mumbled, shutting the wooden door and moving to traverse the hall back toward the lighted kitchen.

Chichi stood with her rigid back to the entryway, stirring what promised to be another meal of rice and vegetables. Dende, after raising a demi-Saiyan and living with another, one would have thought that the woman had learned that the race needed more sustenance than the leafy green concoction she seemed to conjure in abundance. Hell, Bulma-san may have been a despicable cook, but at least it was eatable...and even if it wasn't, Vegeta-san rarely allowed himself or his offspring to starve. There was always something to eat at Capsule Corp...

"Goten, stand up straight." His dark eyes fluttered up from their observation of the floor and the demi-Saiyan sighed heavily as he pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder, standing upright. Shuffling to the table, the young Son pulled out one of the rickety old chairs that surrounded the square surface and seated himself, drawing up his leg to rest his chin on one bent knee.

"Now Goten, I thought we had discussed your relationship with Trunks." Oh, fuck, not this AGAIN.

Closing his eyes briefly and praying for patience, the son calmed his weary anger enough to reply. "Mother, I told you before. That was just a rumor some stupid kids at school started."

The sharp clatter of pots on the stove was enough to inform the boy that his answer was not enough to satisfy his raving mother.

"I know, Goten, but I already told you that I think it would be best if you stayed away from him. He's a bad influence on you, anyway." Her thin shoulders slumped as she sighed. "Just like his father."

"I'd rather be like his father than mine..." The demi-Saiyan mumbled, silently reflecting on all of the times Vegeta had been there when he and Trunks had managed to dig themselves into another dangerous corner. Digging at a tiny dent in the wood of the table with his thumbnail, Goten was entirely unprepared to look up into the angry raven stones of his mother's eyes.

"What did you say?"

"I-I'm sorry I lost track of the time...mother." Dark eyes narrowed suspiciously and for an agonizing moment, Goten was sure that she hadn't bought it. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and his muscles were painfully tense against the back of the chair. Dende, please, just leave me alone...

"Hmph." Spinning again to the steaming stove, Chichi used the metal spoon in her hand for more than intimidation, vigorously stirring the boiling pot on the front burner. "How was school?" Cringing, Goten ran a fatigued hand through the unruly hair he had inherited from his absent father. He abhorred these questions-always questions! Especially about school. She wanted him to say that he loved it, to thank her for taking him out of his old school, away from his friends, away from the teachers that loved him, away from being Gohan's little brother, away from Trunks...

"It sucked." Oh, shit, did he say that out loud? What the hell was wrong with him today? He almost couldn't bring himself to look up-that ditch in the table was looking pretty damn interesting...

"Goten!" The shiny metal utensil was brought down hard on the surface before him, jerking out of his isolated musings, the flat sound ringing harshly in his ears. "You know I don't allow that kind of language in my home! I swear, no matter what I do for you, you never appreciate me." Oh, Dende, not this guilt train. She'd recited it so often, she had nearly run the bastard off the track.

But wishing it away did nothing for Goten's unsympathetic reality. He winced inwardly as he watched the inevitable take place yet again before his exhausted eyes.

"I just don't know what to do with you! I've tried so hard..." Goten waited impatiently for the cue that would thicken her voice with a sob. "I'm so afraid you're going to turn out like your brother..." Hn. There it was. Good old predictable Chichi. But we've run this number a couple times, haven't we mother? Think we got down the act?

He was too empty to feel the classic guilt of the situation as he watched his mother wipe a wrinkled hand across her forehead and slump into the chair diagonal to his own. "If only your father were here..." Goten's wide, caring eyes hardened into twinkling onyx stars that burned hotly in Chichi's direction. His chest grew tight with the effort of holding back his rage. The simple act of breathing became a laboured task as he listened to his mother cast delusions of how the world would automatically fall into place with the magical presence of Son Goku. He just couldn't take it anymore...

"Well he's not here, is he!?" The chair flew backward to crash noisily against the cabinets as he lurched to his feet. "And he's not coming back! So stop pretending that the whole fucking world would be better just because he's in it! He's not!" The demi-Saiyan had only a moment for the shock to sink in as he felt an abnormal heat searing against his cheek. Raising a stunned hand, the boy looked to his now standing mother with wide, wounded eyes.

"You slapped me." It wasn't an accusation, only a fact, like commenting on the weather...he could have easily have said that it was raining. The impenetrable shield of her inflexible obsidian eyes never wavered as she lowered her palm down to join its companion on the table.

"Son Goten, go to your room!"

Wordlessly, the young man stalked down the hallway, ripping open the door to his room with furious momentum. Half way through the action, he lost his grip on the adrenaline singing off key through his system. The anger wasn't his to hold, it never had been. He had been raised too well under the influence of his older brother to lash out unhindered. Though just once I'd love to be like Vegeta-san and throw a real world-be-damned temper tantrum. Maybe then they'd take me seriously.

The door shut with a quiet click and he leaned back against it as his body gave out and he slid down the vertical surface to land in a pile of quivering tears on the floor. Five trembling fingertips stroked the stinging flesh of his cheek as he squeezed out the burning product of his rage.

His mother had slapped him, really slapped him. She wasn't a Saiyan; there was no way the small woman could possibly cause him physical harm. But something deeper, more tender within him screamed out the agony that his throat would not voice. The miniature river of scalding tears only increased as he allowed his dam to break, the uncertain grip he had over his emotions slipping through an uncaring hand.

His mother had slapped him, Trunks wouldn't speak to him...school was a joke. The woman couldn't get it through her selfish mind that taking him away from Trunks was ensuring that he had no friends to speak of. Since he could walk and breathe, the lavender haired demi-Saiyan had been a constant in his life. Now he was alone...

Gripping the polished knob above his head, Goten managed to gain his footing, stumbling through the evening darkness toward his bed. He was so damn tired...it seemed that everything that could have gone wrong had. And he was left with nothing to show for his heartache and pain.

Collapsing onto the welcoming softness of his bed, he tried desperately to drown out the sound of his mother slamming the pots and pans in the kitchen on the other side of his wall. If only Trunks were here...But he wasn't and never would be. Once those rumors had started, Trunks had made his position on the matter all too clear.

His eyes adjusted gradually to the dimness, the soft, moonless night outlining the window with the natural illumination of the stars that sparked into being as he watched, bright, glittering pinpoints that eased the black void of the nighttime sky into quiet, shrouding velvet. Blinking away the stickiness of his drying eyes, Goten sighed, allowing his drowsy state to settle in. It is was easy, in this peaceful interlude between sleep and awake, to imagine strong arms enveloping him, that comfortable husky scent that he had grown up with...his consciousness drifted along the tranquil sea of his fantasies; his breathing evened, deepened, relaxed...

...Strong arms...beautiful, slender hands...those liquid obsidian eyes that fastened him to the spot...dark, course hair that he just yearned to run his fingers through...

The calming division between his reality and his dreams disintegrated as his ebony eyes shot open. His nightly fantasy of Trunks had somehow bled into Vegeta. Swallowing hard, he squeezed shut his eyes, appealing to his reason, over his raging adolescent hormones. He couldn't see Vegeta-san that way...it wasn't...right. Ok, so the man was sexy; he could admit to that. And catching him in the act of dancing earlier in the afternoon may have forced the young Son to see the prince in a way that had not previously occurred to him...

Groaning, Goten turned his flushed face into the pillow, pulling its plush mate over his head. Just thinking about it made his wicked mind replay the image of Vegeta, hips rocked by the upbeat pulse of that irritating song that he couldn't stand until he'd had a visual aid to persuade him. And those hands...Dende damn him, but he would have killed to have Vegeta caress his body like the prince had his own. Stop it! This isn't right...Vegeta-san is three times my age, for Dende's sake! And he's Trunks' father...No! It's Trunks that I love, not Vegeta. It was a nice sentiment, but Goten failed to inform his defiant body of his well meant decision.

Lying on his stomach, the demi-Saiyan fought with impressive will to ignore the insistent ache between his legs. His hips pressed reflexively into the bed, teeth clenched in a mighty battle between his body and his mind. Think of Trunks! He almost succeeded in his intention. The mischievous smile and dazzling blue eyes came readily to his mental projection. The feeling of panicked wrongness faded as he flipped himself over onto his back, one hand throwing the pillow away from his head to land on the floor beside the bed, his arm sliding up the comforter to rest above his head. As long as it was Trunks...and not Vegeta.

He didn't realize that he was panting, the thin September air gliding down his lungs, only to be shortened abruptly as he fumbled with the clasp on his uniform khaki pants. The demi-Saiyan had to relieve some of the mounting tension in his groin or he was going to either cry or kill someone. He was already partially aroused, whether from thoughts of Trunks, or Vegeta-no, it had to be Trunks. Goten had maintained a faithful crush on the older boy for years, he refused to acknowledge that his painful state had anything to do with the full-blooded Saiyan prince.

A trembling sigh exhaled lightly on the starlit darkness as his warm hand enveloped his throbbing need. Forcing the muscles in his throat to work, he swallowed, closing his eyes and willing himself to believe that it was his purple haired counterpart who stroked him with a firm grasp, coaxing his hips to rise with long, luxurious caresses to his sex. Oh, Dende, it felt good to lose himself in the carnal sensation of mindless pleasure, to forget, in that decadent instant, all the worries and problems that plagued him. His rhythm quickened, along with his heavy breath, as he drove himself mercilessly to the edge-of reason, of fulfillment...

Yes...Strong hands on his body, dark, glimmering eyes that seemed to know so much more about him than he did...That seductive, Saiyan scent that clung to his nose even after he had left his royal presence...

By the time Goten realized where his subconscious had abandoned him, he was too close to stop. Opening himself up to the passion that boiled in his belly, he snapped his head to the side, biting the soft inside of his arm to keep from alarming his mother with his frenzied moans. The metallic, sensuous taste of his own blood only drove him deeper...higher...submerging his senses in the forbidden lust that ravaged his teenage body.

It was with the Saiyan prince in mind that he found release, arching his back gracefully off the mattress, the warm, sticky result of his passionate act coating his hand as it milked his body for all it was worth.

After reaching such heights, there was only one way for Goten to go-he crashed down from the heavenly sensation, the bed creaking with the weight and power of his Saiyan build. Purring softly in the aftermath of his self-gratification, the demi-Saiyan closed his heavy lidded eyes to the logic that tripped along the edges of his consciousness. He didn't want to think about what he'd done-about what it meant. He wanted to bask in the divine glow of his release and succumb to the siren's call of sleep. Yawning, the young Son manipulated his body until he was able to tug the quilt over his weary frame. Sinking down gratefully into the fluffy pillow, Goten began his journey into dreams-one word breathed quietly into the darkness as the black night blanketed the slumbering demi-Saiyan. "Vegeta..."

scene ii

"Papa wants to talk to you, niichan." Trunks looked up over the top of the refrigerator door toward his sister who sat perched on the kitchen counter like a summer faerie-sprite, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that easily dwarfed her small hands. Grinning mischievously through a barrier of fudge and doughy crumbs, Bra reminded him strangely in that moment, of his father. He briefly wondered what Vegeta would look like if he ever took the time to relax and do something incredibly normal. Like eat a cookie. Snickering at the image of a chibi Vegeta, Trunks ducked his head back into the cool interior, snatching the glass container of strangely coloured liquid that would serve to satisfy his Saiyan thrust.

"Arigato, Butterfly," he replied, wiping the magenta mustache of moisture off his upper lip with the sleeve of his shirt. Giggling at her nickname, the little sprite grabbed another cookie from the jar at her side and proceeded to nibble a circle around it. Pausing to chew, and then swallow, the little demi-Saiyan shook her blue, curly head.

"Don't thank me. I don't think he's very happy with you..." Trunks stopped, mid stride on his way into the living room, and looked over his shoulder, leaning against the doorframe with a thoughtful expression. Gnawing on his lower lip, the boy moved slowly back into the room.

"Hey, Butterfly, did Goten come by today?" Immediately, her pink complexion brightened, a cute, rosy blush of excitement tingeing her childish cheeks.

"Hai! He didn't stay long, though...but he talked to Papa for awhile. And he's coming back tomorrow!" Trunks drew down his lavender brow in confusion.

"He talked to Papa? About what?" Goten never had much to say around Vegeta before. Why he would start now was beyond the other demi-Saiyan. A scratchy knot began to form in the depths of his stomach as he thought of what his father could possibly have to say to the other boy.

All he got in response was a well-placed shrug amidst the mumbling of a mouth full of fresh baked cookie. Smiling despite the worry twisting mercilessly in his gut, Trunks chuckled at the humorous image of his sister.

"You shouldn't eat too many of those, you know, Butterfly," he remarked playfully, closing the distance between them and ruffling her aqua hair, reaching around into her treasure horde of cookies to retrieve one for himself.

Bra scoffed, managing to improve upon the image of her father, and scooted off the countertop, leaving messy streaks of chocolate as her gooey fingers pushed her forward. "Gram makes them everyday. It's my job to eat them." Her small feet hit the floor with a clackety smack. "Besides, it's not like Papa devours them. You know he hates chocolate." Trunks nodded absently as the other demi-Saiyan made her way across the kitchen, idly consuming the food in his hand. Gram really did make the best damn cookies...

"Hey, is mom home?" Blue, smirking eyes found his own as Bra glanced back before turning the corner. There was a secret in those eyes; he could swear she knew something he didn't...

"Nope. She had to work late again."

scene iii

Vegeta grunted in satisfaction as the muscles in his arms tore under the strain of the intensified gravity. The crimson light of the chamber bathed his bronze skin a bloody russet hue, his flame of onyx hair glittering with strands of brown and gold and red. Balancing himself on one hand on the upside of a pushup, the prince reached down and turned the yellowed, aging page of the book beneath him.

Ah, there was the boy's marking of the scene, distinct and written in a clear hand. Licking the salty sweat from his lip, the prince lowered his torso to about an inch off the floor before gritting his teeth to force his body weight back up. So far the play had him amused, though whoever wrote the damn thing was entirely too long winded for his own good. He never would have survived his father's court...The king had allowed such men to entertain him on Vegeta-sei, granted, more blood had been involved, and those who acted were never Saiyans...but such men had existed for particularly jovial occasions. Until Frieza had demanded that all such activities cease. Vegeta shook his head sharply, pumping out three consecutive push-ups to rid him of the thought. There was no use thinking on that...

Duke: Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved...

The prince made a disapproving sound deep in his throat. Hn. Stupid Duke pining away after an idiot female...That's all the man seemed to do in the play-complain about the woman who spurned his wanton affections. He should go on and hunt her. Stop wasting his time trying to woo her. How humiliating. And he's a moron not to see that his servant is a woman...baka should be able to smell it. The Saiyan simply could not understand how one man could be so blind to the matter. And it's obvious as hell that she's in love with him...

Duke:...My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves: Hath it not, boy?

Viola/Cesario: A little, by your favour.

Duke: What kind of woman is't?

Viola/Cesario: Of your complexion.

Duke: She is not worth thee, then. What years, in faith?

Viola/Cesario: About your years, my lord...

It's you, baka! The Saiyan shook his head, irritated. Humans were so stupid sometimes. It was staring the pompous Duke right in the face. If he didn't watch out the bastard was going to find himself hunted and mated by the servant wench. Vegeta chuckled, immensely amused by the thought. Bonded to a low class soldier for life due to his own selfish wiles. Served him right.

"Papa?" The metal door was pushed open with a tentative inquiry, the dense gravity in the room dropping instantly with the intrusion and returning to normal. One more powerful movement of his arms, and Vegeta had his feet beneath him, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he stood to face the boy who remained resolutely in the entryway. Bending at the waist, the prince pocketed the soft paperback before ceasing all movement to regard his son.

As he crossed his arms leisurely over his slick, sweating chest, he allowed the silence to settle, watching the nervous habits of the demi-Saiyan surface-shaking fingers that raked through his human hair, tucking it behind one ear that perked through the lavender veil; an uncertain gaze that flickered toward his own before abandoning that challenge in favour of the harsh, sterile walls that bent inwardly, a claustrophobic's nightmare.

"Where have you been, boy?" His voice was pitched deliberately low, forcing the young man to move further into the room to determine the precise words. Trunks' shoes created a soft, shuffling echo as he fell into his father's trap, walking closer, but maintaining an obvious distance from the Saiyan prince.

"I was out with some friends, Papa...I thought I told you that." Vegeta silently scoffed at his eldest offspring as the boy not only lied to him, but made it very evident that he was attempting it. He was fidgeting more than a five-year-old and he couldn't hold the steady gaze of his father to save his wretched life.

"Kami, boy, if you're going to lie to me at least put forth a better effort than that. It's pathetic." Pale blue eyes shot up to meet his own before the colour drained from his strained face and he lost his resolve, averting his eyes.

"I'm not lying to you, Papa...I was out with friends." Well that was better. Trying to divert the falsehood by focusing on a truth. But, unfortunately for Trunks, his father was smarter than that.

"Where were you supposed to be?" The boy had been anticipating this conversation-Vegeta could smell the apprehension that radiated off his taught form. Which meant he had spoken to Bra, who had predictably told him what Vegeta had known she would. Good girl...That was the child who never disappointed him. She was the real heir to the throne of Vegeta-sei.

"Umm..." The demi-Saiyan coughed lightly into his curled fist, kicking at the tiled floor with the toe of his worn out sneaker.

"Here!" The demi-Saiyan's teenage body jerked to attention as though his limbs were attached to invisible strings held in the firm grip of his father.

"You made a promise and I don't care if he is the half-breed brat of a third class baka! You are a Saiyan prince!" The last word was cut off savagely with a muted growl, Vegeta's long, lustrous tail unfurling from his waist to whip dangerously at the air behind him. The boy looked as though the Saiyan had physically struck him, his wide, vibrant eyes pained and filled with untapped guilt.

"I-I'm..."

"It will not happen again, understand me? I will not have my royal blood tainted by your ungrateful hide! When you make an appointment, you keep it." Vegeta's body shivered with the passionate anger of his outburst and he waited expectantly for the boy to respond, to fight back, to...

"Hai, Papa," came the mumbled reply, dashing the Saiyan's futile optimism at the prospect of sparring with his son. Snarling in blatant dissatisfaction, the prince wound his tail back around his midsection, the appendage twitching with the intensity of his battlelust. Weak...he won't even stand up to me. Hn. Too human for his own damn good. Narrowing his hard, onyx eyes, the prince once again addressed his son.

"We will not have this talk again. The next time something like this is brought to my attention there will be no words." He would beat it into the brat, if that was how he wished it...though the stark fear that bled all colour from his offspring's features informed him that this would no longer be an issue.

Dismissing the boy from his presence by giving the demi-Saiyan his back and proceeding to resume his training, the prince silently wondered why the brat didn't flee the room. He was still there, staring blindly at the floor as though the interlocking tiles were runes that he had cast, enabling him to somehow see the bleakness of his future. Vegeta heard his mouth open and close a myriad of times before the courage was summoned and drawn, like the sword of his future self, slicing through the quiet.

"P-Papa...Bra said that Goten was coming back tomorrow. Does that mean that I..." Glaring at the boy over the gravity controls, Vegeta gave his head one, firm shake.

"No. I've already cleaned up your mess, boy." One could almost say that it was relief that seeped into his angular features and it's very presence caused the prince to knit his brow. Before it's existence could be pondered, the boy was gone, leaving nothing in the room save the echo of his mumbled apology and the heavy sound of the door shutting in his wake.

Turning his attention back to the red lettered panel before him, Vegeta again set the gravity to a level suitable for training. Drawing the tattered book from his rear pocket, made more so by being confined to the tightness of his pants, the prince bent back the worn cover, flipping through to the page covered in thin, black lettering. Now that the matter with his boy was taken care of and he was secure with the knowledge that the brat would never dishonour his status in that way again, he could return to focusing on matters that called for his immediate attention. He would never admit that the play had caught his fancy, or the fact that he was actually looking forward to his meeting with Kakarott's brat tomorrow afternoon. It was an ideal chance to hone his skills in a completely different arena, one that he had not even taken the time to consider, given his strict fighting heritage.

Positioning himself for another round of grueling push-ups, the Saiyan went back to his reading, parted lips forming whispered half words as it followed the text.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, or thy affection cannot hold the bent...

Yes, tomorrow could prove to be very interesting...

Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Act Three: The Plot

  scene i

"Goten!"

Tugging the cockeyed comforter more firmly about his slumbering figure, the demi-Saiyan did not seek release from his dreams to answer the incessant call-those fantasy arms that encased his weary form; that hot, seductive breath that warmed the coolness of his neck in the frigid morning hours; a soft, draping appendage that loosely claimed the territory of his muscled thigh...

"Goten! Get up!"

"Mmm...not now, Vegeta...five more minutes..." The young Son's dark brow ceased in momentary consternation, face finding comfort in the thick feather softness of his pillow, which he brought closer to his body with one clasping hand. The light, cloying scent of sex and Saiyan wrapped around his body like a shield from reality, driving him deeper into his subconscious awareness.

"Goten!" Snapping into an upright position, the warmth of the quilt fell away from his chest, exposing his build to the unforgiving Autumn air.

"Huh? Wha..." Raking a dazed hand through wild hair the colour of midnight, made more so by the night of sleep it had suffered, Goten looked around confused. The irritated voice proceeded to shrill again, earning a wince from the rumpled demi-Saiyan. No, that definitely was not Vegeta's voice that barked out orders from beyond the barricade of his door. Hand in hand with disappointment trailed embarrassment, the impact of last night's activities slugging him hard as he pushed aside the bundle of patchwork material that had conformed to the imprint of his resting figure to reveal his state of unfashionable disarray.

Oh, Dende...A violent rap that shook the feeble wooden frame of the door saved him from immediate distress by forcing the heart that had already begun to throb sporadically against his ribs to attempt the flying leap to his throat.

"I-I'm up, mother!" He forced the stubborn hemisphere in his brain that controlled speech to function, glancing with wide, focusing eyes on the alarm clock beside the bed. Angry scarlet letters mocked him from the nightstand, confirming his fear: 7:43. He was going to be late for school. Somehow it must have slipped his mind-his nightly habit of setting the alarm before he went to sleep had been...overlooked.

"K'so!" Jumping up from his bed, Goten left the welcoming warmth and lingering safety that had been granted to him through his dreams. He was still dressed-all he had to do was straighten up and run a brush through his hair...

Fumbling with the metal latch on his pants, Goten's wishful thoughts took a detour from his ideal reality. The fire that snaked a serpentine path to his cheeks only reminded him more strongly of the questions he had raised before he had drifted off into the beauty of escape that came with sleep. His slacks were in no condition to be worn in public...

Cursing in words and phrases that he could only have learned from growing up around Vegeta, Goten ripped the khaki coloured clothing off his body, tripping as he stepped toward his dresser and one obstinate foot clung to the leg of his pants. He wasn't going to make it-he was going to be late for school and the minute he walked out that door, she was going to tear into him like a famished beast. The demi-Saiyan groaned, swearing vocally at what he knew lay just beyond the wall.

Black eyes slowly turned to glance at the door behind him. His mother's grating calls had ceased immediately at his response. She was no doubt waiting in the kitchen, ready to pounce as he left the room, daring him to try to sneak past her out the front door. Dende, he really didn't want to have to deal with that this morning. The dumbfounding realization that he had experienced last night was enough for his bewildered mind to digest without her adding to the turbulence of his emotions.

A sly expression found its unlikely way to Goten's lips as he pulled loose a folded pair of his favourite blue jeans. He was already in trouble for last night's outburst...The smirk deepened as he thrust his legs through the cool, relaxed, easy fitting fabric. And he'd never skipped school before...the uncharacteristic prospect sent a wicked thrill through his muscular frame. Now he knew how Gohan felt-he was so disgusted with being unfalteringly good all the damn time and still having his irrational mother constantly on his case. Well, today he was going to do something he wanted to do, and to hell with anyone who sought to protest.

"Heh, why not go for broke," he muttered, unbuttoning the starched long sleeve shirt of his uniform, now crumpled and wrinkled with creases, stained by the product of his adolescent desire. Tossing it carelessly onto the bed, one hand dove into the depths of his dresser drawer, freeing a random black turtleneck which he promptly shoved his head through. Something within him had shattered last night, something human-he had never felt so alive, so on the verge of breaking free as he did looking back on the evening in retrospect. The kindling anger, the resulting performance...it brought forth within him untapped strength and fostering will that he had never known himself to possess. Goten was fairly certain that if he attempted the mundane act of going to school he was going to snap altogether.

With one leg balanced on the sill of his window, the demi-Saiyan worked to ease the latch without alerting his watchful mother of his impending jailbreak. The glass panel slid upward in hesitant jerks, eventually discarding its Autumn seal and opening without incident. Brisk, dawn air danced merrily into the room, teasing his unruly hair to tangle and heightening the boy's wild sensation.

"Double or nothing," the demi-Saiyan whispered in the direction of his door, and his mother, sucking his lower lip in through his teeth and pausing in fleeting uncertainty. But the promise of another lovely day was carried in on the breeze and it seemed a sin to spend it sitting in an overheated, constricting classroom, worrying about the lecture he received when he returned home late again.

Launching upward, using the sturdy frame to propel his weight, Goten took to the skies. Vegeta was always up at this early hour...and the prince had a promise to keep.

scene ii

Confidence sang like a drug through his veins as Goten landed on the Brief's doorstep, opting to simply walk through the entrance rather than perform the formal ritual of knocking. This was where he had grown up too, dammit, and no amount of the other demi-Saiyan's insistent distancing was going to change where he called home. His momentum was slightly tempered as the warm scent of ham and toasting breads assailed his nostrils, his stomach joining in the grumbling chorus that served to inform him of the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day. Chichi had been cruel enough to see the demi-Saiyan in bed without his evening meal. Heh, like I could have choked it down anyway...

Listening to the door swing shut, a firm, palpable joining of wood to frame, Goten walked purposefully down the hallway to the kitchen.

"Goten!" The woman that addressed him was seated at the head of the empty table, befitting her station in the household and clothed in a vivid red business suit, her forgotten cup of coffee growing cold at her side. Trust Bulma's taste in attire to worsen with age, though the form she covered had done miraculously well. Capsule Corp's small line of age-defying products had increased with each birthday of its president.

"Sit! Have breakfast with us! Gosh, it's been so long...The kids are still getting ready, but they should be down soon." The woman's perky smile persuaded his own to lengthen and he slipped easily into the place he had often occupied at the table when he was younger.

"Arigato, Bulma-san..." Goten sported a classic Son smile as the woman just nodded, rising to fetch him the promised meal.

A plate heaped with quality cooking was set before his starved eyes and he hastily attacked the mass with lustrous abandon, swallowing the delectable morsels with renewed relish. Dende, it was good to be back! Damn Trunks for making him feel unwelcome! He should have done this months ago...He was actually starting to fully enjoy the lost feeling of comfort when Bulma-san began to speak.

"You're just like your father!" Goten stopped dead, the sharp end of a fork stuck securely in his mouth as he devoured the bit of ham that he had skewered. The food turned to ashes on his tongue as he focused on swallowing, his gag reflex responding double time to her affectionate words.

"I swear, you even look like him at that age..." A slim fingered hand ran with motherly fondness through his raven locks and he fought not to jerk from her touch. The young Son despised being compared to that man and he had thought, for just an instant, that he would be able to emerge from his shadow...

"Woman, would you leave the boy alone? He needs to eat, not listen to you rant about his deadbeat father." Dende, thank you, Vegeta-san...The demi-Saiyan's heart entertained his body with a rapid cadence as the Saiyan appeared silently out of the darkness of the doorway. Those same arms he had fantasized about last night were interlaced across his chest, beautiful hands braced against each opposite bicep. Fuck, if he didn't watch himself, he was going to swiftly lose control of his body...Heh, maybe that wasn't so bad...

"Vegeta, Goku is not a bad father!" Goten stared down at his plate, the feeling of freedom that had greeted him with the sun beginning a rapid descent to be replaced by something else...

"Hn. I'm not about to waste my time debating with you on the pathetic state of Kakarott's parenting. You almost ready, boy?" The demi-Saiyan's dark eyes flashed upward, the unexplored emotion that rippled just below the surface simmering down to merge with his normal passivity. Expansive pools of shimmering black crystal seemed to swallow him whole and Goten found that he couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't do more than lose himself in that fiery gaze that consumed him so violently, yet chilled him to the core. And yet he wanted to lose himself in so much more than his eyes...

"Goten?" Bulma's surprised inquiry bringing the world back into perspective for the demi-Saiyan. "I thought you were here to see Trunks..."

As if on cue, the house echoed with pounding footsteps that raced down the stairs, causing the very foundation of the house to groan in protest. Goten's entire body tensed as he anticipated the sight of the older demi-Saiyan, the awkwardness of such a meeting making him wish that he hadn't just eaten; Trunks rounded the corner with his characteristic grace. And stopped short as he spotted the young Son sitting at the table as though time had never passed and their relationship had never changed.

Of all the emotions that Goten was ready to acknowledge, somehow anger was not one he was familiar with. It briefly amused him that it seemed to be the only one, besides embarrassment that he had ready access to these days. What a variety.

"G-Goten..." The look that flit across the pale face of his lavender haired counterpart was almost priceless. Fear, guilt...Bet you thought I would just fade away after that little stunt you pulled at school, telling me in public that you didn't see me that way...just so no one else would think that you were gay after those rumours started. Brilliant move, Trunks. It worked. Though my mother pulling me out because of it never crossed your mind, did it? Selfish bastard.

"Hai, Vegeta. I'm ready," Goten spoke calmly, smoothly, pushing deliberately to his feet, holding the other's gaze with relentless conviction. Son Goten had had enough of catering to the whims of others-he was sick of feeling sick, betrayed, wondering when the other boy would come to his senses. In a moment of severe clarity, the dark haired demi-Saiyan knew he never would. Trunks would no longer be the image he brought to mind when seeking comfort.

Sparkling blue eyes that once held his heartsick soul enraptured only hardened his resolve as he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. It may have been his imagination, but he thought the other man shrunk slightly as he walked forward to join the Saiyan prince and the sweet taste it left in his mouth satisfied him like nothing else he had ever indulged in. Shifting his ebony eyes, like looking the other demi-Saiyan in the eye was beneath him, Goten settled on a picture much more pleasant to his abused senses.

The Saiyan prince had obviously absorbed every unspoken word-from Goten's unforgiving glance to the guilty expression that marred his son's elegant features. Grunting, Vegeta locked onto Goten's determined gaze and for the first time in his life, the boy did not buckle under the intensity. Arching one beautifully sculpted brow, the Saiyan returned his unwavering stare. A flicker of amusement though barely there, was enough to resume the tragic pulsing of Goten's newly focused heart. That single glance was like a bridge between them-on the other side lay Goten's salvation, his desire, his redemption. The ache Trunks had left in his chest was nothing compared to the throb he felt in the presence of his father. Vegeta had never spurned him, or cast him aside, and while the older man may not have carried the same affection that the young Son shouldered, the demi-Saiyan was certain that he could convince the prince otherwise. He was just feeling that lucky today.

scene iii

"Where are you going?" Dammit, onna, can't you ever just mind your own fucking business? Vegeta was mildly surprised when the usually timid and stuttering figure of Kakarott's youngest boy cast a glittering glare of triumph at his own son before it softened into the mockery of a smile for the woman that had addressed him.

"Vegeta-san was kind enough to help me with a school project," The voice was almost sickly sweet with leashed contempt. "Trunks was just too busy." Ebony eyes caught paling blue counterparts as he turned toward the prince.

"You're helping him, Papa?" The Saiyan scoffed quietly, scowling at his open mouthed offspring. Again, the Son beat him to the punch, prohibiting the defensive words that flickered over his lips from being uttered.

"Hai, Trunks. Vegeta was honourable enough to offer after you were...detained yesterday." Dende-sama, there was enough aggression surrounding the boy it made the prince wonder if Goten wasn't more Saiyan than he had initially suspected. He may have aided in his raising, but Vegeta had learned early on not to take anything about those damn Sons for granted. The tension hung heavy in the morning; the prince could almost taste it, thick and rich on his tongue. It stirred his blood, awakened his fighting instinct. Perhaps this was the challenge that he had been anticipating. He absently wondered what it would take to make the passive boy attack him...

"Mama! I can't find my other shoe!" The house moaned again in annoyance as footsteps pounded mercilessly on the carpet of the stairs, shattering the eventful silence into jagged patches of uncertainty. Vegeta watched amused as his daughter stalked into the room, glaring as though each individual in sight was the culprit and responsible for her lost accessory. Her features softened as they fell upon the youngest Son. The prince winced in pain as she squealed in excitement, throwing herself into the demi-Saiyan's embrace, one hand crazily grasping a shiny black shoe that thunked against the back of Goten's shoulder blade as she wrapped her skinny arms around his neck.

"How's my little Butterfly, eh?" The prince's eyes slid unnoticed to his eldest, who stood slumped against the door as though trying to fade into the tacky wallpaper. The darker demi-Saiyan was purely vindictive in his crusade, calling the girl by her brother's nickname, blatantly glaring at the lavender haired boy over her shoulder, gripping the child possessively. He could almost see the word mine written on his unsmiling lips. This kid is nothing like his father. Vegeta almost didn't catch his own grin as it snuck onto his regal features. Then again, both of Kakarott's boys had proven to be entertaining and surprising in the man's absence.

"You going to come help your father and me like you promised, Bra-chan?" Goten rewarded her with a genuine smile of affection as he set her back on her feet. "Maybe when you get back from school, ne?" The disappointment in her brilliant blue eyes evaporated as she smiled broadly in return.

"Hai, Go-kun! Right after school, I promise!" Vegeta shook his head thoughtfully. There was something here that he was missing...had his boy brushed off the Son's advances? Is that were this possessively uncharacteristic anger had spawned? Was his disgustingly human heir dallying with ningens instead of mating with the man that obviously wanted him?

As he turned back from his despicably cringing son, Goten's deep, glistening eyes boldly searched his own; the prince nodded once with a grunt of agreement before pivoting from his position and walking toward the side door. The boy would follow; he could hear him offer up a farewell to all in the room as he trailed after Vegeta.

This new development gave him cause to think. There was something about the darker demi-Saiyan's daring nature that made his tail want to twitch.

The morning sunlight was warm and softly inviting on the Saiyan's shoulders through the chillness of the air as he stepped onto the stretch of grass between the house and the gravity room, pausing, though he would never admit it, to relish in its soothing golden light. He felt the demi-Saiyan stop beside him, and he was grateful for his silence. Hn. Like his father indeed. The boy knows when to keep his mouth shut. Unlike that baka father of his.

Standing in the Autumn sunshine with Kakarott's brat was oddly soothing to the Saiyan prince. Perhaps it was the potential Goten had shown earlier for Saiyan instinct, the menacing, calculating gleam in his onyx eyes as he visually berated the lighter demi-Saiyan. For what, the prince could only speculate, though the taste of Goten's anger had been righteously delicious. And the fact that he wasn't apologizing for it-Vegeta would not be forced to listen to the boy mumble off an excuse for his behavior. Goten seemed to have no visible regrets regarding his actions. He had thought the boy would eventually take the initiative and hunt his heir-all the signs had pointed firmly in that direction. Perhaps someone else had already done it...A pity, he could have stood to have Goten as part of his clan; the boy, while not physically strong, had a clever head on his broad shoulders. Sturdy shoulders that were beautifully defined underneath the tight black knit that stretched enticingly over his muscular frame...

What the fuck?! The Saiyan whipped his stare away from the boy and began walking toward the gravity room at a brisk pace, kicking aside the scarlet and burgundy leaves that littered the ground. Snarling quietly in agitation his velvety tail uncoiled from his waist to snap angrily behind him, distancing himself from the demi-Saiyan in an instinctual gesture. What the hell kind of thought was that? Is the boy in season? Even then it was virtually impossible for the prince to be caught off guard; he had been trained since birth to overcome natural weaknesses such as the overpowering urges associated with Saiyan mating. I didn't think demi-brats went into season anyway...I would have smelled it on Trunks...

Stopping before the chamber door, the Saiyan jerked at the handle, thrusting the door open and into the chest of the man behind him. A satisfied grin graced his lips at the surprised sound of the other man catching the metal door, following him into the dimly lit room, and shutting it quietly in his wake. Dende, it's just been too long...that's all it is. That baka onna has never satisfied me. Damn, weak ningens...His dark eyes snapped sideways as he caught the scent of the boy, and the light hint of sex that clung to his hard, youthful body. Arching a brow, Vegeta faced him fully, arms entwining across his chest. The prince appraised him without shame; even if they were the last, the boy was still nothing but a commoner. But he had inherited his father's devilishly handsome features. Dende, how he hated to be reminded. Kakarott had physically turned him on in the most humiliating of ways. If the larger Saiyan hadn't been such a damned idiot, he would have mated the man long ago. Cursing softly in the Saiyan tongue, Vegeta calmed his disobedient thoughts. Goten was a boy, and hardly a match for his superior strength. Anyone he mated would have to prove themselves worthy before ever being granted the pleasure of his bed.

Shrugging off his sidetracking thoughts, the slighter man adopted his comfortable smirk, leaning backward against the control panel behind him.

"You ready, boy?"

Liquid eyes of deepest midnight rose to meet his own, and Vegeta all but jumped at the purely predatory glint that existed in those normally gentle depths.

"Hai, Vegeta..." An airy whisper, seductive and laden with unspoken innuendoes drove his tail to fluff out behind him as the words caressed his skin with its soft intensity. Could the boy really be...hunting him? The very possibility of the thought made him laugh and he shook it off with little more than a glance. The boy was just revved up for a fight after the confrontation with his son. Goten had never given him any previous indication that he wanted his attentions, the idea of it now was just humorous.

Although...pursing his lips, the prince studied the boy again. The idea was...intriguing...and if the demi-Saiyan was offering, it was his right as the boy's prince take him if he so desired. How their relationship had come to this point, the man honestly could not say-he had seen Goten as little more than a shadow of his son, albeit more base, more instinctual...And the prospect of finding pleasure in the lean, muscled figure of Kakarott's youngest did have its appeals...

scene iv

Goten licked his lips as he watched, pleasantly hypnotized with the sway of Vegeta's auburn appendage as he charged through the door, grunting when the metal was slammed against his chest, effectively breaking his tranced state as the warm air left his lungs. Oh, but he wasn't upset with the prince's actions, for the older man had just given him more reason to hope than anyone else on the planet was capable of doing. He nurtured that blooming flower with a dry, longing ache, biting his wet lip as Vegeta turned to face him, again impassive and stern, nothing like the look Goten had received a moment ago. That was desire in your eyes, Vegeta...you can't lie to me. Clouded eyes roamed freely over his taller figure and the demi-Saiyan posed with a quiet smile for the prince, ebony locks falling forward into his lowered eyes. That lovely tail was blessing his vision again with its spellbinding movement and Goten sighed softly as the Saiyan spoke.

His knowing expression increased as he closed his dark eyes, sooty lashes pressed lightly to his cheeks before opening them again to lock gazes with the prince. His heart raced roughly in his chest as Vegeta's ebony eyes widened slightly and his resolve strengthened at his disregarding laughter. You think that I'm playing with you, Vegeta? You think I don't know how to get what I want just because of my bastard sire? Clenching his fists tightly in the pockets of his pants, Goten chuckled lightly to himself. You raised me, Vegeta. You seem to have forgotten that...

scene v

Dende, that was desire locked deep with the younger man's eyes, invitation written clearly on his coy features. The swirling combination of wanting to be in control, and wanted to be controlled was apparent in the glassy look of yearning that defined his lovely eyes-dark and deep...

Vegeta purred quietly to himself as the plan formed in his mind. He faintly felt the receding ki signatures of his children as they left for school. They had time...if the little demi-brat wanted to play...This acting fiasco could be more fulfilling than he had originally planned...

scene vi

"Come hither, boy..." Goten started at the abrupt change in tone and language-the prince seemed to cast aside his mocking stance, relaxing ever so slightly, a hazy smile playing sensuously on his lips. The demi-Saiyan glanced downward as his feet carried his body of its own volition, the magnitude of Vegeta's words compelling the boy to walk steadily forward. "If ever though shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it, remember me..." His breath caught raggedly in his throat at the simple beauty those words held on the Saiyan's royal tongue. Dende, Shakespeare would have wept to hear the prince chanting his life's work in such a natural, heartfelt manner. As it was, Goten himself had to check the tears that congregated in his eager eyes as he strode silently forward, enraptured by the melodic timbre that stroked his sensitive ears with all the affection of a lover's caress.

"For such as I am, all true lovers are; unstaid and skittish in all motions else, save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved." Beloved...oh, Dende-sama, how I long to hear you say my name like that...Any aggression, any will or breath to make that man his own was both muted and encouraged by those truthful words. The younger man was mesmerized by the fluidity of the old English language-it was as if the prince had been born and raised alongside the poet and knew each and every letter's proper inflection, the emotion retained in every individual phrase. Dende-sama...

"How dost thou like this tune?" Huh? Oh, yeah...the play...Goten gave his head an awakening shake back into reality. Dammit, now he had to remember the lines...

They came to him haltingly, though with a moment's thought he was able to retrieve them from the recesses of his captivated mind.

"It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned," He replied quietly, voice gaining volume with his confidence. The Saiyan sighed softly, leaning his head back and stared at the ceiling as though caught in the thrall of music only he could hear.

"Thou dost speak masterly." Endless eyes of ebony lowered to capture his own, forcing him to look away as he swallowed, blush crawling over his heated features. 'Arigato' was forming on his lips before he caught the natural inclination, Vegeta pausing for a moment longer and than continuing his masterpiece of dialogue.

"My life upon't, young though thou art," The demi-Saiyan shifted as he felt those eyes upon him like a physical presence, the shuffle of his shoes creating a whispering echo that served to remind him more fully of his actual circumstances. "Thine eye hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves." Biting his lip almost painfully hard, Goten avoided the other's intense gaze. Dende, how does he know? Am I that obvious? Baka! It's just the play...those are his lines...don't let it slip because you've got underdeveloped delusions of grandeur...

"Hath it not, boy?" Oh, kuso...hai...Licking lips that had gone dry in his nervousness, Goten nodded silently, trying with every fiber of his adolescent being to answer the man like the character and not like the quivering boy that he was. Dende damn his teacher! This scene struck too close to home for his comfort! Oh, Dende, and the way that Vegeta spoke each line as though born to play the Duke, that royal bearing that others found so damn infuriating only strengthening his role.

"A little...by your favour..." Stuffing his sweaty hands further into his pockets, the youngest Son dared a sideways glance at the object of his craving. Dende damn the play-it was making him admit what he never thought to speak aloud! This should have stayed safely tucked away in the blissful ecstasy of his dreams, not laid bare before the very subject of his desire. He couldn't do this, couldn't continue...not when he knew were the play was fast approaching...

"What kind of woman is't?" Oh, shimatta, there was amusement in those coal black eyes, a teasing lilt to the words that fell like perfect crystal snow from his full, sumptuous lips. Dende, he's forcing me to say it...somehow he knows...

"Of your complexion..." The flushed feeling in his face tripled at the confession and he cleared his throat lest that unreliable instrument betray him. The microscopic hairs on his skin bristled, ripping a shiver down his spine as the prince walked forward to stand achingly close to the boy. He fought not to back down, not to pull back...Vegeta's body burned with the same passionate intensity as his beautiful eyes and Goten could feel the natural heat he exuded encompassing his taller frame in such a close proximity. Dende, he couldn't breathe, the air hitching and stalling in his throat as the prince reached out with one elegant hand to brush aside a strand of wild black hair from his temple.

"She is not worth thee then..." Vegeta murmured seductively, those same graceful digits outlining the prominent ridge of his brow, traversing the planes of his face with a skilled and patient touch. "What years, in faith?"

Desire exploded like a vibrant golden flare in the darkness of a summer night, engaging each nerve in his body to respond to the older Saiyan's touch. I don't understand...Dende, Vegeta...how...The only answers in those sable, enigmatic voids were the reflections of lust scarcely tempered. Somehow, some god smiled upon his unearthly position and he found the voice to speak, hidden amongst the flaming need that singed his reason and awakened his blood.

"About your years...my prince..." Kuso, wasn't that supposed to be 'my lord'? His dark head of mussed raven hair jerked upward at the unexpected sensation of something incredibly soft and flexible wrapped around his wrist, pulling him forward. Shadowy, lidded eyes reminiscent of a starless sky welcomed him into their penetrating depths as Goten stepped forward to join the circle of Vegeta's powerful arms.

A quiet, mindless whimper of questioning formed in the back of his throat as the Saiyan prince stood proudly up on tiptoe to lick the younger demi-Saiyan's awaiting lips, hot breath exhaled on his panting mouth.

"That wasn't in the script..."

Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Act Four: The Climax

  scene i

Hn. Saiyan indeed. One teasing promise of a kiss and the boy's whimpering like a pathetic female. The brat was probably as weak as he'd imagined, as pitiful as he'd always been-the prince merely yearned for physical Saiyan contact more than he'd realized. Maybe it had just been that long. Growling softly in mild frustration, the Saiyan's tail contracted around the trembling wrist of Kakarott's youngest. Shimatta! If I had only wanted sex, I could have seduced the boy's father, or even his brother...The thought taunted and mocked him: he had once been the heir apparent to an entire planet full of hot blooded Saiyans. And now the only ones left beside himself were sniveling human crossbreeds that wouldn't know true passion if it literally kicked them in the ass.

Vegeta had never coped well with warring factions of himself; one half of his traitorous mind told him to simply leave the boy, to laugh at his adolescent eagerness and send him stumbling home to his bitchy mother. But he hadn't moved since the last words he had spoken were lost in the soft echo of the room, hadn't sought to complete the action, nor lower himself from those lips that tasted like nothing earthbound. Lips, that with only a lick, had parted deliciously before his questing tongue.

Dende, it still baffled him! Why did the boy suddenly take an interest in him anyway? If Goten had been in heat, Trunks would have been his logical choice for mating, not his father! No, even if his son had done something incredibly stupid, which was not beyond his believing, the brat would still have gravitated toward the younger prince. Which meant...He wants me. The boy actually wants me...Hell, Bulma may have hunted the Saiyan prince with as much fevered intensity, but she had done it for the same reason Vegeta had resisted: the challenge of it. This...he couldn't help but feel that this was different. Fuck, he's just a boy! Shimatta, I wish I knew more about my own damn race...Vegeta may have been trained to deny Saiyan instinct, but that hardly did him justice, considering the fact that the only test to that ability were against the worst possible specimens of Saiyan culture-big, strong, and too fucking stupid for anybody's good. But this boy, the youngest son of his archrival was none of those things.

The scent from the taller form spoke of uncertainty, questioning, longing...Dende, it was hard to deny the excitement the prospect brought him. He had never tasted one of his own kind, never relished the strength and intensity he knew would lie in such a coupling. And here the boy was, unwittingly giving him perhaps the one chance he would ever have to know what it was like to feel complete and at ease. The prince's dark, thoughtful eyes slid downward from the elegant curvature of Goten's jaw to rest in the black, soothing folds of his tight sweater. Then why the hell was he hesitating?

scene ii

Oh, Dende-sama...Goten wasn't sure whether to thank or curse the god whose name he muttered over and over again in the confused haze of his mind. Vegeta had almost kissed him, was still pressed horribly close to his unbreathing form. And yet...it had been almost an entire agonizing minute since he had moved a muscle. The erratic thumping of his heart was deafening in his ears and he was certain the Saiyan could hear his indecision. What the hell was he going to do? Was Vegeta mocking him? Why had he stopped? Dende, he wanted...he needed...reason may have tried to plead its case, but the youngest Son was beyond listening as a wayward thought took hold in his frozen mind and he latched onto it with frenzied abandon. If the prince wasn't going to move, then he was.

Oh, Dende, if this doesn't work, they're going to have to peel me off the walls...

scene iii

"That wasn't in the script? Well, neither is this..." Vegeta looked upward at the firm, yet quiet words that were breathed into the stiff strands of his hair. Onyx eyes widened in utter chaotic shock as Goten's larger hands were suddenly fisting together the front of his red t-shirt, the cotton material bunching in his iron grip and forcing the prince forward onto his toes. His hands found balance on the flexing muscles of the younger man's biceps that rippled beneath his touch at the strength required to hold the older Saiyan's weight.

"Goten, wha-" Oh, Dende...The demi-Saiyan's lips were warm and sinfully soft against his own; it took all the control he possessed not to deepen the kiss, to show his acceptance of the bold move made by the youngest Son. But, Dende-sama...he tasted...he felt...something deep and instinctual within the slighter Saiyan prohibited him from shoving the other way, from kicking his sorry half-breed ass at having the nerve to even touch him. And then Goten's impatient tongue was coaxing a mouth half parted in shock to widen and allow him entrance into an opening that had been left virtually unexplored.

The boy was obviously inexperienced, though he was hardly one to judge; so was he. Fighting had been his love, his passion, his ardent reason to continue the backbreaking task that was merely surviving. Sex was...the heat prickled its way up the back of his neck, striking each and every hair on his skin to stand at attention. Dende, he was not blushing! Fuck, one kiss from an over eager bastard demi-brat and his body was reacting as though it had never broken through the despicable walls of Saiyan adolescence! The idle desire to kill himself was abruptly discarded as that lovely organ between his lips began to stroke and invite his own tongue to play. Any blatant signs of Goten's wanting knowledge were lost in the fervor of his delving lips. He cursed himself for the moan that slipped between the seal of their melding mouths, for the clenching of his fingers that moved the boy even closer to his heated body, for the disobedience of his tail that stroked the sensitive flesh at the inside of Goten's wrist. He wasn't doing this, he wasn't even considering the prospect...it may have held appeal earlier, but that was before...before...before he realized exactly how much he didn't know! Fuck!

scene iv

Thank Dende for that psychology course last semester...I knew Vegeta would fit into that mold... Goten tightened his impulsive grip on the older Saiyan's front, not giving the other time to think, or react to anything save his uncharacteristic aggression. His mind reeled at the unbelievable response he received as the prince jerked his body closer, fitting his compact frame more securely against his taller figure. Holy shit, it worked! I guess people who are in control all the damn time really do long to give it to someone else...

His conscious mind was blessedly lost among the gentle waves of sensation that cascaded over his skin as the kiss was mutually deepened. Dende, even in his fantasies, he had never thought that his first kiss would be this rewarding...Vegeta's mouth was pliant and responsive under his assault and he marveled at the almost submissive quality that the action held. Somehow the idea of the Saiyan prince submitting to him was highly arousing and he cultivated that pleasurable possibility as he plundered the delightful cavern of his mouth.

An upsurge of power swept through his lean figure as he caressed the prince's tongue with his own and with a low growl of yearning, he thrust the other man backward against the gravity controls, the metallic ring of flesh to steel sounding hollowly in the acoustics of the room. The prince, now bent backward over the panel grunted at the energy as his body was forced to contort under the strain of Goten's weight. Nipping lightly at his lower lip, the Son released those gloriously soft petals to look down at the Saiyan pinned temptingly beneath him.

Vegeta's beautiful black eyes were wide with unvoiced question, the hands that gripped his upper arms still tight and unyielding, as though the older Saiyan were reassuring his very presence by the magnitude of his grasp. Goten was mildly surprised when he wasn't blasted into the far wall, when the quick-witted insults that the prince was infamous for never fell from his lips. Dende, could it be that Vegeta wanted him to continue? He hadn't actually expected his theory to work, let alone leave the reticent Saiyan breathless...

scene v

The sharp jab of uncompromising metal against the muscles in his back ripped a disbelieving groan from his throat. Dende, the boy was acting as though possessed-was this what hormones did to Saiyan teenagers? He couldn't recall; he had had no one on which to focus his desire at that age, and by the time Kakarott had come into the picture, Vegeta had been old enough to control his cravings. The Saiyan had channeled all such energies into activities that had yielded more immediate benefits. Damn-screw Kakarott! Vegeta may have harboured the occasional fantasy when it came to the other Saiyan, a late night reprieve when the tension in his body proved too much for even fighting to contend with, but Goten was looking at him now in a way that his father had never done. There was reckless lust, tinged with the subtle glimmer of wanton ownership in those fascinating pools of liquid obsidian that regarded him so steadily from above. It was ironically unnerving. No one had ever looked at the heir to the Saiyan throne like a Saiyan.

Flicking the tip of his tongue over the moistness of his own lips, the prince was granted the renewed flavour of the demi-Saiyan's exquisite taste. It was threatening to unravel him-the singular feeling of the other man pressed so agonizingly close, his hips caught between the coolness of the metal behind him and the growing heat of the one before him contrasting in such a way as to leave him completely oblivious to the pride that generally handled these uncomfortable situations. Dammit, even his hellcat fury had been reduced to little more than a mewing kitten by the unlikely behavior of the lusting demi-brat. What's he doing to me? Why aren't I fighting this? He's just a boy-a teenage boy!

But he didn't stop the slow descent of Goten's dark raven head as he bent sensuous lips to his throat, couldn't prevent the persistent purr from striking an offbeat rhythm in his chest, betraying his bizarre appreciation for the other's sudden dominance.

"It burns, Vegeta..." The seductive voice was soft and alluring to ears that were currently echoing with the frantic pace of his own pulse. "Can you feel it?" Good Dende, but he could-that aching fire that rushed blood to each area that the demi-Saiyan touched, a torrid heat that incinerated his protests, prohibited complaint...had there even been one to begin with.

His hands bit deeper into the clothed flesh of the boy's arms as his willing lips were claimed again, the passionate craving that had been awakened in his blood engulfing his pride and encouraging the unthinkable with each taunting taste of Goten's fervent mouth. Vegeta's heavy lidded eyes snapped open with a growling gasp as he felt large hands that had previously been unoccupied settle on his waist, raising him up, a quick thrust of Goten's hips sending the smaller Saiyan to sit on the control panel that had held his leaning weight only moments before.

"Goten, dammit-" The prince snarled in harsh indignation. He wasn't a toy that the boy could just throw around whenever he damn well pleased!

"Shut up, Vegeta." His heart skipped a rapid beat at the ferocious Saiyan quality born by his words as the boy's hands wrapped around the hard muscle of his thighs, dragging them forward with a swift unforeseen movement and grinding his burning arousal into the welcoming warmth of Goten's own excitement. One palm remained stubbornly on his hip while the other pressed down onto the metal surface he reclined against, keeping the prince bound by the desirable body that leaned toward him again.

His slender fingers cramped at the sheer force of his grip and he knew that the demi-Saiyan would bare his mark tomorrow in varying shades of powder blue and purple. Dende, after this he'd be lucky if that was all he bore.

"Vegeta..." The Saiyan felt his face flush as that whispered word was breathed against the sensitive dip in his throat, the amazingly silky strands of Goten's untamed hair tickling his senses, the subtle musk that permeated the demi-Saiyan's being wafting up to seduce his nose with its animalistic appeal. "You want this, my prince..." Oh, Dende-sama, save me from this boy...I don't know how, but he knows just what to say to me to make me go completely fucking boneless... Quiet curses left his lips as broad, caressing hands massaged into the tense muscles of his thighs, head falling backward against his nape as that mouth, that glorious mouth, cleansed away all thought of objection with tender nips and succulent suckles.

Dende, this is it...I can stop this if I want to. I've ten times the power he has and he knows it! He fucking knows it! Then why...Vegeta's purr of silent rapture gained strength as Goten's kisses gained force, leaving brilliant flashes of vibrant red in their wake. It didn't make sense...but Dende dammit, it didn't have to. Growling in opulent fury, the prince drove long fingers into the boy's thick Saiyan mane, tugging sharply in an effort to raise his head. This was all that damn woman's fault! If she had been able to satisfy me, I wouldn't be turning to children! Disgusted with attempting to deceive himself, Vegeta shook his head. Bakayaro! You know very well that has nothing to do with this...if anything it's Frieza's fault for killing your race, demolishing your chances at having a normal Saiyan relationship, driving you into the bed of a half-breed brat...who worships you. Dammit...Fuck me...

Baring his teeth savagely, Vegeta crushed his lips to the demi-Saiyan's beautiful mouth. He wanted this, dammit! To deny it was to deny his nature, his race...Who was he to turn down one of the only living beings left with any considerable amount of Saiyan blood when Goten was practically worshipping the ground he walked on? Sure, the boy had taken control-because he had allowed it! And this was in no way geared toward his humiliation...he could see it clearly defined in those bottomless eyes of inviting black velvet. Goten was determined to please him...to pleasure them both in an act he had consciously been yearning for since the day he had realized what it meant to truly be Saiyan, when the first scent of freshly spilled blood had graced his fist. And somehow, whether through the subtle years of his indirect parenting, or the suppression of his Saiyan instincts due to his idiot parents, Goten was matching his desire flame for burning flame; it flickered in those dark depths, heated those lustrous lips...

The chorus of their panting breaths was suddenly interrupted by the melody of his growl. Fisting that lovely hair in his anxious hands, he brought the demi-Saiyan down for another bruising kiss.

"The bedroom. Downstairs."

scene vi

Goten's glittering ebony eyes slid into a lustful expression of urgent desire as the prince's husky words seduced his ears. Vegeta wanted it to happen, he wasn't fighting...but the demi-Saiyan knew that he'd have to keep control of the situation if he was to maintain Vegeta's determination. Gazing down into black mirrors of turbulent desire, Goten wrapped his arms around the tapered waist of the older Saiyan, drawing him up and off the control panel. A surprised moan greeted his lips as they were conquered by the fevered prince, powerful legs enclosing around his waist and crossing at his lower back as Goten hefted him bodily, Vegeta's slighter form requiring almost no strength at all to lift.

He wasn't sure exactly how they managed to stumble down the steps that led to the living chambers without permanently hurting themselves. Vegeta's arms were locked in a vice grip around his neck, those fingers that held him enraptured on sight, now pulling and playing mercilessly with his tangled windswept locks. That divine appendage had forsaken his wrist in favour of more attractive territory, lacing under the arms that held the prince and beneath his turtleneck, stroking with teasing caresses of fur to flesh that left the demi-Saiyan growling in the sanctum of their unending kiss.

He felt the prince's breath leave his compact body in a rush as he was deposited on the bed, the demi-Saiyan's larger frame forced to follow in the interweave of limbs that inevitably dragged him down.

"Vegeta..." he murmured quietly, as though reminding himself through vocalization that this was real and not another beautiful fantasy concocted by an adolescent desire he couldn't begin to control. But the man beneath him was answering him in soft growls and curses that included his name and it was then that the power of the situation hit him full force. He was kissing Vegeta! He was about to submit to the most basic of animal pleasures with Vegeta! Oh, Dende-sama...is this...is it...

"Goten..." So soft, Dende, it was so soft...the demi-Saiyan lost his breath as the impact of that one word exploded, disintegrating the flimsy human wall of his reason. Purring deeply in response, Goten braced his arms against the cushioned bed, raising himself enough to lick and nuzzle the prince's cheek. Elegant hands ran paths of sensation down his sculpted back and he arched into that touch, applying gentle pressure into Vegeta's receptive hips.

Supple and sensuous, Vegeta's tail snaked upward to curl against his jaw, the fluffy end uncoiling to tickle at his nose. Goten inhaled deeply of the prince's Saiyan scent, his obvious state of arousal hardening to an almost painful point. Dende...

His onyx eyes flashed open as the intensity of his passion swept over him, shaking him to the core of his Saiyan soul. Keeping his gaze locked firmly onto the ebony orbs of shimmering night, Goten turned his head gently to the side, capturing that flexible appendage in his teeth and licking with the lay of the downy fur. The Saiyan's reaction was instantaneous-Vegeta's guarded expression was immediately shattered into tiny, incomprehensible pieces. Goten's breath hissed painfully around the tail as the fingers in his hair tightened, drawing the sleek figure below upward. Beautiful lips parted, emitting a whimpering moan of need as eyes glazed by pinpricks of pleasure were closed, dark lashes pressed flat against the high curve of his cheekbones. Continuing his oral ministrations, Goten's hands moved down the hard chest and chiseled abdomen of the occupied man currently writhing in a mindless haze of feeling.

Dende, but he's beautiful...Goten couldn't help but admire his lover as the Saiyan twisted and panted with each flick of his tongue. The small button of the prince's pants slipped easily at his insistence and with a gentle nip and growl, he was able to disengage Vegeta's legs from around his waist, enabling him to pull the material off his exquisite frame. The prince sighed mournfully as his tail was released, helping the demi-Saiyan in his task by quickly removing his shirt and tossing it over the edge of the bed.

As the Saiyan lay back against the sheets, beautiful bronze and black complimented by the royal blue of the bed, Goten couldn't help but lose what little breath remained in his over stimulated body.

"Vegeta...you are so...beautiful..." The proud prince blushed furiously at the awed words, only serving to heighten his graceful splendor. Reaching crosswise across his chest, Goten lifted the turtleneck from his body, pulling it hard to free his head from the constricting fabric before having it follow the way of Vegeta's discarded clothing.

scene vii

Dende, he felt like he was in heat. Only in that irrational state had he ever felt a yearning this powerful, a need so great it made him submissive to the whim and impulse of the man above him. There was fire coursing through his blazing Saiyan blood, a mad craving that he could no longer battle-he didn't want to fight it anymore! Goten was hardly his choice for an ideal mate, but the boy had definite potential... and Vegeta had never felt so utterly passionate as he did in this moment; it was like the social divides that had kept his mind from even considering the boy had fallen prey to his unconscious desires. It was time to taste the intoxicating flavour of his kind, to lose himself in the animal ecstasy of another Saiyan.

The boy's strikingly eloquent fingers were fast disposing of his remaining attire. Sitting up quietly, Vegeta slipped his hands under the parted denim of the boy's pants. Purring in admiration of the satin curves that flexed beneath his palms, the prince pushed the material down the sloping plane of the demi-Saiyan's hips. His unsuspecting lips were ravaged as the Son maneuvered himself upward, kicking the offending jeans down his legs and off the bed behind him. The Saiyan was forcefully thrust back, bouncing lightly on the springs of the mattress as his slighter frame was covered in the descending shadow of the other man.

Goten seemed to pause above his body, panting with the effort it took not to simply sate himself in the enticing form below. Oh, no you don't, boy. Don't you dare stop now...Growling low in his throat, the impatient Saiyan wove his tail up the satin inside of the demi-Saiyan's thigh. The youngest Son jerked at his touch, wide, wondering eyes highlighted with the soft glow of lust never leaving his own. Licking his lips, Vegeta caressed soothingly up the corded muscles of the other's arms, entwining teasing fingers into the delightful silken texture of Goten's hair and bringing him down for another achingly sensual kiss. Arms interwoven behind the demi-Saiyan's neck, the prince walked his tail inward until the downy softness of his questing appendage wrapped around the thick shaft between the other's smooth thighs.

Goten's natural inclination was to jump backward, as the prince had foreseen, and thus prohibited, stroking his lips and sex with equally soft parts of his royal anatomy. The boy relaxed within moments, aiding the Saiyan's efforts with insistent bucks of his narrow hips. Vegeta licked and suckled at the mouth before him, those lovely lips bitten sporadically as the pleasure proven too much for his training, allowing the traitorous moans and purrs through before they were silenced. Dende, the prince would never admit it, but he reveled in each sound he coaxed from the taller man, responding in whispered noises of decedent pleasure as the demi-Saiyan ground his hips forward, his tongue lashing out to finally engage his own. Moaning softly with extreme need, Vegeta drew the younger man's body toward him with the adamant cajoling of his lustrous tail.

scene viii

Goten's breath caught painfully, his back arching against the barred resistance of Vegeta's powerful arms. It seemed the prince had had enough in the way of foreplay; he was easing his body closer with persuasive tugs of his taunting little tail. Groaning, the demi-Saiyan gave in to the Saiyan's persistence-he wasn't exactly sure how long he could last at this rate anyway. The fact that both he and his prince hadn't already embarrassed themselves was a sheer testament to Saiyan stamina. Gripping Vegeta's bronze thighs with both hands, Goten parted them wide to lie on either side of his kneeling body. The prince's luxurious eyes of unrivaled darkness flickered with yearning, that resonant purr beginning anew as the younger man positioned himself against the other's receptive body.

Vegeta's arms slid unnoticed down his biceps, coming to rest above his head, exquisitely sculpted limbs caressed by the black and red tendrils of his hair. Gazing with silent wonder at his lover, Goten could hardly believe that such a powerhouse of masculinity was allowing himself to be taken by someone hardly worthy to clean his shoes. He's a prince...and what am I? Nothing...half-human and the forgotten offspring of a third class baka. Dende...my prince...I hope I can give you what you want. Swallowing the fireflies of trepidation that flew in wretched circles in his stomach, Goten closed his ebony eyes and pushed forward with his hips.

Oh, Dende, he's so tight...The panting demi-Saiyan was forced to pause in his entrance, the searing heat and throbbing pressure that surrounded his sensitive member threatening to completely unmake everything they had built. The man beneath him was flushed a deep pink, his dark lashes fluttering against blushing cheeks as the young Son thrust deeper into his body. Goten silently marveled at the ease in which he entered the Saiyan; the passage was slick and nonresistant, as though lubricated with its own secretions. Hell, for all he knew that's exactly what it was-Vegeta was a Saiyan, not a human. All he knew was that it felt wickedly pleasant. Dende, there should be laws against feeling this good... Any thought to continue at his slow, steady pace was cast aside as that damndable appendage slipped over his hip, flicking and fondling the small scar at the base of his arched spine. With a low cry, he buried himself in that wondrous heat, head falling forward, sweaty locks of raven hair clinging to his furrowed brow.

"Vegeta!"

scene ix

Bending his knees and pushing his hips higher, Vegeta welcomed the frantic thrust that signified his fulfillment. Fingers clasped heatedly in pleasure against the fluffy softness of the pillow as the prince arched his back hard, gathering that beautiful body to his own with one well-placed slap of his tail. His whimpered purr was lost to the fevered sound of his name falling from the demi-Saiyan's lips and his body throbbed at the passion contained within that heartfelt exclamation. Gritting his teeth, he encouraged the brash young Saiyan to use his full strength with pointed manipulations of the half-breed's tail spot.

Moaning now, with no mind to cease, the prince met each pump and thrust with snarling vigor. Dende, yes, this is what he had wanted, needed, desired...this unique sensation of being filled and pleasured by one of his own, a joining of body and mutual gratification that had no equal. This was fighting and anger, pain, fury and rapture all reduced to the singular matchless feeling of ultimate completion. He was so close to satisfaction...closer than he should have been. But Dende! The boy was so fucking arousing to watch, those gentle eyes spellbound with the pleasure sent coursing through his blood with each gliding plunge into the prince's body. And that body...lean, muscled, powerful...not overly bulky like his father or brother, but streamlined... seductive... sexy...

Vegeta's tail relented the assault on Goten's spine, slipping over the dips and impressions of the boy's muscles, redefining his chest with soft, alluring caresses that increased the pitch of the demi-Saiyan's growling moans. Murmuring quietly to gods half forgotten from his youth, the prince inhaled deeply of the boy's rich scent-sweat, passion, and Saiyan. It was the scent that finally drove him to scream his pleasure to any who cared to listen, to lose himself in the delightful abyss of Saiyan carnality.

scene x

Oh, Vegeta-sama! Goten threw back his head and howled his blissful satisfaction to the world as his hips stilled, the prince's legs wrapping tightly around his waist and holding him securely to his body as they voiced their simultaneous appreciation for each other.

When his wits returned, responding to the persistent call of his consciousness, his face was pressed contentedly against the warmth of the Saiyan's chest, the heat that radiated from his compact physique shrouding him from thought and engulfing him in a lazy haze of comfort. The strong scent of the man's passion played with the euphoric state of his mind, and he found himself lapping the chest beneath him clean before settling his head against the other's shoulder. A gradually slowing heartbeat...and a deep melodic purr lulled him into a serene place of simplistic being.

Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Intermission

  scene i

"You never did tell anyone how you got it back." The velvety softness of the prince's tail slipped through his fingers like a yard of silk to glide over the demi-Saiyan's cheek and down the prominent muscles of his side. Sighing quietly, he nuzzled backward into those wonderful fingers that raked shivering patterns of pleasure from the roots of his hair to the tips of toes that were currently lost among the dark blue sea of twisting sheets wrapped haphazardly around their horizontal forms.

"Hn. You think just because we had sex you get to know all my secrets?"

Goten's lazy lidded eyes snapped open, the idle fingertips that had been tracing those lovely dips and valleys of the Saiyan's chest stopping their adoring exploration. Swallowing hard, he willed himself not to allow the hot tears of disappointment that congregated in his eyes to fall. So it didn't mean anything...it was just sex to him. What was I expecting? Dende, I feel like a fool...

"I guess I'll just go then..." He couldn't meet those coal black orbs of welcoming darkness as he pushed himself to the side, rolling off the warm body reclining beneath him. He glanced upward through ebony locks of hair as his wrist was caught in the beautiful hand of his paramour, his body pulled gently back to rest rigidly against the other.

"Baka," the Saiyan swore softly, that devilish length of furry mischief flicking against Goten's exposed side. Laughing in spite of himself at the short, teasing strands of fur as they massacred his body, along with his melancholy mood, the younger man tried desperately to wiggle away from the evil appendage.

"Vegeta! Stop it!" The iron grip around his wrist only tightened at his futile efforts, the older Saiyan's amused chuckles reaching his ears through the high pitched tune of his own giggling. When the other man took pity and finally relented, Goten's lungs were pained with the force of his laughter and it was with a contented sigh that he resumed his previous position on the prince's chest.

"You are such a bastard, you know that?" Mmm...those soothing fingers in his hair, brushing and shifting the tangled mane with gentle tugs and scratches. The chiseled area of hard muscle that supported his head began to vibrate with the prince's silent mirth and Goten found himself smiling like an idiot. This was so nice, relaxed...and Vegeta was being positively playful. Strange, unsettling...and ever so comfortable.

"You always this brave after sex?" The demi-Saiyan felt his face flush and could only imagine the varying shades of scarlet he presented as he burrowed deeper into the silken concealment of the prince's torso. "I'll have to remember that next time we need to save the planet..." Shaking his head slightly, Goten began to purr as the softness of Vegeta's tail wound around the loose muscle of his thigh. Dende, if he never moved from this lethargic state of ultimate contentment it would be too damn soon. Yawning, an exhale of hot breath against the Saiyan's satin skin, the younger man allowed his onyx eyes to droop, his body blessedly limp and relaxed, limbs entwined and tucked within and around his prince.

"Fusion." Goten's heavy lidded eyes engaged in the laborious process of pushing open as he turned his head upward to stare questioningly at the Saiyan. One of Vegeta's powerful arms was pillowed under his head, the other still gracing the demi-Saiyan's shoulders while playful fingers massaged into his scalp when he raised his gaze to haunted raven eyes.

"Fusing with Kakarott proved to be...traumatic enough to entice its growth." The prince's glittering black eyes flickered downward once before refocusing on the ceiling as he had been. Goten brought his arm up against the man's chest, settling his chin on his forearm and staring silently at his lover.

"I remember...You really don't like him. Do you?" Dark eyes slid downward to capture his own, and he lost his breath again to those enigmatic black depths that just seemed to swallow his unresisting body whole.

"Neither do you." Goten gnawed the inside of his lip, the fingertips of his other hand dancing absently over the sensuous curves of the Saiyan's neck.

"I don't really know him..." Vegeta snorted disdainfully and the demi-Saiyan's eyes shot up to harden with resolution. Why was he making excuses?? No, he didn't like his father. Why should he? The man had never been there for him-his own son! Everyone he knew, with the valid exception of the man he lay on, idolized Son Goku, earth's hero. In need of help? No problem, just call Son Goku. What's that? Oh, right, you can't-he's dead!

"No...I hate him." He pronounced vehemently, holding those obsidian eyes with steadfast tenacity.

"Hn." Vegeta's encompassing eyes were unchallenging in the face of his epiphanous declaration, extravagant fingers of velveteen softness sliding through the rumpled mass of unkempt ebony. The hand in his hair suddenly tightened, drawing his willing lips forward with one slow, fluid motion. The kiss was as satisfying to him now as it had been the first time they had touched so intimately; Vegeta's seductive tongue commenced a full frontal assault on his senses, wringing a pleading groan from his throat. The prince was only too happy to comply with his silent request, pushing the youngest Son gently to the left, his smaller frame sliding out from under Goten's body to press deliciously against his side. The demi-Saiyan felt that cool sheet between them brushed aside, revealing heat and excitement to both parties present, encouraging the constant spark to ignite in a rush of aroused anticipation.

"He has nothing to do with this..." Goten arched his back hard as that damndable tail was sent to prove the Saiyan's softly murmured words, palms that exuded warmth and the promise of skillful pleasure caressing his legs apart. Closing his eyes with a shuttering moan, the demi-Saiyan abandoned all thoughts of his father. This was the only man in his life that mattered...not Goku, not Trunks...

"Vegeta..."

scene ii

"Mmmm..." Goten awoke with a quiet groan, licking lips to wet a mouth gone dry in sleep. "What time is it?" Glancing back over one shoulder, he was met with the bemused gaze of his lover.

"Probably after dark." Sighing softly, his mouth parting before the Saiyan's seeking lips, Goten didn't process the whispered response to his thoughtless inquiry until the kiss had ended. Opening his eyes wide, Goten stared in shock at the man who leaned so naturally above him, chin palmed in one hand.

"I slept for that long?" He couldn't believe that he'd been out for hours. Well...blushing hard he reached down to tug the crumpled sheet more firmly against his chest. Maybe he could understand how. The prince had not exactly been...merciful in his pursuit of the youngest Son.

"No..." Warm fingertips caressed the heat in his cheeks to intensify, narrowed eyes daring him to look away. "We were active for that long..." Swallowing hard, Goten's eyes dropped to the rich colours of the passion-stained bed sheets. Good Dende...

"I have to go," he mumbled regretfully, pushing aside the covers to swing his longer legs over the edge of the bed. He could only imagine what his mother was going to say-he'd skipped school, blatantly avoided the woman, and now he would be returning home late for the second time that week. Great...She's gonna kill me, I just know it. Maybe I should just find the dragonballs now and save everyone the trouble...

It was the first real chance he'd had to look at the room that had housed their sinful activities for the last day, and he took the scene in wordlessly as he sat up. Blinking hard he ran a weary hand through his wild, uncombed hair. The place actually looked lived in. Various articles of spandex made in variants of every colour imaginable were strewn over the sparse scattering of furniture that decorated the small room. Among them were his own clothes, wrinkled, inside out, and looking the worse for wear. But then he remembered how they came to be thus and it suddenly seemed the perfect garnish.

A gasp of pain hissed involuntarily through his teeth as he moved to stand. Blushing deeply, Goten ignored the sharp sensation as it gradually dulled to a throbbing ache. He'd have to remember to be exceedingly careful with his movements for the following days, even with mundane actions.

Like sitting down and standing up.

Bending slowly, the demi-Saiyan retrieved the pants he had hastily cast aside earlier, shaking them out with one good jerk of his arms.

"Pity..." Goten looked briefly over his shoulder as he struggled to pull the uncooperative material over his thighs. Losing the battle, the younger man sat down hard on the mattress behind him, gritting his teeth against the flash of pain that flared up his spine.

"What are you talking about?" His questioning words hitched in his throat, sending him through a bout of breath-depriving coughs as a certain russet tail seemed to spontaneously materialize, tantalizing the hyper sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Dark eyes slipped closed as teasing licks were planted on the nape of his neck, that husky voice blessing his ears again.

"It's a pity that you have to put these back on." A rich caramel contrast to his pale skin, Vegeta's hand caressed suggestively over the muscle of his thigh. Oh, Dende...the temptation was strong, the appeal wickedly enticing. He could stay...his mother was already predictably pissed beyond reasonable comprehension. Why not finally become what she always feared, follow in his brother's delinquent footsteps? The tight, compact body behind him was warm against his back, that powerful limb wrapping around his torso, denying him the motion he sought to complete.

"You..." Goten moaned quietly as those soft lips uncovered the pearly teeth beneath, sharp, erotic nips adorning his neck with small scarlet circles. "...are relentless..." The hand on his thigh migrated upward to stroke the naked muscles of his chest.

"Heh, you started this, boy..."

scene iii

The chill severity of the evening slashed through his feeble black knit defenses as the door of the gravity room yawned to allow his release. Shivering despite the hours spent in heated winds of torrid passion, Goten walked through the entryway onto the jewel-encrusted lawn that shimmered with intricate droplets of newly placed dew, frosting to glistening white diamonds beneath his feet. Shoving fingers already tinged red with the offense of the autumn wind into his pockets, the demi-Saiyan chanced a longing glance over his shoulder. The windows of the capsule were dark, unrevealing, safely concealing the secret affair that had been forbiddenly explored in the brightest hours of the day. But now, in the comforting arms of cool velvet night, Goten could only stare in rapt wonder at the sanctuary that had enlightened him to the powerful sway of seductive darkness.

"Goten!" A sharp slap of the back door jerked the unsuspecting Son from his reverie, a moment only before the cause of the disruption flung small, pleading arms around his middle, warm, innocent hands slipping between the insulation of his forearms to clasp with steadfast resolution at his lower back.

"Goten..." The youngest Son looked down in stark dismay as that normal exuberance was replaced with a choking sob.

"What is it, Bra-chan?" Fraternal arms of instinctual protection laced around the lithe form at his waist, onyx brow surrendering to the confusion that wrung his insides with its cloying intensity.

"G-Go-k-kun..." Quivering, the warm body shuddering with the strength of her disillusionment and the sudden onslaught of artic autumn wind, Vegeta's youngest cast anguished eyes of electric blue upward. "You don't love me anymore?"

"Nani?!" Struggling to make sense of the little angel's enigmatic desperation, the youngest Son simply stared into those fervent cobalt orbs, trying vainly to decipher the source of her irrational fear. If this is Trunks' doing, I swear by Dende's staff I'll kill him...Kneeling before the miniature vision of distress, Goten gazed into the swollen red and crystal blue of her pained eyes. "Why would you think that, Butterfly?"

Resolving herself to speech, the girl lost small, frost bit fingers in the thick cotton depths of his sweater. "I saw you, Go-kun...you and Papa." His heart ceased the required flow of blood to his brain as his sex-hazened mind processed the impact of her words.

Oh...no...

"Bra..." Swallowing his uncertainty, the demi-Saiyan raked a shaking hand through matted sable strands, eyes flashing toward the building behind him in a primal gesture of possession. But then her periwinkle wonderment was still his to behold as he straightened, and he realized in that instant that it wasn't accusation in those innocent eyes, but fear...Aw, Butterfly...Quirking an infectious Son smile, Goten gathered her willowy figure close, securing her in his fevered warmth. "No, Butterfly, this doesn't mean I don't love you..." Hopeful and shimmering with the possibility of sincere reassurance, the sniffling sprite loosening the inhuman grip on his front to wipe at the stray watery remnants of her melancholia.

"You mean it?" Chuckling, the adolescent ran a ruffling hand affectionately through aqua faerie curls.

"Hai...it just means that I'm even more a part of the family than I was before." Something dark and sick twisted in the gloaming depths of his stomach at his own hasty words. What if I'm wrong? What if Vegeta doesn't even acknowledge my presence after tonight? Dende...I don't know if I can stand to be rejected again...

"Yatta!" His doubt was suddenly smothered in a cloud of aromatic blue as soft, trusting limbs wrapped around his neck. Wincing at the familiar contact, Goten's mind again took its time to understand the uncanny pain in his neck. And then the unchecked fire of embarrassment sparked, the blazing conflagration of crimson and ruby assimilated into the wind-burnt scarlet of his cheeks. The prince had seemed to enjoy the taste of his throat...and the delightful sounds of encouragement that each erotic nip had invoked.

"Butterfly..." The raven haired demi-Saiyan stiffened at the foreign summons, hands clenching in the corduroy raiment of his younger companion. Eyes of preternatural obsidian narrowed on the dark silhouette that intruded upon their interlude, the growl of hostility blown soundless by an icy gust. Trunks.

"Oniichan?" Blue tendrils were tossed backward against his cheek as the smaller figure responded with an answering turn of question.

"Gram wants you in the house, neechan. It's too cold for you to be out here in nothing but that." Speculative eyes of wandering blue roamed the terrain of her green jumper, fragile brow drawing downward in opposition to her brother's will. Licking his lips against the chilling dryness of nature's caress, Goten gave the girl a conclusive embrace.

"Go on in, Butterfly." He silenced her open mouthed objections with a tender bop to her button nose. "Maybe she's got more cookies for ya, ne?" Tears forgotten in the instant of assurance, already bright eyes lit with an inner excitement, pink lips parting in an expression of simplistic joy. Oh, to be that young again...

"Hai!" Slender arms squeezed him once more in departure, warm lips pursing against his night-numbed cheek, a gentle kiss of sensation to skin gone cold in wait. "And I promise not to tell anyone, Go-kun," her soft whisper flit against the winding of his ear, a butterfly breath of fluttering lashes against his cheek coaxed a smile, though his temperamental gaze lie transfixed on the statuesque figure in the doorway. "Besides," her leaning form straightened, reedy voice pitched intentionally low. "I've seen Mama too." Pale sapphire complimented awestruck onyx as his fingers slipped from her childish waist. "But I like you better than her friend." Smiling adoringly, the older demi-Saiyan rested a broad hand on her uplifted head, raising himself from his crouching position.

"Arigato, Butterfly," he called after her scampering shadow, a wink thrown obviously over one shoulder as she got to the door, ducking under her brother's arm and disappearing into the illuminating amber that bespoke of warmth and the promise of cookies...Love you, little sister. Sighing heavily, the boy turned his face windward, reveling in the sharp delight of icy shards that tousled his wild mane. Breathing deep, a heavy blanket of dead leaves and autumn air, Goten steeled himself in his destination. He still had to face his mother...and he could only imagine what she would say. For just one more instant, he wanted to linger in the euphoria of his actions, the perfume of sex and Saiyan that coiled around his body, permeated his clothing, and tossed his willing figure back into the ethereal abyss of remembrance...

But alas, there was still another scene before the next act.

"Goten..." Hardened by his memories, his resolve stole to the surface, burning in an unforgiving baptism of fire that shone like redemption in his ebony eyes. "We need to talk." The paler prince seemed to acknowledge his uncharacteristic mood, though his eyes never wavered.

Gritting his teeth, the youngest Son welcomed his impending anger. It was time to take this prince down a peg or three. We grew up together, damn you. I'm not going to take your condescending bullshit tonight, Trunks. I have a few words of my own to say to you.

"I'm listening." Electric blue that had once held his heart spellbound in its purity flashed like lightning as the older demi-Saiyan glanced backward into the kitchen, closing the door with a subtle click. Shadows and silence, the shattered amber sequence from the window glazing the jeweled grass in a patchwork of stars. Arms locked like a shield before his breast, the boy watched with heated narrow eyes as his enemy approached, the wretched scent of floral perfume tainting the air between them. So the rumours are true. Hn, didn't think you had it in you, Trunks. If only you could be more like your father in other ways...

"I know what you're doing, Goten." The piece of his heart still devoted to the amethyst Ouji screamed in pain as the menacing quality held like a rapier in his words sliced through his chest. "And it's not going to work." Condescendence shone baleful in brilliant blue as the older demi-Saiyan glared down at his tense counterpart, feet coming to rest uncomfortably close to the other boy.

"Oh?" He couldn't contain the sarcasm that saturated his response, the dismissive jerk of his shoulder, the impudent flip of his head. "And what is it that I'm doing, Trunks?" Teeth grit in anger, the pastel teen clenched his fists in opulent rage.

"Dammit, Goten! You're not that much like your father!" Lavender licked his cheeks as his counterpart descended and the resulting growl resounded through the leaf littered air as the constant breeze ripped impatient fingers against their clothes. "You know what you're doing and I'm telling you right now that turning my father against me isn't going to work!"

The snarl in his voice wasn't suppressed, nor was the mocking justification of his laughter. Turn Vegeta...? You think I'm trying to get you back?

"You think I'm trying to get you to love me?" He wasn't in the mood for this shit. He'd easily had the most eventful day in his youthful career and he wasn't about to let his ex-crush stand in the way of his momentary happiness. Especially when he had his mother to go home to. Icy eyes regarded him with disdain, that arrogance that suited his dark lover with regal tenacity, despicably ugly on the paler prince's tenuous countenance. But Trunks' silence answered his question and with a bark of sadistic mirth, the younger demi-Saiyan rounded on the other teen.

"You think me that stupid? You gave me your answer, Trunks. You made it perfectly clear that you had no interest in a relationship." Baring his teeth, the Son leaned closer, relishing the flicker of uncertainty that came with his unexpected anger. I'm done being your silent shadow, Trunks. "Remember?" Narrowed eyes of flaming obsidian reflected back the slight unease in his ocean eyes. "Remember the empty classroom? Remember almost kissing me, Trunks-kun?" Pale purple whipped in the ferocity of wind that seemed to mirror his mood, a tempest within tempest, wielding the violence of his righteous anger like an angelic sword. Staring up with unforgiving eyes, the youngest Son spat out the words as though foul on his lips. "Remember pushing me away?" His eerie voice hushed, eyes sparking past pain and hatred at his speechless counterpart. "Remember telling me you never thought of me that way just because someone walked in the room?" Gnashing his teeth, Goten brought one hand up to fist in the navy of Trunks' prissy Izod sweater. "Remember telling me you didn't want to see me anymore?" Hissing in the strength of his leashed fury, the younger teen brought his paling counterpart to eye level, fingers twisting the fabric with a sufficient flick of his wrist.

"And you think," their roles had reversed, and it was the darker demi-Saiyan that now held the other in contempt. "That I want you." Downward for an instant, obsidian shards flashed up through thick raven lashes. "Why would I want that when you can't even admit you're gay?"

Trunks blanched at the accusation, fingers clawing upward in an attempt to unclasp the hands that held him so firm in grasp. "I am not gay, Goten!"

Smirking, Saiyan blood pounded with venomous force through his system, the Son eyed the other with loathing. Sure...deny it, Trunks-kun. That's always what you've done best. When we were children, getting us into trouble and then denying it...so who did they blame? Oh, right...me!

"Sure you're not, Trunks-kun," eyes dark and midnight kissed swallowed the protesting teen as Goten brought the other nearer to him. Something bold and brash sprang forth in his mind, a kernel of vengeful satisfaction, the birth of which lie in satin and sleep in the capsule behind him. "Sure you're not..." he purred, the tip of his tongue flicking out to smooth over his own lips, centimeters from the open, floundering mouth of his breathless captive.

"G-Goten...d-don't..."

Methinks thou dost protest too much...It was exhilarating to see the boy that had held such a superior attitude since childhood weak and pathetic before him. It was a priceless image, this prince bound unbreathing in his grip, bright eyes heavy lidded with the aching desire compressed and denied within the gilded cage of his pretense. Longing that Goten would unlock, ignite, and give life... so Trunks could feel the same desperate emptiness that had haunted the darker teen for three agonizing years.

"You know...they talk about you, you whore." Moist softness against dry satin, Goten's words seduced the older boy's mouth, a murmuring that strained to be heard over the hitch of surprise expulsed from the lavender prince's lips. Tilting his head just slightly, the Son granted the most teasing of pressure to those begging petals, words reduced to the whispering of sensuous breath. "How many girls have you fucked and imagined were me, Trunks?" A hint of triumph accompanied the moaning whimper of yearning as Trunks' artistic digits dug almost painfully into his hand. What's a little more pain, ne, Trunks? You've already hurt me so much already...

"Go...ten..." The pliant mouth yielded to his hot exhale, his teasing manipulations that left the arrogant prince dazed, leaning downward with wanting.

"Ten...? Twenty...? You should hear what they say, Trunks..." A fleeting lick, a pause, allowing the questing mouth contact, only to wretch his lips away before their warmth could be granted.

"Goten." Fingers around his wrist jerked him forward against the lean body of his former crush. Brushing along the white scar that ran diagonal down his counterpart's sharp chin, a solemn reminder of the consequences involved in tampering with his mother's machines, the younger teen trailed leisurely with his lips.

"Demanding, aren't you. Slut." His degrading tone seemed only to fuel the other boy's aggression. Heh, Saiyan princes and their need to be pushed around...The adolescent intensity behind the older demi-Saiyan's kiss was amazing, electrifying...disappointing. If Trunks had kissed him like this a day ago...he would have melted like snow in new spring sunshine. But now...the probing tongue of his pretty boy comrade, the hands that bruised his forearms with their insolent command only amplified the disgust he held for the boy he had once viewed as his other half.

And he wasn't Vegeta.

"Fuck you, Trunks," he whispered against the panting insistence that hungered for his lips. Pushing the other half-breed backward, the youngest Son wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Meeting lust-lit eyes of blue eagerness, the darker of the duo sneered, spitting to the frozen ground beside him. "No...go fuck someone else. Again. Because I don't need you." Dismissing the obvious expression of betrayal and wanton desire, Goten turned, glancing back only once, a wicked gleam dancing deviant in sensuous sable. "It's good to know you're not gay, Trunks-kun. I wouldn't want others to make the same mistake I did."

scene iv

Adrenaline pulsed through his system like the liquid gold of a Super Saiyan. Chill and liberating, snatching wind tugged and rolled through his clothing, engaging his tangled tendrils in a frenzied dance of lightening freedom. He had done it. He had finally told Trunks exactly what he felt-shucked off the obsessive tendency that had ensured his silent status and told the older demi-Saiyan to piss off. And Vegeta...he had made love to Vegeta! The man that made him want to erase the demi before Saiyan and worship him like the prince he was. Dende-sama it felt...it feels...

"Wonderful!" Throwing his head back like a lion deranged, the Son roared his soulful ecstasy to the cloudless blanket of sparkling velvet above him. Spiraling, twisting, arms streamlining his body, Goten burst through thick foliage yet untouched by the dying season, ascending, climbing, fingers clasping, reaching for the glittering diamonds that lie strewn on their inky canvas. With a whooping cry the boy plummeted at his crest, closing his tearing eyes to the whistling wind and simply reveling in the feeling of intense enlightenment that blessed his adolescent form. To hell with his mother and her pestering, he was too enamored with life to contemplate the execution that surely awaited him.

And yet all too soon he approached a clearing between the dark jagged outlining of trees, the telltale flicker of insidious incandescence dampening his careless high. Anxiety burned in celebration's place, apprehension coiling around the core of his enchantment as he hovered in uneasy trepidation above the humble little place he hated to call home. Dende...dammit...

Touching down, greeted with the crunching welcome of crystallized dew, the Son shoved unfeeling fingers into the harsh denim of his pockets, striking a brisk pace toward the door. Better to get it over with...the sooner I listen to her banshee banter, the faster I can just go to sleep and forget about it.

A flash of silver danced in the perimeter of his peripheral vision, coaxing his dallying gaze to wander. Pausing, one foot on the pathway to hell, Goten turned from the entrance, squinting into the miasma of shadows and silhouettes in an attempt to discern the shape of the mercurial object. What the...a motorcycle...? Who in the hell...

Raven eyes ravished the machine in muted illumination from the curtained windows, securing the knowledge that his eyes were not deceiving him. Nope, that was his bike alright, the Harley he had purchased just to piss her off. Midnight black and moon-washed silver.

Gohan.

"Oniichan?" Goten's hopeful exclamation was accentuated by the excited slam of the door as it slipped through his back-thrusting fingers. Graceful, golden, an upsweeping shock of brazen sunlight, the older Son's head turned toward the sound, a brief flash of white as he smiled at his sibling before the scowl of neutrality settled in place once more and jaded eyes regained their focal point.

His fuming harlequin of a mother.

"Son Goten, I demand-"

"Hn, that always was your problem. And everyone wonders why 'tousan chose to remain dead for so long." The younger demi-Saiyan's lips twitched as the blue veins streaked in anger down his mother's temples. He was not going to laugh...he just wasn't...

"Gohan!" Merry emeralds embraced his own onyx orbs as their mother's fist abused the table.

"Ut, here it comes, Goten...you know this one, ne?" The darker Son leaned back against the door as his brother cocked a brow, pursed his lips, and threw out a hip in mocking imitation of their mother. He all but lost it as a slim nicotine stained finger wagged in a mimicking gesture of chastisement, voiced pitched deliberately high. "Now, Gohan, there's no reason for you to be such a rebel! Why can't you just behave? You used to be so good...if only you had studied more...sigh. I just don't know what to do with you." At least his snicker was blessedly lost to the cry of outrage that had his sensitive ears ringing. Taking a step forward, the boy blushed under the winking gaze of his older sibling, hand raking self-consciously through his windblown locks. It had been so long since he had seen his brother, too many years since the then teen had simply told his mother to go to hell, packed a bag, and walked out the door. So why now, Oniichan...? Why in hell would you choose to come home now?

Gohan's arms were locked across his muscled front, eyes glazed and obviously unimpressed with Chichi's current diatribe. Clearing his throat, obsidian eyes finding severe interest in the wooden planks of the floor, Goten entered the hemisphere of the irate woman's wrath.

He probably should have interjected, but there was little for him to say that would temper her fury-the feud between mother and son had been held diligent for years now. Everything Gohan did was like dousing her fervent fire with kerosene. Although, Goten did have to admit that his brother looked rather attractive as a permanent Super Saiyan. And it did serve its purpose...his mother had all but forbidden the youngest Son from indulging in that natural transformation. Her hatred was inexcusable.

Glaring upward through ashy lashes, Goten's jaw veritably ached with the strength required not to speak, not to lash out against the howling harpy that had destroyed all traces of his happiness. Gohan...Trunks...school...And now, screaming at his long-absent brother as though he were a child in need of discipline... "Goten." Searing sable relinquished their methodical memorization, flashing to engage reflective jade. "Come outside with me-"

"He's not going anywhere until he explains-" Finally, feral in its base purity, the elder Son allowed his anger to surface, effectively quieting the woman with a snapping motion of his wrist, a click of canines.

"Last I was told, I couldn't smoke inside." Jerking his jacket off the chair beside him, Gohan pivoted where he stood, pausing as he slid the worn leather over one arm to regard his sibling. "I need a smoke. Come outside with me, niichan."

Ebony met onyx in a clash of domination before the Son turned toward the receding back of his brother. You can have my head later, mother.

scene v

"So..." Concentrated ki complimented the sharp angles of Gohan's bent face as he drew deeply on the cigarette held loosely between his lips. Hunching his shoulders against a sudden gust, the younger demi-Saiyan kicked idly at the hardened ground, gaze centered questioningly on that of his lighter sibling. Green succumbed to the lingering inhale of sweet nicotine before releasing, eyes opening fully to stare outward into the unyielding depths of darkness beyond the pale light from the house behind. Dende, he loved that scent...leather, nicotine and Saiyan...his brother...

"How was he?" Blinking against the smoky image that rested against his bike, thumb tapping excess ash off his cigarette, Goten creased his brow in bewilderment.

"Nani? How is who?" Raven eyes searched the elder Son's angular profile. "I told you what happened between me and Trunks..."

"Not Trunks." Cool crystal green titled toward him, hand habitually flicking the end of his addiction. "Vegeta."

The world could have ended in that instant and he would have been oblivious. Widening eyes betrayed his secret acquiesce, open mouth invoking a dry chuckle from the other demi-Saiyan. Bringing the filter to his lips, the older man indulged in another puff, unoccupied hand slipping into the satin depths of his jacket.

"But-how-" The sadistic tango in his stomach ceased for a pivotal moment as the faulty reel of his memory rewound: "You're kidding! Bulma-san's having an affair? ...how do you know?" "I can smell it on her..." Dende-sama...I'm such an idiot...but Trunks didn't...Hn. Trunks already smelled like sex...he wouldn't've smelled it on me...shimatta...

"It's not like that, Go-kun," he mumbled, rubbing the side of his nose with a forefinger and toeing the stiff brittle blades of grass beneath his foot.

"What? You didn't fuck him?" Gohan's chilling stare narrowed to fine points of protective green fire. "Did he hurt you, Goten?" Paling beneath the sudden shift in his brother's apathetic attitude, the youngest Son shook his head vehemently.

"What? No! I'm the one-" Black blessedly obscured his vision as scarlet heat caused his eyes to seek the comfort of the ground. "I mean, I...well..." Licking his lips, teeth snagging the corner to chew in uneasy deliberation before blowing the curtain of hair out of his eyes, his obsidian eyes sought intense emerald counterparts. "I...wanted it..."

"Heh..." Cool digits banished the straggly bangs from his forehead, bringing the soothing scent of leather and tobacco before disappearing again inside the cracked leather. "Calm down, niichan."

"Gomen na, Go-kun...you're not mad?" Dende, his brother's opinion meant more to him than the air that ached in his lungs. If the older man were angry with him...

"Nah, it's quite a catch if you can keep it." Grey wisps curled in a lazy typhoon of fleeting mist before succumbing to the superior might of impending winter promise. "Besides, the man has a nice ass." A deep chuckle humoured the crimson confession on his cheeks. "But I guess you already knew that."

"Gohan...yamero..." That impressive profile was again his to behold as the elder Son's gaze fixed on a point beyond the mortal limitations of his own sight. "Gohan...?" The man was too quiet...too inanimate. It was unnerving how long the man could go without blinking, swallowing, all things considered human...kinda like Vegeta...

"Just be careful, Go-chan." His words were so quiet, so hesitant in their release, as though the man was uncertain about his own sentiment. Turning toward his distant sibling, Goten wrapped his arms around his chest to preserve his natural warmth, fingers drawing down the cuff of his turtleneck over numb hands. Damn, it was getting cold. Early winter this year...

"With Vegeta? Gohan, I don't think-"

"Not Vegeta." That magnificent jade, calculating in its brilliance, ensured his attention as the lighter Son sentenced his cigarette to the extinguishing cruelty of his boot. "Trunks."

"Trunks?" The perplexed demi-Saiyan was at a loss; he had never questioned his brother's instincts, and yet it seemed the man spoke without reason. Other than that incident in school, the Briefs boy hadn't really done anything to cause him concern.

"I ever tell you about Vegeta's other son, niichan?" The whole world had ceased its revolution and Goten was standing silent and gawking at the axis. In all his seventeen years his brother had not once volunteered information about the future version that graced a few hidden drawers and dusty mantles in Capsule Corp. He'd even asked...only to learn that wasn't a subject you broached with Gohan. Whatever had passed between the two boys seemed destined to remain that way. And now...

Shifting his stance, the darker Son hugged himself tightly, bowing his head to the icy will of the elements that caressed his skin.

"We weren't as close as you and Trunks...your Trunks were, but we were close." Gohan's thumb nail scratched idly at his lip before lowering, tall figure bracing against the glistening liquid of metal and machine support behind him. "Too close."

"You mean..." Goten had never thought of his brother in any manner of sexual relation-he was kinda like the Namek in the demi-Saiyan's mind. Uninterested, unavailable...when he was younger he'd secretly wondered if Piccolo had taught Gohan how to be asexual.

"Yeah." Long, muscled legs crossed absently as he reclined, golden strands wickedly pale against the fevered green of his eyes. "You know, holding hands, stealing kisses. Kid's stuff." It was fascinating to hear his sibling speak, the taciturn nature he had seemed to adopt shining through the clip words and phrases that were delivered with little garnish. And his words...the superimposed picture of Gohan and an older vision of Trunks walking hand in hand in his mind was, hands down, enough to complete the single most insane day of ever.

"Did you...you know..." Gohan's eyes held Goten's in quiet merriment for a moment as his cloth covered hand slid over his shoulder in a gesture of embarrassment, shrugging his wordless intention.

"Have sex?" The dry prompt brought the ruby to his face and he nodded shyly, snagging a rare smile from his somber niichan. "Kami, Go-chan, you reek of sex and you're too embarrassed to even say the word?" Affectionate fingers ruffled his hair, reminiscent of sunnier days and happier times. "You really are one of a kind, kid..."

"Arigato..." Dende, this felt right...having his brother here again. Brushing away the disturbed locks with the back of his hand, the youngest Son gave his older brother a soft smile. "Gomen nasai, Go-kun, you were saying...?" Darkness seemed to swallow his golden haze, lavish green dimming as he watched, the relaxed figure tensing almost noticeably beneath the kick ass leather exterior.

"No. We didn't have sex. I don't consider rape sex." Holy...fucking...

"What?" His wasn't sure that his lips even moved to speak the word; his body had ceased obedience down to the breath that lie stagnant in his lungs. "Gohan...?" It couldn't be-his big brother was the strongest person in the universe as far as anyone knew, composed, self-sufficient, ingenious, perfect...there was no way...

"You heard me. He raped me. Apparently the word 'no' just wasn't in his vocabulary." No one had ever told him this! What...how...

Sighing heavily the older man glanced at his dumbstruck sibling. "No one else knew, Goten. The only reason I'm telling you now is so you can watch yourself. It may not have been your Trunks, but it was still Trunks."

"Gohan, I..." Time was frozen on the winds of his disbelief, while it was with dazed onyx eyes he watched his brother turn, throwing one denim clad leg over the seat of his Harley. Body jerked upward as his foot slammed the kick-start, palms massaging a steady purr from the engine. Utterly mindless in the face of his brother's stunning proclamation, Goten could do nothing but stare as his eerily composed sibling tugged on the slick leather of his fingerless gloves, buttons clicking home with a crisp snap of sound.

"There's nothing to say, niichan." A smart zip of metal ripped through the windblown quiet as soft black covered the hard build of Gohan's chest. "Just be careful, ne?" A finger flip and white illumination shone like sunlight through the clearing. He just couldn't think, couldn't process...couldn't do more than stare at his older brother with a sickening mixture of respect and sympathy. Gohan had been...by Trunks...Dende-sama...

"But...oniichan..." The amber sunlight of his windswept locks was a stunning contrast to the clarity in his emerald eyes. He was right, there was nothing to say, no way to respond. He knew. Gohan always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking...it was as if his older sibling could see straight through him.

"Saaa, Go-chan. It's long done. Just don't make my mistake." Slender fingers of palest alabaster against renegade obsidian curled around polished silver, the engine roaring in response to his ostentatious ministrations. The maniacal grin that adorned his casually cool exterior was unexpected, and the youngest Son was coaxed to turn his breeze blown head back toward his house, following that mystic green. True to interfering form, the dark outline of his mother was palpable against the lazy lit doorway, hands fisted on her hips as she sought to initiate Gohan's departure with the mere power of her intimidating presence. Unfortunate for her, the elder Son was hardly impressed, skillfully manipulating another guttural growl from the tiger of a machine beneath him. "And if the ice queen gets to be too much for you, you know there's always a place for you at my apartment, ne, niichan?" As intended, the offhand remark served its devious purpose, distracting the Son from his lingering shock.

"Hai, Go-kun." A shadow of a smile made its debut across the shady stage of his face, hands sliding down to clasp at his elbows, fingers still tucked and toasty in the thick cuffs of his ebony sleeves. Inquisitive onyx rose through long, sooty lashes to engage their jade counterparts. "Mom still not know where you live, niichan?" A negative jerk of sunlit silk, the man pausing only remotely to snap up the kickstand with his booted heel.

"Nope. She still thinks that I've amounted to nothing." Clever intelligence flashed aqua in those semi-precious gems of glittering peridot.

"I still don't understand why you don't just tell her..." The sudden chill was biting to his fingertips as they brushed aside a stray lock of Saiyan inheritance.

"And show her that I actually learned something from all those years of book-bound torture? Nah..." Legs straddled and balancing, the elder demi-Saiyan thrust both hands into his pockets, eyes resting in dire distaste on the silhouette behind.

"But you're a damn nuclear physicist, niichan!" A dark chuckle of amusement lit on the outcry of his frustration. "I hate it when she talks about you as though you're nothing more than a disobedient child!" Powerful shoulders shrugged their indifference, verdant orbs slipping sideways with an affectionate tilt of gold.

"Arigato, chibi." Gohan's hands once again reclaimed their position on the rubber grips, another round of gravely music invoked for the utter enjoyment of his mother. "Just remember what I said, ne?" His sincerity sparked the reminder of their previous discussion, draining the younger man of all colour, leaving him pallid and stricken in the deepening darkness.

"Hai, oniichan. I'll remember." A characteristic nod of sharp comprehension as the Son prepared departure.

"Good...and don't let her get you down, Goten. Days like this are few and far. Enjoy it, ne?" Summoning a smile for his brother, the younger demi-Saiyan nodded, eyes flickering in sudden apprehension to his statuesque parent.

"I will." Unable to abide the nervous tendency to fidget, Goten shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets, head bending to the determination of the wind. Warm, like the fire in his eyes, Gohan's palm massaged his shoulder.

"You take care, little brother." A smile followed suit, sparking a mirroring response. "And say hello to Vegeta for me, ne? Tell him if he doesn't treat you right that I'll kick his ass." Biting his lip against the blazing blush that ignited classic Son embarrassment, the boy nodded, taking a step backward as the tires ripped a trail of dirt and gravel through their driveway, airborne grit causing his blinking eyes to water. Sighing heavily, the youngest Son stared outward into the encompassing darkness until the white of his brother's headlight had faded into ethereal black. Dende-sama...he hardly knew what to make of the day's events. And with what Gohan had just told him...Glaring with menacing conviction toward the impatient figure of his mother, Goten stole an invigorating breath of icy autumn air. He'd be damned if he was going to sit through another one of her tantrums...

"Let's do this..." Wind tickled the tiny tendrils at his nape as his head turned again, ears straining for the distant sound of rumbling comfort. "I may be joining you sooner than you think, niichan."

 Caught in the Act

by Angelus

 Act V: The Finale

  scene i

The tacky design on the wall of the kitchen hadn't altered its unerring pattern since the boy had blinked last. In fact, the imprint remained emblazoned on the dark inside of his lids each time the drying air became too much and he was forced to close them. It was beyond his capability to care--the world on which he stood, the tile beneath his feet, they could have cracked open and revealed the abysmal maw of hell, and he would have been forced to rent the episode on video.

Such was his preoccupation...

Goten had told him to fuck off.

His Goten.

Because I don't need you...

Palest violet tickled the end of his nose, but he lacked the inclination to move, to engage in the habitually characteristic gesture. Such normalcy was virtually nonexistent to a mind frozen, imprisoned in the solid conviction of those last words, tossed careless and fleeting over the darker demi-Saiyan's shoulder.

Goten knew. Goten knew his secrets...dammit, the boy had always known them! Age didn't change what was already ingrained in the very threads of their companionable tapestry. Whether they liked it or not, and these days the latter seemed more mutually accepted, the two teens shared a bond. He knows...of course he knows, bakayaro! It's not like you've been trying to hide the fact! It's a fucking miracle Papa hasn't found out yet...

Somehow the idea of the successive prince and heir apparent being a whore didn't sit well with Trunks. He held the firm belief that the reigning sovereign would only agree with his desperate sentiment. And if Goten got it in his head to enlighten the man...I don't know what the fuck you two did all day, but I'll be damned if I'm going to come out of this with Papa's foot up my ass.

The resounding crash of the carelessly released screen door jerked the leaning prince to attention, eyes of unmarred crystal flickering from their monotonous commitment to trace a stoic line downward as sapphire shards paused in their tedium to indulge the fragmented prisms of airy colour that danced in the sparkling silver of the dish-littered sink before him. A sharp scrape of shattering sound, an impish autumn gust blown renegade by the closing door sending the pensive prince the intrusive scent of his father. Silken strands caressed the gentle angle of his jaw, head dipping in descent as slender fingers curled over the wet and slickened perimeter in irritation. He didn't need this right now. Trunks could sense the impending chastisement, the almost breath of gathered annoyance that followed the elder Saiyan around like cheap perfume.

Gritting his teeth against the unflattering comments that traipsed along the acidic tip of his tongue, the demi-Saiyan huffed as he straightened; the cloying, aromatic fragrance of something foul and pervasive causing his hand to rise, back muffling the atrocious scent of Dende-only-knew-what. With his father, it was really anyone's guess. But tonight he wasn't in the mood for games of that infuriating caliber.

Goten...Trunks' stomach was knotted tighter than a wet shoelace and the reoccurring echo of the other boy's heavenly name that seemed to tread a ghostly step through the jumbled corridors of his mind only pulled at his increasing nausea. He never would have thought that anything could cause his counterpart to disown him so completely, let alone...He told me to fuck off. Good Dende-sama...

Parched lips pursed the fine bones of his hand, grimace deepening as the contrasting form behind shifted in his chair, a melodic chime of ceramic resonance coaxing his narrowed eyes to flutter in unwanted recognition of his father's movement. He could care less what the man did with his time. He spent the whole fucking day with Goten, that's what he did with his time.

Suppressing the inherent growl that tickled and teased his human half, the poised prince ignored the heated prickle of irritation on his skin invoked with each unnerving noise the elder sovereign emitted. Fingernails scraped his metallic support, employed hand falling to join its clenching compatriot as the distinct snap and crunch of every swallow reached his ears with obvious deliberation. He's fucking with me. He wants me to lose it, to rip his head off and give him an excuse to beat me senseless. Not tonight, Papa... Opalescent blue slowly slid closed as a deep, patient breath was summoned. He could deal...

But the man was just sitting there! Taunting him to speak! The demi-Saiyan's calming assurance hitched at the apex, lips revealing sparkled white that gnashed in open annoyance. Usually his father was in and out of his company in seconds, eager to be free of his pansy son's presence. What the fuck was the man eating that took him so damn long?!

One more grating sound and he was--

Another crunch.

Again the jingle of polished china.

The paler prince twitched with the dissonant discord of tinkling vibration, turning toward the incessant intrusion with a glaring gaze. The amethyst Ouji had tiptoed around his tyrant of a father for seventeen--

His justification died with his breath.

His father...the prince of all Saiyans...rightful ruler to an entire warrior race...

Was eating a chocolate chip cookie.

Surely his eyes deceived him; that simply could not be one of his grandmother's prize-winning chocolate chip and walnut cookies in the Saiyan no Ouji's hand. Those weren't cookie crumbs that littered the front of his navy sweater, cascading down the knit fabric to congregate in a cacophonous coven of doughy debris on the table at his elbow.

The lavender washed demi-Saiyan completed his revolution, fingers falling limply at his side as the shock of the entire display socked him in the gut, leaving him all but speechless. Trunks blinked. And the scene remained unchanged.

"Papa?" Obsidian eyes regarded his astounded visage with a dismissive air, teeth tearing another chocolate laden chunk from the cookie in his hand. An onyx brow had the courtesy to arch in acknowledgement as the darker prince's jaw ground the crumbling object to a manageable mass.

"I..." Trunks was forced to lean backward against the counter for support, hands curling around the jagged under-edge for physical reassurance. This was just too fucking weird...as if the day hadn't gone badly enough already his father just had to choose this moment to win the award for bastard bipolarity.

I give up...I don't know when I fell in the fucking rabbit hole, but I'm ready to wake up now...

scene ii

Keenly narrow eyes of purest obsidian swallowed the stuttering figure with distaste, pristine white making short work of the delicacy within his grip. Unmoving, save the mechanical motion of his munching mouth, the Saiyan no Ouji finished his delightfully soft snack; a flickering of supplement understanding was forced to agree with his daughter. These were pretty damn good.

"I..." Hn, the boy was still fumbling and grasping like a fool for some sort of speech--not that anything he said was worth the prince's time. Vegeta had relinquished his half-breed son several years earlier, when it had become painfully clear that he was nothing more than a masculine duplicate of his mother. And the gods knew he couldn't stand that bitch.

"I..." A composing cough, a feathery swish of denim against skin as his despicable excuse for an heir shoved useless hands into his pockets. "I thought you didn't like chocolate." Suppressing the instinctive need to snarl, the Ouji simply reached over the crumb covered surface and into the ceramic depths of a potbelly onna who's head had come off in his hand to reveal the sweet cache of his secret craving. Fucking weirdo ningens and their ability to create the most disturbing shit... Grunting past the unsettlingly sadistic image, the darker sovereign served himself another round of nutty goodness, choosing to ignore, for the moment, the blatant tone of disrespect his brat had adopted, the scent of the boy's possession striking through on the permeate breeze of his impulsive adolescent adrenaline, though it appeared his sorry senses had yet to identify the heady fragrance of his daily indulgence. Vegeta bared his teeth in a quietly taunting mockery of paternal affection. Fine, boy...you want to take on the throne...let's see how you handle this.

It was perfectly timed, an actor's cue of such accuracy an audience could not help but be impressed by the finesse in which the man's next line was executed.

"I thought you didn't like boys." The prince's tail snapped through the bars of the chair at his back, the velveteen richness bristling with his immediate thirst for the singular sense of bruising flesh beneath his fist. C'mon, boy...don't be a fucking disappointment...

Vegeta's hope died with the wide-eyed and lowered gaze of his offspring, the annoyingly human reaction of shaking hand through limp lavender, the audible th-thud of panic and distinguished scent of fearful resolution.

"G-Goten told you?" Scoffing at the pathetic display portrayed in agonizing detail before the sardonic sable of the Ouji's disenchantment, another cookie was sacrificed to the demanding leisure of the Saiyan's stomach.

"No." Glaring eyes refused to release the apprehensive orbs of sickening cerulean as he ground the doughy mass into nonexistence. Too fucking human...The rightful ruler paused in his confectionary massacre, absorbing the jerking nervous ticks and twitches that made him want to slap some Saiyan sense into the boy. A light growl suffused the tension-nipped atmosphere, acutely harmonized by the righteous zephyrus howl of indignation that left the shutters rattling in its wake. This...this...Vegeta's fingers tightened into fists as his ebony eyes were worshipped with darkness, breathing deep before he allowed the light to infiltrate again.

The Saiyan no Ouji would have been insulted if he hadn't known the reason for his boy's offense. It wasn't that the pansy-ass half-breed thought his father too stupid to notice the aromatic allegation that made him want to sniff kerosene--anything to rid him of the disgusting odor of his son's promiscuous escapades. It was the simple fact that the demi-Saiyan was as oblivious as he believed his sire. The boy couldn't smell shit on his shoes. Or sex on his father. An amused grin replaced the arrogant scowl of filial loathing. Well...that misconception needed a bit of clarification.

Flashing a primitive smile of predatory satisfaction, the Saiyan slid one sticky finger between his lips, bathing the dirtied digit in warm recesses that had tasted divine ambrosia only hours before. He almost purred at the quiet prompt in memory as he pistoned his pointer finger in and out of his mouth. It was such a pity the boy had left so early...there were still lessons he was willing to teach the brat...like how to scream in Saiyan...

"We didn't do a lot of talking..." The first was slowly withdrawn, teeth claiming the tip for good measure as the moistened flesh slipped across the parallel petals of his smirking lips. Indigo seared the air between them, pale eyes latched with unhindered intensity on the sleek simplicity of his father's obscene movements. Vegeta could see the denial like a phosphorescent spark in the unearthly blue of his son's gaze. Was he really too human to detect the obviousness of his discarded companion's situation? Or maybe it was just the idea of his father having sex at all...

"Y-you sparred?" Right, sparred. The boy was searching for assurance of an opposite nature. Reclining back against the uncomfortable metal, hissing in sexual sedation as the cat scratches of a writhing adolescent flared to life on his shoulder blades, the Saiyan no Ouji folded both muscled arms over his front. Well now, I'm so sorry to disappoint you...son. You should have taken him when you had the chance.

"Hn." Glorious pain enflamed his backside as the Saiyan pulled one leg up to his chest, barefoot braced on the table edge for support. Good Kami-sama, that boy had surely proved his merit as a member of his race. The stamina alone of the youngest Son had been praise worthy...why his purple-haired hanna had forsaken his royal right to bury himself in that creamy white ass...

"You could say that..." Black on black flashed upward with poignant sobriety, cruelty shimmering in the ebony abyss that encompassed the younger Saiyan as the man rose from his position, naked feet slapping on the tile like a trumpeter's herald until his diminutive form stood regally before his awestruck heir. The boy really didn't know what to say as Vegeta leaned forward, eyes ensnaring the disrespectful blue of his son. "But on Vegeta-sei," the Saiyan's whisper forced the brat closer, determined to whip his instincts into action. "We called it fucking."

scene iii

Goten's weary irritation was personified in the slam and click as his infuriated mother drove even the house to quake in the aftermath of her wrath, the abused door shaking the provincial little building to its uneasy foundations. Sighing, a rough and hurried rake shoved aside a spiky curtain of rumpled obsidian. The mess had hardly been attended since the episode yesterday afternoon and he could almost feel the matted tangles declaring his Saiyan ancestry to the silence of Vegeta's shattered star.

The demi-Saiyan grit his canines against the raging tempest of rebellion that ached with a ferocity born of feral, instinctual need. The clichéd image of a caged tiger settled in the recess of his chaotic mind. He needed to sort things through, find out how to deal...the incident tonight with his mother only accented the turmoil of their unhealthy relationship. Goten's throat still formed the inhuman growl at the simple thought of his mother and her ignorance. He didn't consider himself smart, by any means, but this...this blatant disregard for informative knowledge, this irrational blockade that staunched his lines of communication with the woman...

He couldn't take it any more.

Huffing his annoyance, the teen kicked aside the crinkled pile of his hasty morning disrobing, sneering in disdain at the glittering stitched insignia on the pocket of his starched blazer. Amber flared in righteous justification of his anger; Son Goten smirked as the warmth came readily to his palm. Hai, this is what he needed, deserved--to destroy the establishment that she created, dissolve the gilded gold of his imprisonment into nothing more than the smoldering black of molten 'good intentions'. Licking his lips at a sensation so akin to sexual satisfaction, the sunlit haze enveloped his reason, vanquishing his tolerance, his understanding, his selfless admissions to her every fucking whim...

Hai...Power flooded his subconscious desire to decimate the physical representation of his bondage. Every day that saw him in those clothes felt like another resounding descension into the academic abyss his mother seemed hell-bent to deliver him to. But his hereditary halo was brighter than the smothering darkness she invoked. And he'd be damned if he was going to lose himself in her ignorant dusk.

Extinguishing his blind recklessness with the clenching of his fist, the boy bent an ebony head, chin resting against the thin cotton of his chest. It wouldn't do to have these thoughts...to lose control...

Snorting his dissatisfaction, the restless demi-Saiyan paced away from the insight to his fury, halting his steps as he approached the door again. Piercing obsidian shards, reigned in with inbred practice resisted the demonic temptation to make matchsticks of the wooden barrier. Does she really believe that this, fingers tensed with teeth, and the force of his restraint summoned blood to the surface of the ham of his hand, will hold me here like a disobedient child? I could just as easily go out the window again, Goten glanced upward with a glaring intensity, which is still open...and she doesn't even know half of what I've done today.

Scoffing, the boy spun abruptly away from the entryway. His pacing resumed with a fierce gnash of teeth, the slap of feet still bare from his morning thoughtlessness marking each second that ticked away the ebbing tide of his rationale. The last thing he needed tonight was to do something incredibly stupid.

Unless, of course, he already had.

Ceasing the motion that was slowly smoothing a path through the planks of his floor, the boy leaned heavily against an obscenely cluttered bookcase, the sudden invasion of his weight knocking several stacks of old comics to join his battered clothing at ground level with a splash. Groaning in increasing agitation, the demi-Saiyan chose to ignore the displacement, resting his forehead against the reddened flat of his palm as idle fingers flipped the rectangular function from tape to radio on the player his brother had given him for his last birthday before leaving home.

Heady, base-beat music tempered his careless quality with slurred, garage-written lyrics that tapped into the metal of his mood and soothed the savage succubus that urged him to open that door and tell that ingratiating woman exactly where she could stick her wooden spoon.

But he couldn't...doing that would go against everything Gohan had taught him.

...wouldn't it...?

Blinking in quiet confusion, the coal-kissed teenager pushed off from his unsteady perch, meandering across the cacophony of his quarters to stand unseeing by the foot of his rumpled bed.

But Gohan did tell Okaasan off...Midnight drew a thick line of adolescent strain over his wandering eyes. He didn't know what to do...this was the first time he had ever attempted to do what he wanted.

And now that he was doing it...he didn't know what to believe.

Gohan taught him control, yet his older brother had bashed conformity to bits the last time their 'father' had left, choosing to voice his malcontent rather than lie suffering and silent in the ominous shadow of their overprotective mother.

Goten hadn't been that strong...not then...but now...

I could go live with Gohan, like he said...one more year and I'll be able to really do what I want...which lead him to wonder why he waited at all.

"What's the point in being a fucking Saiyan if my mother's mouth is stronger than I am?" The dark haired demi-Saiyan scuffed at the dilapidated coverlet with his toes, crossed arms tightening over his chest as he gnawed the fleshy plane of his lower lip. This was getting more complicated every time his lungs drew breath. From the moment sunny inspiration had struck him this morning with its gloriously deadly ray, Goten had hardly been granted the chance to partake of reason, let alone patience. For Kami's sake, only about an hour ago had he been able to retract himself from beneath the prince of Saiyans...

"Well..." The youngest Son sat heavily on the sagging edge of the aged mattress, fingers falling from their post to lie unmoving in his lap. The shock of two day's culmination of paling activities, things he never would have thought to happen to him--Son Goten. The most memorable event that had ever been bestowed upon him was the time he'd almost won the Tenka Ichi Boudokai.

Second place.

To Trunks.

Growling at the reminder, the tension-soothed demi-Saiyan slammed his fisted fingers against the faded denim of his thigh, wincing at the inevitability of a bruise that would only serve to strengthen the memories that plagued him like the incessant nip of summer mosquitoes. Blue and purple--the colours he learned to loathe. The hues that once had him enrapt with youthful longing, a bruising ache that guided his hands, dictated his actions, kept him the faithful lackey of a god...now...

Just an idol.

Just a bruise.

Forcing his hands to relax, the teen allowed his blissfully abused body to fall backward, bouncing lightly on a mattress soft from years of dreams, sleepovers, pillow fights... Closing midnight eyes against the starry gossamer of unwanted reminiscence, Goten sought the deep meditative placidity taught to him in this very room so many years before when the taunting enemy he strove to vanquish was his placement in the abysmal shadow of his unwanted doppelganger.

Father. Right. A dead man that maybe, once upon a time, had loved his mother, had done what fathers were supposed to do--teach their children their trade, play ball, eat dinner, help with homework...

But all the lines for his recitation...all the 'it's alright', and 'I'm so proud of you', every 'good boy', and 'just like me at your age' were abandoned, left on the stage for his understudy, someone to play his part until he returned, but never truly acted the role... After all, no one replaced Son Goku, renowned in all the world for his ability to be savior and soloist, a prima donna that swallowed his supporting subjects in the garish brilliance of his limelight.

Sighing, feeling the agitation drain from his cramped limbs, Goten raised his arms in a full body stretch, feet lifting off the floor as he reached for the fluff of his pillow and situated it behind his head, then willed his form to wilt against the contours of his bed. Relax...breathe...tense...relax...breathe... He could hear the quiet assurance of Gohan's direction, transported to the nights he had spent in his brother's tutelage, rich words wrapping around his tormented figure to create a cocoon of silken sensation that swept all else to the background, permitting that which calmed to inhabit the foreground--thick, weighted strands of metal music intertwining with the simple commands he murmured, a litany of leisure that enveloped and vaporized his troubles like the 'A' button on the video games he and Trunks used to play as children...

Dammit it all to Dende... Everything he had adored about the boy he once called love had been shamelessly sacrificed to stubborn adolescence. And now...

Rolling onto his stomach, the youngest Son gathered the plush square, stuffing it beneath his chin with a defeated exhale. "I've just had sex with my best friend's father." The confession coaxed an almost girlish giggle, a tainted tinge of barest scarlet traipsing across the bridge of his nose as he buried the flush of his admission in the forgiving froth of soft cotton. It was almost too much to handle...

"Almost? What the hell am I talking about?" bare feet kicked upward, riding on the rebound of the worn springs and conjuring shadows on the far wall inlayed with this morning's means of escape. Nuzzling his face in a shaking motion, Goten hid his apparent indulgence in the lumpy comfort of his pillow. "I am so not dealing..."

A sudden creak as the mattress strained had the sable saturated demi-Saiyan feeling like a cat in a cartoon, claws secure in the ceiling, and heart pounding like a cadence. Twisting his lithe body to the side, the Son overestimated the room with which he had to maneuver, completely overshooting his allowance and depositing himself on the floor with all the ease of a vaudevillian actor. Fuck me...

The scream begged freedom as the ass that had left the house virginal raised a voice to remind all present that yes, thank you, it had taken quite enough in the pounding department today, and could he please be more careful when it came to sitting and standing? Sniffing back an accompanying sob, Goten ground his teeth to stifle the cry that chortled in the back of his throat, swearing that he could feel the reduction of enamel on his molars as they clashed. When the stickiness of unsummoned tears were squeezed free from his clenched eyes, stricken obsidian followed the cock-eyed comforter up to the object of his recent heart failure. Cursing in foreign words he had heard the Ouji mutter countless times as a child, the boy pushed to his feet, irritation twinkling in passive black as one hand attempted to apologize to his mistreated backside.

"Trunks, what the fuck are you doing here?"

scene iv

Nothingness. Where anger should have reigned and reared the declarative fire of its ancient blade there was simply nothing...

The amethyst Ouji watched with narrowed azurite as his evening counterpart picked himself from amidst the monuments of their childhood. Comic books slid with a slick bend of binding along the barren floor as the boy righted himself with a repressed grimace that the older demi-Saiyan caught easily, like the baseballs they used to throw as children.

Goten was in pain. Trunks' insistent cerulean focused on the exaggerated movement, the strained wince, the placement of the younger teen's hand as he flattened his palm against the back pocket of his jeans as though it hurt to move...

You didn't get pain like that from sparring. Not unless you were kicked in the ass. And while his father may have been more than adept at doing just that on a daily, verbal basis, somehow the pale prince was convinced that they had been engaged in more than just a friendly fistfight. His Papa hadn't spent his entire day on anyone since Butterfly had asked him to go to parent's day at school. Eh, the region had needed a new preschool anyway...

The taller demi-Saiyan moved to stand as his irritated counterpart rose stiffly to face him, agony interlaced with avid annoyance.

"Why are you here, Trunks?" Goten arched his back, sighing as the tension smoothed through the fluidity of his action. The Briefs boy kept his face carefully passive, neutral...this wasn't what it looked like. The boy he had grown with, learned with, and eventually fell in love with had not spent the day fucking his father. What, you couldn't wait, Goten? It's not like you didn't know that I wanted you... Spiteful words today had proven that...

"How many girls have you fucked and imagined were me, Trunks?" I don't know how you knew... Trunks shook the lavender curtain from his piercing eyes as he turned to fully face his former friend. His guilt could wait. Son Goten had much to atone for...

"What did you do with my father, Goten?" It was difficult to hone in on the visual evidence of his question; the Son closed his mouth with a slight snarl, an upward toss of snagging ebony that was even more tangled than usual punctuated his immediate displeasure.

"That's none of your business, Trunks," the smaller half-breed brushed his hands down the length of his thigh in a habitual gesture. Mesmerized by the movement, Trunks could only watch as those fingers he longed to lick, suck, taste, worshipped the unworthy denim that clad the muscle he yearned to wrap his hand around, to raise above the other's obsidian head as he thrust into the sweetness between his companion's legs.

Growling softly, unnoticeably, a mere undertone of aggression added to the symphony of angsty sadism pulsing a liquid beat of barbarism from the battered stereo to his right, the too human hybrid trained a deadpan glare of disgust on his righteously indignant comrade. The lies end here, Goten.

"You fucked him. Didn't you." Incriminating crimson flashed cherry on his cheeks as the heated demi-Saiyan bowed to his Son heritage.

"I think you should leave, Trunks." A slim finger pointed to the darkened square that had been bribed to allow him entrance. He ignored it.

"You fucked him."

You were mine, Goten.

Possessive, ancient, instinctual aqua speared through the icy pools of his inquisition and he took a step toward the thin lipped object of his desire. Anger kindled golden and furious as he advanced, lowered lids slowly unveiling the turquoise taint of his intent. "You fucked my father.."

It should have been me

. Nurturing his animosity with an amber wick, the taller half-Saiyan leaned down with a flash of ivory. "You whore."

Mine...

scene v

Goten's onyx eyes flickered down with a hiccup of anxiety as he bumped backward against the bed, sitting down with enough force to extract another keening cry. Crinkling his sable brow against the other's sudden and unexpected aggression, the Son pushed backward with his forced seating, something primitive whispering caution in his ear. Get the fuck away from Trunks.

Pivoting smoothly, the demi-Saiyan threw his legs over the opposite edge, standing swiftly and placing careful distance between himself and his enraged counterpart. The intelligence of his brother was not his to inherit; everything smart told him to show his taller companion the exit. However, one does not spend the duration of an entire day in the folds of their prince's bed sheets without developing a Saiyan's sense of pride.

"I'm the whore?" Snorting his disregard, Goten posed pretty for his once promised paramour, worshipping his new icon with arms-crossed imitation. Making obvious his conversion, the obstinate onyx half-breed leaned back against the wall and adopted the smirk that was his to wear. He was changing religions.

Vegeta looked better in gold anyway.

Molten sunlight that bathed his flustered form, a baptism of growls and whimpers of deprivation filled, fought, and released...

His prince was beautiful when pleasured.

Tilting his head just slightly, the Son endorsed his father's smile--a mocking mutilation of mirth that was sure to piss Trunks off. "Did you have them call you Trunks-kun as they came?" Bringing one hand up to trail a finger casually over the lower portion of his lip, he clothed himself in concentration. "Or maybe you took them from behind to make the illusion easier..." You are not about to make me the harlot, Trunks. Not when what you did was so much worse...

"You know what's even better, Trunks-kun?" Finding more solace in the stoic black of the window's sable void, the younger teen turned, bracing both hands against the cool wood of the frame. "The fact that you thought you were being clever," a disapproving shake of Saiyan midnight, a glance of repugnance flipped over a cotton-clad shoulder, "that you thought no one else knew what you were doing." A sadistic chuckle. "I guess it was inevitable, you ending up like your mother, and all..." Adrenaline, heady and inebriating infused and lightened the drowsy conduit of his hostility. Obsidian hardened and wind-rushed black lowered as he continued. The bastard deserved every word--for those afternoons of heartbreak, the evenings of lonely desperation, for just one phone call...one ring that would signal the end of this childish tirade...

Apologies come too late, and accusations breed contempt, Trunks-kun.

"Goten." Narrowing of liquid sapphire slashed sable greeted the older hybrid-Saiyan's one word command to turn. Anger seared reason to wisps of weathered indecision. How dare that royal punk try to tell him what to do.

"I don't bow to you anymore, Trunks," the disillusioned demi-Saiyan murmured, an ebony eclipse as eyes closed against the icy chill that sought to infiltrate the anxious intensity of the over charged atmosphere. Once...I loved you...but you took my affections and taped them to the wall for slander. I hate you for that...

"You're not my prince." His reiteration loaned him strength, curled fingers tightening around the ridged sill. After all that had happened...everything he had endured. The name calling, the gay jokes, the rejection by one he had almost considered soul mate, the constant high-pitched allegation and wordless suspicions of his mother...

Son Goten was furious.

And payback was a bitch.

scene vi

Every word the younger spoke inched his resentment upward on the faulty meter of his tolerance. Lies...every single fucking word.

"Goten..." The growled warning, the clenching of his fists against the golden fury of his primitive possession, the solid steps he took toward the boy once claimed his, if only in name alone...

Lost to one man's solo quest for verbal vengeance, overlooked in the shadow of Goten's unaccustomed anger.

Another step over the cluttered reminisce of better times and softer words. Goten should have been his to mark, his to claim, his to love...

"You bastard..." He hadn't believed, not when his father had cursed him with those implicative words, not when the prince had turned to leave, muscled arms depriving his body of the flimsy shirt he wore, revealing the welts and reddened flesh that could only have come from the teeth of someone behind...

It was true, everything he had said, implied with gestures of mockery and royal expressions of disdain. Goten and his father had...

"You're not my prince." Trunks' dawning comprehension was apparent in the sky-kissed blue of his raising eyes; the younger boy's tone involving so much more than that simple phrase allowed. Thrilling, numbing in its delivery, autumn wind blew back the scent that he yearned to indulge--acrid aroma of decaying foliage, the sharp bite of winter's vow, the potent perfume of his companion, heady, intoxicating...containing that soft lilt of simple Son...

...and sex.

"Iie..." It wasn't true; despite all the horrific details his father had deposited at his feet, like bloody sacrifices at a pagan altar, the traumatized teen had somehow...even when the accusing words had left his lips, something within had denied that the boy he sought to love could have done that...to him...

But one could hardly forsake the evidence. Goten smelled of sex and Saiyan.

Royal Saiyan.

Royal Saiyan that wasn't him.

"You fucking whore," his conviction cut through the chorusing clash of guitars and drums; the youngest Son started at the unexpected venom in the voice behind, an uncertain glimmer of reckoning slipping over his shoulder.

And then it was gone, hardened into something entirely alien, something Trunks had never hoped to see in the pleasing pitch of his best friend's eyes.

Contempt.

"Fuck off, Trunks." The boy turned away from the window, one hand still residing along the edge. "Get the fuck out of my house, you low-class, half-breed pansy-ass poser. Get the hell out before I kick you out, Briefs." Obsidian narrowed dangerously. "Now." A growl carried deliberate on the breeze behind reverberated the ring of that one last nail in the coffin of his human resolution. "Now, ningen."

scene vii

The darker demi-Saiyan closed his eyes against the tears that fought for recognition, choosing to acknowledge the soothing touch of intrepid autumn as he braced the frame again, giving his back to a boy he now despised.

Yet love lingered like the light caress of colour against the consuming curtain of conscientious night. After sixteen years...I wish it were this easy to forget you...

"I want to hate you, Trunks-kun. I want so fucking much to be able to forget you..." Sniffing the aftermath of his nostalgia, the younger teen willed away the consternating creases that marred his porcelain brow. He wanted him to leave; it was hard enough to digest all that had been dropped into his lap. Was it too much to ask the world for one night of reprieve? One night without the reminders of his appearance, the need to please his merciless mother, the ache of unreturned love from the very one he had worshipped like a pious poor man at his lavender altar...

The fierce anger he harboured sank into the seasick depths of his uneasy stomach. This was the very last straw.

And his back was breaking.

"Onegai, Trunks," Goten murmured, embracing the rustling zephyr again. A whisper of whip lashed leaves was audible, but barely, above the music behind. Again the autumn temptress beckoned, and again he was inclined to follow. Leave...so easy...

"Just...go..." A brisk breeze played patsy with his over abused tresses. I wonder if this is what keeps Otousan from coming home.

And maybe that's what made him stay. The desire to be anything but like the man whose face he wore.

For once, his heredity would have served him well.

Tired of livin' like a blind man I'm sick of sight without a sense of feelin'

The night-washed demi-Saiyan jumped as the stereo was suddenly cranked to an unbelievable volume, pushing the anxiety that clasped clammy hands around his heart down to a more tolerable level and wincing as the hardcore lyrics assaulted his ears. What the--

The thought was assassinated as powerful hands wrapped around the upper muscle of his arms, locking his limbs against his body. Instinct knocked on his door too late; by the time the thought to fight was even conceived, Goten was halfway across the room, flung by the sheer Saiyan strength of his unforeseen opponent. His back slammed into the wooden frame of his bed with a sickening thud, a soundless cry wrenching itself from the fathomless nadir of his throat. Dende-sama...his spine, his tail spot...his ass...

It's not like you to say sorry I was waiting on a different story

"Shut the fuck up." Glaring up through a crystal veil of pain, the prone half-breed whimpered as the towering figure lowered the arm with which he had propelled his counterpart. "Just shut up!"

Almost frantic, forcing himself into rationale thinking, Goten pushed himself up with halting motions. The bright blue of his companion's eyes was too wide...dilated, unfocused.

And scaring the shit out of him.

"T-trunks--"

"Fuck you, Goten," the amethyst-anointed demi-Saiyan took an unwavering step forward, the hard tack of his brand new rubber soles crushing the littering remains of their childhood. "You were mine." Tilting the tip of his toe heavenward, Trunks ground his heel into the scattered stack of comic books they had poured over before Buu, before fusion, before fathers...

"You knew that." The Son's ass bumped the bed as he struggled to stand, scrambling backward along the mattress as the other approached, able to discern his words eerily clear through the blaring vocals.

It's not like you didn't know that I said I love you and I swear I still do

"Iie, Trunks..." The man was possessed--he had to be. Sharp shards of sapphire shone upward through trailing violet tendrils, a snap of canines as the older teen smirked, a sadistically gut twisted expression that made the other feel physically ill.

"I guess you forgot." The Briefs boy chuckled dangerously as Goten's eyes widened, flickered toward the door before staring in terror as Trunks reached purposefully for the hem of his own sweater, dragging it over his head in a flawless gesture of discard.

Oh, Dende-sama...Gohan's words, like prophecy, rang warning through his head too late.

"I ever tell you about Vegeta's other son, niichan?"

Oh...no... The shirt was left to join the graveyard of his forefathers, displaying the purple prince's exquisite physique in the dim light of his bedroom. "I guess I'll have to show you..."

"We weren't as close as you and Trunks...your Trunks were, but we were close."

"T-trunks...yamero...you-y-you're scaring me..." Backed up against the headboard, the Son swallowed hard as the natural reassurance yielded little comfort. "Don't..." Fear held his form in place, the soft shadow of adolescent adoration casting its dirty glow over instinctual reason.

"You know, holding hands, stealing kisses. Kid's stuff."

"You're making me do this, Goten." Delft fingers that once dominated his fantasies personified the nightmare before him, the snap of his jeans lost to the drowning words of the synthetic desperation.

This time I'm mistaken For handing you a heart worth breaking

A metallic glint of amber on silver as the zipper slipped and revealed the paling path of pure purple.

"No. We didn't have sex. I don't consider rape sex."

Goten froze.

Trunks ran a light hand over his obvious arousal and gained another foot toward the bed.

Tensing tightly, the younger boy abandoned thought and threw his body to the right.

The predatory prince lunged.

"IIE!" Goten's voice grated raw in his throat as a crushing grip latched onto his ankle, lashing out with the other in a futile attempt to get off the bed and to the door. Tears slid unheeded onto the faded coverlet as his body was ripped backward, fingers clawing for purchase in the dingy fabric.

"Stay still!" The words were hissed, hateful in his ear as his lithe form was pinned like a butterfly beneath the larger figure, invasive digits slapping aside his efforts to thwart. Twisting at the waist like a serpent, the Son sought to ram his assailant in the softness of his unprotected midsection.

His movement was anticipated, the bones in his forearm shattered for their effort.

Releasing the useless appendage to fall defeated to the side, the cursing cur above him continued with his quest to relieve his body of its hindering garments.

"Iie...Tor...unks..." Hot and sticky the droplets of his disbelief slid unnoticed to fall suicidal on the sheets. "Ya-ya...mer...o..."

"You heard me. He raped me. Apparently the word 'no' just wasn't in his vocabulary."

Hands that were nothing like velvet, nothing like the touch of his prince ravaged his clothes, tore at his shirt, jostled the devastated fragments in his arm that made him see patches of agonizing white.

"Goddamn whoring Son..." Spiteful fingers banished his turtleneck, a razing rip that echoed in his ears as the unyielding cotton parted at his back and jerked his broken limb. A shiver of disgust laced in the tearing aftermath as a hot, hungry tongue bathed his spine with torrid trails of unwanted heat.

"I'll make you remember who you belong to, Goten," dawn-dazzling lavender brushed across the salty field of his face, sticky strands refusing to release the sacred ground of his anguish. Hissing his passionate anger into the writing form beneath, Trunks slid eager fingertips under the loose waist of the younger boy's worn denim, growling his savage possession as the fabric protested the barraging onslaught.

"Trunks-k-kun...yamero..." The darker demi-Saiyan bucked upward with his hips, saline desperation driving him to thrust his older assailant from his back. "Get off!"

Tainted, maniac laughter cut a chilling path to his ears. "You so eager to have my cock in your ass, Goten?" A grinding, punishing force drove the boy's body back in its place, the intrusively hard erection a continued reminder that Trunks had always, and would always be...

"You know I've always been stronger, Goten." Burning, the coarse material was dragged further down his hips, catching as the zipper obstinately objected to being left closed rather than graced with the effort to undo, and therefore slip comfortably free from the restriction of his hips. "Pathetic..." Blood rushed to his head, an insectual humming filtering the words that struck him so much more deeply than the threat he imposed. "...weak..."

This is how you remind me Of what I really am

"...third class..." Long searching digits dug through his hair, pulling the snarling mass, a whimper defused as the pain exceeded conscious thought and his neck was bent at an unbelievable angle. "...mother fucking..." A jabbing knee in the back of his own saw his legs apart, a muscled thigh inserted and promptly forced upward, a stabbing lance as his sensitive area was crushed against his aggressor. Against...

"Tor...unksss..." Swallowing was almost impossible, an added pressure on his massacred forearm as irrational fingers sought to remove the last of his persistent clothing had his head swimming in the simple unreality. Trunks...his Trunks...

"It may not have been your Trunks, but it was still Trunks."

"...fucking material..."

This wasn't his Trunks.

His Trunks would never have broken his arm outside of a spar.

His Trunks wouldn't have him on his stomach like a street whore, prying his jeans off his body as though his life depended on the absence of his dress.

His Trunks...

This wasn't his Trunks...

"Fuck it," the growl, courted by the ki that lit fire at his back renewed his vigor to be free. Despite the pain in his arm, the agony between his legs, the controlled reign in his hair.

"That's it, Goten, fight like the goddamn weakling you are!"

Goten saw green as his hair blazed amber, a guttural gnash of teeth as he pushed up with both hands, arching his back to throw the bastard off--

And then black nothingness swallowed him whole as the hand glowing golden traced a ki-lit finger down the seam of his pants and over what was once his tail....

scene viii

The soft, supple delights of his counterpart's back were revealed with the dissolving fabric, the sensuous dip of his spine, the luscious curve of his ass as it disappeared beneath the singed blue below. Purring his utter appreciation, hardly aware that the younger boy's efforts had ceased completely, the violet Ouji raised himself regally, reaching for the swollen ache that he yearned to bury deep in the consensual form.

Groaning as his hand wrapped around the warm length of his cock, the older teen jerked himself, one hand braced on the shoulder blade of his infatuation. Licking his lips as the enticing site--the pale, flawless cream of his companion's skin that screamed to be tasted, flesh that taunted him at every turn...

"With your fucking loose jeans..." that displayed the suckable dip of hips he throbbed to grasp.

"And your goddamn lips..." that he licked and nipped...teased...

"And..." A grunt as a saliva-slickened hand took the other's place, "your fucking...scent..." Nothing like the perfume and artificial flowers that normally greeted his kiss...

"You...ahhh..." Broad hands spread the flesh before him; Trunks maneuvered both knees beneath him, shredding the last of the denim that attempted salvation as he positioned himself against his former friend.

"Fucking...beau--" Warm, tight...moist...absolutely nothing like the girls he had been with... "...tiful..."

Abruptly, unable to compete with the insatiability of his need, the youngest prince encased himself in that delicious warmth with a soft, moaning cry. Pushing himself up with erratic motions of haste, Trunks gripped the slack shoulders of his darker companion and set a decadent pace.

"Haiiii...Kami...sama..." Closing eyes of passion-glazed indigo, the Briefs boy bent his head reverently at the pleasurable experience, indulging the heightened, muscle-tensing sensation that had never occurred with a woman. He was close, so very fucking... "Hai...hai! Hai! Goten! Good Dende--"

"Goten!" Starstruck sapphire flashed upward with celestial savagery through violet tendrils heavy with perspiration's crystalline droplets. Shaking the lagging lavender from his eyes, Trunks bared glittering canines at the intrusive voice behind the door, glaring murderously as the knob jiggled and the blaring summons came again.

"Goten! Turn that music down! Right now!" Sweaty fingers fisted in the tattered remnants of his unresponsive plaything, the compromise of his position irritating his irrationality past the point of recognition. Gnashing his teeth with a primitive growl, the boy thrust his hips again, conquering cobalt rolling backward as the overwhelming rush overpowered him again, traveling up the needy knot in his stomach, through the locking of his limbs, prickling the fine hairs on his neck and the slick beads of sweat that cooled with every angry gust that blew aside the faded blue of Goten's bedroom curtains.

The insistent jingle of bossy brass tinkled through the berating bass that painted his immoral moans in thunderous tones and lightning lyrics. Slitting his azure eyes, Trunks never stopped his ravishing rhythm. Not when the harpy's commanding screech scraped sharp claws of provocation down the bent bow of his spine, not when the grating demands reached visceral heights of human vexation and the dull brass began to turn...

He had waited to partake of this for far too long to be stopped by that bitch.

Pale sunset purple succumbed to the dominance of its sun as the older teen called forth his ki, blue blazing infuriated emerald as his hands released their prize to proclaim his heritage to the outcry of disgusted disbelief as his best friend's mother forced open the door.

Her lifeless body had hardly crumbled to the floor before the lighter teen closed brilliant jade against the grotesque lay of her unblinking form and redoubled his pleasurable efforts toward completion.

"Hai, Gotennnn...mmmm, such a good fuck...just like I imagined..."

These five words in my head Scream 'Are we having fun yet?'

scene ix

Unimaginable excruciation. An ache unlike anything, even the sweet abduction of his virginity by Vegeta's Hadean hand hadn't been this torturous, this pure in its pain. Groaning, mere sounds against the cotton drenched and stiffened with the salt of his tears, Goten blinked open gummy eyes glued shut with the aftermath of his panic. Unfiltered agony stripped through the almost pleasant numbness that refused to acknowledge anything below his waist, the darker demi-Saiyan bit his tongue bloody as the weight at his back thrust his body forward again, the force dragging and tugging along his lower spine in a foreign sensation desperate to draw the black curtain over his conscious mind, to close a scene that never should have been written...

The incredible, tearing pain approached again as his counterpart receded, the praising moans and cursing purrs quieting as the taller teen leaned back before grinding his hips home again. Stunning in the simple phantasmagoric quality that had not faded as promised with the opening of the gravity chamber's steel door, Goten coughed dryly as the nauseating wave rose again to crash against his unmoving form. Sticky, unfocused ebony rose with a monumental effort, a throat sore from the thick coating of wet sorrowful suffering working to swallow, senses trying with admirable strain to drown out the periodic pumping of the boy at his back, the hand that wrapped around the protrusion of his hips, coercing his ass to allow the continued assault...

Strength was not his to sway, the golden aura that struggled to surface refusing its appearance and turning its back on the stage of its performance with an indifferent shrug. A dense throbbing in his ineffective arm smirkingly informed him that retaliation would only come with mercy. And it hardly seemed that Trunks was in the mood to approve of either. Trunks-kun...I loved you...

"I hate you..." his mouth molded the words with difficulty, spitting the venom of his betrayal to the viper behind him. "...bast..." The epithet gained volume as the scream left the vicinity of his lips, body tensing as laughter rasped like sand against his skin and his face was driven harder into the bed, ass lifted higher by Trunks' retaliatory purpose. Turning his veneer abruptly to the side with a breathless gasp of pain, Goten blinked.

And forgot to care to breathe.

Blood, whether from his uncooperative body, or the scarlet trail that ran from the meek, newly crushed flower of his mother's facedown form, for once quiet, raped his nose with a vengeance with the tilting of his face to avoid suffocation.

Too quiet.

"Okaasan...?" A plaintive mew, like a child. Soft, pleading. His mother couldn't be dead...no matter how many times he wished to leave...at least she was there...not like his father... Dende-sama...don't leave me, Okaasan...not you too...

Sniffing his denial, the half-breed curled his fingers around the loosening bedsheets, muscles flexing with the determination to drag himself from the stabbing attack that shot bullets of sharp, dizzying awareness with every movement.

"Okaa--aahhh!" Let go let go letgoletgoletgoletgoletgo!!!! What the fuck!? Trunks!!!! LET GO!

"What's the matter, Goten?" Sadistic, snarling, the boy he once would have gladly called brother licked a wet, unwanted path down the clammy flesh of his shoulder. "You don't like to have your tail pulled?" Another sharp jerk had him seeing a kaleidoscope of colours, the vision of his mother burning in a crimson outline brightest among them. Tail? I don't have a--

"Guess that's what happened to Papa, ne?" A soundless protest ripped free from Goten's throat, drowning in the gurgle of agony as his newly grown appendage was abused again.

"Yamero-o..." What in Enma-sama's?? Tail? He hadn't had one since he was...

"Fusing with Kakarott proved to be...traumatic enough to entice its growth."

Trauma. Like being raped by your best friend. Like finding your mother dead on the floor.

"Somebody put him in his place, and he was weak," another blinding lance as the furry length was wrapped around the older boy's palm. Breath tainted with the ambrosial inebriation of power washed across his pallid features. "Just." Harder, pulling his body backward from its scrambling destination. "Like." A whining scream as the dick in his ass was forced deeper, head bowing, flushed face burying in the crook of his working arm. "You." This wasn't happening...Dende-sama...onegai...

"Otousan..." Fat tears of hopelessness squeezed out from the corner of his eyes to fall worthless to the pillow beneath. "Gohan..." I need you, Gohan-tousan...you said if I ever needed you to call...his breath hitched and his nose itched with the sneeze that begged freedom, the odor of blood blown from its stagnancy by the breeze from the window filling him with its heady, overpowering, sickening scent.

"Gohan...onegai...help me..." After sixteen years of forsaking, the guardian of earth answered the demi-Saiyan's liberally laden prayers.

Amber illumination streaked through the blackness of his self-enclosure as the room ignited in furious golden light. The burden from his back was miraculously lifted as the Paladin of Dende delivered him from his mortal tormentor.

Slipping once more into the comfort of black nothingness, warm hands wrapped him like a baby in the swaddling sedation of his battered quilt, the welcome scent of Gohan, his brother, his father entrancing the shock of his system to calm enough to drop gracefully away into unconsciousness.

"Shhh, Goten...it's ok...Otousan's here..."

scene x

When his despicable half-breed had stormed from the house, the Saiyan had smirked in triumph. Putting the bastard boy from his thoughts, the Ouji had allowed for the soothing relief of a hot, relaxing shower, washing away his participation of this afternoon's activities with meditative regret. Reliving the devouring decadence of the youngest Son, Vegeta had relieved himself of the continued ache that plagued him in the brat's absence, leaning heavily against the porcelain wall as his weakness was washed and spun down the drain.

When Trunks' ki had erupted in a fury of passionate fire toward his darker counterpart, the father had dressed with nary a thought; Goten was capable of taking care of himself. Anything less was hardly worth the prince's time. He did not need a mate that required supervision like a mischievous pup. If he had wanted that, Kakarott would have sufficed.

But when Gohan's energy shot through the three known levels of Super Saiyan, the Saiyan no Ouji had silently cursed his inability to do the baka's simple tricks.

Instantaneous movement would have been more than a handy thing to have at that particular moment.

scene xi

The house stank of blood, sex, and incalculable fear. Spitting in disgust at the residual terror that left an acrid taste like bile in the back of his throat, the prince strode down the short halls of the Son residence, hands curled into ready, eager fists at his sides for easy defense should the need arise. Anything that made that leather clad pseudo-Saiyan brat summon more than his general allotment of power was enough to grab the Ouji's selective attention by the balls and jerk his curiosity around a bit.

He had done little more than silently quirk an interested brow when the boy had sworn off his chimerian mother and permanently adopted his metallic birthright. Vegeta was stoically proud to call the eldest demi-Saiyan part of his clan. More than his idiot father ever was. The knowledge that his younger brother was apt to follow suite was a satisfactory victory on the Saiyan's behalf. Leave them long enough, Kakarott, and they will revert to their blood calling. And with that comes me, you fucking joke. Fitting that your line should know my title though you forsake it.

Though exactly how Saiyan the boy had become in his father's deficiency had never been tested. Until now.

The house was quiet save the muted whines of someone being introduced to the exact definition of 'rigid with fear' babbling through the darkened corridors like soft forest echoes of a meandering stream. Even the soles of his shoes had the decency for silence, as though the very thought of sound were enough to quell their tendency for attention. And with the insane fluctuation of a Saiyan's ki warping like a wavelength in the room directly ahead, it was not a surprise that the Ouji proceeded with an instinctual tread of caution.

Toeing aside the ki-blasted corpse of a woman he had always considered a waste of clean air from the littered doorway, the man closed shadowed ebony to the sight before him, the scent alone enough to drive his carefully contained memory into frantic circles.

Burnt flesh and fresh blood. Conquering planets. Working under Frieza.

Blowing entire civilizations to smithereens with Nappa, Radditz, and Turles in obedient tow. The chorused echo that never failed to spur his instincts...

As you wish, my Ouji.

Both brows reached for the high definition of his hairline as Gohan growled, the low, vibrating warning rumbling through the barreled burnt magenta of his chest like a steam engine. Narrowing them to the awesome spectacle, Vegeta refused to be awed. So the boy could go monkey. Big fucking deal. A few more months of training, and he would have that attained as well...

"...Gohan...matte..." Whimpering, pitiful in its pleading, the familiar voice wove a sneer into the hard line of his lips. Vegeta glared at the pathetic site of his pale heir as he was grabbed by the collar, the crunching thud as the back of his head was brought with incredible force against the wall, a jagged crack running ragged along the wood at the contact. Furious at the dishonour his heir wore around his ankles, the prince could only curl his lip in contempt as the half-bred disappointment literally pissed himself in his fear, the acrid, putrid scent clawing at his nose with enough irritation to make him want to kill the boy himself. Which made him wonder what the little shit had possibly done to incite the wrath of Kakarott's calmest...

The eldest living Son made no sound as he wrapped his remaining hand around the boy's throat and squeezed, powdering the amethyst Ouji's terrified features a transparent Prussian blue. Snorting with a grunt, the prince crossed both arms over his chest. Let the boy have his fun before salvaging his brat's sorry existence...

A strained groan drew his bemused attention to the bed.

The Saiyan no Ouji would have thought himself beyond weak human emotions. But something sharp ripped through the fine hairs of his tail, eliciting a slashing motion as he took an instinctual step toward the carefully collective bundle. Goten...? Black glittery plastic crunched beneath his feet, the insides of the gutted machine familiar to him. He had spent more than two hours bent over its smaller sister just yesterday...

A snarl so base, so Saiyan as to make the prince feel like a child in his father's court again--when such savagery had existed, before Frieza, before their destined extinction actually made him pause in his motion, focused obsidian unflinching as the tall, righteous form turned fiery amber eyes from his victim. Instinct screamed at him to bow before the other, bested. Saiyan tradition demanded that he either obey unconditionally or fight for supremacy. This fucking pink monkey, the oldest offspring of the man he hated more than this obsequiously backwater planet had him by his Kami-damned--

"I won't hesitate to kill you, Vegeta-san." As if the brat had the ingenuity to even attempt his threat. But beyond the brick wall of his infallible pride, Gohan's voice held no mockery, no boasting of superiority. Simple Saiyan possession that struck him to the tail, heightening his awareness of the reality of his position: another step toward my brother, and your royal ass is mine.

The consideration for suicidal glory was within his grasp...but for perhaps the first time in his life, Vegeta chose not to press the self-destruct button.

 @saiyanb

[apricior]

i've been getting into kpop lately and i'm Confused,,, how do i tell all of the guys in bts apart help there's like 7 of them

I feel you, this was me a few months ago so I'll try to do my best helping you!The first thing I would recommend you is to watch interviews or programmes like Weekly idol or Star Show 360 (that's personally my favourite). Watching Bangtan Bombs can help a lot too (welp watching any video can help).Now I'm going to try and explain how you can tell them apart! Tumblr doesn't let me add images so I'd tell you to search their names on Google to compare the information (sorry! I don't know much about this). Also my descriptions are, objectively, awful so I’m sorry in advance!JIN. He always looks good on pictures. Like I don't understand. He also has a triangular-ish face and full lips. He looks really soft too. He’s probably wearing something pink too. Usually looks like an adorable puppy, especially when he had wavy-curly hair.SUGA. He has an oval face and small eyes. Although he looks menacing if he’s not smiling he’s actually a ray of sunshine. He’s also one of the shortest so if you’re seeing them standing up this can help.J-HOPE. He has a long face and he’s probably the one with the huge blinding smile on his face, the one being loud or dancing. He also makes the duckface a lot. Also meme-worthy expressions. Literal ray of sunshine.RAP MONSTER. People call him ugly but like… where??? He looks kinda like a tall elf to be honest and he has had the worst luck with haircuts. He also makes the weirdest faces that makes you worry about him.JIMIN. The definition of squishy cheeks. Round cute face but DON’T TRUST HIM he’s extra as hell. Also he has beautiful lips like holy shit h o w. And he’s the shortest of the group. Like one centimeter shorter than Suga but everyone still makes fun of him for that.V. Okay but this kid… he has a boxy smile and it’s the cutest. He also wears a lot of eyeliner and winks too much for my sanity. Also king of wearing backwards snapbacks. He looks like a kid sometimes I wonder if he’s older than two.JUNGKOOK. The big baby. He used to have coconut hair but thanks to BigHit not now. His jaw could basically cut my hand (at least right now, he used to look like a baby before). He has big eyes and he looks like he’s always shook. Literally there’s a whole meme about that.And… that’s all! I really suck at descriptions so I’m sorry if this wasn’t helpful but if you have more doubts you can always ask me! Also good luck with falling into the bts hell